In Flight - R. K. Lilley

CHAPTER ONE

Mr. Cavendish

My hands trembled slightly as I prepared my galley for the first class, pre-board service. My whole body hummed nervously as I pulled a chilled bottle of champagne from the large drawer of ice at the bottom of my liquor cart. I felt more than heard my best friend, Stephan, sweep into the curtained galley behind me.

“Showtime, Bee,” he said briskly.

I felt him tucking errant blond hairs back into my sleek chignon. In spite of his fussing, I knew it was smooth. Since we were departing from our hometown of Las Vegas, we had taken a shuttle from our airline’s headquarters directly to the plane. This meant that we got to bypass security completely. No metal detectors meant bobby pins. And bobby pins meant that my smooth, pale blond hair would behave itself perfectly.

But Stephan liked to fuss over me. He was by far the most affectionate person I knew. And certainly the only one I would permit to touch me, even in a casual manner.

He had earned those rights with me over many years of being my best friend. Best friend and so much more. Constant companion, confidante, partner, former roommate, and currently, my neighbor. He was also my inflight buddy-bid partner. We were completely inseparable.

There were times when it felt like he was more of an extension of me than an actual separate person. We were that close. Yes, we were codependent, there was no question, but we’d been partners for too many years to operate any other way.

There was no question that he was the most important person in my life. When I heard the word family, I thought of only one person, and that person was Stephan.

“We already have five seated in first class. Where’s my manifest?” he asked

I handed it to him without a word. I’d had the passenger list tucked into my leather menu sleeve. I had already glanced at it. It was the reason that my hands weren’t quite steady. There was no other reason for me to be so nervous. I was preparing for a nearly empty redeye flight, with only a minimal service. The only challenge on this flight was normally to stay awake.

“You’ve got to get a look at 2D,” Stephan was saying with an exaggerated, dreamy sigh. His statement, and that dreamy sigh, were both very un-Stephan like, but I knew well the reason for the change in him. That reason had elicited some very uncharacteristic responses from me, as well.

“Yes, that’s Mr. Cavendish,” I said in a steady voice.

Big, elegant hands smoothed over the shoulders of my fitted, charcoal-gray suit vest. “You sound like you know him.” There was a question in his voice.

“Mmm hmm.” I tried my best for casual. “He was on that charter flight I had to work without you last week. He was meeting with the CEO. Mr. Cavendish is that bigwig hotel owner.”

Stephan snapped his fingers behind me. I finally turned to look at him, raising a brow.

The clear blue eyes that met my own could have belonged to my brother, if I’d had one. In fact, you could say that about the two of us in general. Our golden blond hair was nearly the same shade, though his had a wavy texture. His was brushed back artfully and hung just past his ears. We were both tall and lean, though he had me beat by several inches. Even my heels didn’t make up the difference. Also, our features had a similar, nordic cast. Yes, we could have easily passed for siblings. And I certainly thought of him as a brother. I had for close to a decade now.

“I’ve heard of him! That dude is a billionaire! Melissa will go into heat when she finds out. We’re gonna see her backing, ass first, into first class, as soon as she realizes who we’ve got up here!”

I tried to smother a laugh at the visual he’d painted. And, sadly, he probably wasn’t all that far off the mark.

Melissa was one of the three flight attendants working in the main cabin of the 757. We had just started our new schedule with a new main cabin crew. Stephan and I always worked together in first class, we bid it that way, but our main cabin crew changed every few months. Our current bid was scheduled to last three months, and we were just getting to know our other flying mates. We were all getting along fine, so far.

Melissa was the loudest personality of the bunch, and so, for better or worse, we were learning all about her first. She was one of those girls who had become a flight attendant to meet men. Or more specifically, to meet rich men. She was new to the airline, so she was stuck working in coach. Or, as she said, slumming it. She coveted my position of first class flight attendant, or even Stephan’s position of Lead flight attendant.

Stephan and I had started at our small company four years ago, in the very first flight attendant class, and so had years of seniority over her. Melissa had started as an inflight maybe six months ago, which meant she wouldn’t even be able to apply for a first class position for another six months. And after that she wouldn’t be able to hold a line in first class for another six months.

Instead, she would be on call, with a totally chaotic schedule that wouldn’t allow for any planned destinations. And when she did get a steady line, it would be the worst line available, with short overnight trips in hotels right by the airport. From what I’d gathered from the fortune-hunters I’d worked with over the years, none of those things were conducive to planning assignations with rich men.

Melissa had been beyond lucky to get on our line for the next three months. It was a coveted line, with regular weekly overnights in New York. We would stay in our best crew hotel, which was less than two blocks from Central Park. It was a senior line, and we’d all been surprised to get such a junior member on our crew. But she still complained, often pointing out that she was just made for first class. Her constant complaints were already starting to wear on the crew.

Stephan gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading into the flight deck to have a briefing with the pilots. This was the main reason that Stephan took the position of lead while I took the first class galley position. I hated dealing with pilots. Stephan handled them beautifully, often playing my boyfriend when they acted even slightly interested in me on a personal level. Half of the people we worked with thought we were an item. Stephan wasn’t out openly. It was a personal choice he’d made a long time ago, and one I understood completely. He’d had a rough time of it when he came out to his parents about being gay, and just felt safer keeping his preferences to himself.

I popped the cork off of the champagne bottle quickly and quietly, filling five glasses with practiced ease. I took slow, deep breaths to manage my nerves. I was used to managing a certain amount of anxiety. I tended to be an anxious person, though I hid it well. I just wasn’t used to this type of nervous tension, or this much of it. And the cause of it today was, well, out of character for me, to say the least.

I swept from the galley with a burst of forced confidence. If I could keep a full drink tray steady at thirty-five thousand feet, in three and a half inch heels and turbulence on a regular basis, I could certainly serve a few drinks on steady ground.

I was doing just fine, my tray-laden arm steady, my feet sure, right up until I looked up from the ground and into the vibrant turquoise eyes of Mr. Cavendish.

As seemed to be his habit in our very brief acquaintance, he was watching me intently. His lean, elegant figure was lounging in the cream leather seat with a casual boredom that his eyes lacked. Was it his intent stare that unnerved me so badly? Probably. That intent gaze seemed to hold me strangely captivated. It could also have something to do with the fact that he was hands-down the most attractive person I’d ever seen. And I saw a lot. I’d served all types. From soaps stars, to movie stars, to all types of models. Hell, even Stephan was undoubtedly model material. But this man was quite simply the most stunning person I’d laid eyes on in my twenty-three years.

It was not one feature in particular that made him stand out so starkly, though all of his seemed flawless. Perhaps it was his deep golden complexion, combined with his sandy brown hair, which hung straight, just hitting the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. It was that light brown color that sat somewhere between blonde and brown, choosing neither, but somehow hit a shade that was lovelier than both. And his deep tan belonged on a surfer, or at least someone with dark hair and eyes. But his eyes weren’t dark. They were a bright turquoise and stood out starkly with his unusual coloring. And they were so damn piercing…I felt as though he knew things about me with just a look, things he couldn’t possibly know.

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.

He cleared his throat softly. “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked, finally looking back into my eyes.

I bit my lip and shook my head. His gaze went to my mouth at the motion. He watched me with a singleminded focus that I couldn’t seem to look away from.

“Good,” he said. Is this really happening? I thought, dazed. “I assume you’re taking a nap when you get to your hotel. What time will you be waking up?”

Lord, he was direct. Unusually so. It seemed to be swaying me from my normal ways. I was used to gently turning men down before they could directly ask me out. The tactic had always served me well. It saved me awkwardness, and saved their pride. I couldn’t seem to use it on Mr. Cavendish, though. When he asked me a question, I felt almost compelled to answer it truthfully.

“I usually sleep for about four hours, so I can still get to sleep at night. We have an early flight to Las Vegas on Saturday morning. If I slept any longer than that, I’d be up all night.”

He did quick calculations in his head, then asked. “So noon?”

I nodded, wondering why I wasn’t yet explaining that I wouldn’t go out with him. Or do any of the things that he obviously had on his mind…

“I’ll send a car to pick you up for lunch,” he told me. So he wasn’t going to ask me out. He was apparently going to order me out. Why was I having such a hard time getting the words out to tell him no? “You and I need to talk,” he continued. “I have a proposition for you.”

The word proposition, which to my ear had a seedy ring to it, finally brought me back to myself. I shook my head finally, galvanized back into my normal behavior. “No, Mr. Cavendish. I’m flattered that you’re…interested in me in some way. But I’ll have to politely decline. I don’t date.”

He blinked at me, clearly taken aback. He was silent for a moment before he tried another tact. “I don’t date, either, actually. That was not exactly what I had in mind.”

This is good, I told myself around my bruised ego. Of course he wouldn’t want to date you. He probably only dated useless socialites who had never had to work a day in their lives. I wanted him to continue with his explanation now, sure it would kill every ounce of the unwilling interest I felt for him.

“Then what did you have in mind?” I asked him, my voice colder now.

His gaze was hot suddenly, his finger running again along my thin tie. I had to check the impulse to look down and make sure my hardening nipples weren’t outlined through my shirt and vest. “I think you and I are very compatible. In fact, I’m sure of it. Come to lunch with me today and I’ll show you. If you still aren’t interested, I will, of course, leave you alone. But I promise I can make you interested. I’ll treat you very well, Bianca. I’m a very generous man-”

I held up my free hand. I was so done with the conversation. I felt slightly ill, but more aroused, and the combination was troubling to me. “Please, no more,” I told him stiffly. “I’m not interested in any of that, believe me. I don’t know what impression you think I’ve given you, but I’m not some kind of fortune-hunter. I don’t want your generosity. I don’t want anything at all from you. We have a girl that works in back who seems more your style. I’ll send her your way if your’e so hard up that you’re offering random women money. Or whatever the the hell it is you were suggesting. But I can tell you for sure that I am not the kind of girl that you’re looking for.”

I tried to stand, but he didn’t release my wrist. I sat back in the seat, glaring at the hand that held me captive. “That’s not what I meant at all, Bianca. I didn’t mean to sound so…indelicate. But I am very, very attracted to you, and I would very much like to do something about it.” He smiled at me with a mixture of charm and heat that was very nearly irresistible. “Have lunch with me, where we can discuss this at length, and with some privacy.” He released my wrist as he finished speaking.

“No, thank you, Mr. Cavendish.” I got up quietly and walked back into the galley, closing the curtain behind me calmly.

I was taking deep breaths, counting, and just trying to get my anxiety under control, when he swept in after me.

I opened my mouth to tell him no again when he kissed me. It was a hungry, desperate kiss, and I’d never experienced anything like it before. That was perhaps why I didn’t know how to respond. I just stood there, every part of my body stiff except for my lips, which had softened automatically at the touch of his pretty mouth. It was so unfair, that he had this too, this impossibly intoxicating kiss. He’s probably good at absolutely everything, I thought with a twinge of dismay. His tongue swept into my mouth and I moaned quietly in spite of myself. “Suck on my tongue,” he ordered me roughly, when he pulled back for a breath, and I was shocked. I’d never done that. But I was obeying him even as I questioned myself, sucking carefully and then harder. He groaned and pressed against me slowly. I felt him keenly, my body more sensitive than I could ever remember. His erection pressed into my stomach very obviously and I pulled back at the realization. “Touch me,” he ordered, and I finally looked up at him.

I swallowed hard. “Where?” I asked, my voice needy and rough.

“My chest and stomach. Touch all the places there that you want to be touched on your own body.”

I obeyed, cupping the supple flesh around his nipples as though they were breasts, kneading him. I was watching his mouth, and he licked his lips, nodding at me to go on. I ran a hand down the muscles of his abdomen. He was all corded muscles, everywhere I felt. I stroked his arms, and they were far bigger and more muscular than I would have guessed. He just looked so elegant at first glance, it was hard to believe anyone so elegant could also be so built. He had to work out for hours everyday to achieve this kind of a build. It was so intimidating. And so unbelievably hot.

He unbuttoned several of the buttons along his chest and stomach. “Touch my skin,” he ordered roughly. I obeyed, some part of me going, Oh shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this. But it was so natural to just do as he asked. It felt good. I tried to fit both hands into his shirt, and he pulled one out gently. I stroked his hard, hot skin. I felt no hair, and wondered if he waxed it. It was so smooth.

He kissed the hand that he had grabbed, placing it firmly back onto his shoulder. I watched my own hand wander down his body, going straight to his groin. I gripped him through his slacks suddenly, and he groaned, wrenching my hand away quickly. He grinned at me, but it was a pained grin, all white teeth. “Not here. Not yet. The first time I want you in my bed.”

He stepped back, putting a safe distance between us. He buttoned his shirt quickly and straightened his clothing, watching me. He pulled his phone out. “Give me your number,” he told me.

I shook myself mentally. What was I doing? I did not want to get mixed up with him. I knew it absolutely. I just wasn’t feeling my own certainty at that particular moment.

I shook my head at him. “No,” I said firmly.

He looked genuinely surprised at my answer, and then amused. That made me mad.

I backed up until my butt bumped against the aircraft door. “Not interested.” My tone was sure.

He put his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the counter. He ran a tongue over his teeth. He’s enjoying this, I thought, with no small amount of outrage. The thought of someone saying no to him is so foreign that it just amuses him. His voice was rich with mirth when he spoke again. “How about coffee? Is that neutral enough? Give me your number and we’ll go for some coffee.”

I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I waved at the space between us. “I don’t do this sort of thing. I’m just not interested.”

A corner of his mouth quirked sardonically. His eyes were on my chest as it rose and fell in agitation. I finally looked down, mortified to see that my hardened nipples were showing clearly even through the three layers covering them. “I will put you over my knee every time you lie to me, Bianca.” His voice was quiet now, but with a dangerous edge.

My brain short-circuited for a moment, my face going a little slack. He’s joking. Isn’t he? My whole body tensed at his comment, and I knew it was more desire than dismay that shocked a tremor through my body. “See. I’m not into any of that stuff, so we are clearly not compatible.”

He ran a long finger down his own tie the way he had done to mine. “I’m not sure if that one was a lie or if you just don’t know how pleasurable ‘that stuff’ can be. Or how well suited you are to it. I can show you. I would love to show you. When I’m done with you, I’ll know your body better than you do, and you will be begging me for it. Every inch of your body is submitting to me, even as you’re turning me down. Can you honestly tell me that the thought of submitting to me in bed doesn’t make you wet?”

The question made me press my legs together, but my traitorous body would not shake my resolve. He obviously knew what he was doing, knew which buttons to push, knew how to control me sexually. But that was exactly what I didn’t want. Wasn’t it?

He seemed to read my mind, or more likely, my expression. He grinned. “I meant it about the spanking, Bianca. And the submission. You’re going to learn very quickly that I always mean what I say.”

“Please leave my galley, Mr. Cavendish. I won’t change my mind.”

He pulled out his wallet, never looking away from me as he pulled out a business card. He touched it to my cheek, running it lightly down to my chin, then to my neck. I shivered as he reached my collar bone. There was a tiny pocket on my vest, right over my right breast, and he slid the card into that pocket. “The number on the back is my cel. I would love to hear from you. Anytime, night or day.”

I just waited stiffly until he finally left the galley to return to his seat.

I was still standing there, taking deep, calming breaths, when Stephan joined me a good thirty minutes later.

He was eyeing me curiously as he shut the curtain. “You ok, Buttercup?” he asked me carefully. I smiled a little at the ridiculous nickname he’d given me back when we were fourteen year old runaways. It always made me smile, which was why he used it.

I nodded. I’d tell him about the whole Mr. Beautiful fiasco, but just not right then. Or even that week.

“What do you think of Mr. Cavendish?” he asked carefully, even innocently. Too innocently.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. “Have you been talking to him?”

He did a little non-committal head bob. But he only did that bob when the answer was a yes. “I think he has a crush on you. Did he like ask you out or anything?”

I just glared at him. “What did he say to you?”

“Are you gonna go out with him?” he shot back.

“Of course not. You know I don’t date. What’s gotten into you?”

He shrugged, still looking too innocent. “You’ve gotta start sometime, Buttercup. A young, beautiful woman can’t just ‘not date’ indefinitely. And it’s not gonna get any better than that guy. I have a good feeling about him.” He waved a hand in Mr. Cavendish’s general direction.

I pointed a finger at him. “We’re not doing this again. Everyone in the world does not need to date. I don’t interfere in your life choices. You don’t get to interfere with mine.”

He raised both hands in surrender. “Just a little friendly advice, Bee. But I’ll drop it now. You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.”

I was more than happy to drop it. He gave me a tight hug. “Love you, Bee,” he murmured against my hair. It was just his way of being affectionate. It was how he showed love and sought comfort. It was not my way. Not with anyone but him.

I hugged him back. “Love you too, Steph,” I murmured back.

The rest of the flight passed as slowly as I had expected it to. The red-eyes weren’t my favorite. I liked to stay constantly busy. These flights were all about killing time. Even Mr. Cavendish was dozing when I checked on my cabin. I watched him sleep for a long time. Watching such a restless person at rest was fascinating. He was almost too pretty in his sleep, with no tension in his face. His long, thick, dark lashes making dark shadows on his face even in the near darkness. I could have watched him sleep all night. I admitted that fact to myself, though I didn’t like it. And I wanted to touch him, badly. A stray lock of hair had fallen across one of his cheeks. I wanted to brush it away, and rub it in my fingers. I thought, with no small amount of regret, of all of the parts of him I’d wanted to touch, but that I would never allow myself to. The moment had passed, and I was determined to move on. I shook myself out of my ridiculous reverie as I realized it was time to prep the cabin for landing.

I found myself watching him again as we took our seats to land. He was still dozing, and I couldn’t seem to look away, even when his eyes opened, and he blinked awake, disoriented. His gaze found me quickly, the sleep leaving his eyes as he met my stare and blinked. I schooled my face into neutral lines as he stared back at me. Eventually, I broke the stare, looking at Stephan instead. He was studying me as well, his look strange.

“You like him,” he whispered to me, a fair amount of shock in his voice.

“Don’t,” was all I said in response.

CHAPTER THREE

Mr. Unnerving

The jet bridge at JFK-New York was different than the one in McCarran-Las Vegas, so the passengers departed out of the first door, having to make their way through the first class cabin. This meant that I had to hustle to get the passengers their jackets quickly so that the first class passengers wouldn’t be delayed getting off of the plane.

I nodded politely at Mr. Cavendish as I handed him his suit jacket. “Have a nice day, Mr. Cavendish.”

He gave me a slightly annoyed look. “Please, call me James,” he chided me. He leaned in closer, speaking directly into my ear. “In private, though, you may call me Mr. Cavendish.” With that unnerving exchange, he walked away.

Stephan raised his brows at me as I came back to stand beside him to see off the other passengers. “What did he say to you?” he asked, obviously curious. “The look on his face, and then on yours…”

I just shook my head. “You don’t wanna know.”

I went through the motions of our usual deplaning routine, not feeling at all like myself. Being around that man made me feel…strange. It felt a little like I’d been plucked away from my own orderly life and placed in the middle of some kind of a game. A game with rules that I hadn’t been told. And I had no frame of reference with which to learn those rules. I told myself firmly that I was only relieved that I had told James Cavendish no. He was just too much for me. He was too experienced, too jaded, too rich. And all of that would have been enough to dissuade me even if I was interested in dating, which I certainly was not. I never had been. And he was obviously into some kind of S&M besides. I had my own demons to deal with, and that sort of thing was the last thing I should be interested in. But still… in spite of myself, I did find it fascinating. And frightening. And exciting. I knew that it was probably because of my violent childhood that an excited shiver ran through me at the thought of some of the things he’d said. Like putting me over his knee… I knew from countless visits to a shrink that the things that horrified people in childhood could also excite us as adults. The thought was sobering. I worked really hard not to be a victim of my childhood. That made it all the more important that I stay away from someone like James Cavendish.

It took some convincing, but I felt I had adequately convinced myself of this as we got our luggage down, and then waited for the rest of the crew to join us.

Stephan and I walked in the front of our little inflight parade as we made our way briskly through JFK. “Mmmm, I’d kill for a coffee right now. Shall we grab one on our way out?” Stephan murmured to me as we approached a small coffee stand to our right.

I shot him a puzzled frown. “You know I’d never sleep a wink if I had coffee, but I’ll wait in line with you while you get one.”

He gave an odd little shrug, his eyes intently on the coffee stand. “Nah, I guess I’ll wait til’ after a nap.”

I followed his gaze to see Mr. Cavendish waiting at the coffee counter. He gave us an enigmatic smile, nodding cordially to Stephan. My head whipped around to eye Stephan suspiciously. He was nodding back at James Cavendish, smiling.

“What are you up to, Stephan?” I growled at him, my voice pitched low so that the rest of the crew wouldn’t hear.

He pursed his lips. I nodded stiffly as we made our way past Mr. Cavendish. I was going for polite, but cold. I thought I pulled it off well.

“What? I can’t be polite?” he asked, his tone all innocence. I didn’t trust that tone at all. When I’d met Stephan he’d been a fourteen year old street hustler who could lie the wallet off of anyone breathing. He had long ago mastered the art of playing dumb. But I knew him better than anyone, and I wasn’t fooled for a second.

“That smile you shared with him was downright conspiratorial. Tell me what you did. Did you give him my number?”

He sent me a wounded glance. “I wouldn’t do that.”

I was relieved. Stephan could skate around the truth like a pro, but he would never outright lie to me. If he said he wouldn’t give James my number, I knew it was the truth, so I left it alone after that.

The crew van to the hotel was full of excited chatter about the plans for the evening. Apparently, everyone was planning to go out for drinks together at the bar on the corner near our hotel. Karaoke night. I cringed a little at the thought. It sounded a little too loud and embarrassing for my taste, or my mood. But I would be a good sport. It was a new crew, and I’d hate to be the only anti-social one in the bunch, when they were all so obviously excited.

Also, I knew Stephan liked one of the bartenders at that bar. They’d been feeling each other out slowly for the last couple of months. We went there for either lunch or dinner almost every week, when we came to town. Stephan was ninety percent sure that the bartender was flirting with him, and not just a friendly guy. But it took him a long time to work up to actually asking a guy out.

Stephan wasn’t out of the closet. I didn’t know if he would ever be ready for that. Gay guys who were out of the closet usually just weren’t okay with dating in secret as though they were doing something wrong.

I knew that Stephan also preferred dating other men who weren’t out, because it made it easier to keep it low-key. But this made it much harder for him to date. I’d suggested to him that he could probably find people easier online, considering his restrictions, but he wouldn’t even consider it. He said online dating just felt wrong for him. He was a little old-fashioned about the strangest things.

“You’re quiet, Buttercup,” he whispered in my ear. Melissa was describing to the van at large what she was planning to wear that night, and what she was planning to sing for her karaoke numbers. Her selection of ‘Sexy Back’ did not surprise me in the least. “You’ll come with us to the bar, right?” he asked me, a plea already in his voice. He thought I was going to try to duck out. I wasn’t. The bartender was the first guy he’d been interested in since a particularly hard breakup a year ago, and if he needed me there for moral support, I’d be there.

I looked at him. His eyes were wide and doing their best ‘Puss in Boots’ impression for me already. Wow, he’s ready to bring out the big guns to get me to go tonight. I decided to let him off the hook. “I’ll go. But you have to swear not to make me sing or dance.”

He nodded earnestly, smiling his happiest, boyish smile. “I know better. You’d have to be pretty drunk to get up on that stage. And I can’t remember the last time you had a drink.”

It’d been years, I knew. The month I’d turned twenty-one had been fun, and I’d indulged at a few parties then, but me and alcohol just didn’t mix well. It was a family trait. Still, I considered having a few drinks with the crew. I was just so damned tense. Maybe I would indulge. Just let myself relax for a few hours. I couldn’t find a good reason not to. “Maybe I’ll have a few drinks tonight,” I told him.

His eyes widened. “Yeah?” He was a moderate drinker himself, but he indulged more than I did.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Okay, Chickee,” he said, drawing the end of the word into a long eeee sound. He put his arm along the back of my seat, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

“You two are so darn cute,” Melissa gushed, when she saw his affectionate gesture.

We both gave her neutral smiles. We didn’t know her well enough to explain ourselves to her, and frankly, I doubted we’d ever be close enough friends with her to do so. I tried to always give people a chance, but so far Melissa had not impressed me. I just found her untrustworthy, though I had nothing concrete so far to prove that. Although, she did openly admit that her goal in life was to find a rich man to take care of her. That seemed pretty damned shady to me.

“And I just love all those pet names he has for you.”

Stephan gave her his most charming smile. “I’ll call you Chickee, too, if you like.”

She giggled. She was always like this when pilots were around, just way sweeter than she acted if they weren’t present. “I think that’s adorable. But my favorite is Buttercup. I heard you call her that the other day.”

He gave me a soft smile that was all for me. “That one is only for Bee.”

She clapped her hands together. “Oh, oh, oh, is there a story behind that pet name? I love stories!”

My nose crinkled. She was laying it on a little thick today. I shot a glance at the two pilots who were watching our interaction from the front row of seats in the huge van. I was guessing that she liked one of them, from the affected way she was acting.

The First Officer was younger and better looking than the Captain. Jeff, I recalled his name. He had dark brown hair, and attractive brown eyes. He was tall, with a rangy build. But my bet was she liked the Captain, since he made twice Jeff’s salary.

The Captain, whose name I was ninety percent sure was Peter, was older, with balding gray hair, a beer gut, and eyes that never strayed north of a woman’s chest.

She reaffirmed my guess almost as I thought it, sending the captain a positively beaming smile. “Don’t you just love stories, too, Peter?” she asked him.

He gave her what I thought was a slightly greasy smile. “You betcha.”

Stephan shook his head. “That story is between me and Bee. But, Peter, I’m dying to know what song you’ll choose to serenade us with tonight.” Stephan changed the subject easily, and with much charm. He had Peter laughingly refusing to sing and steering the conversation in the direction he chose with no effort whatsoever.

CHAPTER FOUR

Mr. Beautiful

I awoke to the sound of my alarm with even less enthusiasm than usual. I had tossed and turned for four hours. I’d been trying to catch enough sleep to make it through until at least eight p.m. I had failed. I would be dead on my feet by late afternoon, I guessed. I was in a positively sour mood as I stalked into my hotel room’s bathroom.

“We working out?” Stephan called out to me from his room as I came back out.

Our rooms adjoined, as they usually did when we were in this hotel. We came here often, and knew the front desk staff well enough to arrange our rooms how we preferred. We just kept the door between our rooms open. We’d been roommates for years, and only recently become neighbors instead, so it was a relaxed, effortless arrangement. We both found comfort in the other’s presence.

My only response was a mannerless grunt. He laughed. “The times when you don’t want to the most, are the times that you definitely should,” he told me.

I made a raspberry noise at him, and he laughed harder.

A moment later he came into my room, already in his gym clothes and carrying a cup of coffee from my favorite cafe on the corner. The sight cheered me instantly.

He smiled at me, wiggling his brows. “Will this change your mind? Large mocha with soy, no whip, and an extra shot of espresso.” He named off my order, though he hadn’t needed to. I’d known as soon as I saw the cup that he’d know just what I’d want.

I grinned. “You’re the best.”

“It’s a fact,” he agreed.

We worked out for an hour. The hotel’s gym was tiny and unimpressive, with one treadmill, one elliptical, one stationary bike, and some free weights. I stuck to the elliptical for the full hour, but Stephan flitted around from the bike, to the treadmill, and spent a half an hour lifting weights. It was his usual routine, and I watched him, feeling good as I listened to music on my phone and worked out.

Stephan had been right. I had been so tempted to skip a workout today, but it had ended up being just what I needed. I felt worlds better when we finished up.

We grabbed a quick sandwich for lunch. It was a beautiful late spring day in New York City, and I enjoyed our walk along the bustling street. “Wanna eat in the park?” I asked Stephan as we waited in line at a crowded local deli.

He nodded. “For sure. Picnic style.”

We didn’t precisely eat picnic style. Instead, we settled for finding an empty bench to sit on and people watch while we ate. “Whatcha gonna wear to the bar?” Stephan asked me between big bites.

We ate fast, as though afraid the food would disappear if we didn’t finish it quickly. We both ate like hungry street kids if we didn’t make a conscious effort not to. We didn’t bother eating any differently when it was just the two of us. We had nothing to hide from each other. It was one of the reasons we were damn near inseparable.

“Iyonno,” I said with too much food in my mouth. I swallowed, washing the mouthful down with a big swig of water from the refillable bottle I’d taken to carrying around almost constantly, to save money on bottled water.

“I don’t know,” I said more clearly. “It’s nice and warm, so some shorts and a blouse, I guess. I don’t feel like dressing up, but I don’t wanna look like a slob when I know everyone else will be dressing up.” I gestured at the comfortable gray workout T-shirt, black cheer shorts, and neon green running shoes I was wearing. “What I’d like to wear is this. But I know you’d harass me, so I’ll try to look halfway decent, I suppose.”

“You’ll have to help me pick out my outfit. I wanna look really hot tonight. I think I just might be ready to ask Melvin out this time,” Stephan said. I smiled. He had said the same thing for the last three weeks, but I just agreed.

We went back to our rooms to shower and get ready for the night ahead. We chatted amiably as we got ready.

I chose some cuffed, pleated black shorts and a sleeveless black and white blouse with flowery ruffles at the neck. It was the kind of outfit I liked best. It was comfortable but feminine. Some earrings and the right shoes, and it was dressy enough for just about anything. Add practical shoes, and poof, not overdressed.

I chose sandals with a short heel tonight. I picked silver hoops from the small bag of jewelry that I always packed. I wore my hair down. It was pin-straight and the pale length hung to my mid-back.

I put my makeup on quickly, just opting for mascara and some soft pink lip gloss. I finished getting ready first, since I didn’t particularly care how I looked for the outing. I sat on Stephan’s bed and patiently watched him try on everything he’d packed.

We finally settled on a fitted pale gray polo with some blue and gray plaid cargo shorts that hung from his slim hips in a very attractive way. He adopted the preppy look often, and I thought it suited him. He looked like a live Abercrombie and Fitch ad. I told him so. He laughed it off, but I could tell that he was pleased by the comparison, though it was only the truth.

We got to the bar a little before four p.m., but it was already a bit of a crush. It was not a fancy bar, just an old fashioned Irish pub with a few karaoke nights a week, but it was in the heart of Manhattan and it was friday night, so I was not at all surprised by the crowd.

Stephan worked his magic and within minutes we had snagged seats at the bar where Melvin was working. I’d had no doubt that he would. He had a rare combination of charm and charisma and he just seemed to make things work out that way. Most of the people in this place would never find a seat on a night this crowded.

We greeted Melvin warmly, and he seemed genuinely pleased to see us. Especially Stephan, though he was very nice to me. I always went out of my way to try and befriend anyone Stephan was interested in. He was my only family, and it was important to me that I be friends with anyone he found significant.

I guessed Melvin was about our age, somewhere in his early twenties. He was just shy of six feet tall, and very slender, nearly delicate. I couldn’t begin to guess his race, a mix of some kind. His skin was a naturally pale coffee color, his black hair cropped very close to his head. His eyes were a pale green. He was very handsome, and had a very engaging smile. Stephan has great taste, I thought.

“What can I get you?” Melvin had to raise his voice a little to be heard above the growing crowd. I bit my lip, looking at Stephan. I hadn’t had any kind of alcohol in so long that my mind went blank. Stephan just shrugged and winked at Melvin. Whoa, that was bold for him. Melvin blushed a little and smiled back shyly.

“Surprise us. Something with liquor,” Stephan told him playfully.

Melvin grinned. “Shots or cocktails?”

“One of each. Make us your favorite of each,” I declared. He left with a happy whistle to accommodate us.

I was distracted by the sound of some out-of-tune singing. We were far enough from the stage not to be deafened, but close enough to have a perfect view. That was always how it seemed to go around Stephan. He led a charmed life. “They start the Karaoke this early?” I asked Stephan, surprised.

He shrugged. “I guess so. It does seem awfully early for that, though. They need to let us get a little more buzzed before we have to listen to that.”

I agreed, laughing.

Melvin was back in short order. He’d made us each a Pom-tini, which was delicious enough that I didn’t think it could possibly get me drunk. He’d also brought us a shot he called ‘surfer on acid’. I’d never heard of it. I smelled it, and my nose wrinkled. It was strong. “What is it?” I asked him.

“Jagermeister, pineapple juice, and coconut rum. Trust me, it’s good.”

Stephan grinned at him. “I trust you,” he declared, and downed it. He gasped as it went down. “Damn, it is good.”

I downed mine. There was only one way to do a shot, as far as I was concerned, and that way was fast. They were right, it was very good, and I felt a nearly instant, fuzzy buzz. Okaaay, I thought. I needed to slow it down. Even one shot was a shock to my system after so much time without. Though it was a shot that packed a hell of a punch.

Melvin brought us each a glass of ice water without us having to ask, then went to tend to the growing crowd. Stephan would have to stay late into the night if he hoped for much of Melvin’s attention. The bar was getting more crowded by the second.

Melvin was extremely busy, but still managed to stop near us to have short conversations with Stephan every few minutes, and I took this as an encouraging sign. He was definitely giving Stephan special attention, beyond being simply friendly. I finished my first Pom-tini way too fast. “Damn tiny martini glasses,” I muttered to Stephan, my voice way louder than I’d intended. Yep, I definitely needed to slow it down on the drinking. Stephan laughed at me, finishing his as well.

Melvin immediately had martini and shot refills in front of us. Okay, we were definitely getting special treatment. He wagged a finger at us. “Your next round will be a new surprise.” He winked at Stephan as he walked away. I smiled broadly at Stephan. He smiled back at me. He was the happiest I’d seen him in a while, and it brightened my mood a lot just to see him like that. He’d been majorly hung up on his Ex from a year ago, and it was a relief to see that he was finally moving on. “We better drink these fast. I want to see our next surprise,” Stephan teased me.

I laughed and took the shot. Screw slowing down. I wanted our next surprise. Stephan and I unwisely raced to finish the Pom-tini. I pointed at him, laughing, as I finished mine just a second ahead of him. “I win,” I said.

With perfect timing, Melvin slid a new shot and martini in front of us just as Stephan set down his glass. “A Kamikaze, and a Razzle-tini,” he told us, having to almost shout now with the horrible rendition of ‘Moves Like Jagger’ a group of three were belting out from the stage. I thanked him. Stephan did the same, squeezing Melvin’s hand just as he was pulling back. It was a surprisingly bold move for Stephan. Melvin blushed and smiled at Stephan as he went back to tend to customers.

I practically beamed at Stephan. “He’s soooo interested. You know that, right?” I asked him.

He nodded, looking suddenly shy, but very pleased. “Yeah, I’m finally sure of it.”

It wasn’t long before the crew started showing up. Brenda showed up first. She was a middle-aged woman, in her mid-forties, I guessed. I saw her less than anyone else on the crew, since she worked in the back galley of the plane, and I worked in the front, but she seemed very nice. I thought we could easily be friends, if we spent a little time together. She walked up to us, smiling.

She had dark brown hair cut in a bob that flattered her bone structure nicely. She had a medium build and was very pretty. I knew she was married with some teenage children, but I didn’t know all the details yet. I made a note to ask her more about her family. She seemed like she would be a good mom, with her kind eyes and calm manner.

We greeted her a little more loudly and boisterously than was our habit, and she laughed at us with good humor. “You guys have been at it for awhile, huh?”

Stephan insisted she take his chair, and she did so, thanking him with a dimpled smile. “He’s one of the last throwbacks to a true gentleman,” she said to me. I could tell she was assuming that he and I were an item, and I didn’t correct her.

Within five minutes, Stephan had secured the seat on the other side of me. I giggled at him. “How do you always do that?” I asked, turning in the direction of his new seat.

He arched a brow at me. “You should know better than anyone, Bee. I’ve been hustling since I was a kid. Talking someone out of a seat at the bar is child’s play.”

Melissa was the next to show up, already looking around with boredom as she approached us. Probably looking for Captain Peter, I thought.

She was in rare form, wearing a white micro-mini skirt and a clingy pink top that sort of clashed with her dark red hair. The top was so thin that I could tell two things; her boobs were fake, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She couldn’t be more than five foot two barefoot, but she was making up for it tonight. Her white, rhinestone-studded stilettos were easily over five inches tall. She handled them well, too, gliding in them as though she wore heels like that every day. For all I knew, she did. She had a heavy layer of makeup on, her lips bright red and her lashes so thick and black they looked like something you’d see on an old-fashioned pin-up model. She was very pretty. What she lacked in taste she more than made up for in sheer good looks.

“Hey guys,” she said without smiling. It was as though she didn’t want to waste a good smile on us.

“Hey,” I said. Brenda and Stephan greeted her. I noticed that Stephan didn’t offer her his chair. I knew that she got on his nerves just a bit without him having to say it. She wasn’t exactly a hard worker, and she seemed to think she was entitled to more than other people. Those were two qualities that he and I just had trouble relating to.

The pilots were the next to show. They came in together. I’m not sure I would have recognized either of them out of uniform. I only knew they had arrived when Melissa’s personality suddenly got real bubbly. Stephan and I shared a short, pointed look.

We all said our greetings, and by then Melissa had managed to snag the seat next to Brenda. Captain Peter was practically glued to the back of her chair. I tried not to stare. They weren’t being subtle. Those two were likely going to end the night together.

My eyes snagged on the ring on the Captain’s left hand as he rubbed it all over Melissa’s nearly bare back. Ewww, I thought. I hated that. I didn’t understand why people got married, and then acted like that. But it certainly knocked my opinion of Melissa down even further. There was no way she had missed the wedding ring on his finger if I had seen it from several feet away. Hell, she probably felt it on her back, he was rubbing her so hard with it.

I made an easy decision to just try to ignore them for the duration of the evening. They were a major buzz-kill.

I noticed with a little dismay that the first officer, Jeff, had ended up standing by my chair, his body angled towards me. He smiled at me as I noticed him. He waved at the glasses in front of me. “What’re you drinking? It looks like a good time.”

I told him, and he stepped closer as I spoke. I moved back a bit. I hated when people tried to casually touch me, and he just seemed like the type to try it.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, after he had downed his own shot, he reached out a hand, touching a strand of my hair. I shrank back just a little. “I love your hair.” He was nearly shouting over the rowdy crowd. “It looks so hot when you wear it down.”

I turned away from him at that, finishing my current round of drinks. Yes, it was official. I was drunk. I caught Stephan and Melvin sharing a look, and I knew exactly what it meant. Stephan was trying to tell Melvin to cut off my alcohol.

I glared, leaning closer to him. I pointed a finger at his chest threateningly. “Don’t you dare. I barely ever drink, and I really need to relax tonight. This is the first time in days that I’ve been able to unwind and just forget about Mr. Beautiful.”

Stephan had looked ready to argue until that last embarrassing sentence left my mouth. But as I finished, he sputtered out a laugh. “Mr. Beautiful?”

I nodded, and he laughed harder. “Well, he is. James Cavendish is too damned beautiful to be real. He scares the shit outta me,” I confided.

Stephan stopped laughing at that. “Why?” he asked seriously.

I shook my head. “Not like that. A different kind of scary. I haven’t figured it out. All I know for sure is, I need to stay the hell away from Mr. Beautiful.” I over-enunciated the last sentence so much that, even drunk, I noticed it.

Stephan’s eyes widened as he looked at a spot above and behind me.

“What?” I asked him in a loud, belligerent tone. Yes, I was definitely drunk. “What? Is Mr. Beautiful standing behind me or something?”

Stephan pursed his lips and I suddenly had an awful feeling that I’d hit that one right on the head. I turned my spinning head around and looked up, and up, into bright blue eyes. “Hello, Mr. Beautiful,” I said in a quieter, but still obviously drunk, voice.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mr. Persistant

I spun almost immediately to glare at Stephan. “Traitor,” I said to him, my words slurred.

He threw his hands up, giving me his innocent look. “I didn’t give out your number or anything. He asked if we were going out tonight. I just told him where. No harm done.”

I mouthed a few choice words at him. I felt a hard cheek press to the hair near my ear and knew it was Mr. Beautiful himself. “Mr. Beautiful, huh?” he whispered in my ear. I knew my whole body was bright red with embarrassment. “I’m going to take that as a compliment, though I have to say, it’s a new one.”

“Hello, Mr. Cavendish,” I said stiffly, without turning.

“I told you, call me James. Or Mr. Beautiful, if you prefer. You can save the Mr. Cavendish for when we’re in private.” It was the second time he’d said that, and I just couldn’t tell if he was teasing. Did I even want to know? I wondered. No, I told myself firmly.

I tried to just ignore everyone for awhile after that. Except for Melvin. Him, I tried to flag down to get another drink, but he was ignoring me. Vaguely, I could hear Stephan and James chatting amiably at my back.

James hadn’t moved, and he was standing close enough to my back to indicate that he and I were together. He was so close that it made the skin of my back tingle. If I shifted even an inch backward, we’d be touching.

I turned my head slightly and saw that the co-pilot had been forced to move away from me. He was looking between Stephan and James, an odd look on his face. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. I didn’t really care what he made of it. I was just relieved that he seemed to get the picture that I was clearly not available.

I lurched suddenly to my feet. I had expected to be a little unsteady on my feet, but it was much worse than I’d thought. I had to clutch the bar for several moments to gain my balance.

“Whoa, careful there, Buttercup,” Stephan was saying to me.

I felt a hard arm going around my waist for support, and I knew it wasn’t Stephan. “Buttercup?” James asked him, his voice amused.

I looked at Stephan, who was looking a little sheepish. “It’s an old nickname, from when we were kids. Bee will have to tell you the story sometime.”

“I look forward to it. Does she drink like this often?” James asked casually, but I thought there was a slight edge to his voice. He was still just talking to Stephan. About me, and in front of me. It was infuriating.

“All the time,” I said loudly.

“This is the first time she’s had a drink since the month she turned twenty-one,” Stephen said quietly. “At least two years ago.”

James’s mouth was at my ear again. “You remember what I told you

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 600