Her heart thundered as she stared at the picture, maybe for a minute, maybe an hour. No, she wouldn’t believe that her luck could be so completely horrible. There had to be another explanation. He had to be friends with whoever owned the place. That was certainly it. Didn’t all the rich guys hang out together?
Yes, she convinced herself, he must just be a friend. Because who in the heck hung pictures of themselves all over their walls? Her heart slowed down as she smiled. Of course it wasn’t Green Eyes’ house.
“Okay, girl, I know it’s fun looking all over the place, but I found your room and I’m halfway unloaded already,” Amy said, making Stormy jump. “So get your butt moving, and help me finish. I have a hair appointment I refuse to miss.”
“I . . . uh, don’t know if I can stay here,” she said. Maybe she wasn’t as calm as she’d thought she was.
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a dream-come-true kind of house. You’re absolutely not gonna leave,” Amy said with an outraged gasp.
“Do you recognize this man?” Stormy said, pointing her finger hard against the glass.
Amy looked and then her eyes widened slightly. “Isn’t that the pilot who was such an ass to you at the airport?”
“Yeah, among other things,” Stormy mumbled.
“Well, maybe he’s really good friends with whoever lives here,” Amy said. “Guys don’t put pictures of themselves on the walls.”
Exactly what Stormy had just been thinking. Okay, she was definitely overreacting here.
“Look, Stormy, you can’t give up this place. You literally have nowhere to go,” Amy reminded her. “I hate to point that out, but it’s the truth.”
“I can go to a motel,” Stormy said almost desperately.
“And you’d last a week because your money would run out and then you’d be broke and homeless,” Amy pointed out. “Then what?”
“You don’t understand,” Stormy tried saying.
“I get it,” Amy interrupted. “But sometimes we have to put our feelings aside and do what’s best for us, not what we think we need to do.”
“It’s not his place,” Stormy said. She was more and more sure of that. But still she looked around nervously.
“Hello,” she called out. There was nothing. “Is anyone home?”
“Um, darling, if no one has appeared yet, then I don’t think they’re going to,” Amy said with a laugh.
The only response that could be heard in the house was the sound of a ticking grandfather clock. Maybe it was an omen.
Amy left Stormy behind, obviously reluctant about doing so. After an hour, she decided to explore more of the home now that her meager possessions were put away.
Maybe she would find out exactly who resided in the house. She was saying prayers at two-minute intervals that it wasn’t Cooper Armstrong.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sweat dripping down his brow, Cooper pushed himself even harder as he ran along the rocky terrain of the Gig Harbor coastline. A breeze ruffled through his hair, and once in a while a mist would come up and cool him down.
Still, he ran faster and harder.
When he stopped at the trail that led back to his property, he pulled off his shirt and wiped his brow. The ten-mile run had been exactly what he’d needed to burn off the excess energy he’d been feeling from being cooped up in small flight decks for the past week.
Man, he loved to fly, but sometimes it was a little claustrophobic.
Walking up the path to his house, he made it to the back patio when he stopped, realizing that something wasn’t right.
Carefully he opened his back door and stepped through. There was the noise again. Someone was moving around his upstairs. The staff was off today, so no one was supposed to be in the house.
Moving to the front of the house, he glanced out the window and didn’t see anything to set off alarms, but then there was that same noise, sounding like shoes scuffling across his hardwood floors.
Well, if someone was there to rob the place, they’d picked the wrong house. Stealthily, he walked up the stairs, determined to catch the culprit. He was furious when he found his bedroom door open. That was his private space, and no one was allowed to step foot inside.
Taking a menacing step forward, Cooper stopped in his tracks when he saw Stormy move past his bed and then peek into his private bathroom. What in the world was the woman he’d been thinking about far too often doing in his bedroom? Had his imagination suddenly conjured her up? Was he daydreaming?
She crossed his spacious floor and ran her fingers along his mocha-colored walls. The natural light filling the room cast a soft glow on her features, and he felt himself growing hard when her fingers caressed his satin drapes as she pushed them aside to peek out onto his large balcony.
His eyes traveled from her to the centerpiece of his room, his very large and comfortable four-poster California king-size bed. It was made and just asking for him to throw her onto it and mess it up.
A ray of sun hit Stormy, casting an almost ethereal glow about her. In her white lace summer dress, she certainly looked like an angel. The plans he had for this woman, though, didn’t come down from heaven.
Never before had Cooper allowed a woman into his bedroom. He took them to hotels or went to their homes, but he didn’t like them to invade his personal space. Surprisingly, even though he had no idea how Stormy had gotten into his house, he didn’t mind her being exactly where she was.