‘Cora.’
‘Cora what?’
‘Cora Andersson.’
He nods, then drops his attention to his papers once more. Distracted by his work, I have a moment to observe him unawares and I take advantage of it before I realise what I’m doing. I’ve heard of him, I’ve seen his photo in the papers, but up close he’s all kinds of distracting. Handsome, sure, but not in an ordinary way. His complexion is tanned, his hair dark, his features broad and symmetrical. A square jaw, a straight nose, lips that are almost rectangular and a divot in his chin that is the one softening part of his whole expression. His physique is just as impressive. I couldn’t help but notice as he boarded the plane and lifted his backpack off, so his shirt pulled apart at the waist to reveal a flat, toned stomach, that he’s fit.
Really fit.
My mouth goes dry and after a few seconds I realise the absurdity of what I’m doing—standing in the cabin, staring at Holden Hart until I can hardly think straight.
‘Is that all, sir?’
‘Sit.’ He waves a hand towards the armchair opposite, not directly answering my question.
‘I—’
I what? It’s not like I can make the kind of excuse I ordinarily would when a passenger tries to keep me hostage, taking advantage of the fact we’re there to make their journey as pleasant as possible.
He knows I don’t have another call button awaiting my attention.
‘It wasn’t an invitation.’
That goads me. ‘It was what? An order? A command?’ I think of Amy and regret lashing out. She trusts me. She recommended me to take over for her. I shouldn’t risk doing anything that could hurt her job. But seriously?
Something changes in his expression. I can’t say what—it’s a tiny shift of his lips and eyes so he looks—for barely a millisecond—amused. Then, nothing. He drinks his beer, his eyes on mine so I know I can’t drop my gaze to his Adam’s apple, despite the fact I have a strong impulse to do just that.
He replaces the beer on the table in front of him, his expression contemplative. ‘I don’t know you.’ The words are said simply, yet I feel like there’s an undercurrent to them I can’t possibly comprehend.
‘No, that’s true.’ I don’t sit down, but nor do I move.
‘I know everyone who flies with me.’
I relax a little. He’s a control freak, that’s all. ‘I see.’
‘So? What are you doing on my jet?’
There’s a simple answer to this. Why do I feel like I want to tease him a little, string this out, make him worry? The urge is completely unprofessional.
And yet... ‘Flying to Australia.’
He frowns, and then his eyes spark to mine and something changes in the air between us. I want to take the words back, so too my teasing—okay, flirty—tone. What the hell’s got into me?
‘You’re some kind of sky hitchhiker?’
My smile is involuntary. This time when he gestures to the seat opposite him I take it with only the slightest hesitation. ‘Yep. Thanks for letting me jump aboard.’
He lifts a brow but it takes me a second to hear the unintentional double entendre to my words. I wonder if he’s going to say something. To tease me back. He doesn’t. His face is like stone once more. Grumpy, cross. ‘So, Cora Andersson, how did you come to be wearing a Hart uniform?’
I look down at the navy suit, glad Amy and I are basically the same size. She’s a little less endowed in the bust region and, okay, she’s slimmer at the waist too so I’m wearing a T-shirt beneath the shirt of the suit, just in case I pop a button.
‘I’m filling in for someone.’
‘I see.’
‘Amy.’ I dart my tongue out, licking my lower lip, then stop as soon as his eyes drop to the gesture, following it lazily so heat flicks at the soles of my feet.
‘Hancock.’