“Coffee or tea this morning?” Yuki asked.
“Let’s see. Is the coffee likely to be any good? On a scale from one to ten—one being sludge scraped off the bottom of the Yarra River to ten being nectar of the gods—how would you rate it, Yuki?”
She blinked, pausing for a second. “Ah, I believe the coffee is good, Sir. Would you like a cup?”
He raised his eyebrow. She was no fun. “You didn’t answer my question. If you give it a six or higher I’ll try it.”
“Right. I’d give it a six or seven.” Yuki poured the cup of coffee and set it on a small plastic tray, ready to pass across to him. He waved it away.
The tall blonde approached behind Yuki to help with the drinks service. His eyes instantly snapped to hers and then his gaze moved lower, to the name tag pinned above her perfectly round, high breasts. Wicked thoughts flitted through his mind, which she could obviously read in his expression. A pinched crease formed between her eyebrows, then her tongue darted out and licked across her soft-looking lower lip. Half-annoyed, half-interested?
Sinead. He noted her name in his memory bank. She had a musical Irish lilt in her accent when she’d made the announcement over the PA. Very sexy.
“Can I be of assistance?” Sinead’s voice was a little husky. Very sexy indeed.
Yuki nodded to Sinead and stepped past her, continuing to serve the next passenger.
“I was asking Yuki whether the coffee was any good. What do you think, Sinead?”
“Well, it’s hardly Jamaican Blue Mountain, but it’ll do in a pinch.” She winked at him, actually winked.
He liked this woman. His mouth tugged up at the corners. Too long. It’d been too long since he’d met a woman he wanted to banter with.
“You know all about Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, do you?”
The condescending comment was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Scorn dripping off his tongue seemed to be his default setting when talking to women lately. Too much time spent with his Mum, nurses, doctors, all women telling him things he didn’t want to know. He had to snap out of it. Charm came easily when he tried. He hadn’t always been a grumpy bastard.
Her lips twitched and she leaned a little lower over his seat. “As it happens, I do. Blue Mountain coffee beans come from a tightly controlled region in Jamaica and are considered the best in the world by many critics. We don’t currently stock it on board, but I can recommend a few excellent cafés in London serving it, for when you arrive.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“There is Tomtom in Belgravia of course, but my personal favourite is Nude Espresso in Soho Square.”
“Nude Espresso?” Gabriel raised his eyebrows. Was she flirting with him? Things were looking up.
“Yes. Nude.” Sinead’s cheeky half smile answered the question.
Hello, Irish fling. Definite interest there.
He chuckled, stretching out his legs. “Hmm, I’ll keep it in mind. But right now I’ll take a pot of tea.”
“Of course you will. Sir.” Sinead muttered the last word, reaching for the tea on her cart. The frown crossing her face was a kick in the guts, before she beamed like a little ray of sunshine.
He should’ve known better. In her mind, he was nothing but another rich arsehole, and she was used to serving them without a second glance. Unless he could show her he was different.
He wanted to be different. He didn’t want to be a man who would ruin a woman’s day. He’d like to make Sinead smile. Now wasn’t that a surprise?
Three hours later, Sinead slumped down in her jump seat next to the galley at the rear of the first-class cabin. She gazed out the window on her much needed break, feet aching, with her head up in the clouds. Which pretty much summed up her life at the moment. So much of her life was spent in the clouds. Fifty per cent. It was a strange realisation and she still wasn’t fully comfortable with it, even after five years of flying almost every day. Floating, gliding through the air.
Although she understood the basic mechanics of how a plane worked and concepts like wind resistance, it was somehow magical to travel through the sky in a metal box. So far above the earth and removed from everyday reality, as tiny people went about their lives below. She was somehow apart from them, removed. Sometimes it felt like she was on a different planet from most people.
The clouds today were different than usual, darker. Or was it a reflection of her strange mood? No, she’d flown in all sorts of conditions and knew a lot about weather these days. The clouds were dense and gathering quickly.
The plane lurched and bumped, and she grabbed hold of the armrests. Her stomach rolled over. Not a good sign. She was right about the clouds being different. Probably the tail of the storm system the captain mentioned during the pre-flight briefing. She needed an update on the weather conditions. As the lead cabin crew member on the flight, she had to understand what was happening to brief the others. She pushed herself upright and swayed into the partition.
On her way to the cockpit, the plane tipped sharply to the right, causing gasps and murmurs from the passengers. Sinead stumbled and tripped forward, grabbing hold of the nearest thing. A strong, muscular shoulder. Oh, no. The coffee man. She watched his blue eyes blink and open wide, his lips tugging up into a half smile. A surge and drop in an air current rattled the cabin, tray tables shaking. She pitched forward, pulse thumping loud in her ears, until she clutched the headrest beside his face.
Her boobs were lodged right in front of his head. Looking down, she saw his eyes widen and he took in the view straight down her now gaping neckline, between the girls.
She squeaked like a frightened mouse. Between the weather and the man, she was all off-balance and her heart was aflutter.
Somehow she had to move. But she was captured by his ruffled beachy blonde hair with the goldy highlights. Those baby blue eyes had her hooked, searing hot this close, only inches away.
She inhaled a full whiff of him. His scent shot straight from her nose to wrap around her good-feels receptors. Delicious, citrus and spice and all things nice, like some kind of tropical island spliced with man. Her blood was flowing too fast, or something. But it wouldn’t pump properly, having turned sticky in her veins, full of throbbing heat.
Danger. Pheromone alert.
It had to be him. Him being Mr Tall, Dark Blonde and Handsome, or Mr Anderson, as stated on the passenger list. So, she found out his name. It didn’t mean she was interested in him. She had a split-second to admire him and breathe him in again before … A sharp drop in altitude. It took her down with it. Toppling over, her stomach connected with his armrest.
Oooof.
Oh, Lord. She toppled right on top of him. Her face was dangerously close to his groin. It was the closest she’d been to that area of a man’s anatomy for quite some time. What must he be thinking? She must look like a complete idiot. He sucked in a deep breath.
Robbed of breath, possibly a few brain cells too, she tightened her grip on his seat and hauled herself upright. She rubbed at the sore spot on her stomach, which would probably become a nasty bruise.
His eyes followed the movement of her hand. “I wouldn’t refuse a lap dance, but are you okay?”
Such a crude comment. She had thought he was a better class of man than most, at least, good for a bit of flirting and ogling. But maybe not. The airline overlords expected them to put