Page 3 of Turbulent Fires

“Just because you’re married with kids now doesn’t mean you’re a relationship expert,” I tell him, then miss my shot. Dammit, maybe heisgetting in my head.

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been,” he says before perfectly sinking his shot. I let out a low growl.

“Maybe you spend too much time with shrinks,” I suggest.

“Nope, just wildly in love. I want it for everyone.”

“That’s the problem with friends who fall in love. They think everyone needs the same.”

“I think we all need someone special in our lives,” he says. “But I do like single friends, because they’re always available.”

I grumble at him again as I miss my next shot. He’s gotten into my head, but there’s no way in hell I’ll admit it. He wins the next game, and I decide I’m done for the evening. We sit with my brothers for a while before Cooper has to leave.

It doesn’t take long before my brothers and I leave as well. The bar is getting far too crowded for us. As much as we were talking about flirting, none of us seems to be in the mood for it at the moment.

We start back home as the noise of the crowd dies away behind us. The wind has picked up in the couple of hours we spent at the bar, and I look up to see clouds quickly filling the night sky.

Drake launches into a story about skinny-dipping and us nearly getting arrested. Jayden laughs at the memory, and I let out a forced chuckle. My mind’s somewhere else right now. As much as I don’t want to let Coop’s words into my head, they’re there to stay. I’m still restless and still don’t know why.

I look up at the rapidly disappearing stars and wonder what tomorrow will bring. Maybe Cooper was right. Maybe I am afraid of the crash. I shake my head. Nope. It’s not that at all. It’s the storm blowing in that’s messing with my head. I have no clue, however, that the storm isn’t just here on the island...

Chapter One

Audrey

I don’t know what is so deliciously naughty about reading an erotic romance while flying high at 35,000 feet, but I like it. The only thing that makes it better is sitting in first class where the majority of the people are pretending to be too classy and refined to dare to peek at the pages of a smutty book while they’re secretly jealous of my freedom in doing what I want when I want to do it.

I lean back and give a good stretch before nestling back into the mostly comfortable oversized leather seat, one hand holding my Kindle, the other curled around an acceptable glass of cabernet. It’s almost blissful. It’s all going beautifully until turbulence hits.

“Crap!” I call out as my hand jerks, my wine flying from my glass in a perfect arc... and splashing directly into the lap of the unfortunate man in the seat beside me. I turn and look, noticing it’s not just any lap, but what appears to be an expensive lap clothed in a custom suit that clearly didn’t come off of a mall rack.

Horror fills me as my mouth gapes open momentarily and I reach for a napkin. “I’m so very sorry,” I whisper, horrified, knowing all eyes have turned my way. If they weren’t judging me for what I’ve been reading, they’reclearlyjudging me now. I’m sure they’re also grateful they weren’t the unfortunate ones to be seated beside me.

Thankfully, the man is looking down, not meeting my gaze. He doesn’t appear the least bit flustered as we both gaze at the deep blue of his tailored pants, now containing a prominent burgundy stain that seems to be spreading. How much wine was left in my dang glass?

He slowly looks up, his beautiful head tilting, his voice rich, filled with amusement. “I didn’t expect to get wet this early into the flight while it’s still light out, but I have no complaints.”

It takes a few quiet, breathless moments for his words to register. Did I just hear what I think I heard, or have I been reading too much smut? I’m not even sure.

I blink several times as I meet his incredibly expressive eyes. “Excuse me?” I can feel my cheeks heating. What in the world is happening right now? This is supposed to be a quiet, non-eventful flight.

As much as I want to turn away from him, I can’t seem to. His grin is nothing short of roguish. He leans a bit closer to me, his voice lowering even deeper into something that seems to be a mix of whiskey... and a hell of a lot of trouble. I’ve known a few men this dangerous in my life, and the wisest thing a woman can do is run... and run fast.

“You were so engrossed in the book you’re reading that I’m not surprised one of us got wet,” he says, his green eyes holding mine captive. He then pointedly looks at my reader, and there’s no doubt he’s glanced over at least once. Has he read any of the words? I just finished a pretty descriptive sex scene. This thought makes me blush. I never blush, so I don’t know what to think of this.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat, then decide to hold my own. I’ve never been one to hide my head in the sand. “Well, I guess I owe you a new pair of pants.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve gotten wet more than once in my life. It’s well worth a ruined pair of pants.” He winks. I can’t help it, I laugh. This man is charming...andhe knows it. I’m sure he’s used to women eating out of his hands. Then again, he hasn’t met a woman like me before. I can give back as good as I get, if not better. As a matter of fact, I intimidate most men, making dating incredibly difficult. There’s nothing I despise more than weak men. That’s saying something since there are plenty of things I don’t like, such as sardines. Those little fish are absolutely disgusting.

When I was a kid, my best friend was staying over and Gramps decided to order a sardine pizza. Of course, we had to try it. I went first. It was the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted, but I held it together because if I had shown my horror, the bestie wouldn’t have taken a bite, and I wasn’t suffering this trauma alone. I gave her a thumbs-up, waited until she took a bite, then spit mine out as soon as it was in her mouth. We’re both still traumatized to this day. So, the fact that weak men are my biggest hang-up truly is saying something.

I give the man a smile. “Glad you’re taking it well.” Before I realize what a bad idea it is, I reach over and try to lap up some of the wine on my napkin, my hand far too intimate without even thinking about it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch as I look down. The cloth is soaked when I pull back and look into his eyes.

He’s smiling even wider now as my gaze is once again captured by his stunning green eyes. “I’m more than well,” he tells me, his voice a bit husky, making me realize what I’ve done. I pull fully back. There’s a difference between a bit of flirting and actual manhandling, not that he seems to mind. This might be areallylong flight because this man is clearly dangerous.

I lean back, tucking my hands safely into my lap. I take another breath before looking his way again. The man truly is attractive, far more than average, with slightly mussed brown hair, a chiseled jaw with a hint of stubble, and absolute confidence in his bright green eyes, like he’s seen it all, done it more than once, and made it look easy.

I can’t stand the silence. “Why are you on this flight?” I ask, pleased when my voice comes out normally. With how hard my heart’s beating, I’d think my voice would be low and breathy. Luckily, I’ve always been good at keeping my composure in tense situations. I actually thrive on adrenaline fueled moments, hating to be bored.

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