In Flight(3)

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.”