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 up with the odd comment or “joke”, but it did tick her off. Men.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She clenched her teeth and pushed back, out of his orbit.
Standing tall, she shrugged her shoulders and tugged at her shirt, making sure the girls were tucked in, then knotted the silk scarf which had come loose around her throat. Pulled herself together. Somehow, she’d forgotten where she was going. Cockpit. Right. She nodded, but her legs stayed put.
He nodded too and raised his eyebrows, crinkling his forehead in apparent concern. He ruffled a hand through his cropped hair and mussed it appealingly. What would it feel like, to run her own hands through his hair? To smooth her hand across his brow, then muss the man properly. What was wrong with her today? Had she bumped her head on the way down?
There was just something about him. An unwelcome pang of something – regret or desire, she wasn’t entirely sure – shot through her belly. A certain something likely to lead her into temptation and end in trouble.
Her heart ker-thumped out of rhythm and the air huffed from her lungs. Straightening her skirt, she hurried down the aisle to get away from him, swaying and bumping along with the turbulence.
Sinead entered the cockpit and nodded at the co-pilot she didn’t know well. He tipped his chin at her, but directed his attention back to the radar image. She hung back, hearing the tense tone of Captain Arrowsmith’s voice. “Acknowledged. We’ll await further instructions.”
Tom, as he’d asked her to call him when they first met, sat perfectly straight with his back to her, his spine rigid as he worked the controls and hung on for air traffic control. He was one of the good guys, always so professional. Not to mention a fine-looking older man. A silver fox. He spoke to her as an intelligent person, not a serving wench as some pilots did.
The disembodied voice of an air traffic controller crackled through the radio. “Flight 180, you are being diverted. You are go to Singapore. Repeat, you are go to Singapore.”
“Acknowledged. Repeat course correction.”
The rest of the conversation was a muffled blur against the backdrop of her mind. The storm was developing fast and air traffic control was clearing the airspace. Not a good sign. Everything was reminding her of the worst day of her travel career, a flight to the Philippines that went awry. Her breathing sped up and she wiped her palms against the wool fabric of her skirt.
Tom swivelled around, a frown creasing his forehead. His usual warm expression missing. “Okay, Sinead. We have a confirmed tropical storm and it’s getting stronger, possibly a typhoon developing. We’ll need to de-plane. Please inform the cabin crew and then I’ll make an announcement to the passengers.”
She nodded. “Yes, Captain. Tom, I mean.”
Her heart raced ahead and her mind played out worst-case scenarios as she stepped out of the cockpit.
Stay calm. She slowed her pace, walking on wobbly legs down the aisle back to her colleagues. She passed Mr Coffee with barely a glance, concentrating on the job at hand.
Minutes later, she’d assembled her crew mates in the galley for a briefing. They stood in a circle as she relayed the captain’s message, the bare facts. Yuki’s mouth popped open and Deanna leaned against a trolley, arms crossed tight across her chest. They were no doubt worried, but trying to remain professional. The rest of the crew looked at their feet or stared at her and nodded, silent as the grave. No. Not a grave, definitely not a grave. Silent as some other silent but lovely thing, like rainbows or butterflies. Sinead was working hard to think happy thoughts, anything other than a terrifying typhoon blowing a plane full of passengers off course.
Her crew were all okay. None of them were panicking. They’d remember their training and help the passengers however they could.
Damian was the odd man out. Pouting, his poufy black hair bouncing as he shook his head. He looked put out. Sinead knew he coveted her senior crew member position, which made him unmanageable at times.
Damian wasn’t a happy camper, but she wouldn’t waste any more time on him. He muttered something under his breath and then kept quiet.
She had a whole cabin of passengers to calm, to reassure, to make comfortable. Even when she was feeling less than calm and comfortable herself. She’d developed a sixth sense when it came to emotions, honed by years of anticipating and meeting other people’s needs. It didn’t make the work any easier. It was emotionally as well as physically exhausting and that was without the added stress of a tropical storm.
Half the time she was a flight attendant zombie, an honorary member of the walking dead. A new wave of tiredness washed over her and she rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. Then she snapped out of it. She stood tall and got going again, showing the other crew members she was on top of things. Leading by example.
A loud but calm voice burst through the PA. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Arrowsmith speaking. Apologies for the unexpected turbulence. We have been asked to divert our course and make an unscheduled stop in Singapore due to an approaching tropical storm front. We’ll make our descent in approximately three hours. At this stage we only expect a short delay but we will be required to disembark. Please remain seated and fasten your seat belts. I’ll provide another update shortly. Thank you for your attention.”
The crew took off in all directions, no messing about, they were back to work. She grabbed Yuki’s arm before her friend disappeared. She worried about her. A mother hen instinct, or a desire to help her settle in as a newer crew member with only six months in the air. Yuki had never experienced a tropical storm while flying.
Sinead spoke quietly in Yuki’s ear. “Are you all right?”
Yuki nodded, then her lips stretched in a tight grin. It didn’t reach her eyes. She pressed her lips together and shook her head in disagreement with herself. “I don’t know. What are we going to do if the storm hits mid-flight? Do you think we’ll make it into Singapore in time?”
“Of course we will. The captain’s got it all under control. We need to make sure we do our jobs and stay calm. All right?” Sinead hoped her voice conveyed all the confidence she herself was trying to muster.
The plane dipped and Sinead ignored the nausea rolling through her own stomach as she held o
n to Yuki’s arm. She closed her eyes for a second. Lord, she’d kill to be on holiday. Thailand. Warm and exotic. Relaxing without a care in the world, drink in hand, stretched out on a sun lounge by the pool. Three weeks to go, and counting.
Yuki’s face crumpled in concern. “I’ll be okay, Sinead. Let me know if you need me to help with anything.”
She’d lighten the mood with talk of shopping which always worked a charm with Yuki. “Don’t worry. Before long we’ll be in Singapore. We might even have some time for shopping in Orchard Road, spending all our cash in those gorgeous shopping malls.”
Yuki’s expression brightened. “Oh! How could I forget? Daniel’s in Singapore. He could meet us. I wonder if we’ll have to stay over? I could invite Daniel to our hotel.”
Sinead’s tired brain ached at the idea, but she nodded. “Sure, why not?” She’d covered her hesitation pretty well. Yuki’s boyfriend was a medical student who still lived with his parents in a crowded high-rise apartment. So reunions always happened in Yuki’s hotel room, adjoining Sinead’s room with paper-thin walls. The close quarters never seemed to worry the pair of them, but the wall-banging, making-up-for-lost-time loving got on her nerves. It cost her precious sleep and only brought home the reality of her own lack of sexy times.
She clanged plates and cups together, focused on stacking trays and tidying up, to make sure things didn’t go flying in the turbulence. It was a thankless task, but it had to be done. All the while, Yuki prattled on. “He’s so handsome, I miss him so much …” Blah, blah, blah.
Then Yuki stared up at her from her crouched position by the cart, her huge brown eyes bright with mischief. “Speaking of handsome men, what did you think of coffee-guy in 3A? Gabriel Anderson. I recognised him. He’s an Aussie CEO, some kind of website genius, according to the BRW Young Rich List. Gorgeous, loaded and single. You should go for it.”
Sinead rolled her eyes. Yuki’s addiction to reading up on eligible bachelors was legendary. Yuki had memorised Business Review Weekly magazine’s annual list of the richest Australian business people under the age of forty. Some girls wanted to marry a rock star, but Yuki was set on snagging an up-and-coming businessman.
Sinead ignored her friend’s odd hobby of virtual stalking and organised containers of sugar. “Sure, I pick-up arrogant rich men all the time. I collect them. Have my wicked way with them, then stuff them and hang them as trophies on my wall.”
Yuki stood with her hands on her hips. “Make jokes all you want. You might want to try taking one home once in a while. You’re only getting older. Tick, tock.” She tapped the designer watch strapped on her wrist.
Sinead dropped a handful of spoons on the cart with a clatter. “Oh. My. God. What did you say? I’m only twenty-six.” She playfully pushed Yuki on the shoulder.
Yuki shoved her right back. “And you’re hot, in your prime. Get out there and have some fun. You might regret it later if you don’t.”
Sinead sighed as Yuki walked away, then gripped the wall as the floor vibrated underfoot. Her friend may have a point. At no stage during the last few years did Sinead think she’d be a twenty-six-year-old flight attendant flitting across the globe, but locking herself into a series of cells, alone each night. Celibate as a nun. She might as well wear a habit instead of her uniform and call herself Sister Sinead.
How depressing. She pulled her shoulders back and marched herself back into the cabin and got to work.
Somehow, the crew got through the next three hours of increasing turbulence, pitching and rolling. Sinead had handed out nearly the whole stock of sick bags, and that distinctive smell was getting to her. Passengers were whinging and she’d caught a coffee pot that had nearly bonked Yuki on the head in the galley.
Sinead was walking down the aisle handing out hot towels when a hand shot out and grabbed her hip. She froze. Goosebumps raced down her arms. Not the good kind of goosebump. The creepy kind. She stepped back a pace so the man’s hand dropped away.
“Darlin’, how about you get a bloke an extra blanket and come keep me warm?” It was the heckler, making his presence known again. His speech was slurred. They’d cut off the booze earlier but he’d only gotten stroppy. He’d yelled at poor Deanna until her eyes went watery, close to tears.
She took a closer look at him. Bald shiny head, red-rimmed eyes and even redder nose. His suit was shiny at the knees and elbows. He was the type of passenger she hated, who used a first-class ticket as a pass to act entitled and obnoxious.
She gritted her teeth then called up her nice-as-pie expression. “Of course. Wait a moment.”
A grinding noise and a dip in the plane to match had her stumbling down the aisle again. Little bubbles of nervousness rose to the surface of her mind, then popped and disappeared.
He was standing by the bar at the rear of the cabin, watching her again. Mr Anderson. Her mind blanked. Blue, blue eyes stared back at her. Blue as a summer sky over a tropical island. His gaze was as warm and decadent. Yuki was right, he was gorgeous. She could feel his eyes on her as she swayed on down the aisle to the storage cupboards near the restrooms.
Next thing she knew, the heckler was there. Banging against the closed restroom door a few paces away from where she stood with an armful of blankets. He rattled the lock until she feared it would snap.
She stepped away from the cupboard and turned to see what he was doing. “Excuse me, do you need some assistance?”
But it was too late. With a loud crack, the heckler pulled the restroom door clear off its hinges. He staggered back, the door in his two-handed grip, then he fell on his arse. The door clonked him on the head, good and hard.
Her hand flew to her mouth, it was hard not to laugh, but she held it back. She pressed her lips together tightly and popped her armful of blankets on the floor before offering a helping hand.
“Oh, sir, are you alright?” She bent forward and tried to drag the door off him. The door didn’t budge. It was heavier than it looked, and kind of wedged between the walls of the small space. The heckler grunted, legs flailing about. It served him right. She wished she could leave him there, but that wouldn’t do.
Then he was there. Mr Blonde CEO, Too Hot To Handle, Anderson. He wrenched the door off the prone man, as if it weighed nothing at all, and leaned it against the wall beside her. Then he dusted off his hands and managed to still look perfect in his swanky suit. All in a day’s work, apparently. There was grumbling from the man on the floor as he sat up, but she was staring at the helpful passenger.
“You okay?” Mr Anderson’s forehead crinkled attractively.
She blinked, wondering if it was appropriate to thank him for being handsome. “Ah, yes, thank you.”
“Good.” He nodded once and sauntered back to his seat.
An odd one, Mr CEO To The Rescue. Surprisingly helpful, if a little un-talkative. With an arse she’d like to sink her teeth into. Oh, Lord. He was definitely a distraction she didn’t need.
The heckler had got up on his feet, stumbling towards the restroom further down in Economy. At least he was out of her hair for a while.
She faced the gaping hole of a doorway, the restroom on display. What was she going to do? People would still need to use the facilities, and she couldn’t see how she’d re-attach the door mid-flight. She didn’t exactly carry Superglue or an electric drill around. All she had handy was a pack of Hollywood tape. While it might keep her boobs in place in a low-cut dress, it probably wouldn’t do the trick on a six foot door.
Out of the corner of her eye she spied Damian, standing back down the aisle, pretending to tidy up with a garbage bag in hand. He’d no doubt been watching the shenanigans, but had avoided helping her. Time for him to do some actual work.
Her quick hand signal meant get over here now, lazy bones. He raised his perfectly groomed eyebrows in that insolent way of his. But he strolled over to her, taking his sweet time.
“Here, Damian. I need a big strong man. But you’ll have to do. Hold this door for me.�
� She shoved it towards him and he caught it awkwardly, stumbling back a step.
His head snapped from side to side, looking at her, then the door. “But, what? How long for?”
“Until the flight’s on the ground, I expect. Hold it in place when someone needs the loo. Good man.”
Before he could close his gaping mouth or refuse, she’d left him to it. One more problem dealt with. She almost tripped over the blankets by her feet, so she grabbed them and headed towards the heckler’s seat. She left him a couple of blankets to head off further complaints.
On her way to catch up with Yuki, who was checking the luggage was secure in the overhead compartments, Sinead heard a tiny wail like a trapped kitten. Then she spotted him. Poor little man. The baby boy with his lone Mummy. She was standing and jiggling him in the aisle, bub draped over her shoulder. The wails grew louder, and his face was red and blotchy. The mother caught Sinead’s eye as she was about to pass her.
“Here, take little Jack.” The woman shoved the baby at Sinead, none too gently. “I need the bathroom.”
Sinead grabbed for him, tucking him into the crook of her neck, one hand under his tiny onesie-clad bottom. “Sure, happy to help.” It was part of her job, doing whatever was needed to help the first-class passengers. Anyway, she quite liked getting to cuddle the babies.
Baby Jack’s cries grew piercing as the plane dipped. She clutched the little one close, his face nuzzled into her neck. The soft and sweet smell of baby actually soothed her, while she tried to soothe him. Her belly lurched and her ears popped painfully with the sudden change in air pressure. Horrible to an adult, aware of the situation, let alone a tiny child. On cue, he let out an earth-shattering wail.
Sinead shooshed and spoke softly. “It’s all right, little man. Your Mummy will be back in no time.”
She kissed the top of baby Jack’s head, downy hair tickling her nose. She giggled and patted him on the back in a slow rhythm. Raising her head, her gaze connected with a certain gorgeous CEO a few metres away. Watching her. Again. Eyes alight but darker now, if such a thing were possible. His face was flushed, a touch of pink across his cheeks. She could’ve sworn he was interested in her.
Girl on a Plane Page 2
