The Baby Bump

by Tara Wylde

  And I am tired, bone tired, more tired than a pilot should be, but have always refused to lean on anyone, and that includes the latest in a long line of co-pilots. Especially him.

  “I’ve got this.” I grab the intercom and press the button as soon as the flight attendant finishes her spiel. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I just want to use this opportunity to thank you for both choosing Northwest Airline for your international traveling needs and making this flight a true pleasure. Enjoy a lovely time in Florence.” I slide a sideways glance at Ronan. Something about his mildly amused expression irritates me. “While you’re in the city, I urge you to enjoy a dinner that consists of Bistecca Fiorentina with Schiacciata Fiorentina for dessert. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.” Just saying the words makes my mouth water. I’m a sucker for good Italian food.

  I turn off the intercom and sense more than see Ronan grin. “Sounds like you know a thing or two about Florence.”

  The airport crew has the jetway that leads people into the airport in place. I push the button that opens the large hatch-style door on the side of the plane and go to stand beside it. “I’m a pilot. I know my way around a lot of cities.”

  “True,” Ronan murmurs. He stands beside me and smiles warmly at a blue-haired woman as she carefully maneuvers her large walker through the narrow space. “But something in your voice makes it sound like you have a special affinity for this city.”

  “Affinity?” I hiss under my breath. “That’s a pretty big word for a frat boy, isn’t it?”

  Granted, I don’t know where Ronan went to school, but he strikes me as the kind of lazy rich kid whose daddy managed to pull strings and get him into a fancy ivy league school where he spent four years drinking beer and hazing freshmen with his frat brothers.

  The bite in my tone doesn’t faze Ronan. “I learned a few things along the way, including a couple of big words.” His shifts his weight and stares at me. “How ‘bout once we finish the post flight check, you show me around Florence? I’ll even spring for that fancy dinner you told the passengers to get. What do you say?”

  “I say that we finish securing the plane, then you’re free to do whatever it is you do. I’ll head to the hotel and go straight to bed.”

  As soon as the last sentence falls from my mouth, I know it’s a mistake. Ronan wastes no time taking advantage of it.

  He sidles closer and bends his head until his warm breath teases the hair near my ears. “I’m ready and willing to make sure you enjoy your time in bed. It’ll be the best time you’ve ever had in bed. I promise, I’ll take good care of you.”

  I’ll never, ever tell Ronan, or anyone else for that matter, this, but deep down, there’s a tiny part of me that’s really tempted to invite him to my room. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how it’s been a long time since I’ve felt a man’s touch and well, Ronan is here, he’s attractive, he’s obviously willing, and if I’m being completely honest with myself, he’s hot. But he’s also a co-worker, and if there’s one lesson I’ve truly learned, it’s to never, ever strike up a relationship with a co-worker.

  Unfortunately, constantly telling myself that Ronan is off limits hasn’t done a damn thing to ease the warm glow that started burning in my belly when I first confronted him.

  Rolling my eyes, I shift away from Ronan. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

  Ronan’s brows climb toward his hairline and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Really? Mind if I watch?”

  “Pervert,” I say, speaking just loudly enough for him to hear, but not loudly enough for the man shepherding two young, sleepy-eyed children past me to pick up on.

  Ronan chuckles softly. Grinding my teeth together, I stand still just long enough for the last passenger to disembark before spinning on my heel and storming back into the cockpit to start filing my post-flight report.

  I don’t hear from Ronan again until after we’ve taxied the plane to the space it’ll spend the next few hours before making another trans-Atlantic flight. He follows closely at my heels as I climb down the stairs out of the plane and walk across the tarmac as a warm, soft Italian rain drizzles down on us.

  His shoes slap against the wet ground as he draws even with me. The rain manages to make the spicy cologne he’s wearing even more appealing. My hands curl into fists.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go out or something?” Ronan says in a soft tone. He lengthens his stride, beating me to the large red door that leads Northwest employees from the tarmac into the small collection of rooms the airline rents for us. He turns the handle and pulls the door open before taking a step back, creating just enough room for me to proceed him into the building. “We could take a quiet drive around the city, taking in the sights, or have a nice drink somewhere. Whatever you want. My treat.”

  I stop right in front of the doorway and turn to face him. Meeting his eyes requires me tipping my head way back, making me truly aware of just how tall he is. “Look. I’m not in the mood for sex, drinks, or anything else you have in mind. I don’t want to see or hear from you until it’s time for our pre-flight checkout. And even then I want you to do your damnedest to stay out of my way. Got it?”

  I spin on my heel and storm into the building before he has a chance to respond. As I speed walk toward the Captain’s breakroom, where there is supposed to be hot coffee, snacks, and lockers where we can stow the things we need for our next flight, I hear the red door click shut and the heavy fall of Ronan’s footsteps in the narrow hall.

  I open the breakroom’s door, stepping over the threshold at the same time my hand hits the light switch. Just as the room transitions from light to dark, my foot strikes something soft on the floor, the unexpected contact causing me to pitch forward and hurtle, face first, toward the floor.

  Cassie

  “Cassie.” Ronan’s voice seems like it’s coming from a long way away even as his big, warm hands cup my shoulders and he helps me climb to my feet. “Are you okay?”

  “What the hell?” I look down.

  My stomach pitches, threatening to expel the lunch I ate on the plane. Black spots dance before my eyes. I haven’t tripped over anything someone left laying on the floor. I tripped over and landed on a large man who was crumbled on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle. His dark brown eyes stare blankly up at me.

  “Oh my God!” I clap my hands over my mouth.

  I reel around, colliding with Ronan, and bury my face in his chest. His arms come around my waist holding me tightly as he slowly backs out of the room, taking me with him.

  I continue clinging to him for several long seconds before he moves one arm from my waist and starts groping in the general vicinity of his hip.

  “What are you doing?” His shirt muffles my words.

  “Trying to get to my phone,” he replies. “I need to call the police. Let them know that they’re needed here.”

  “Is he …” it takes all my effort to make myself say the word. “Dead?”

  “Looks that way.” Ronan lets the words hang in the air for a second before continuing. “Did you know him?”

  Even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I can’t stop myself from looking back over my shoulder at the man lying on the floor.

  I’ve seen dead people before, but never like this. Those bodies have always been tidied up by some nice mortician and placed in a pretty coffin, making it easy to convince myself that the person wasn’t dead, but merely resting.

  This guy doesn’t look like he is resting. His wide unstaring eyes bulge out of his head, his skin is mottled and unattractive, his face bloated. I force myself to study his features.

  “He looks familiar, like someone I’ve seen once or twice in my life, but I can’t say that I know him.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him.”

  I study the bruises on the man’s throat and take a deep shuddering breath. “He didn’t just slip and fall, did he?”

  “D
oesn’t look that way.” Ronan taps his cell phone’s screen a few times before lifting the device to his ear. A second later he starts speaking in Italian. Flawless Italian. Nothing like my very basic knowledge of the language which is almost good enough for me to tell a taxi driver that I need to go to a hotel.

  Ronan’s conversation only lasts a few seconds. He hangs up the phone and looks down at me, drawing attention to the fact that I’m still plastered to his chest. Cheeks flaming, I peel myself away from him and step sideways. I’ve never been the kind of woman who has needed to lean on anyone, and I’m not about to start now. Taking comfort in Ronan’s arms was nothing more than a kneejerk reaction to unexpected circumstances.

  “The police are on their way. They’ve already contacted airport security and let them know what happened, so they’ll be here any second now.” Ronan shuffles backwards and leans against the wall across from the open doorway. “Meanwhile we’re supposed to wait here and not touch anything.”

  Cassie

  “I think that will be all.” The tall Italian police officer glances down at his notes. “Ms. Mayers, are you going to be in Italy long?”

  I reach down deep inside me and tap into the absolute last dregs of my patience. This is the fifth or sixth time he’s asked me that question. “No. As soon as I’ve taken a long enough break to satisfy the FAA requirements, I’m getting back into my plane and flying passengers to Athens.”

  A few feet away, a couple of youngish men who have been assisting the female police coroner use a backboard to lift the body off the ground. Sullen faced, they shuffle down the hall toward the door that leads to the tarmac.

  “And then where will you be?” The officer speaks English, but his thick accent makes it difficult to make out the words.

  I grind my teeth together. I can’t figure out if he thinks I killed the guy on the floor or if I just know more than I’m telling him. Either way, I can’t shake the feeling that he believes I’m guilty. And getting trapped in Florence is the last thing I need to have happen right now.

  “Athens. And from there, I’m flying to London before making the return trip to Atlanta, Georgia, and eventually back to Texas, where I’ll get a few days off.” Assuming my head doesn’t explode before that point. “If you check my flight logs, you’ll realize that there’s no way I could possibly be involved with this man’s death because I was in the air.”

  Ronan edges closer and lightly touches my shoulder.

  “Easy,” he mutters. “Pissing off the police isn’t smart.”

  I really hate the fact that he’s right.

  “Sir.” Ronan’s hand stays on my shoulder as he looks at the officer. “Not only have Ms. Mayers and I spent the past two hours explaining that we merely found the body, that we don’t know anything about the man or how his neck was broken, but before that we completed a long international flight. We’re both tired and hungry. You have our cell phone numbers if you need to reach us, and if those don’t work, I’m sure that the airline can help you get in touch with us.”

  “I understand.” The officer nods sympathetically. “And you’re correct. If you wish to leave you’re free to do so.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I blurt out. “You’ve been badgering me for hours, but one word from him-”

  “Cassie,” Ronan warns, his tone reminding me of just how much trouble I’ll be in if I aggravate the officer too much. “Let’s go.”

  His hand slides down my arm, past my wrist, and his fingers slide between mine, sealing my palm to his. The officer’s gaze tracks the movement and his brows shoot toward his hairline. Great, now he thinks Ronan and I are a couple.

  The tiny, hot vibrations his touch sends racing up my arm do nothing to improve my mood.

  I try tugging my hand free, but that only causes Ronan to tighten his grip as he leads me away from the scene of a possible crime and toward the door they took the body through.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I hiss at him.

  “Getting you away from here before you do or say something stupid that lands you in hot water,” Ronan snaps back. It’s the first time I’ve heard even the faintest edge of temper in his tone.

  “I wasn’t going to do anything stupid,” I sputter, even as I inwardly acknowledge that I’d been awfully close to doing just that.

  “There’s always a line of cabs standing by, waiting for passengers. We’ll grab one and take it to the hotel.” Ronan slides a sideways glance in my direction. “Where you can get some sleep and maybe lose that chip you’ve been carrying around on your shoulder ever since I met you.”

  “If there’s a chip, it’s the result of spending every single day dealing with egotistical, bullheaded co-pilots who think women should be at home making babies rather than in the cabin of a passenger jet.”

  “Whoa!” Ronan lets out a low whistle and opens the back door of the nearest cab. “Talk about issues.” He steps back, letting me slide into the cab.

  Guilt pierces my gut. Other than that weirdness in the break room when he was talking about love at first sight, Ronan has been quite pleasant. Not only did he not make any disparaging remarks about my flying or continue to make passes at me, the entire time we were flying over the Atlantic Ocean, he was polite, quiet even, seemingly content to leave me to my thoughts. It was nice and not at all what I expected.

  I roll this thought over in my head as Ronan crawls into the cab and sits beside me. He says something to the driver-the only word I recognize is the name of the hotel the airline booked us into-and the car pulls away from the curb and into the heavy Florence traffic.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” The words nearly stick in my throat. I don’t have any practice with apologies.

  Even though I’m staring straight ahead at the back of the front seat, I feel Ronan’s eyes boring into me.

  “What for?”

  Of course, he wants an explanation. Why can’t people just take apologies at face value? It’d be easier.

  “For being such a bitch. You don’t deserve it.” If I were a better person, I’d end the conversation right then and there, but I just can’t bring myself to do so. My stubborn, belligerent streak is just too powerful. “Not that you might not change.” He wouldn’t be the first co-pilot I’ve worked with who was sweet as could be only to reveal his true identity when he realized I had no intention of sleeping with him.

  Ronan shrugs. “You really haven’t done anything that I didn’t already suspect.”

  My brows snap together. I swivel my head to stare at him. The cab pulls up to the curb and stops in front of the hotel.

  “What does that mean?” I demand.

  “The guy who hired me, Craig Buchanan, he told me about you.” Ronan reaches for the handle and opens the door.

  “He did?” I search my brain, trying to put the name with the memory of a face. “What’d he say?”

  “Nothing too terrible, I guess.” Ronan gets out of the car. “Just that you’ve had some … disagreements with other pilots in the past. From the little you’ve said, I’m starting to get the impression that they might have given you at least some reason for striking out at them.”

  This marks the very first time that anyone, especially a man, has indicated having even the smallest bit of understanding about what I’ve been going through since first signing up to fly Northwest jets.

  His comment feels like it deserves some sort of response from me, but I don’t know what to say. Luckily, handing the credit card Northwest supplies to cover expenses while I’m flying for them to the cab driver buys me a little time. I stare at him, my mind whirling, as he slides the card into the little chip reader attached to his phone. Once he hands it back to me, I slip out of the car and move past Ronan, who opted to wait for me beside the cab rather than walking into the hotel and getting the key to his room.

  He follows me into the hotel. In the lobby, I hesitate for a second, my gaze bouncing between the desk that’s manned by a pert Italian w
oman with big eyes and shiny hair and the door just past it that leads to the hotel bar. The illuminated sign above the door says it’s still open for business.

  Knowing that I’m probably about to make a big mistake, I turn to Ronan. “After everything that’s happened, I could use a drink. How ‘bout you? My treat.”

  Ronan

  I can’t say that Northwest puts its pilots up in Florence’s worst hotel, but they also didn’t choose the swankiest place in town.

  At some point, I suppose this place was probably quite nice, but now it’s several years past when it should have had a face lift. The dark blue carpet beneath my feet isn’t just worn but has holes in a few places and the edges are frayed. The wallpaper is faded. A few of the light bulbs are burned out. The wood the bar is made from is scuffed and scratched, and the upholstery in the stools is flattened.

  The bartender, a tall young man who is probably in his early twenties, stands well over six feet tall with the wide shoulders of an American football player and a sleepy, almost bovine, expression.

  The only other people in the hotel bar are a young couple sitting near the window. They’re holding hands and laughing, so absorbed in one another I doubt they’d notice if the table beside them burst into flames. Looking at them sends a sharp jolt of envy through me. I’ve never had a woman look at me the way she’s looking at him. I’ve always wondered how it’d feel to be that important to another person, to be their everything.

  I slide a glance at my companion. For the first time, I know exactly who it is I want to look at me that way, though the odds of that happening are about one in a billion.

  Cassie climbs up on one of the stools and braces her elbows on the bar top. Her eyes lock with the bartender. “A negroni.”