Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition by Alessia Brio Page A

I won't be in all week.
I'm going to take my vacation now, if that's okay with What's-his-face ."
    Della
giggled. What's-his-face , their supervisor, was notorious for
his inability to remember anyone's name. The staff returned the
courtesy by bestowing the nickname. "I'm sure it will be, but
what about—you know— the challenge ? I figured you'd
be all over it by now."
    "I am,
sugar. I am." Stormy explained, "I'm going to Costa Rica."
    "Oh!"
Della exclaimed, and after a pause to digest the significance of that
revelation added, "You go, girl!"
    "Do me
a favor, will you? Please don't tell anyone where I'm going."
    Della's
pledge of secrecy obtained, Stormy realized that she had very little
time to prepare. She rushed about, putting a hold on her mail, taking
her cat to the neighbor's, making a few phone calls, and packing a
small, waterproof bag with just very basic clothes and toiletries. By
the time she'd finished, it was time to head for the airport.
    Stormy
enjoyed an uneventful flight from Pittsburgh to Charlotte, even
managing, uncharacteristically, to nap from take-off to landing.
During the brief layover, she grabbed a bite to eat and examined the challenge anew.
    It was in
Starbucks that she first noticed him: tall with curly salt-n-pepper
hair; clean shaven; business suit with cowboy boots. He had an air
about him. Supremely self-confident, but not arrogant.
    Choosing an
adjacent table, if those Frisbee-sized things could accurately be
called tables, Stormy caught a whiff of his cologne. Mmm! One
of her favorite scents. He pecked away at a fancy-looking laptop,
thoroughly absorbed in the activity.
    Stormy
studied him obliquely. The suit looked expensive. The boots were
polished. Square jaw. Amazing hands. Long fingers, rugged but not
calloused. No wedding ring. Impeccably groomed. Broad shoulders with
not a trace of pudge around the waistline. Seriously fuckable, was
Stormy's final assessment as she tossed her empty cup in the can and
strolled to her boarding gate.
    Looking
forward to a full three hours' rest during the non-stop service from
Charlotte to San Jose, the capitol of Costa Rica, Stormy found her
seat and grabbed three tiny airline pillows. The flight was far from
full, and with any luck, she'd have a whole row of seats to herself.
Next year at this time, she vowed to herself, this same flight would
be booked to capacity thanks to her winning campaign.
    She buckled
up to avoid being pestered to do so at take-off, rested her head
against the window, and closed her eyes—putting on her best "Do
Not Disturb" persona in the hopes that the adjacent seats would
remain vacant so she could stretch out later.
    Waking with
a start, Stormy realized that the plane was in the air and that she
did indeed have the row to herself. She turned sideways to put up her
legs and noticed HIM—the Starbucks guy—across the aisle.
He looked at her intently, with a rather cryptic expression on his
face, and his gaze was unnerving. Stormy felt her body respond.
    "Business
or pleasure?" he suddenly asked.
    "What?
Oh, um—business, actually. Maybe some pleasure. You?"
    "Same,"
he said, extending his hand across the aisle. "I'm Charlie."
    Unbuckling,
Stormy scooted over to the aisle seat, "Stormy. Nice to meet
you."
    She would
have gladly continued the conversation, but Charlie turned back to
his newspaper. So, Stormy put up her feet and tried again to sleep.
Images of this enigmatic man danced through her mind, making her
fidget a bit. She realized that perhaps she should have packed her
vibrator. After all, the last thing she needed was the distraction of
perpetual horniness. On such a short trip with such an important
objective, she simply did not have time for such diversions.
    The next
thing she knew, Charlie's hands gripped her ass. His lips met hers in
an exquisitely languorous kiss—their bodies one, sweat
shimmering on skin. Intense. Grinding.
    Stormy's own
groan woke her. Disoriented, she looked about, with