The Grumpy Storm Chaser

Pippa Brook

Copyright © 2024 by Pippa Brook

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Epilogue

Chapter 1

Colby

I TUG AT THE collar of my dress shirt. It’s getting hot beneath the bright stage lights and a sheen of sweat is starting to gather on my upper lip. The makeup artist for the photoshoot darts forward to dab my face with a towel.

The photographer waits for her to leave the set before raising his camera once more. “How do you feel about props? Perhaps an umbrella…”

I glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

Photoshoots are the bane of my existence. When I accepted the on-air meteorologist position at Rise and Shine, Los Angeles four years ago, I knew my face would be splashed across magazines and TV screens throughout the country. It’s a nationally syndicated television program with a large viewership. I just grossly underestimated how much time I’d spend with photographers. I am a scientist, but America views me as a celebrity. It’s annoying as hell.

The photographer tilts his head in thought. “Let’s try a few with a smile?”

My patience is running out faster than a startled cat, and I open my mouth to tell him I’d like the umbrella after all—to shove straight up his ass. My sister, Marjorie, notices my darkening mood and quickly steps into her role as my manager.

“Colby doesn’t smile in photos. He’s known throughout the country as the grumpy meteorologist. That’s his brand.”

The photographer frowns. “I just thought—”

“Well, don’t,” Marjorie says. “Viewers love his grumpy face, and Rise and Shine, Los Angeles has built a whole marketing campaign around it for years. So, let’s just stick with what works, okay?”

It’s true that viewers love my grumpy disposition. Thousands of t-shirts with my grumpy face have been printed and sold, as well as other merchandise like coffee mugs and stickers.

I wasn’t always so grumpy. Once upon a time, I loved meteorology. But working in southern California doesn’t offer much of a challenge. It’s sunny and warm nearly every day. Most of the time, I just stand in front of the green screen and point to the cartoon sun in the upper corner. Sometimes, I get to mention the smog index or the pollen count, but there’s very little forecasting to be done. By the end of the first year, I was scowling as I gave the weather reports.

Marjorie is a marketing and PR genius, so she made a pitch to the station to start marketing me as the grumpy meteorologist. The rest is history.

The photographer frowns. “Maybe we could get a few with him wearing sunglasses and flip-flops?”

Marjorie shakes her head. “You know what? I think we have more than enough pictures. Thank you for your time today.”

“Yes, thank you,” I agree with a nod. The photographer glowers at me, packing up his gear.

“It really wouldn’t kill you to smile every now and then,” Marjorie whispers to me under her breath. “We live and work in paradise. Be grateful.”

“I’d rather be somewhere with actual weather,” I respond. Before Rise and Shine, Los Angeles, I worked for a news station in Louisville, Kentucky. No one called me grumpy back then. “In fact, I’ve been thinking—”

“Well, well, well…” a familiar—and unwelcome—voice calls out from behind me. “If it isn’t Colby Raynes, Mr. Grumpy McGrump Face himself.”

Marjorie shakes her head, frowning. “Grumpy McGrump Face? What are you, Oscar? Twelve?”

I slowly turn to face Oz Metzer. My rival. My nemesis. My former best friend.

I fold my arms across my chest. “What brings you to L.A., Oz?”

His face stretches into a grin. “I’m here to consult on a climate-change disaster flick. You know the type. Hailstorms, tornadoes, city-killer hurricanes. That sort of thing.”

I roll my eyes. “Let me guess. There’s one sensational storm scene after the other until a sexy scientist wearing a bikini beneath her lab coat saves the day?”

“Yep. And they’re paying me a king’s ransom,” Oz says. “It’s sort of funny that they didn’t just hire you. You’re already on the studio’s payroll, after all. But I suppose they wanted someone with real-life forecasting experience.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “We both know I’m the better forecaster.”

He laughs. “School was a long time ago. While you’ve been here in sunny California, I’ve been tracking supercells and tornadoes across the country. I have real-world experience that you just can’t compete with, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy,” I growl.

Marjorie tugs on my arm. “Ignore him,” she says. “We have better things to do.”

Without another glance in Oz’s direction, I follow Marjorie toward the exit.

“There’s a once-in-a-century storm system brewing right now,” Oz calls to me. “It’s going to explode like a powder keg when it crosses the Mississippi River in two days.”

I stop in my tracks as his words hit me. I can’t help it. I’m a storm junkie in desperate need of a fix. If there’s really a once-in-a-lifetime storm brewing, I can’t sit it out.

“It’ll leave a path of destruction all the way from the Great Plains to the Atlantic Coast,” Oz continues. “But don’t worry. While I’m filming footage right in the heart of the storm, you’ll be safe and sound in front of your green screen.”

I slowly turn to face him. My entire body quivers with anger—and with anticipation. “I’m the better forecaster, and I’m going to prove it.”

Oz raises an eyebrow. “Is that so? How?”

“I’ll chase the storm, too,” I say, ignoring Majorie’s surprised gasp. “The man with the best recorded footage of the bigger storm wins.”

Majorie stiffens beside me. “Colby, that’s stupid. It’s unnecessarily risky to chase tornadoes, and you’re needed here in the studio for—”

“We’ll need an impartial judge,” Oz says, rubbing his chin and ignoring Marjorie.

“Kane Charming,” we both say in unison.

Oz chuckles. “It’s been a long time since we agreed on something.”

I shrug. “Kane’s the obvious choice.” He’s a storm chaser and a Youtuber with an uber-popular podcast—and he’s always on the lookout for exclusive storm footage.

“Game on,” Oz says. “May the best man win.”

“I will,” I say with absolute confidence.

I can’t lose.

I won’t lose.

I can barely contain my excitement as I follow Marjorie out of the room. A massive storm is brewing, and this time, I'm not riding it out... I'm chasing it down. Come on, rain. Bring on the thunder and lightning. Send the whirlwind.

I'm not afraid.

Chapter 2

Petra

MY PHONE TRILLS IN my pocket, and I pull it out to see who’s calling. My best friend’s name appears on the screen. I can’t help but sigh. It’s hard being best friends with a trial attorney sometimes. As much as I love Cressida, I’m not always in the mood to be cross-examined about my life choices.

Ignoring her call, I return to the task at hand: packing. My ex-boyfriend, Marcus, is away for the week, so it’s the perfect time to get the rest of my belongings from his house. I glance around the interior of the home, sighing as I examine the high ceilings and exposed beams. The farmhouse has been completely refinished and modernized, so it’s now the perfect mixture of the old and the new. Sometimes, I wonder if I was with Marcus for so long just because I’m in love with his house.

Tears sting the backs of my eyelids, but I choke them back. After more than a decade of our on-again, off-again, relationship, I’ve cried too many tears over Marcus as it is. I’m not sad that it’s finally over for good this time. Good riddance. I’ll miss this house, though. And I have deep regrets about giving so much of my time and energy to a man who was so unworthy.

The rainfall intensifies, slamming into the windowpanes. I glance toward a window and am surprised to see that it’s grown so dark outside. A thick wall of clouds blocks out the sun and there’s a slow roll of thunder in the distance.

My phone rings, and I know without looking that it’s Cressida again. She’s the only person who ever calls me. Everyone else simply sends a text. There’s no point trying to avoid her. She’ll just keep calling until I answer.

Sighing, I tap the screen to accept the call. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” my friend demands.

“I’m at Marcus’s house. I—”

“Please tell me you didn’t get back together!”

“Of course not,” I say with indignation. It’s true that I’ve always gone back to Marcus in the past, but this time, I caught him cheating. The dimwit sent me a text that was intended for another woman, thanking me for a fantastic night. Since he was two hundred miles away on a business trip, there was no way he could talk himself out of trouble. Instead, he said it meant nothing, and that he was just so lonely without me. Asshole.

I’d had my suspicions of infidelity in the past, but I’d never had proof, and he always managed to convince me that I was being paranoid. The mistaken text was the final nail in the coffin. The relationship is dead and buried deep in my heart and nothing will convince me to exhume the remains ever again.

“Then why are you at his house?” Cressida asks. “Don’t let him try to talk his way out of—”

“He’s not even here, Cressida. He’s at some sort of business conference, so I decided to come get the last of my things. It’s the last time I’ll ever set foot in this house; I promise.”

“I hope so.”

A wave of anger flashes through me. “Do you really think I’d take him back after finding out he cheated on me?”

“There have been signs of cheating before,” she points out.

“There was never any firm evidence, Ms. Attorney at Law,” I snap.

“I’m sorry, Pet. I just don’t want to see him hurt you again.”

“He won’t,” I promise. “I’m finally rid of him—and I have the breakup hair to prove it.”

She laughs. “Yes, you do, you saucy minx.”

I run a hand through my new hair. It was cathartic seeing the long locks of hair fall to the floor. Now, I have a fierce, platinum-blonde, chin-length bob. It’s far more stylish than the curtain that had hung down my back for most of my life. I was long overdue for a new look, especially since I’m a hairstylist with my own shop. Now, I look the part.

A loud crack of thunder shakes the house. I flinch, nearly dropping the phone. A moment later, the lights flicker.

“Petra!” Cressida cries. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I say, though my heart is pounding in my chest. “It’s just a little storm.”

“No, it’s not. That’s why I called. You never pay attention to the news or the weather.”

She’s right about that. I’m seldom prepared for the weather. I frequently leave the house without a coat, and I never have an umbrella on hand. Another thunderclap rattles my bones. “How bad is it going to be,” I ask nervously.

“We’re in a hatched area,” Cressida says. “That means we’re likely to have large hail and even tornadoes. Jonah and his brothers have designated the firehouse a tornado shelter for people in Mercury Ridge who need a safe place to ride out the storms. And they’re working closely with local law enforcement and the search and rescue team just in case the worst happens.”

I swallow around the rising lump in my throat. “The worst?”

“If a tornado levels the town.” Her words send a shiver down my spine. “Does the farmhouse have a storm shelter?”

“No,” I answer, looking out the window. Should I try to leave to find shelter somewhere? I shake my head at the thought. I can’t drive in this torrential downpour.

“Jonah can come get you.”

“No,” I say again. My friend’s husband is a member of the Mercury Ridge Fire Department. In addition to being perfect for Cressida and treating her like gold, he’s a local hero to boot. Some girls have all the luck. “He needs to be there, in town, helping people. I’ll hunker down in the bathroom if I need to. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

As I hang up the phone, I hear a new sound. It’s like little explosions in the distance. What is that? Within moments, I have my answer. Hail slams into the house. For a moment, I’m frozen in place. I stare out the window, watching as little pieces of ice blanket the ground. It looks like snow in the middle of May. Hail slams into the windows even harder than before, and I spring into action, running toward the bathroom. I make a quick detour by the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

Once I’m in the bathroom, I turn on the faucet to fill the bathtub, tossing in a moisturizing bath bomb. While water slowly fills the bathtub, I sit on the toilet seat lid and get to work with the corkscrew. Pulling the cork from the bottle with a satisfying pop, I take a slow swig of the wine straight from the bottle. Another deafening crack of thunder echoes through the air, and once again, the lights flicker. This time, they don’t come back on.

Swearing under my breath, I use my phone’s flashlight to dig beneath the sink for some candles. I find a set of battery-operated ones and turn them on, setting them up around the bathroom. Battery-operated…

The candles give me an idea, and I run to the bedroom as quickly as I can to retrieve the waterproof vibrator in my nightstand. When I return to the bathroom, vibrator in hand, I laugh at the sight. The inviting tub, the flickering lights, the expensive bottle of wine—it’d be romantic if there weren’t a storm raging outside.

I open my Spotify app on my phone and turn on my favorite playlist. Bill Withers croons Ain’t No Sunshine as I strip off my clothes and step into the bathtub. In one hand, I hold the bottle of wine. In the other, I have my vibrator.

If I’m going to be stuck in the bathroom, I’m going to enjoy myself. Storm be damned.

.

Chapter 3

Colby

AS I BARREL MY rental truck down a shitty gravel road, there’s no denying that my sister was right—this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. If I live through this, I’ve really got to start listening to Marjorie more.

The producers of Rise and Shine, Los Angeles, rejected my request to chase the storm with a full camera crew by my side. If Marjorie had pitched the idea, they may have gone for it, but without her support, the answer was a resounding “No way. No how.” They informed me that I’m too valuable as on-air talent to take such a risk with my safety. When I made it clear that I was going to chase the storm with or without their permission, they threatened my job. When that didn’t dissuade me, they finally—and very reluctantly—agreed to grant a few days of leave for me to “get it out of my system.”

Without a camera crew, getting the best footage of the storm would be difficult, but I still felt up to the task. After reviewing all of the data and forecasting models, it was clear that the best potential for severe weather would be in Tennessee and the Carolinas. So, I flew to Nashville, rented a four-wheel drive vehicle, and started driving east.

And I nailed this forecast. It’s spot-on. Deadly accurate.

Deadly being the operative word.

I swear under my breath as a sheet of horizontal rain slams into the side of the truck. I clutch the steering wheel with both hands, struggling to keep the tires on the road. If I veer even an inch off the side of the road, a tire will sink into the swollen, rain-drenched ground, and I’ll be stuck good and tight. A sitting duck for the tornado to suck me into its vortex.

Glancing in the review mirror, I see the beast barreling toward me. Twenty minutes ago, it had been a pretty little rope tornado snaking down from the clouds. Now, the twister is at least half a mile wide and moving with the speed of a freight train. It’s a twisting, churning monster, carving a path of destruction straight toward me. It’s filthy with debris: trees, pieces of buildings and houses, and only God knows what else. I watch in horror as a car is tossed from the funnel like a ragdoll. I say a quick prayer that no one was inside it. For good measure, I add a quick, “And please don’t let me die today.”

I need to get off this road. I scan the area to my left and right, but there’s nothing but crop fields. I’m in valley bottom and there’s nowhere to go. The tornado is getting closer in the rearview mirror. Unless this road has a twist or a turn up ahead, it may as well be one big welcome mat to the Highway to Heaven. If I’m still in the truck when the tornado hits, there’s no chance of survival.

Bailing from the truck and lying in the middle of a field isn’t a much better option. Odds are I’ll be crushed by debris or sucked up by the tornado.

I’m going to die today. The thought hits with such clarity that it takes my breath away. I’m not ready to die yet. Not even a little bit.

Oz’s grinning face pops to the forefront of my mind. He’s always had a knack for goading me into dangerous situations. If I’m the grumpy meteorologist, he’s the daring one. In the fifth grade, he talked me into jumping my bike off the front porch, which resulted in my first broken bone. Things just went downhill from there until our friendship ended after a disastrous spring break trip in college. I dislocated my shoulder, another friend ended up in a wheelchair, and Oz got arrested.

When I’m being reasonable, I can admit that Oz wasn’t to blame for any of that. We were adults, and we willingly followed him into danger. Just like I did today.

I’m going to die, and it’s my own damn fault.

The gravel road slants up a hill and the truck loses speed as it makes the climb. I slam my foot onto the gas pedal and the tires spin, attempting to gain purchase as gravel is kicked into the air.

When I reach the top of the hill, I see that this isn’t a road, after all. It’s a driveway. The road ends at an old farmhouse. If the tornado stays on its current course, the house will take a direct hit, but it’s my only option for shelter. Hopefully, the residents are friendly and will let me in.

I reach the house at full speed, slamming on the brakes and yanking the wheel to skid to a stop in front of the door. There’s no time to knock or to introduce myself. I spot a large flowerpot on the front porch. If the door’s locked, I’ll use the pot to break a window. But that’ll take precious seconds that I don’t have. I grip the doorknob in my hand and turn it. Miraculously, the door is unlocked, and it swings open with ease.

The sound of music wafts from the center of the house. I dash toward the sound, desperate to find shelter.

I reach a door and shove it open, bursting into a bathroom. My eyes quickly scan the room, and I freeze in my tracks as I spot a gorgeous blonde masturbating in the bathtub. For a moment, the deadly tornado is completely forgotten.

I greedily take in the sight, realizing that it’s wrong to do so but unable to look away. She hasn’t noticed that I’m here. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted as she pounds her pussy with a vibrator. Her heavy breasts heave as her breath grows shorter.

Fuuuuuuck. She’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. She’s all soft, fleshy curves, designed to perfection by the Almighty for a man to sink into. My cock is instantly rock-hard, straining against the fly of my jeans for release. Use Me by Bill Withers booms through a Bluetooth speaker, and my God, what I wouldn’t give for this woman to use me up. Her every wish is my command. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d die for her.

She raises her hips, pushing the vibrator deeper inside with both hands. Little whimpers burst from her lips. She’s on the edge of an intense orgasm, and my hand drifts to my crotch, desperate to join her in her ecstasy.

Then several things happen at once, each bringing back with perfect clarity the danger we’re in:

She opens her mouth to cry out in pleasure, cresting over the edge of her orgasm.

There’s a sudden drop in barometric pressure, making my ears pop and bringing me back to my senses.

Her eyes pop open, probably due to the drop in pressure. She sees me and her ecstatic cry mingles with one of terror.

“It’s okay,” I say, holding up my hands to show I’m unarmed.

But it’s not okay. Nothing is okay.

The tornado is here.

The gears in my brain finally click back into place, and I spring into action. I grip the shower curtain rod with both hands, yanking it down as I climb into the tub next to the blonde. I fall to my knees, covering her body with mine and wrapping the curtain around us as best as I can. It’ll offer minimal protection, but it’s better than nothing.

The woman’s naked body trembles beneath mine. Whether she’s still coming down from her orgasm or quaking with terror, I’m not sure. Maybe both?

People always describe the sound as being like a freight train, but it’s not. It’s louder. Like the roar of a dozen freight trains. A hundred freight trains. A thousand.

The music fades away, along with the rest of the world, as the tornado shrieks and howls around us.

“It’ll be over soon,” I yell into the woman’s ear, but the wind steals my voice, sucking it up, up, and away.

The shower curtain whips and slaps against my back, but I don’t let go. It’s the only thing protecting us from the shrapnel of tree bark, obliterated buildings, and broken homes. I can’t bear the thought of this angel’s perfect flesh being shredded by splinters of wood and steel. Something slams between my shoulder blades. The ceiling? The roof? The sky itself? It’s crushing me. Crushing us. Fear clutches at my heart, but not for me; for her.

It’ll be over soon. Whether we live through it or not is another question. But either way, the roaring will stop. The tornado will move on. It will be over.

The object on my back is carried away, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The woman wraps her arms around me, holding on tight, and my heart nearly explodes with delight. Amid this terror, she gives me something to long for—to live for. She’s a shiny sunburst in the eye of the storm.

I make a vow to myself and the heavens above. Come hell or high water, she will be mine.

Chapter 4

Petra

I’M IN THE MIDDLE of my climax, crying out with pleasure, when my ears pop. My eyes fly open, and I see the sexy stranger standing over me. Watching me. The expression on his face is lust personified, and my inner walls involuntarily contract, sending me crashing over the precipice once again.

I’m still coming when he yanks the shower rod down like a Neanderthal and climbs into the tub with me. When he lowers his body over mine, wrapping his enormous hands around my waist and clutching me to his chest, I’m still shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm.

Is this a dream? It has to be, right? I’m a jumbled mess of confusion, desire, and terror. Beneath the strong stranger and wrapped in the shower curtain, I can’t see anything. I feel the man’s mouth move against my ear. Is he trying to tell me something? Panic floods my system as I realize that it’s not just the man’s words that I can’t hear. The music is gone, too. I scream, and I can’t hear that, either.

Then I realize that my hearing is fine. The howling wind is drowning out all other noises.

It’s a tornado. A shiver rolls down my spine. Cressida was right. Is this how I’ll die? I warp my arms around the man, clutching him tightly against my naked body, somehow knowing, deep in my soul, that he doesn’t wish me harm. He’s here to protect me.

After what feels like hours but is probably no more than a minute, the roaring stops as quickly as it began. Silence falls over us, except for a buzzing sound that I can’t immediately place. With horror, I realize that it’s the vibrator. It’s shifted and is now resting between my hip and the stranger’s leg. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I reach down to turn it off. Now the room is silent, except for the beating of our hearts and our mingled breath. He shifts his weight slightly, making the water in the bathtub slosh, but he doesn’t move away from me.

And I don’t mind.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I think so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Petra.”

“I’m Colby.”

“Um, hi?”

“Hi,” he says, chuckling softly. “I’m going to move the curtain now, Petra. Some dust and debris may fall on us, so shield your eyes, okay?”

“O-okay,” I stammer, raising my hands to cover my face.

He throws off the curtain and I squint against the sunlight flooding the bathroom. For a moment, I’m disoriented and confused. This room doesn’t have any windows. Looking up, I see that a chunk of the ceiling and roof are missing, allowing the light to spill inside.

Colby stands up and looks down at me. I slowly pull my knees to my chest, trying to cover my nakedness while I regain my bearings. The bathroom looks completely different. The floor is littered with ceiling tiles, pink insulation, and drywall. Water is spraying into the bathroom from a broken pipe where the toilet used to be, and the mist creates a miniature rainbow.

“You don’t see that every day,” I murmur.

“You sure don’t,” Colby says. His eyes bore into mine, and I don’t think he’s talking about the rainbow.

He clears his throat and pulls his gaze from mine. “I think you’d better stay here while I check out the rest of the house. If your shoes and clothes are still where they’re supposed to be, where would I find them?”

“The bedroom,” I say slowly. “First door on the right. I had clothes in a suitcase on the bed. Shoes would be on a rack inside the closet.”

He carefully steps out of the bathtub and onto the debris-covered floor. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he leaves, I pull the drain to the tub. Standing, I reach for my towel. It’s no longer there—nor is the wall. It’s a good thing I was in the bathtub, I realize, glancing around the ruined room. And if Colby hadn’t been here to shield my body, I’d have been hammered with falling debris. Would I have survived?

Probably not without injuries. Thank God he was here… but why was he here?

I pick up the shower curtain, using it to towel off as best as possible before wrapping it around myself like a toga. I sit on the edge of the bathtub, waiting for the mysterious stranger to return. He looks vaguely familiar, and I wonder if we’ve met before. Is he also from Mercury Ridge? Have I been so obsessed with Marcus over the years that I completely overlooked this man?

After a few minutes, he returns holding a pair of mismatched shoes. One is a black sneaker, and the other is a lavender sandal. “This was the best I could do,” he says apologetically. “There are lots of men’s shoes scattered about, but these were the only women’s shoes I found.

I smile at him. “At least they’re both flats. It would have been awkward hobbling along in one heel and one sneaker.”

His face breaks into a grin, lighting up his entire face. Whoa. I need to make him do that again—and often.

He kneels, patting his knee with a hand. “I’ll help you put them on.”

I raise my left foot and he slides on the sneaker, tying the laces with care. Then he fastens the sandal to the other foot. “I couldn’t find your clothes. The suitcase was nowhere to be found.”

“I already moved most of my clothes to my apartment. This is my ex-boyfriend’s house,” I explain. “I suppose I’ll just have to wear the shower curtain. They do that at fashion shows all the time, right? Wrap a woman in garbage and call it haute couture.”

He barks a laugh. “True enough. I live in Los Angeles and am constantly confused by what constitutes fashion.”

“Los Angeles?” And suddenly, I realize who he is. I suck in a quick breath, temporarily starstruck. “You’re Colby Raynes!”

He smiles kindly. “That’s me.”

“I didn’t recognize you because…” My voice trails off.

He raises an eyebrow. “Because?”

I swallow nervously. “Well, for one thing, I’d never expected to see you in North Carolina. You live on the West Coast. And for another, you don’t seem, well, grumpy.”

He laughs. “I’m only grumpy in California.”

Chapter 5

Colby

I HELP PETRA STEP out of the bathtub and we climb over the broken furniture and fallen walls to where the front door had once stood. We turn to inspect the damage and gasp in unison. It looks like someone dropped a bomb on the house. The second story of the farmhouse is gone and will probably never be seen again. The back half of the house was scoured to the ground. A purple Ford Fiesta is wrapped around an oak tree.

“Was that your car?” I ask Petra.

“Sure was,” she says, grimacing. “I just finished paying it off, too.”

“Your truck seems okay,” she remarks. Miraculously, I think she’s right. It was parked on the side of the house that took the least amount of damage. The passenger side windows are busted and there’s a crack in the windshield, but it certainly looks drivable.

“We should probably get changed,” I say, thinking of my wet pants. “As lovely as you look in a shower curtain, I’d bet you’d be more comfortable in a flannel shirt and sweatpants?”

Lowering the tailgate of the truck, I set my duffel bag on it. I hand her a flannel shirt. “Maybe you can swap the shower curtain dress for a flannel dress?”

She takes the shirt, turning shyly away from me. She takes a deep breath and lets the shower curtain fall. I make an attempt to avert my eyes—I really do—but it’s impossible not to look at her. This is my first time seeing her luscious bottom, and my mouth waters to sink my teeth into it.

She slides her arms through the sleeves and starts doing the buttons. From the back, it looks like it fits—but then she turns around. The shirt won’t button over her ample hips, and she’s exposed from the navel down. On any of the women I know in L.A., the shirt would have swamped their tiny frames.

She’s blushing, but a flirty smile dances on her lips. These two things are at complete odds with each other, but it only makes her that much sweeter—and that much sexier.

She brushes a hand lightly over her pubic hair. “I think I may need to borrow a pair of shorts.”

I stare at her greedily. “Hell, no. It’s perfect as it is.”

She licks her lips slowly and I groan at the sight of her little pink tongue. “Do you like my body?” she asks.

“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen,” I say honestly, reaching down to unbutton my fly. “Do you want to see proof?”

Her big, blue eyes widen. “Yes, please.”

I let my steel-rod cock spring free. “This is what you do to me.”

Her gaze lingers on my cock, and she licks her lips. “You’re so… big,” she whispers.

Fuuuuuuck. “The way you were working that vibrator… I know you can take it, Petra. You like it deep and hard, am I right?”

Her pupils dilate with lust as she stares at my cock. “I think so…? I’ve only been with one man, and my ex wasn’t… nowhere near… you’re much, much bigger.”

I take a few strides toward her, pulling her into my arms and lowering my lips to hers. We kiss hungrily, desperately, a tangle of lips and tongues and hands. I rip open the flannel shirt, sending buttons flying in every direction. I knead her tits in my palms, pulling gently on the hard nipples and greedily shoving my tongue deeper into her mouth when she moans with pleasure.

My cock throbs with need. I have to have her. Now.

“Get in the truck,” I command. “Ass in the air.”

She opens the passenger door and climbs in. She kneels over the console, positioning herself on her hands and knees. It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

I climb up into the truck behind her. Leaning over her, I gently press her torso into the seat until she’s down on her elbows. “It’ll be deeper at this angle,” I promise.

“Okay,” she whispers.

I dip my fingers into her pussy and am happy to find her wet with desire. I lick her sweetness off my fingers, looking forward to the future when I’ll get to devour her with my tongue. “Are you sure this is how you want it, baby? Would you rather be on top for our first time?”

“I want it like this,” she insists. “I want to feel you deep inside me—where no man has ever been before.”

Holy hell. Gripping her hip with one hand and guiding my cock to her entrance with the other, I slowly slide inside her, letting her walls adjust to my size. “You’re so fucking tight,” I murmur. “Absolute perfection.”

“Colby,” she whimpers, her voice strained. “I want it… I want you…”

I pull out slowly, tantalizingly, teasing her. “Are you sure you can take it?”

“I can take it. Please, Colby… fuck me!”

It’s the command I’ve been waiting to hear. Gripping both of her hips in my hands, I plow into her. Deep and hard and fast.

“Is that how you want it?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she cries. “More!”

I give my angel exactly what she wants, thrusting deeper and harder inside her with each stroke. Her breathing grows shallow, and she gasps for air. As her climax builds, her walls squeeze me tighter and tighter, gripping my dick in a vice. As she cries out my name, I explode inside her, coming harder than I ever have before.

When our bodies stop shaking, I pull her into my lap so she’s straddling me. I brush her hair gently away from her face and gaze into her beautiful face. “I’ve never come simultaneously with someone before.”

“I haven’t, either.” Her voice is quiet, and sleepy, and my heart fills with so much love for her that I feel it’ll burst. I kiss her tenderly, caressing her soft skin with my fingertips. I trace the word “love” over and over, on every inch of her skin that I can reach.

Who knew the grumpy meteorologist was such a sap?

She gazes at me. “When do you have to go back to L.A.?”

“I’m supposed to go back in a few days,” I say quietly. “But I don’t want to. I’d rather stay here with you.”

“You don’t really know me,” she points out.

I smile at her. “I know enough about you to know that I can’t possibly give you up. And I’ll get to know the rest with time. We can start now. Tell me something about yourself.”

She laughs, a full, hearty laugh, that’s one-hundred-percent Petra. My baby doesn’t half-ass anything. If she does everything with passion and heart. It’s crazy that I already know that about her, but I know it’s true.

“I’m a hairstylist,” she says. “So, I can give you free haircuts.”

“Excellent,” I say, grinning.

“Tell me something about you,” she demands.

“I have a younger sister, Marjorie. She’s my manager. She’s not going to like that I’m leaving Rise and Shine, Los Angeles, but she’ll adore you, so she’ll get over it.”

“Won’t you miss the perfect weather in southern California?” Petra asks.

“Not even a little,” I say, kissing her gently on the nose. “Who needs sunny California when I can see a perfect, cloudless sky every time I look into your eyes?”

“Who knew that a tornado could bring the perfect guy straight to my—” She gasps, sitting upright in a panic. “The tornado! All of my friends and family are in Mercury Ridge. Were they hit, too?”

“Let’s find out.”

Chapter 6

Petra

I LOST MY PHONE to the tornado, but Colby still has his. He hands it to me to do a quick search while he finds us fresh clothes in his duffel bag.

He just hands it to—freely, and without hesitation. Marcus always guarded his phone so closely. Because he was a cheater. How could I have been so blind for so long?

I do a quick Google search and my heart seizes in my chest when I see the news reports coming out of Mercury Ridge. They took a direct hit. I quickly punch in Cressida’s phone number. She doesn’t answer.

Oh, God. Please let her be okay…

I try my grandmother next. She answers on the first ring. “This is Betty Lou McMillan.”

“Grandma! Thank God, you’re okay!”

“Petra? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“Petra’s safe!” Betty Lou shouts, and I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear. A crowd cheers in the background.

“Are Cressida and Jonah okay?”

“Yes,” my grandmother says. “They’re fine. There have been two fatalities discovered so far, but I don’t think they were anyone you know. Sweet Mercury bakery is gone, but Holly and the rest of the staff were all seeking shelter at the firehouse at the time.”

“That’s good,” I say, relieved.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” she demands. “We’ve all been worried sick about you.”

“The tornado leveled Marcus’s house and my phone was one of the casualties.”

Betty Lou gasps. “Were you injured?”

“I don’t have a scratch on me,” I promise. “I hunkered down in the bathtub, just like I promised Cressida I would.”

“Are you calling from Marcus’s phone? Are you with him again?” There’s disappointment in her voice. Apparently, everyone but me knew that Marcus was a loser.

“No. I’m calling from Colby Raynes’ phone.”

“Colby Raynes? That good-looking grump on TV?”

My face splits into a smile. “The one and only. But he’s not so grumpy in person. You’ll like him. We’re going to make our way to Mercury Ridge this afternoon. Give Cressida a heads-up so she can prepare her cross-examination questions for him.”

Betty Lou laughs. “I’ll let her know.”

Chapter 7

Colby

PETRA CRIES AS WE drive through Mercury Ridge. Big chunks of the town are destroyed, but miraculously, the casualties seem to have been low. It always amazes me how so many people can survive a tornado even as their entire house is pulverized.

I pull the truck to the front of the firehouse and Petra jumps out. “I have to check on everyone,” she yells over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. My heart aches for a moment at the sudden loss of her before my brain takes control, assuring me that she hasn’t left me. We’re at the same place, and she’s just desperate to find her loved ones. I pull the truck to an out-of-way spot and park.

As I walk toward the firehouse, I spot a curly-haired brunette holding a clipboard. What the hell is she doing here?

“Marjorie!” I run toward my sister, taking in her disheveled appearance. There are bits of twigs in her hair and there’s a bandage on her face. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

Her face lights up when she sees me. “Colby! You told me you were going to Tennessee!”

“He accurately predicted where the action would be,” a familiar voice says behind me. “Guess you really are as good a forecaster as me.”

I spin on my heel to see Oz wearing his patented smirk. Like my sister, he’s holding a clipboard. Anger flashes through my veins at the sight of him, but then I spot Petra over his shoulder. She’s talking to a redhead who’s holding an orange cat in her arms. Her smile radiates goodness and light, and I can’t even be mad at Oz right now. Maybe it’s time to let our longstanding feud finally die.

Then he exchanges a look with my sister, and I realize that they’re here together.

The anger flashes back to the surface in an instant. “What have you been doing with my sister?”

He takes a step back. “Whoa! Calm down. It’s not like that!”

“What’s it like?” I snarl.

“Come on, man. You know Marjorie’s too classy to fall for a dumb daredevil like me.”

Marjorie steps between us and smacks my chest with her clipboard. “Grow up, Colby. There’s a lot of people that need help here. Grab a clipboard from Cressida Griffin and get to work.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. There’s nothing worse than getting a dressing-down from one’s little sister, but she’s right. There will be time later to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on between Oz and her. Right now, people need help. “Who’s Cressida Griffin?”

“I’m Cressida Griffin.” A pretty woman steps forward and hands me a clipboard. “I also happen to be Petra’s best friend, and I have some questions for you.”

Petra runs forward and launches herself between me and Cressida. “Let’s save the cross-examination for later. Mercury Ridge needs us right now. Put us to work.”

Epilogue

Colby

ONE YEAR LATER

I tap my foot nervously, staring at the walls of Cressida Griffin’s office. Her North Carolina license to practice law hangs in a thick wooden frame behind her desk next to her college and law school diplomas. She stares at me from across her desk. In her crisp black suit, she’s all business—and rather intimidating.

She slides a document across her desk. “Are you sure about this?”

“You’re kind of scary, do you know that?” Oz mutters.

Cressida grins. “Thank you.”

I scan through the document, just to make sure it’s identical to the one I previously reviewed. “I’m sure,” I say, signing my name in blue ink and sliding the document over to Oz.

“I’m sure, too,” he says, signing his name next to mine.

Cressida shakes our hands in turn. “Congratulations, gentleman. You’re officially business owners and partners. I hope Mercury Ridge Storm Chaser Tours is a huge success.”

WANT MORE OF COLBY and Petra’s happily ever after? Sign up for my newsletter to receive an exclusive bonus scene today! Get it here.

FOR OZ AND MAJORIE’S romance (which features more of Colby and Petra, too), order The Daring Storm Chaser today!

FOR CRESSIDA AND JONAH’S love story, check out Tempt Me More!

Table of Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Epilogue