Cockpit
Throttle Up
Book One
Kate Deveaux
Genre: Erotic Romance
Publisher: Ellora’s Cave
Date of Publication: June 3, 2015
ISBN: 9781419991868
ASIN:
Number of pages: 65
Word Count: 30,000
Book Description:
It seems turbulence isn’t always caused by weather.
Throttle up as past loves collide…
High school sweethearts re unite forty years later at 37,000 feet.
Fifty eight year old commercial airline pilot, Bobbi Cooper, gets a blast from the past when her high school sweetheart, Mack McConnell, appears as one her first class passengers on her 747 transatlantic flight to London.
Used to being in control at all times, Bobbi is reeling from a crummy marriage and she must learn at Mack’s capable hands that losing control can be oh so sexy.
Available at Amazon BN Ellora’s Cave
Excerpt:
There was silence. Then the familiar
sensation of her stomach being dragged down, right down to her standard issue
black shoes. G force. It was the same every time.
Flicking off the autopilot and taking
control of the 747, Bobbi gripped the throttle in her right hand, fearlessly
pushing it forward. Slow and even. The plane bounced and shook in the wake
turbulence of a passing 767. The muffled sounds of passengers’ outbursts at the
sudden drop mingled with the clatter and clang of the galley carts that Bobbi
damn well hoped were secured as she’d ordered.
They had to head to higher airspace.
Now.
Bobbi knew better than to heed the
shrill rapid warnings echoing throughout the cockpit to urgently trim to
turbulence penetration airspeed.
Scott, her first officer, nodded as
they increased power and held the jet seemingly against its will. Dozens of
lights flashed. Air traffic control rattled off a series of confirmations when she
pressed the plane higher, the metal creaking as she forced nearly a million
pounds of steel and its occupants upward.
Pushing the throttle hard, Bobbi knew
smooth air was only a few moments away. Under her guidance, the plane jostled
and battled its way through the rough air. A sudden bump, followed by another,
then the resulting loud gasp from the passengers.
Holding firm at her command, they broke
through the rough air into an eerie smoothness as they glided seemingly
effortlessly into calmer airspace.
Bobbi exhaled, only now aware she’d
been holding her breath. Turbulence was an everyday occurrence for a seasoned
pilot like herself, but this had caught her off guard. A heady mix of bad
weather and the wake turbulence of the other aircraft had left her reeling when
she tried to steady the 747 inbound for Heathrow.
Scott turned away to double-check some
details with the flight engineer seated behind him. Bobbi wiped a trickle of
sweat from her brow when he wasn’t looking. As captain of the immense beast, Bobbi
couldn’t let her fellow officers—or any crew for that matter—see her sweat
under pressure. And that was becoming more of an issue, since hot flashes were
now often brought on not by an adrenaline rush from flying but by Mother
Nature.
Bobbi Cooper couldn’t believe she would
be fifty-eight next year. Where had the time gone?
She knew damn well where it had gone.
First a stepping-stone career in the Air Force and then thirty years flying
commercial. Enough to establish her as one of the highest-ranking woman pilots
in the country as a 747 captain for Atlantica airlines.
“Perfect,” Bobbi said, switching back
to autopilot and settling the aircraft into the calmer and higher altitude.
Scott did as she ordered and tinkered
with the gauges, she watched. Once she was sure all was under control, Bobbi
unbuckled her shoulder harness and rose from her seat, reassured all was
secure.
“Keep her on route—I’m stepping back
for a moment. You two got it?” she asked, standing behind her first officer
Scott and her flight engineer Neville, the new recruit fresh from a small
regional airline.
“Sure, Bob, we got it,” Scott said casually, calling her by the
familiar cockpit nickname. “Have them send up some coffee while you’re back
there.”
Bobbi buzzed for the flight attendant to open the cockpit door.
Standard procedure after 9/11. Bobbi peered out through the peephole. It was
Sandy, the flight attendant with a penchant for displaying her ample cleavage
by wearing her uniform extra tight, so it hugged all her curves. But it wasn’t
only her inappropriate dress that annoyed Bobbi. It was the fact she’d also had
fucked Bobbi’s husband.
But then again, who hasn’t?
After divorce and company paid-for counseling, Bobbi had come to
the realization, and then acceptance, that Sandy was just one on a long list of
Greg’s conquests. She did her best not to hold a grudge, but that was a
constant challenge, as she ran into Sandy more than she would have liked. Once
a century was about what Bobbi could tolerate, although it had been cleared by
corporate that they were fine to work together. And they were. Bobbi was a
professional. Through and through. She’d fought tooth and nail for her job, and
with three and a half years until retirement, with the promise of a cushy
pension waiting for her, which she’d only have to marginally share with Greg
according to the settlement, there was no way she was going to let Sandy or any
of the others put her off her game.
“How’d everyone do?” Bobbi asked Sandy with her cool, composed
captain’s demeanor. It was the one piece of her dignity she’d salvaged among
the women flight attendants, a good majority of whom had been treated to Greg’s
lustful attentions.
Sandy motioned with her head back toward the passenger area.
“Fine,” she reported. “Chucker in aisle sixteen and a few more farther back,
but they should be fine now.”
Chuckers. That was what they called the
passengers who couldn’t hang on to lunch during a bumpy flight. Today had been
a doozy, and it wasn’t over yet.
Bobbi noticed with subtle irritation that Sandy’s blouse strained
against her perky breasts as she efficiently flicked the switch on the coffee
machine. Her bosom jiggled while she scooped ice into a plastic cup and pulled
a can of tomato juice out of the galley cart. Shit. Greg really hadn’t had a chance. Big brown doe eyes and a
body that wouldn’t quit. The sexy flight attendant was everything Bobbi wasn’t.
Not that it mattered now. Greg was on to new, greener pastures. Her ex was
consistent she scoffed —his conquests all had one, no make that two things in
common— big knockers and tiny, round asses. Men were shit, really. Why she had
let herself be demeaned and embarrassed by his bad behavior for as long as she had,
she’d never know.
C’est le vie, Bobbi coached herself as she
smiled her most innocuous smile at Sandy.
“Plan for a bumpy ride in to Heathrow—there’ll be some more
weather ahead,” Bobbi warned her. “Might need more bags.”
“Sure thing, Captain,” Sandy said as she snapped open the lid on
the can, poured the tomato juice over ice and handed it to Bobbi.
Bobbi nodded her appreciation and gulped down her customary in-flight
refreshment. “I’m going back for a few minutes,” she said, handing the empty
cup back to Sandy before pulling back the curtain to first class. “And send
some coffee in for Scott and Neville before we head down, please.”
Entering the first-class cabin on her way to the pilot’s rest area
located between first class and business, Bobbi scanned the spacious cabin.
Most of her passengers were now contentedly dozing, oblivious to the formidable
battle she’d been waging in the cockpit to keep them in precariously calm
airspace. But that was her job—to deliver five hundred souls safely to London.
Sunlight illuminated the plush first-class cabin through a few
half-drawn window shades, but not quite to enough to keep the blinding sun from
searing into her eyes. Squinting, she walked down the aisle, passing by the
first row.
A collective gasp came from the passengers when the plane hit
another deep air pocket. Bobbi reached out to steady herself, placing her hand
on the headrest of the second row seat for a brief second, smiling reassuringly
at the surrounding passengers. She was their pilot, after all.
The passenger in the nearest seat looked up at her.
Bobbi smiled down, then did a double take.
“Bobbi?” the male passenger asked, looking up at her. “Bobbi…Bobbi
Cooper?”
“Yes,” Bobbi said, instantly recognizing his features. Her mind
was spinning. Those dark-blue eyes. And that unmistakable voice. Velvety and
thick. The way scotch felt when it slid down her throat. She’d know that voice
and that face anywhere. Even if it had been forever.
It was Mack.
About the Author:
Kate Deveaux is a contemporary, erotic romance writer and die-hard romantic. It was after reading Jane Eyre in high school, that she became hooked on the idea of writing about romance, excitement and drama. Kate has been penning stories, from the sensual to the sinfully sexy, ever since.
A former wedding planner, Kate has always been "in love" with love! She was inspired to transition from writing racy short stories to full length manuscripts after meeting other authors in the romance world at industry workshops, conferences and events. Originally from England, now resides in the U.S. with her husband. When she’s not writing or reading, Kate can be found on the tennis court—yes, there’s even "love" in that game too!
Author website: http://www.katedeveaux.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KateDeveaux
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/katedeveaux
Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/104114173171800541171/posts
1 comment:
Thanks so much for the tour stop!
Best,
Kate
xx
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