Force of Forever (All In #0.5)

1

“You’ve got your wistful face on again.”

That comment, paired with the feel of the cool bottle in her palm and a jolt of turbulence, shook Pia out of her reverie. She snapped her gaze to her favorite coworker and cued her dimpled, customer service grin back in place. She fluttered her eyelashes a few times for good measure. “Better?”

Carol chuckled. “There’s my happy Pia.”

Shaking her head in mock annoyance, Pia popped the cork on a sparkling wine bottle. Sure, they were thousands of feet above the ocean on their way to France, but they didn’t serve real champagne. Not even inpremièreclass. At least she was catching a break from economy, where she’d be wearing her itchy sweater vest while handing out soda in plastic cups to cramped rows of passengers.

No,premièrewas miles above. The dress was cuter and the shoes sexier. Though Seat Two, the only male passenger within decades of her age, had yet to even glance at her. He’d boarded with headphones on, neck bent over his iPad. Pia didn’t know anyone who had an iPad. The tech was brand-new and crazy expensive. Seat Two’sfuck off, I’m busyvibe boded ill for the ten-hour flight. Pia’s worries were getting loud. Work usually provided distractions, and the other seats in her section looked just as hopeless.

She expertly poured out four glasses of effervescent wine. No overflow, and perfectly equal. Distantly, in economy, she heard Daniel going over in-flight safety. No need for that here, with their wealthy frequent flyers. Carol swept three glasses onto her tray and peeked around the corner of their prep area.

“You always get the good ones,” she complained. “Look at Eight. He looks like he runs a porn studio. I bet he’s a grabby-hands. And Seven? Ancient. Six might be Anna Wintour.” Carol pursed her lips in irritation.

Pia snorted. “Eight does look squirrelly. Seven looks like somebody’s sweet old grandpa. I bet he calls you ‘sweetheart,’ but in a cute way. You’ll be fine, even if Six is Anna Wintour.”

Pia eyed her own passengers, seats one through four. Seat Three sat empty. She could tell from the cocked angle of the gray head that Seat One was already asleep. Four was a girl, high school age. Kids that age wanted as little interaction as possible. She knew that from her large circle of cousins who tried to get away with texting during Sunday dinner. And Seat Two…his wavy brown locks were still bent over the tablet in front of him.

Yeah, it was going to be a long, uneventful flight.

She smoothed down her dress, patted her sleek ballerina bun, and set the remaining champagne flute on a tray. Four didn’t even glance up as she walked by. Pia would check on her in a minute. She breezed by the empty seat and came to a pause next to the man on whom she’d hung her hopes for a few more hours of deferred worrying.

Seat Two did not look up. Long legs in gray slacks stretched in front of him. His shapely fingers tapped quickly on the iPad, entering information into a document. His blue sweater looked soft. The fabric molded lusciously to his frame, all broad shoulders and defined chest. Rare flutters kicked to life in Pia’s belly.Hello, attraction. It’s been a while.She hadn’t dated in months, hadn’t been intimate in far longer. Too busy. Too unsettled.

She fixed her smile and leaned forward. “Beverage?”

His eyes flicked up, quickly and dismissively, as if he’d already made up his mind to say no. But then their gaze locked. And held. Pia’s stomach crashed like a furious ocean that matched the color of his eyes. Slate blue and deep. Perfect for drowning.

His lips parted and Pia could not stop staring at them. They looked impossibly smooth, the antithesis, she was sure, of the stubble surrounding them.

His dark brows drew together. “Hi.”

The word, unexpected and breathy, made her smile. Really smile. “Hi.”

The man’s shoulders straightened as he dropped the iPad on the seat tray next to him without a glance. The headphones followed. “I mean, yes. To the beverage.”

“Wonderful.” She handed the glass to him, ignoring the whirlpool in her stomach his pronounced French accent and ocean eyes stirred up. “Sparkling wine. Probably not as good as what you’re used to.”

He smiled, straight teeth catching the bottom lip. Thunder clapped over the storm in her body as their fingers came within millimeters. The man was that startling. A tempest in human form.

“You’re really not selling it with statements like that.”

“Don’t need to sell it. The wine’s free,” she shrugged.

He dragged his eyes to the glass balanced in his fingers, turning the flute a few times. Pia tried not to swoon over his tousled hair and studious expression. Or the super-snug sweater. The rim of the glass hit his bottom lip and his head tipped back, throat bobbing as he sampled the bubbly. Every line of him was intensely masculine and perfectly formed.

It had beentoolong, if a man’s throat could turn her on.

Seat Two brought his gaze back to hers, a smile pulling at his smooth lips. “Not bad. We should work on your marketing.”

“Should we?”

He nodded slowly, and Pia would have given her last paycheck to know if he was really thinking about marketing. Okay, that was a lie. She needed every penny.

Remembering herself, Pia took a step back. She was lingering. Interrupting. Maybe even fantasizing a little about that mouth. Seat Two was probably thinking he had work to do, and sheshouldbe thinking that this beautiful man inpremièreclass was worlds apart from her own. “Enjoy your not-bad wine. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

He sat forward. “Wait.”