Mountain Hot Page 2

“This yours, sweetheart?”

  She wanted to say no but as she looked around, she found another bra hanging on the ear of a prim granny and a G-string around a seatmate while her thongs landed and caught on her sunglasses.

  People were not patient and tried to press forward despite the narrow aisle way. Many of them handed her skimpy undies to her. By the time she got off the plane, she was a wreck. A steward handed her a few trash bags. Throwing the demolished luggage and the errant lingerie inside, she got out of there as quickly as possible, wishing she had a shot of butterscotch moonshine.

  Unfortunately, it was one thing to walk through a terminal pulling a wheeled suitcase behind her wearing strappy stilettos and tight jeans and quite another to have her arms full of trash bags holding her clothes, shoes, and lingerie. The makeshift luggage prevented her from seeing the curb, she lost her footing, and tripped, spilling her things around for the second time today in the pickup zone. The heel of her shoe broke, and she tore a hole in her jeans. Good thing torn jeans are hot right now.

  Looking like a sweaty bag lady in need of a shower if not a fix was not her idea of fun. She tried in vain to push her padded bras back inside her now ripped trash bags as she limped to the airport shuttle. The look on her face could toast marshmallows as she hobbled off the parking lot shuttle, rummaged through her stuff looking for another pair of shoes wishing she owned flats. At last, she found her rattletrap car and drove to her apartment in Sterling Heights.

  Chapter Two: Home Again

  Her townhouse was in a long-established complex with mature trees tucked just off Hall Road, a major thoroughfare in a cul-de-sac with a one-way entrance that increased the security and safety of her home. Glad to be home, she unlocked her deadbolt and entered her ultra-modern living room. Her simple but functional furniture made her wish it was less stark, and more homier and warm like the lodge. Surprised to find herself missing the motley assorted collection of worn out but comfortable furnishings, she knew her sisters would surely upgrade it in the coming weeks.

  Bambi, her bamboo plant, and Priscilla, her cactus plant, survived her absence. They looked fine. Jerry, her geranium in the hanging planter on her small patio looked okay too. None of them took that much care. Storme checked her appearance in the assorted collection of wall mirrors that decorated the accent wall of her living room and smiled. When she planned the room’s décor, she wanted it to reflect her style. It certainly did that! Giggling, she looked around. The mirrors were the consistent theme around which she decorated. Her fit five-foot-three self topped by her springy black curls and heart-shaped face dominated the room. The sudden ring of her cell put a halt to the repairs to her makeup.

  “Did you manage to get yourself home alive and in one piece?” a sexy but familiar voice with a Tennessee twang inquired.

  “Mission accomplished, sir. Although I’m not sure I can say the same for the other passengers.”

  “Do I want to know?” he asked cautiously.

  “You probably would wish you hadn’t,” she hedged. “There was a teensy weensy, uh, mishap with my luggage that, uh, involved my, uh—what’s the Southern term for this?—my unmentionables.”

  Hearing his sharp intake of breath, she could picture him raising a hand as if to shade his eyes from the portrait Storme created with her words.

  “The passengers around me were, uh, decorated like a Christmas tree. You’d be surprised how my, uh, clothes dangled from noses and hung around necks...”

  “How did that happen?”

  “There was too much crammed into the compartment, the zipper broke on my carry-on. When the overhead bin was opened, my stuffed exploded in my hands sorta. I guess. It wasn’t fun finding my thong dangling from my sunglasses, and when my Spanx flew that was sorta like a rubber band...”

  “You’re right. I don’t need to know, you are a walking, talking disaster area, woman. What is it with you? Copiers implode, coffee spills, trays fall, water floods—”

  “Now you know why they named me Storme. To hear Mom talk I raised havoc in the womb. Must be the way I’m wired.”

  “I guess so but I don’t remember you causing mayhem as a kid.”

  “You just weren’t looking.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ; I looked all right, just wish I were there when you and Skye went skinny dipping.”

  “Did Luke squeal on us?”

  “That he did in glorious detail, but he was mostly concentrating on Skye.”

  “Good!”

  “Wait. Back up a minute. You wear thongs?”

  “Get over it.”

  “It’s hard when I’ve seen you naked recently.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how I look now. I stuffed my shit into trash bags...”

  “What?”

  “A kind attendant took pity on me and gave me two trash bags that I stuffed my clothes into and then I couldn’t see when I walked. And then I tripped...”

  “Good Grief!”

  “That’s not all.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. Then I fell onto my hands and knees...”

  “How? Why?”

  “Because my heel broke and I skinned my knee and have a big boo-boo.”

  “You have a boo-boo? Wish I were there so I could kiss it all better.”

  “Me too. Would you?”

  “Would I what?”

  “Kiss it and make it all better.”

  “I’d kiss everything—a lot more than your knee too!”

  “Mm, I feel better already.”

  They chatted a few minutes longer and then began their goodbyes. “I’ll call to check on things in a few days or so. You’re not going to be up north very long, right?”

  “Just long enough to settle things. I’ve got a friend who’ll sublet my apartment. Some little details like—oh, I don’t know—packing up to say, run the lodge for a year.”

  Chuckling, he ended the connection. “Bye-bye, sweetie pie.”

  Automatically, Storme said, “Love you, bye.” Oh no! She held the phone to her chest. Dear Gawd, did I just say love you? Please God, don’t let him hear that.

  * * * *

  Back in Tennessee, Craig hung up the phone and reached for the Scotch with a shaky hand. Did my ears deceive me? Did Storme just say love you? Good God, what now? Craig wiped his hand across his face. It was shaking. So were his insides. They were making lazy circles in his belly, and now his cock was rising. God help me. Already sweating, he decided to go for a run on Sugarlands trail. The rushing water was as turbulent as his thoughts.

  Each footfall hit the pine needle covered trail like thunder, reminding him of the hot mess that was Storme. She had a fine ass and one hell of a hot body. That, he knew for sure because he stripped her naked after he caught her in the creek. Her curves were not lost on him. Her t-shirt revealed full breasts with rosy, pebbled nipples. His hard-on was not going away. Stripping down to boxer briefs, he removed his running shoes and dove into the river that ran by the trail. It cooled his ardor considerably. How could he survive Storme? What was that line from Les Miz? There are storms we cannot weather? Liking his pun, he grinned. He was getting pretty good at puns. Storme Weathers had nuthin’ on him. But she did own a sizable section of his head, heart, and all his man parts.

  Chapter Three: Back to the Mountain

  Storme was back in the Smoky Mountains at Sugarlands Lodge where she and her sisters grew up. After confirming that the girls had to run the lodge for a year according to Gram’s will, she left hottie Craig. She hoped she could cope with her twin, Sunny, and older sister, Skye. They looked enough alike to be triplets, but Skye was born the year before the twins. At their casual morning meeting, the sisters divvied up roles and responsibilities. Her role was web design and all things technology. To bring the lodge into the twenty-first century would mean many meetings with Craig, the executor of Gram’s will, since he had final say on costs and fund disbursement. Knowing he wouldn’t give her tr
ouble with computerizing the lodge, she felt secure there. That was in his hands. Thinking of Craig’s hands made her hot, so she upped the air conditioning and unbuttoned a few more buttons until a scrap of lace peeked out. Laughing as she drove through the peaks of the Smokies, she’d revealed her own peaks. Hell, my puns are funny even if no one else thinks so.

  Because she knew the last images Craig had of her involved thongs, she wore a pair today along with a matching flesh-toned skimpy push-up bra. Mary Lou, the office manager, was in place today and buzzed Craig’s phone as she saw Storme arrive atop sky high mules and a very short denim pencil skirt. Storme hoped she wouldn’t remember the mishap with the hot coffee that soaked her blouse, and she sincerely wished that Mary Lou wouldn’t recall her trip and fall that pulled the table runner from the coffee stand and made a huge mess.

  Judging from the way Mary Lou practically carried Storme into Craig’s office, she knew her hopes were futile. The plant she bought Mary Lou as a so sorry gift was not in sight. Maybe Mary Lou loved it so much, she took it home. But then again, maybe not. It’s as if I’m a bull in a china shop and Mary Lou’s afraid to let me in here. Maybe she should bubble wrap the office and encase me in plastic wrap.

  Craig stood to greet her. His eyes strayed to her overflowing bodice and skin tight skirt. What was meant to be a kiss on the cheek changed when Storme cleverly titled her mouth so that it grazed his. Startled, he instinctively altered and deepened the kiss.

  Mary Lou coughed to subtly remind them of her presence. “Anything else you need, Craig? Miss Weathers? Coffee?”

  Remembering last time’s coffee fiasco, Storme declined. Craig’s sigh of relief was audible. He pulled out a seat for Storme, and then tried to settle himself behind his desk. “What brings you here today?”

  “Lodge business. I’m thinking we do things in phases. For example, phase one is what absolutely must be done—mostly repairs and upgrades. Phase two renovations would take care of replacement. Phase three construction, additions, and marketing. You know those money-making marketing strategies that Sunny specializes in. Meanwhile, I have to get the place into the twenty-first century. I need you to look over these plans I made with Bo Davies over at The Biz Mart. He gave me his five percent off deal for locals.”

  Craig took the purchase order from her and flipped through it. “Hmm, he should have given you the standard ten percent. I’ll have to look into that. That darn Bo’s well known for upping the ante, going with the high-end stuff and lining his pocket in the process.”

  Just a tad miffed at being rooked by Bo, she spoke in a terse tone, “I thought you said, and I quote, go local. I went out 441 and purposefully avoided Best Deal.”

  “Oh, you went to the right place. Bo just forgot who he’s dealing with. I’ll remind him. Let me just make a quick call, and I’ll settle this right away.”

  Storme crossed her legs, and her skirt rode high on her thigh. Her foot made small kicks displaying her rising temper. She noticed Craig’s eyes following her foot up to the frown on her face. “What?” he asked

  “I have a mouth, you know.”

  Holding the cell to his chest, he waited for Bo to answer. His eyebrow rose and quirked. “Oh yes, I know.” Winking at Storme, he talked good ole boy talk a few minutes with Bo and finished the call by saying, “Just fax those new purchase orders to my office reflecting the fifteen percent friends and family rate. Good, good. Catch ya soon. We’ll go coon hunting.”

  “Coon hunting? Seriously?” she asked derisively.

  “It’s the south, sweetie pie. It’s how business gets done. You should be happy I saved you fifteen percent. Now you can get Barter to give you a bundle for Internet, Wi-Fi and the other ideas floating in that sharp-as-sewing-scissors head of yours.”

  “Sewing scissors, try electric hedge clippers. They’re a better fit.”

  Throwing his head back and laughing, he said, “I’m not giving you a hard time.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I am just doing my job looking out for Emma Jean’s estate.”

  “And I’m not? I give up my life up north and come down here and you give me a hard time. I’m grieving, remember? I’m doing my level best to work with my estranged sisters who aren’t all that easy to work with, ya know...” Her lower lip trembled, her hands worked in her lap, balling into a fist as if she were holding herself together in her fierce grip.

  Sympathy crossed and softened his face. “I know, sweetie, I know,” he said, pulling up a file on his desktop computer and printing it. As he came to stand over her, he handed her the printout, and she reviewed it.

  * * * *

  His eyes ate her up as he perched on the corner of his desk. He pretended not to notice the sheen of tears in her big blue eyes. He saw she took her time reading. Her face didn’t reveal her feelings. Craig was uncomfortable with her silence and the intensity she exuded as she donned black rimmed glasses. Her brow puckered as she read. Leaning toward her, he moved into her personal space enough to make her aware of his interest and the pull between them. He hoped that her nether parts were responding. Moving closer he caught her perfume and began to fidget with his tie. “You’ll see I looked at the industry and have suggested the best buy for the dollar. Emma Jean made do on a shoestring. To make a profit and get where you aim to go, you have to invest in the entire infrastructure. That includes computers, cash registers, as well as electrical and plumbing. Are you satisfied?”

  A slow sensuous smile crossed her face, her previous pique forgotten. “I wouldn’t quite say that,” she said and winked, “But I do like what you’ve outlined here. You budgeted for all this? You’ve upgraded my wish list.”

  “Yes. I have. You get what you pay for. The purchase orders are set if you approve these suggestions.”

  * * * *

  With a delighted squeal long repressed, she launched herself at Craig, intending to give him a huge thank you hug and overbalanced. Not prepared for the onslaught, he fell back on his desk, dislodging files, folders, papers, pens. Trying to straighten up, he grabbed Storme, and she fell forward as he went back on the desk. To steady herself, she placed one leg on either side of him. Now straddling him and pressed to his chest, she noticed his interest. Uh oh, he’s hard. With that prod, she knew she had inadvertently aroused him. Things fell to the floor and they were in a compromising position when Mary Lou burst into the room.

  “Oh My God! What happened?” she cried. Seeing Storme’s short skirt ride up revealing her thong, she quickly excused herself saying, “Buzz me if you need, uh, anything.” And then she left.

  “I think I mooned Mary Lou,” Storme said.

  Righting themselves, Storme’s body plastered to his, he asked, “What do you mean, mooned her?”

  Straightening her skirt, she said saucily, “I’m wearing a flesh colored thong.”

  “Oh, good grief!” he muttered, looking at the mess.

  Storme bent down to help him.

  “Stop! Don’t touch a thing. I’ve got this.”

  Attempting to get back to business, Storme surveyed the havoc in the room. “Maybe Phase one should be replacements, upgrades, and repairs.”

  A wry tone in his voice, Craig simply said, “I agree.”

  “We done here?” she asked.

  “I’d say so, but before you go, are you doing the Heritage Hike this weekend?”

  “I was thinking about it,” she said. “You?”

  “It’s backcountry so I’m taking my tent. It’s a two person.” Craig looked hopeful.

  “Are you offering to share it?”

  “Looks like it, but there is a trail shelter too. Bring your sleeping bag in any case.”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “I am mountain bred, ya know.”

  “How about, I pick you up six AM sharp?”

  “It’s a date.”

  Craig looked pleased.

  “You sure about this?” she asked. “With my...” she looked aro
und at his office that was in shambles, “history?”

  Gulping, he nodded. “Be sure to wear the right gear.” He looked at her spiked heels.

  With a wink, she said, “You mean my thong, right?”

  “That too.”

  Chapter Four: The Hike

  Craig had carried his tent, not planning to use the trail shelter. Trying to be chivalrous, he had carried Storme’s backpack. Storme welcomed our make-out sessions. Maybe she’ll join me in my tent.

  In minutes, he had his tent pitched. Since he had Storme’s backpack and sleeping bag, he unzipped both sleeping bags, making a double bed out of them. He laid the foam pieces and his heavy-duty bag down as the mattress and then added Storme’s as the cover. They warmed pork and beans and added sliced pieces of hot dogs and Craig said, “Dinner’s served, Madame.”

  Accepting the fare, she dug into it as if she was famished. “This is really good.”

  “I know, right?” he responded.

  As they were finishing their dinner and cleaning up, Craig said, “Let’s hike to the lookout to catch the sunset.”

  “That would be great,” she untied the hoodie at her waist and put it on to ward off the growing night chill. They walked the short trail, then sat on a boulder watching the sun set over the Chimney Tops Mountain. The view was panoramic. The sky started out gold, faded into peach tones, and finally ended with a dusky rose. The lights of Sevierville flickered. The only light came from the surrounding towns and the moon.

  “These lights remind me of the synchronous firefly show,” Craig said.

  “Yes, being at Elkmont we get premier seats.”

  Craig moved to sit next to Storme, putting his arm around her slim shoulders and nuzzled her neck. She snuggled closer, nestling into his body. They left when the sun went down and rain began to fall. In next to no time, they were soaked.

  “Can I show you my etchings?” he asked as he unzipped his small tent.