seem to be making much headway.
‘Sorry chaps, I need to pop to the loo,’ announced Conrad, bobbing up from his seat. I moved out into the aisle and Benedict followed me. As I stood behind him, I could smell the same clean smell combo that I’d smelled before and it brought a vivid reminder of the details of that night and the shimmering tentative flirtation between us.
Unable to help myself I studied the short hair at the back of his neck, trimmed neatly to the nape, fighting the sudden crazy urge to stroke down the golden hairs tracing down the column of his neck. Thank goodness I hadn’t given in to crazy compulsion and done anything stupid that night. At least I had the sense to run out before things had gone any further. And the jury was most definitely out on what might have happened if his mobile hadn’t rung.
It had been a silly transient moment that meant nothing. Too much champagne, two strangers and a touch of bravado. Totally meaningless. A possible hook-up that thankfully we hadn’t pursued.
And now I was going to pretend that that evening had faded so far into insignificance that it hadn’t even registered.
Unfortunately, certain parts of my brain hadn’t got that memo and when he turned around to face me, something inside me went a little haywire. I think my mouth dropped open a little bit, and I might have let out a stuttery breath as his cool blue-grey eyes met mine. I didn’t even like the guy for crying out loud, so why was my heart tripping the light fandango, like it had never laid eyes on a handsome man before. Seriously, he was rude, arrogant, horrible. He wasn’t even that good looking. Not really. Passable. Nice shoulders. Nice eyes. Nice face. Interesting face, one of those all put together nicely sort of faces. Just nice, mind you, not drop-dead gorgeous or anything. OK, he was drop-dead gorgeous but that didn’t mean anything.
He blinked and for a second we were back on the balcony of the Great Room, awareness buzzed through me and I was horribly conscious of him. A flash of sensation as my memory unhelpfully reminded me of the charged moment when he’d touched my back.
I stiffened and took in a sharp breath.
‘Everything alright?’ I asked, being ultra-professional.
He pursed his lips. ‘No.’ With a flick of his wrist, he looked at his watch. ‘I should be sitting at my desk, typing up the notes from an interview I did last night. Instead I’m here, at twenty thousand feet, stuck with a group of people I have nothing in common with,’ at this point he glared pointedly at me, ‘away from home, for a whole week.’
Any lingering butterflies upped and died right there. I studied him for a second seeing the tension sitting in the taut lines around his mouth.
‘Look Benedict—’
‘Ben,’ he corrected.
No, Ben was the tempting, teasing guy in the tuxedo. Benedict was Captain Grumpy, and him I could handle.
‘We can go over and over this. How much you don’t want to be here. Blah, blah, blah. The fact of the matter is, you are. You can choose to be miserable and resentful and not get anything out of it or you can suck it up and enjoy yourself.’
The woman to my right raised her head listening eagerly, enjoying the show.
‘Or,’ he smiled grimly, ‘I can enjoy myself at your expense and find my own stories.’
‘There is that,’ I said, ‘but it would be a little unethical, don’t you think?’
‘Unethical. Me? After you set Dawkins on me. I think your own ethics need a little polishing.’
I ducked my head; he might have a very slight point.
‘I’m off to the loo, while I can,’ he said indicating over his shoulder with a nod before he turned his back and stalked off down the aisle.
Two air hostesses, a good ten seats away working their way down the aisle, doing battle with a trolley both gave him appreciative second glances.
With him gone I sat back down out of the way and pulled out a guide book to Copenhagen that I’d ordered and not got around to reading, but it didn’t hold my interest. The huge range of choices belied the slim volume, and although I tried to dip in, the more I read the more daunting it felt or maybe there was something else on my mind. Idly I picked up Ben, no Benedict’s, crossword, with a quick look over my shoulder.
He’d got a couple of clues. As I read some more, one caught my eye Foxy lady’s top, after sound measurement before long (7).
Some of the letters had been filled in, including a V which gave me the biggest hint. I smiled, no I smirked. Vulpine. Another word for foxy. The l from the top of lady, vu was volume unit and another word for long was pine.
Six across was definitely vulpine. Grabbing the pen tucked into the seat pocket, I filled in the answer in small neat capitals, grinning from ear to ear as I did it and then casually replaced the pen and crossword as if I’d never touched them.
‘Alright Kate, dear,’ asked Conrad suddenly appearing at my shoulder. I jumped and moved to let him back into his seat.
‘Yes fine.’
‘Intense young fellow, our Ben,’ he observed with a knowing glint as he settled back into his seat. ‘Not sure he’s over fond of you.’
‘He doesn’t like PR people. His editor insisted he came on the trip.’ I shrugged.
‘Ah. So, nothing personal then,’ he winked, ‘I’m sure you’ll win him over.’
‘Hmm,’ I said with a forced smile. It was personal with a capital P and there was sod all chance of winning him over.
I glanced at the crossword with the ghost of a smile. It wasn’t as if I was planning on trying that hard.
It was a relief when the air hostess appeared to take tea and coffee orders, although ordering for the whole party across several seats took a while and it was only when the hot cups were safely installed on the seat back trays, that Benedict picked up his newspaper again.
Holding my coffee cup with great care, I pulled the itinerary out of my bag. It would be just my luck to spill boiling hot coffee over Ben’s leg. I scanned the list of activities of the latest version, which now had much more detail added to it, when he took in a short sharp breath.
I reread the same sentence again, keeping my eyes peeled to the words on the page and didn’t say a word.
‘You filled my crossword in!’ He sounded horrified and disconcerted.
I didn’t say a word, simply looked at him, dispassionate and cool.
He rustled the paper and slapped it down onto his lap, glaring at me.
With a gentle smile I looked down at the crossword. ‘And I think nine down is environment.’
With a casual shrug I turned back to my book which was pretty difficult because I wanted to laugh at how mad he was. You could almost feel the kettle about to blow. Understated fury steamed from him, almost evaporating from his skin. Copenhagen was going to be hard work, but perhaps I could have a little fun too at his expense …
