He was very tall and broad. Slim hips at her eye level. He was taking off an overcoat and folding it up to place it in the overheard locker, revealing a lean, muscular build under a fine silk shirt and jacket. Sidonie was vaguely aware of the way the air hostess was hovering attentively.
The man said in English, with a seductive foreign accent, ‘I’ve got it, thank you.’
The air hostess looked comically deflated and turned away. The man was now taking off his suit jacket, and Sidonie realised she was staring—no better than the gaping air hostess. Quickly she averted her head and looked out of the window, seeing nothing of the pewter-grey Parisian spring skies and the fluorescent-jacket-clad ground staff preparing the plane for take-off.
His image was burned onto her brain. It didn’t help when she felt him take the seat beside her and all the air around them seemed to disappear. And it really didn’t help when his scent teased her nostrils; musky and masculine.
He was quite simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life. Dark olive complexion, high cheekbones, strong jaw. Short dark brown hair. Firmly sculpted masculine mouth. He should have been pretty. But Sidonie’s impression was not of pretty. It was of hard and uncompromising sexuality. Heat. The last kind of person she’d have expected to sit in an economy seat beside her.
And then he spoke. ‘Excuse me.’
His voice was so deep that she felt it reverberate in the pit of her belly. She swallowed and told herself she was being ridiculous—he couldn’t possibly be that gorgeous. She turned her head and her heart stopped. His face was inches away. He was...that gorgeous. And more. He looked vaguely familiar and she wondered if he was a famous male model. Or a French movie star?
Something funny was happening to Sidonie’s brain and body. They didn’t seem to be connected any more. She felt a hysterical giggle rise up and had to stifle it. She didn’t giggle. What was wrong with her?
One dark brow moved upwards over the most startling pair of green eyes she’d ever seen. Gold and green. Like a lion. She had green eyes too, but they were more blue than green.
‘I think you’re sitting on my seatbelt?’
It took a few seconds for the words to compute, and when they did Sidonie jumped up as if scalded, hands flapping. ‘I’m so sorry... Excuse me... Just let me... It must be here somewhere...’
Sounding irritated, the man said, ‘Stay still and I’ll get it.’
Sidonie closed her eyes in mortification, her hands gripping the seat-back in front of her, and she hovered, contorted in the small space, as the man coolly retrieved his seatbelt and buckled it.
Sidonie sat down again and attended to her own belt. Feeling breathless, and avoiding looking at him again, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I—’
He cut her off. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it.’
A flare of something hot lanced Sidonie’s belly. Did he have to sound so curt? And why was she suddenly so aware of the fact that her hair was scraped up into a messy bun, that she had no make-up on, that she was wearing jeans that were so worn there was a frayed hole at her knee and an equally worn university sweatshirt. And her glasses. If Central Casting had been looking for ‘messy grunge student type’ she would have been hired on the spot.
She was disgusted at herself for letting a man—albeit a man as gorgeous as this one—make her feel so self-conscious. She forced herself to take a deep breath and looked resolutely forward. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she was aware of big, strong-looking hands opening up a tablet computer. Her belly clenched.
The seconds stretched to minutes and she heard him sigh volubly when the plane still wasn’t moving. His arm nearest to her reached up to push something, and she realised it must have been the call button when the stewardess arrived with indecent haste.
‘Yes, sir?’
Sidonie heard the irritation in his voice. ‘Is there a reason why we’re not moving yet?’
She looked over and saw only his strong profile and jaw, and even though she couldn’t see it she could imagine the kind of expression he’d be using: imperious. She glanced at the woman and felt sorry for her because she looked so embarrassed.
‘I’m not sure, sir. I’ll check right away.’ She rushed off again.
Sidonie let out a faint snort of derision. Even the stewardess was treating him as if he was some sort of overlord.
He looked at her then. ‘I’m sorry... Did you say something?’
Sidonie tried not to be affected by his overwhelming presence. She shrugged minutely. ‘I’m sure we’re just waiting in line to take our slot on the runway.’
He turned to face her more fully and Sidonie cursed herself. The last thing she needed was his undivided attention on her.
‘Oh, really? And what if I have an important meeting to attend in London?’
Something hot flashed into Sidonie’s veins and she told herself it was anger at his insufferable arrogance. She crossed her arms in an unconsciously defensive move and said in a low voice, ‘Well, in case it’s escaped your attention, there are approximately two hundred people on this plane. I’m sure more than one other person has a meeting to make, and I don’t see them complaining.’
His eyes flashed and momentarily stopped her breath. They were so unusual and stark against his dark skin. He was like a specimen from some exotic planet.
‘There’s two hundred and ten, actually, and I don’t doubt that there are many others who have important appointments lined up—which makes my question even more relevant.’
Sidonie barely registered the fact that he knew exactly how many were on board and bristled at the way his eyes had done that quick sweep up and down her body, clearly deducing that she wasn’t on her way to an important meeting.
‘For your information,’ she said frigidly, ‘I have a connecting flight to Dublin from London and I’ll be very inconvenienced if we’re late. But that’s just life, isn’t it?’
He leant back a little and looked at her. ‘I wondered where your accent was from. It’s intriguing.’
Sidonie wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, so she clamped her mouth shut. Just then someone dressed in uniform with a cap came alongside their seats and coughed slightly to get the man’s attention.
Releasing Sidonie from his compelling gaze, the man turned, and the pilot bent down and said discreetly, ‘Mr Christakos, sorry about this delay. It’s beyond our control, I’m afraid... They’ve got a backlog of planes waiting to take off. It shouldn’t be much longer, but we can get your private jet ready if you’d prefer?’
Sidonie knew her eyes had gone wide as she took in this exchange.
After a few moments the man said, ‘No, I’ll stay, Pierre. But thank you for thinking of it.’
The captain inclined his head deferentially and left again and Sidonie realised that her mouth was open. Abruptly she shut it and looked out of the window before the man could see. In her line of vision was a similar plane to theirs, standing nearby, with the distinctive Christakos logo emblazoned on
