by B. Cranford
Like a phone, I would be switched off for the duration, so that when I landed in Melbourne, I would be ready to go. Have a full battery, so to speak.
“Excuse me?” A short, grey-haired man paused next to me, a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m sorry, did you hear what they said? I missed it entirely.”
I returned his smile, and gave him the info he was after, waiting until he was on his way to collect his bags before I stood, and wheeled my bag—and myself—over to the line.
“Crowded flight.”
This time, it was a woman speaking to me, and her accent was easy to place and a delight to my American ears.
“Sure is. That time of year, I guess.” I nodded to her Australian passport, and asked, “Are you heading home for the holidays, or from vacation?”
“For the holidays. I’ve lived over here for a while now, but it’s always good to get home and see my family.” She shrugged. “I just wish it wasn’t so bloody expensive.”
Laughing, I thought how not wrong she was and how lucky I was to be able to afford this last-minute trip. Thank god I had the luxury of running away from my life, if only for a little while.
“You can’t just leave, Bianca. We have to talk about this.” I heard the echo of Mason’s angry words as he’d zipped up his pants and I’d tried to process what my eyes were seeing.
Not wanting that moment—or any of the ones since—to infect my escape, I kept talking to the woman standing ahead of me as we made our way to the front of line. We chatted about nothing much at all, and by the time we were both settled—her a few rows behind me, having wished me a Merry Christmas as I dropped my stuff on my seat—Mason’s betrayal was momentarily forgotten, and I was more than ready to get into my flight mode.
But it wasn’t to be.
I carefully organized those things I knew I’d need to see me through the lengthy flight—fully-loaded Kindle tucked into the seat pocket, along with my phone and headphones—and stowed my carry-on overhead, then looked at the two empty seats beside me.
Maybe they’ll stay empty, I thought wistfully, knowing it was highly unlikely. Perhaps if I wasn’t traveling at Christmas—with every other person on the planet.
I people-watched the steady if slow stream of people shuffling past me to their seats, trying to make up their stories. It was a game I’d played before when I was bored—one Ashton and I had actually played together during long road trips with the passengers of passing cars—and it was fun.
Especially since I always gave my targets a happy ending. (Not that kind, get your mind out of the gutter.)
Two women laughed together, leaning in close, before taking their seats in the row in front of me. I decided this was their first Christmas together and they were just starting a round-the-world trip.
A family—mother, father, and two kids already in pajamas—walked by and sat a couple of rows behind me and in the center of the plane. In my head, the kids carefully wrote to Santa asking him to remember they were going to be visiting their grandparents in Australia for the first time. Of course, he’d know that and bring them extra-special presents, because why not?
What about me? I wondered. What did the people passing by see in me?
“Maybe if you smiled at me like you were happy to see me, like you cared whether I came home, then I wouldn’t have looked somewhere else for affection.”
Mason’s words—a cut that felt deep and still stingingly new, even though it had been months since I’d last seen or spoken to him.
Shaking off the mental intrusion of my ex, I watched a few more people move around our area of the plane, and was just judging the looks and formulating the story of the man who was settling into the aisle seat of my row—newly married businessman returning home early to surprise his wife for Christmas, perhaps?—when the second of my seatmates arrived.
The one who’d be in the middle seat and therefore sitting next to me for the next fifteen hours.
And damn if he wasn’t the sexiest man I’d ever seen.
I was staring.
I knew I was and still couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Focus, Bianca, I scolded myself. Although, actually, I should have been telling myself not to focus. Or focus on something other than his ridiculously good looks. I wanted to bite my lip when he licked his own—they were light pink and full and kissable and why was I thinking about his lips?!
And then . . . ugh, and then he reached overhead to stow his battered looking backpack, and I caught a glimpse of muscled abs. And a teasing line of hair disappearing below the waistline of his sweatpants.
Grey sweatpants.
I have no idea why I thought that was hot as hell, but I did, and I wasn’t about to lie to myself about it. They sat low and—
He was looking at me.
Oh shit, and I was clearly looking at him. Not just at him, either. I was basically staring at his dick like it held the answers to all life’s questions as I admired the fit of those cotton pants.
They fit perfectly, in case you were wondering.
Releasing my lower lip, because yes, at some point I’d acted on that impulse to bite it while I admired him—as if being caught staring wasn’t awkward enough—I quickly looked away. And tried to decide if I should just brazen it out and say hello or spend the next fifteen hours pretending he wasn’t seated right next to me.
Because he was. Of course, he was. I was at the window, he was in the middle, and the third person in our row would act like the guard keeping us in place. I was going to be brushing arms with this man for the duration.
Why does this flight have to be so long? I laughed quietly to myself, knowing that I normally wouldn’t care—not about the flight time and not about being caught staring. Well, maybe about the lip biting, but the staring in general was fine.
Just. Like. That. Man. If ever a man was made to be looked at and objectified, it was the one I was getting ready to relinquish an arm rest to. But the disappointment of the last couple of years, coupled with the words Mason had flung at me when defending himself, had changed me enough to know that I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know how to act around hot, presumably single men.
Scrap that. I didn’t know how to act around hot men, single or not. Because it wasn’t about whether anything was going to or could happen, it was about the fact that I’d been in a relationship for the better part of fifteen years—thirteen of them married—and now I wasn’t.
The hot men might not be any different, but I was.
I’d been practically a kid when I’d met Mason and fallen in love. It had taken months for that love to grow from the friendship we’d formed on the first day of our sophomore year of college, but when we’d both realized our relationship had changed, it seemed like it had always been meant to be.
“You’re the one, Bianca. I didn’t realize it at first, but now I know, I can’t stop thinking about it. Our future. Our forever.”
I sighed at the bittersweet memory that time had turned more bitter than sweet. This trip was supposed to be about getting away from my broken marriage and my broken heart and trying something new. Something for just me.
And yet, here I was, thinking about him. Thinking about the day he’d proposed to me and promised me a lifetime.
All because I couldn’t handle the handsome-as-fuck man currently ripping open the plastic-wrapped blanket beside me.
As subtly as I could, I looked him over again, determined to find something about him that wasn’t visually perfect. Something that made me a little more comfortable about sitting next to him as we crossed the International Date Line.
The International Date-Me Line.
Because, failing that, I could only hope that he was a dickhead or an asshole or maybe even a total tool.
He’d sunk his teeth into his bottom lip in an adorable look of concentration, having draped the blanket over his legs and grabbed the emergency exit card from the seat pocket in front of him. I’d never seen anyone give that safety card so
much attention and something about that was endearing.
A little weird, if I was honest, but endearing.
For the record, I knew I shouldn’t judge, because for all I knew it was his first time flying and he was nervous, but . . . I couldn’t help it. I was judging him, and he was getting a ten-point-zero in the damn, that’s cute event.
I looked away from the mouth that I would wager good money could move from sweet to sexy in a heartbeat and looked over his stubbled jaw. It was square and masculine and something about it made me want to trail my fingers along it to trace its shape.
Girl, you need to settle down. Not only was I visually molesting this man, I was thinking like a fifteen-year-old with their first real crush. I needed to give him an imaginary happily-ever-after that included a wife who was the kind of gorgeous that only a man like him could even look at, five kids including two sets of twins, and a house full of rescue animals.
Because that would definitely ensure I stopped staring. For sure.
Except . . . his hair was dark and although I couldn’t see exactly what shade it was in the terrible airplane lighting, I could tell that it looked soft and inviting. The kind of hair that a woman could grab onto while his face was buried between her thighs, his tongue working overtime to give her an orgasm or two.
I scolded myself, sighing inwardly—because I didn’t want him to hear me, obviously—and turning back toward the window. I’d found nothing that made him less than perfect, which meant I was now officially team let-this-hot-dude-be-a-jackass.
“G’day.”
I snapped my head around to look at him, the deep perfection (of course it was perfection, of course it was) of his voice coupled with the obviously Australian greeting and the hint of that distinctive accent making my thighs clench. My heart racing from the acknowledgement, I smiled at him, nodding in a polite greeting. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to say “G’day” back, it was more that I couldn’t. My voice had left the building—okay, the plane—along with my ability to act like an adult rather than a schoolgirl with a crush.
I opened my mouth in an attempt to say something, all the while praying that it didn’t come out stuttered and/or squeaky, but he beat me to it.
“I’m Lucas. Australian,” he added, pointing at himself. It was such an odd way of introducing himself that my smile grew wider, my awkwardness unlocking enough that I could reply.
“Bianca. American.” Not a squeak or a stutter to be found, which made me mentally fist pump.
Lucas held out his hand for a shake and I’m almost ashamed to admit I reached for it like it was a lifeline. A little zing of awareness rippled through me when our palms met, and I wondered if he felt it too, or if I was making too much of this simple, friendly greeting.
Naturally, my brain chose that moment to remind me that I had never felt this kind of zing with Mason. Certainly not the first time we met or touched. Not that we were completely zing-free, but there was something about this one that was . . . I don’t know. Zingier.
“Well, Bianca. Looks like we have about fifteen hours to get to know one another”—he tilted his head just a little and I mimicked the move, inviting him to keep talking, our hands still joined between us—“so I sure hope you liked what you saw when you were checking me out just now.”
Mile High is the first book in the Mile High duet and is available FREE on all major e-retailers. If you like airplane meet-cutes, undeniable chemistry, and falling in love, then grab your copy HERE.
About the Author
B. Cranford is a proud Australian living in the USA, a lover of books, breadsticks and bed, and the mother of two children who are far too similar to their father for her liking. A lifelong reader, she dove into the romance genre on the recommendation of her best friend and hasn’t looked back since. After three years as a blogger, she decided it was high time she finally finished one of the 12,002 books she’d started writing, and the end result was her debut novel, The Brightest Star.
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Also by B. Cranford
The Bright & Crazy Series
The Brightest Star
All bets are off when love is on the line.
A Little Bit Crazy
She thinks they’re enemies, he knows they’re something more.
A Crazy Christmas
If they can make it through the holidays, they can make it through anything.
The Avenue Series
About Time
It’s all about timing.
Because Forever
Everyone should have a chance at forever.
For Today
First comes love, then comes marriage.
The Mile High Duet
Mile High
They say time flies when you’re having fun, but what about when you’re falling in love?
The Arrival of You
How long does it take to fall in love?
The Rescued by Love Series
She Found Him
She wasn’t looking but still . . . she found him.
She Hated Him (Coming Soon)
She hates him. Or maybe just hates the way he makes her feel.
The Challenger Series
The Fear of Falling
Everyone knows that love is a battlefield.
The Marriage Bet (Coming Soon)
You don’t actually have to be married to play married, right?