He wanted to chase storms.
I wanted to fuck him.
Things would have worked out fine, if it hadn’t been for the final storm.
Seth Johnson was everything my mama had warned me about—sexy, charming, and very married. In my defense, I didn’t find out he was married until after we’d fucked the first time. It happened on the job—real professional, I know—but, the thing is, when you’re chasing storms there’s this electricity in the air from the lightning, the wind, and the danger. It’s easy to get caught up in it and carried away.
I was Dorothy. Seth was the tornado.
The first time I saw Seth, he was on the Weather Channel talking about a hurricane threatening Florida. Around him, trees whipped back and forth, bent nearly in two. Lightning struck a pole near his Jeep, but he was not afraid; he was excited. I swear, a car flew by him at one point and he just grinned. The footage made my nipples hard and my pussy wet, something that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Later, I watched him on CNN showing off his latest video and talking about a once in a lifetime opportunity to storm chase one-on-one with him in his chase vehicle as a volunteer with his team. Volunteers could drive their own cars as part of the team but I was not interested in that. No, I wanted to be sitting next to Mr. six-foot-five, fine as hell, badass, storm chaser extraordinaire, Seth.
I interviewed with his assistant, got the job, and the rest is history.
We had each other’s clothes off by lunchtime my first day. All morning we sat in his car, listening to the storm reports as he wooed me with talk of F-5 tornados, category five hurricanes, flash floods, baseball-sized hailstones, and lightning strikes.