In Flight (2 page)

As I stared at him, frozen in place, he smiled at me, his expression almost affectionate.
 
His mouth looked so soft, pretty even, framing his straight white teeth.
 
Even his nose was perfect, straight and appealing.
 
He was just so stunningly good-looking. The thought struck me, not for the first time, how unfair it was for one man to be that devastatingly handsome and also a billionaire still in his twenties.
 
Anyone born so privileged was surely an awful person.
 
He’d probably never suffered a day in his life.
 
He’d probably had everything handed to him so easily that he was already arrogant and dissolute, bored with things that the rest of us strived for.
 
There was no outward sign of that, but how could I see past his stunning outward appearance when I was so easily distracted by the beauty of it?
 

I quickly snapped myself out of that line of thought.
 
I was being unfair, I knew.
 
I knew nothing about this man and I certainly couldn’t judge his character poorly based on what I’d observed so far.
 
I hadn’t realized how bitter my attitude had become towards those born to privilege.
 
My own upbringing had been stark and brutal, and I had personally experienced a profound level of poverty, but I couldn’t let that be an excuse to pass harsh judgement on someone who had been nothing but polite to me.
 
I had to keep telling myself that, but being hopelessly attracted to him wasn’t helping.
 
That unwilling attraction made me instinctively want to lash out.

I swallowed, trying to wet my suddenly dry throat.
 
“Hello again, Mr. Cavendish.”
 
I tried to nod at him politely, but as I did so, my drink tray wobbled precariously.

Mr. Cavendish moved unbelievably fast, half-standing to steady my tray over the seat between us.
 
I watched in abject horror as a splash of champagne made it onto the sleeve of his dark gray suit jacket.
 
That suit undoubtedly cost more than I made in a month.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cavendish.”
 
My voice was breathless and soft, which further flustered me.

 
He ran his free hand restlessly through his straight, sandy hair.
 
The silky strands seemed to stay artfully out of his face.
 
It was supermodel hair.
 
Damn him.

“Don’t be sorry, Bianca,” he admonished me in a velvety deep voice.
 
Even his voice was unfair.
 
I reeled at the knowledge that he’d remembered my name.

He steadied my arm gallantly, and eventually released my tray when I told him I had it under control.
 

He turned down my offer of a glass of champagne.
 
I belatedly recalled that he didn’t touch any kind of alcohol.
 

“Just some water, when you get a chance,” he told me with a warm smile.
 

I finished my champagne pre-board service.
 
I still had only five passengers, so it took me no time at all.
 

I set my tray on the counter in the galley and went back through to collect jackets and take orders for the inflight service.
 

As I approached Mr. Cavendish again, he looked up intently from his phone, and my heartbeat went into overdrive as our gazes met again.
 
“Can I take your jacket, Mr. Cavendish?” I asked him, my voice still strangely breathless.
 
“I could try to get that champagne out, or just hang it up, if you like.”

He stood, having to step into the aisle to do so completely.
 
He was suddenly so close to me that I gasped.
 
I was mortified at my reaction to him.
 
I prided myself on my professionalism.
 
And my reaction to his close proximity was most definitely
not
professional.

I was tall, nearly five foot ten barefoot, and easily six one now in my work shoes.
 
But the top of my head still only came up to his nose.
 
He was at least Stephan’s height, maybe an inch taller.
 
I always felt a little awkward around shorter men, but this height, this extremely tall man, had the opposite effect.
 
He made me feel feminine and small.
 
I enjoyed the feeling, but was extremely unnerved by it.

He shrugged out of his finely tailored suit jacket, handing it to me.
 
He remained in a fine white dress shirt with a pale blue tie.
 
I saw that, although he was lean and elegant, he was also surprisingly muscular.
 
The sight of that hard play of muscles under his shirt made my mouth go dry.
 

“Just hang it, please, Bianca,” he told me softly.

“Yes, Sir,” I murmured in a voice I scarcely recognized.

I finished my usual pre-board service in a bit of a daze, barely locking down all of the carts in my galley before it was time to step again in front of Mr. Cavendish for the safety demonstration.

He watched me intently, his gaze never leaving my face.
 
I didn’t understand his interest.
 
Never once had his gaze left my face.
 
I sensed that he was interested in me.
 
But in what way?
 
I had no idea.
 
Usually when men hit on me, their eyes were all over my body, not unswervingly glued to my eyes.

My demonstration was unusually graceless.
 
I even fumbled with the seat buckle in my nervousness.
 
I took my seat for takeoff with a sense of relief.
 
I needed a moment of peace to gather my composure.
 
But it wasn’t meant to be.
 
My jump seat faced Mr. Cavendish almost perfectly.
 
I had to make a conscious effort not to meet his eyes during the long taxi and then takeoff.

CHAPTER TWO

Mr. Generous

Stephan clutched my hand warmly as we took off.
 
We both loved the feeling of takeoff.
 
It represented good things for both of us.
 
New places.
 
New adventures.
 
Leaving bad things behind us.
 
I sent him a quick, affectionate smile before I looked out the window in the door to my right, avoiding looking at Mr. Cavendish for as long as I could.

Finally, I stole a furtive glance at him, and was baffled by the change I saw in him.
 
He was still as a statue now, his eyes positively glacial.
 
I followed his gaze to where my hand lay linked with Stephan’s on the small space between our jump seats.
 
It occurred to me that it must look as though we were a couple.
 
Stephan and I often appeared that way, even encouraged it at times.
 
All but our close friends and Stephan’s lovers thought we were an item.
 
But it made me uncomfortable that Mr. Cavendish might make that assumption.
 
Even so, it couldn’t account for his suddenly hostile demeanor.
 
I barely knew the man.
   

We quickly reached ten thousand feet.
 
At the double ding that indicated our altitude, I got up and quickly started preparing a hot towel service while Stephan made his usual announcements.
 
He leaned in close against my back, nearly embracing me as he spoke in my ear.
 
“Mind if I go help the main cabin?” he asked me.
 
“They have a full house.”

I sent him a puzzled glance.
 
“I’ll do it after the hot towels.
 
It’s my turn, remember?”
 

It was our usual routine to help out in back when the first class cabin was light and the main cabin was at capacity.
 
We certainly didn’t need two people to serve five passengers that were all probably about to pass out.
 
But he had helped in coach last time, so we both knew it was my turn to help in back.

He just kissed the top of my head, shaking his.
 
“I need to talk to Jake about that incident report from last week, and he’s got the front cart, so we can chat while we work.
 
Good luck up here.”
 
And with that, he disappeared.
 
I sighed, exasperated.
 
For once, I actually wanted to work back there.
 
It would give me a little break from Mr. Beautiful up front.
 
But I certainly wasn’t going to put up a fuss about it, so I would just have to deal.

Mr. Cavendish barely glanced at me now as I handed out hot towels, then collected them.
 
Why did that bother me so much?
 
I didn’t want to delve too deeply into the thought.

I took drink orders, and served the first round of drinks quickly.
 
The couple on the last row of first class seemed to be heavy drinkers, but the others just had water and looked close to falling asleep.
 
I’d be surprised if most of them weren’t asleep before I’d even finished my short service.
 

I took a cart out, offering cheese, crackers, and an olive basil dip.
 
It took me less than five minutes to serve the entire cabin.
 
Mr. Cavendish took a small plate of cheese with water, and the couple in back took some, but the other two declined and were sleeping before I was even back in the galley.
 

As I collected the plates, I was surprised to find that even the couple who’d been drinking cocktails had fallen asleep.
 
I had read them all wrong.
 
They were the ‘drink a few and fall asleep couple’.
 
I had thought for sure they were just getting started.
 

Mr. Cavendish was suddenly the only passenger awake in my cabin.
 
It felt strangely as though we were alone.
 
The curtain was closed securely on main cabin, and the lights were dimmed to near darkness throughout the entire plane.
 

He was working quietly on his laptop, looking alert and nowhere close to sleep.
 
Would he work straight through the night?
I wondered.
 
I couldn’t imagine him getting to New York and taking a nap.
 
He likely worked around the clock.
 
Our flight time was four hours and forty-three minutes, and it was now the middle of the night.
 
Something urgent must be keeping him up if he couldn’t even take a small nap on the flight.
   

I approached him, leaning down to speak to him quietly, conscious of the other sleeping passengers, though they were all at the back of first class, and he was nearly at the front.
 
“Can I get you anything else, Sir?”

For the first time since we’d taken off, he gave me his full attention.
 
“May I ask you something, Bianca?” he asked me in a carefully bland tone.

I raised my brows in question.
 
“Yes, Sir.
 
What can I help you with?”

He sighed, indicating the empty seat next to his.
 
“Can you sit for a minute to talk?”

I glanced around nervously, not knowing what to make of his request.
 
It seemed unprofessional to sit down next to him, but he had asked, and he was the only one likely to see me do it.
 

“Sit, Bianca.
 
Everyone else is beyond caring.”
 
I loved the way he said my name.
 
Loved it and was disconcerted by it.
 
It was nothing I could put my finger on, but something about his tone made it sound almost intimate.

I took a deep breath and finally just sat down beside him.
 
I angled toward him slightly, my hands in my lap, tugging my skirt down and smoothing the dark gray material nervously.

“Are you and Stephan together?” he asked frankly, when I finally looked up at him.
 
I just blinked for a moment, stunned.
 
I hadn’t expected his interest, let alone this kind of bluntness.
 
I guessed that men so busy they couldn’t even take a nap on a plane weren’t the type to beat around the bush.
 

“No, Sir,” I answered, before I could really think it through.
 
“We’re best friends, but it’s platonic.”
 
Why am I telling him this?
 
I asked myself, even as the words left my mouth.

I watched with an avid fascination as one of his elegant hands reached towards mine, long fingers circling my left wrist lightly.
 
I looked back at his face, and he was smiling now.
 
My chest was rising and falling so heavily that I caught the motion at the edge of my vision.
 
My chest was ample, too much so, making me look disproportionate to my own critical eye.
 
And suddenly, I was all too conscious of my heavy breasts, rising and falling conspicuously.
 
My nipples were tightening up in a pleasurable way as my breath caught.
 

As though he read my mind, his gaze traveled down to my chest for the first time that I’d noticed.
 
Some men only looked at or spoke to my chest, and up until now he’d done the opposite of that, which I had found refreshing.
 

He reached a hand to the thin, mock men’s tie that lay between my breasts, running a light finger along it.
 
He made a deep humming noise in his throat, then pulled his hand quickly back.