Turbulent Intentions (Billionaire Aviators #1) - Melody Anne Page 0,53

of holing herself away in her room when she wasn’t working.

Stormy wasn’t going to waste any opportunities, so she made the executive decision: sweet white wine and a skinny-dip in the hot tub. Soon she would forget all about the days of freezing in her apartment while huddled beneath her covers. Tonight she would feel like the rich and famous. She would even drink from crystal.

Smiling with selfish delight, she sprinted up the stairs to her room where she quickly slipped into a silk bathrobe, then closed her bedroom door behind her as she headed back downstairs.

She rummaged through the kitchen for a proper glass. “Now we’re in business,” she said aloud as she pulled a chilled bottle of wine from the cooler. She hoped he wasn’t saving the bottle for a special occasion. She couldn’t help but giggle guiltily as she dug through the drawer for the bottle opener.

“Ah, there you are,” she murmured, pulling it from the drawer and placing it on the cork.

The bottle open, she poured a glass, spilling some on the floor. She’d get that later. Pulling fresh strawberries from the fridge, she quickly moved to the French doors and opened them, the cool air making her breath instantly fog up.

Walking through the doors, Stormy flipped the porch light switch, but nothing happened. Thinking by some chance the first time was a fluke, she flipped the switch on and off once more; still nothing. She didn’t let it stop her. The moonlit deck was a more relaxed setting anyway.

Moving quickly to the far side of the deck, she made quick work of pulling off the hot tub cover and setting the temperature to something that seemed just under scalding, then she turned on the jets.

The steam from the hot tub plumed into the cool air as a slight hint of chlorine filled her nostrils. Casting off her robe, then perching her strawberries and champagne on the tub’s ledge, she stepped into the bubbling water.

Midway in, she stopped for a moment, her hands across her chest as she glanced around, double-checking that she was truly alone. Electing to sit in the darkness, she left the hot tub’s lights off, then slipped completely below the surface, submerging even her head with a handful of strawberries inadvertently following her.

Her stress evaporated as quickly as the steam from the hot water, and Stormy knew the days ahead would only get better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Cooper grumbled as he drove down the road. A frustrating woman, cancelled flights, and sick flight crews were making him want to take that time off his uncle Sherman had suggested.

After pulling into the driveway and whipping into his garage, Cooper walked into the house, instantly disappointed by the darkness. Looking at the clock, he realized it was just a quarter past ten. Stormy had to be in her room reading or something because she didn’t normally go to sleep so early.

“Stormy, I’m home,” he called while loosening his necktie. He was more than ready for their talk. He walked up the stairs while unbuttoning his top. Then he stood in front of her door for a moment. It was closed with no light shining from beneath it.

Frustrated, Cooper walked into his bedroom, slipped off his shoes, he kicked them away, then removed his name bar and pilot wings, and set them on the top of his dresser. If he couldn’t talk to the dang woman, then he may as well take a hot shower and get food other than airline garbage.

It didn’t take long to shower, and then Cooper wrapped a towel around his hips and made his way back down the stairs, swinging into the kitchen for a beer and crackers.

Before he knew what was happening, his feet slipped out from beneath him and he found himself flailing while trying to stay upright. He failed. His fall was painful and the sound of bare skin smacking against granite tile echoed through the kitchen.

“What the hell . . .?” Cooper groaned as he sat up, noticing the puddle that had caused this wreck.

Eventually he placed his hands beneath himself, pushing up off the floor and back onto his feet, with his pride wounded and his back aching. “This is obviously what I get for allowing a damn housemate,” he grumbled.

A shudder passed through him, and that’s when he noticed the cool air drifting across his skin. Slowly, he walked around the corner of his large kitchen island, taking care not to slip again on the slick floor,