by Rissa Brahm
But not all good. Not for his nameless line mate. Returning home from war to what—a fight with her husband? He rubbed his head and sighed. Although he’d do anything to have contact, any contact, with his Jamie again—even a fight of epic proportions would do—he did not envy the woman. She seemed defeated, drained.
Odd, though. A fight with a spouse, a loved one, produces heaving fumes of raw emotion, real blood-rushing life. Not so with Unnamed Soldier. A thick quiet with a resonating emptiness came off her like the silent devastation after a land mine detonates—the one travesty he’d witnessed on his very last mission. Anyway, her leftover void was palpable.
Like his void was palpable.
He couldn’t just sit there and ignore her pain. No, he had to do something.
He looked at his boarding pass, Group 1 First Class, just as a flight attendant—Violet Eyes!—sprinted past the podium, chucked a coffee cup into the trash, and rushed through the boarding door while onlookers grumbled and booed. Then she was gone again, a flash of energy. He returned his focus to his solemn soldier. Then to his boarding pass. That’s it. He’d give her his seat. Yes, that’s what he’d do. But from their brief exchange earlier, he knew she wouldn’t take it, not willingly. Too much pride. He had to do it anonymously. He’d go through Violet Eyes or one of the other flight attendants. Yes, he’d board first and arrange it. His much-desired sleep would be had, or attempted to be had, in coach class. He’d managed sleep standing up in desert heat on past missions. Coach would be fine. He realized that a first-class seat for Unnamed Soldier might be a useless bandage over the deepest of heart wounds, but it was something, right? It would be a brief comfort, a sign of appreciation. And it wasn’t even a unique gesture, as he’d seen it done before, by vets or patriots or guilty souls like him, but again, it was something. Something for someone who seemed to be devoured by a similar nothingness.
And having an excuse to speak to Violet Eyes…that was not a motivation in the slightest.
CHAPTER 6
Preeya tossed a guilty smile at Leena on her way back to coach.
“Glad you could make it, Preeya.”
“Thanks, Leena. Me, too. And in case I hadn’t told you before, you really are the best,” she called over her shoulder with her most professional-yet-cheeky tone. Leena had turned the other cheek at Preeya’s punctuality issues too many times to count. And although it was done with an air of superiority that caught Preeya in the chest each time, she owed the woman a lot.
“You’ve told me. But it’s gettin’ really old,” Leena yelled. “So is covering your ass, Preeya.”
As of that morning, Preeya knew a lot had gotten old, and she also knew that actions, not words, were needed to start changing things.
She scurried back to put her purse under her jump seat but kept her cell in her skirt pocket. On her way to check the overheads with Amanda, she stuck her head in the restroom to tidy her hair, check her makeup, and tuck in her stupid blouse. A bit better, passable.
She moved up the aisle and slid by Amanda, pinching her ass as she did. Her loyal friend shot her a look of mock rebuke. Preeya giggled and blew it off with a sweet-as-sugar smile as she checked the first of the overheads, engaging her calf muscles to reach all the way back to be sure they were all empty.
“You get the rest, Pree…I’ve gotta pee before the lovelies board.”
“I have some extra pillows and blankets up here, Preeya. Come and get them, would you?” Leena called.
Amanda rolled her eyes.
“Go pee. I got this and Leena.” She waved Amanda on. “Sure thing, Leena!” Preeya rushed through the rest of the overhead compartments within arm’s reach, adjusted a safety card in the pocket at row four, then made her way up to Leena.
She smiled wide at her superior as she reached for the stack.
“And hey, you owe Amanda a break so you’re on beverages and cleanup.” Leena’s brows raised but a smirk betrayed the subtle reprimand. Preeya knew Leena liked her despite her shortcomings, and she knew it kept her employed, sad to say. Was that the charisma Gigi spoke of?
“Preeya, did you hear me?”
“Sure, of course, Leena,” she said as she squeezed down on the slippery plastic-wrapped stack of comfort amenities while wearing a sweet smile for the first of the elite-class passengers. One after another they entered the tight confines of the airplane cabin, with its recycled air and the slight stench of toilet and hand sanitizer.
Ready to head back to her section, she nodded at Leena and swiveled her feet when someone caught her eye. No.
Yes.
The man towering over Leena. Golden Eyes.
Her breath halted, just stuck there in her throat.
And her heart beat in her ears.
In her memory, the one thing her father agreed with her mother on—there’s no such thing as coincidence.
She watched him, awestruck, while he made his way row by row, his head awkwardly skimming the cabin ceiling. It surprised her how calm and cool he seemed, more than used to his above-it-all vantage point. But not cocky. Kind. Yet totally confident. Even with his chin nearly touching his chest as he made his way—and his shoulder bag, only slightly less ridiculous than a fanny pack—his confident air made the beating in her ears freight-train down to her stomach. Then lower still. Her cheeks heated and her eyes darted down to the floor. Not that he was looking at her face or reading her thoughts or gauging her spike in body temperature to know the sudden whirling feeling below her belly. No, he was reading, with sharp focus, the seat plaques lining the bulkhead.
And as his eyes scrutinized the next seat number, she brought the pile of pillows in her arms a bit higher up her body, up to her nose, then peeked over them. She could still see his face, a gentle yet strong face. With those soft, tired but dazzling eyes now checking his seat assignment stub with great scrutiny. It made her giggle low in her chest, how OCD he was being about his seat number in contrast with that unmistakable confidence—that tall, towering poise. The routine continued, him checking the stub in hand against the seat plaques, the stub to the next plaque, and on with each next step down the aisle he took until he looked farther down the rows.
Right at her.
With those eyes.
He’d forgiven her with those eyes when she’d slammed him in the leg with her bag yesterday. And she’d not forgotten that he’d taken her breath away then, too. And during their brief security run-in when he’d been too busy to notice her until it was too late. Until she had to run.
But, well, here he was. With those warm-as-honey eyes. On her flight.
He continued toward her, down the aisle.
And, God, with the bright fluorescent cabin lights, those eyes of his just sucked her in and burned her up. They were a bright, golden-wheat hue accented by flecks of copper and bronze. Light, glowing eyes.
But they possessed a solemn something behind them.
His gaze held hers in its grip. Magnetic. Eyes narrowed but smiling. Because he absolutely recognized her, too.
He dropped his gaze that instant and all she could see was the top of his clean-shaven head. Was he embarrassed she’d caught him staring at her? Like she’d been mortified a moment ago when she’d felt that twinge of pulsating heat at her core? Oh God. She squeezed the armful of comfort amenities tight to her chest to refocus her attention to the task at hand, her paid task, and as she took a step back toward coach, the entire pile—each and every pillow and blanket—spewed like a waterfall to the cabin floor.
Shit. Preeya couldn’t ignore Leena’s glare before the woman turned to the next oncoming passenger to deflect and distract from Preeya’s ridiculous fuck up. “Hello, folks, welcome. Welcome aboard Jetta Air.”
And Preeya, heat flooding her cheeks even more now, knelt down to clean up her mess of sleep amenities.
CHAPTER 7
“Excuse me?” Golden Eyes knelt down to help her pick up the strewn recycled flannel blankets and hypoallergenic pillows.
“Oh
, thank you. But, really, there’s no need,” she said, trying like hell not to look him in the face as she scrambled to clean up her spill. No time for distraction. Sweet-meets-unknowingly-sexy or otherwise, she needed to keep focused on her job, getting to Amy’s wedding, then life choices. Her very own, albeit long-winded, mantra.
“Um, here.” He handed her another felt blanket. “And, uh, I do have a quick question for you.”
Shit. His voice was like the color of his eyes—smooth melted honey—and it coated her insides. No, damn it. No time for chitchat or pick-up lines or, God, those eyes, the very cause of her pillow spill. He should find his seat and ask Leena his question.
She tried to hide her impending huff, then grinned. “Yes, sir.” Her eyes hard-focused on the remaining few pillows at her feet. “What can I answer for you?”
He leaned into her slightly and whispered, “Actually, I was hoping you could do me a favor?”
Damn it. Eye contact. Several shared blinks followed until she forced her eyes down his face. To his lips, red and moist and curled up at the corners, mesmerizing dimples she hadn’t noticed before, now on dreadful display.
He placed a pillow on her stack and cleared his throat.
Oh God. Still unable to break the spell, she forced a smile.
Preeya. “Sorry, sir.” She swallowed without success, her mouth too dry to dislodge the embarrassment from her throat. “What favor is that?”
But he, too, seemed paused, frozen. With no items left to collect from the floor, he narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and studied her. God, was she doing this to him a second ago? How awkward. And breathtaking.
Leena’s voice reached her ears then. “Hi, folks, how are you? Traffic jam ahead. It won’t be but a moment…”
Preeya swallowed as she stood up with the tower of pillows and blankets firmly in hand this time. He stood up with her.
“Sir, what was it…that you needed?”
“Oh, God, sorry…I’m, um…” He blinked hard and slow. “It’s just your eyes…they’re so rare. You’ve probably heard that a million—”
“Excuse me, Preeya, dear, but these passengers are ready to come through,” Leena stated over the tall man’s shoulder, though Preeya couldn’t actually see Leena behind him. And standing only a few inches from her, the towering helper with a favor was overwhelming her senses.
“Terribly sorry. Yes, let me just move out of the way,” she said as she stepped into a row of seats while balancing her reacquired stack. That was easy. Harder was shaking off Golden Eyes’ reaction to her.
And her reaction to him.
*
“What did you need, sir?” she repeated with an accommodating smile in her renewed rush to get back to coach class.
He could only stare. Disheveled or not, rock star…fodder or not, vodka-laced perfume or not, he was captivated. Against his better judgment and, heck, his chest full of guilt, she’d snatched his attention. Again.
Yesterday in line, before the chaos took her away, he thought her a mirage, with something behind her eyes—sweet depth, wild dreams, passion. Then seeing her the second time at security, that struck him as strange. Now, here, on his flight, inches from him, well, he just couldn’t figure out what to think, how to act—what to do with his gaze. Look her in the eyes? Those purple-indigo enigmas, illuminating dusk or lavender fields or purple haze in the silvery moonlight over a placid lake.
Framed by black-as-ink lashes.
Okay Poet Ben.
Fine, stare at the mile-high stack of synthetic blankets in her arms.
No, back to the eyes. Just look at her and ask her your damn question already.
He targeted her eyes, batting at him.
Waiting for him to speak.
Speak, damn it.
“Preeya?” The first-class attendant again.
Preeya. Perfect Preeya.
Hurry up, Ben.
“Right, real quick…so you can get back to work. I saw a military servicewoman waiting to board. I hoped to give her my first-class seat.” He handed Preeya his boarding pass stub, which she pinched with the only free fingers she had.
She nodded and smiled from behind her stack of comfort stuffs. “Certainly, sir. That’s…very nice of you.” She cleared her throat and took a step toward coach while he got caught by her eyes again. Damn those piercing, stunning, soul-deep eyes. “I’ll just put these items down and then I’ll—”
She paused. The head of a lanky kid with a huge backpack strapped to his shoulders blocked their view. The teenager, earbuds stuffed in his ears and hands stuffed deep in his pockets, lumbered past them. Slowly. An adorable little girl followed close behind with her own roller bag, which nailed Ben in his Achilles’ heel. He grimaced, bit his bottom lip to redirect the pain, then exhaled. At least it wasn’t a second hit to his shin, which had bruised overnight.
The path cleared. “I’ll meet you back here so we can find her to know her seat number.”
“Well, actually,” he said, rubbing his ankle with his other leg while speaking in a hurried and hushed tone. God, he hoped she didn’t think he was trying to sound seductive, because that would’ve been even more awkward after all his gawking.
But why the hell would she think he was hitting on her? You’re arranging a seat exchange with someone, Ben…not a threesome, for God’s sake.
Oh Lord. His face burned, throat thickened. He brought his hand up to the top of his head and rubbed, resetting his thoughts to continue, then swallowed to find his voice. “I’d like to give her my seat anonymously, or she might decline it…if she has someone to decline it from, you know?” He also really didn’t want any attention from the deed. He’d had enough attention over the past several months and years. He was definitely done with the spotlight.
But her attention made his heart crash against his chest. When she opened her mouth to respond, he found himself interrupting her with nervous, annoying chatter, but he just couldn’t contain himself. “Because in the terminal earlier, she bumped me, the soldier did, and I of course dismissed it, but she’ll remember me, and definitely decline and—”
“Sir.” She threw him a pseudo-polite smile, which he couldn’t blame her for—the lead flight attendant’s impatience radiated from only a few rows away.
Dumbass, let the woman do her job. “Right. When you’re free…”
“Yes, sir, of course. Maybe go to the rear of the plane and wait for me there?”
“Sure, yes. I’ll just…stand in the back…in coach and wait…for you.”
“Yes. Fine.” A warm, only slightly fake smile lifted her face. She waited. “Please, after you, sir. Just head all the way back.”
“Right, yes.” He nodded then slipped by her, his front grazing her back. And, Jesus, the sensations that blasted through him, up and down him, weren’t warranted, not at all. And his uncontrolled reaction to her body pushing right up against his, his hard and unmistakable response, could not have been ignored.
Oh Jesus.
Violet Eyes—Preeya, rather, Pretty Preeya—sighed then coughed.
Move, man! He took one more large sidestep, and he found himself safe on the other side of her—safe and mortified and flooding with burning-hot shame.
“That way, sir. Just wait for me by the restrooms—” Her brows lifted, “at the end of the aisle, sir.”
Man did he want to run, sprint, fly down the aisle. Away from her. But not. He couldn’t even look at her again, but he also couldn’t move his feet.
“Sir, would you please take your seat?” the first-class attendant called back to him over Preeya’s head.
He lifted his hand, an apologetic wave. Then to Preeya as he backpedaled a few steps—movement in the right direction, at least. “Thanks again…for arranging the seat swap for me.”
She flashed a final smile and nodded, then turned her attention—her stunning eyes—to the coach passengers awaiting the pillows and blankets in her arms.
*
Preeya headed back to her
seat hoping no one else needed anything from her. After the pillow disaster, it had only gone downhill. There was Leena’s passive aggression, pushing and pulling her in all directions—fair retribution, Preeya guessed, but…wow. Then, between handling the first-class seat swap, a diaper emergency, the leg-room upgrade complaint in 13A, and the child in 6B who was too cute to deny crayons and an extra blanket to, not to mention the doom-and-gloom in 20C, Preeya’s hangover headache had been shoved over the edge. And she still needed time to send her ritual text to her sister.
She closed bulkheads on her way back to get the safety demo seat belt and oxygen mask, and when she finally got to her jump seat, out appeared Golden Eyes.
Right. How could she have forgotten? She hadn’t, not really, and couldn’t even if she’d tried. When he’d brushed by her earlier, bodies mashed together in the tight aisle, he’d left quite the impression.
Hard to forget, for sure.
Preeya—Jesus. He’s a passenger. And again, she had her lines—no things or flings with passengers, pilots, or crew. And her new focus. There were to be no flings of any kind. Not until she figured out who the hell she was, and then what she wanted.
A polite cough from nearly a foot above pulled her from her zone.
“Sorry, sir, to have kept you waiting.”
While avoiding his sunlit eyes, she took out the seat-assignment stubs—Kyla Ruiz Allen and Benjamin Trainer—while hoping this interaction moved along faster than before, because the doors had already closed and she needed to do the safety demo. And Preeya sensed Leena’s glare thirty-five rows away.
