In Flight (Up in the Air #1)(4)

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 br**sts, rising and falling conspicuously. My ni**les 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 br**sts, 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 ni**les 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-”