rolled her compact carry-on through the open door of the gate as they both walked down the jet bridge. She could feel the heavy weight of the man’s steps behind her in the aluminum hallway with the thin carpet. The man was tall and solid, a wall of muscle, clearly. Who was this man who got things done with a snap of his fingers? A flight attendant greeted them with a curt nod of her head as she read their tickets and directed them upstairs to the two-level airbus, the airplane equivalent of a double-wide trailer, Juliana thought. The big plane was headed to Chicago, but after that, Honolulu. She knew the itinerary by heart, part of her Blue Sky project knowledge. Still, she felt a ripple of unease in her stomach as she boarded the plane. It was nothing, really. She flew all the time and never got nervous, so why did she suddenly feel like the walls of the plane seemed too tight? She gave herself a mental shake. Get it together. She glanced at her ticket and then realized they were at the very back of the plane, last row. Well, that was what they got for being late, she figured. She hoped being so close to the bathroom didn’t turn out to be unpleasant during the long flight.
“Window seat or aisle?” Juliana asked him.
“What would you prefer?” he demurred, cocking his head slightly, clear blue eyes never leaving her face. He gave no hint about whether or not he cared about where he sat. His broad shoulders blocked the aisle as he waited for her answer.
“Window,” Juliana said. “If that’s okay.” She hated when the flight attendants rushed the cart down the aisle. Sometimes they’d hit her laptop or smack her elbow if she wasn’t careful.
“Absolutely.” He smiled, flashing his bright-white, toothpaste-ad smile once more. Wow, but his clear blue eyes looked like the clearest, purest water, almost the ice-blue of a wolf’s. Something about him screamed danger, too, the delicious kind that promised breathless fun, like riding helmetless on the back of a motorcycle. Confidence radiated off his shoulders, and she could tell by the way he carried himself he was put together, worldly, sophisticated. She worked on collapsing the handle of her bag, and Law stepped in.
“Let me help,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he whisked her bag up to the overhead compartment as if it weighed less than a pillow. I could’ve gotten that, she wanted to tell him. I’m not helpless. She scooted into the window seat and he took his place at the aisle. Blue Sky was like many other airlines, where coach seating was tight. The space was so close, and Juliana realized she’d be taking note of every slight shift from the man next to her. He’d absolutely be a distraction this flight, as she felt his elbow graze hers on the arm rest.
“Uh, so...” Juliana flashed him a smile as she set about fastening her seat belt to give her hands something to do.
“Call me Law. Short for Lawrence.” Law, as in lawless, she thought. His broad shoulders seemed better suited for leather and steel, rather than the domesticated Polo he wore.
“Law. Nice to meet you. I’m Juliana.”
Law took her hand and shook it. She liked the feel of his palm across hers, big, protective, strong. Made for wielding an ax or sword, not a briefcase. “You...have an accent,” she pointed out. “Are you... British?”
“Australian, actually.” He flashed a perfectly white smile. Now she imagined the Viking wrestling crocodiles. Just when she thought he couldn’t get more masculine, he somehow managed it. Then she mentally shook herself. What was wrong with her? “But I’ve lived in the States since I was twelve, so lost most of the accent. But it creeps in now and again. Usually after a drink or two at dinner.”
She loved how he sounded, how dinner almost became dinnah. It was decidedly faint, though, just the hint. “So, how did you manage that magic trick back there? Do airline employees always fall for your charms?” Juliana meant it to sound flirty, but it almost sounded...envious. Juliana wasn’t the type of woman who usually got what she wanted from charm. She usually got what she wanted by working hard and having all the facts at her disposal, by relentlessly pounding away until her opponents gave in. When she was younger, she’d been a nerdy bookworm, for the most part, an all-honors, all-A student. It didn’t help things that she’d been a late bloomer, not actually growing curves until her sophomore year in college. Until then, she’d been rail-thin.
“Well, I’m a frequent flier,” he explained, thick elbow resting dangerously close to hers on their short armrest.
Juliana swiveled, surprised. “So am I, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that level of service.”
“Yes, but I’ve got eleven million miles, give or take.”
Juliana barely prevented her mouth from dropping open. “Eleven million?” She did a rough calculation in her head. “That means if you traveled fifteen years, you’d need 733,333 miles a year.”
His mouth quirked up in an amused smile. She was relieved he didn’t act surprised, or say, Wow, you’re really good with numbers, like some men who seemed genuinely shocked that a woman could do math in her head.
“Yes, give or take that. I’ve been traveling regularly for twenty years, though, so really it’s just about 550,000 miles a year.”
“Still... That’s...mind-boggling.” Juliana struggled to process the staggering reality. “I thought I travel a lot, and I just hit 200,000 miles last year. What do you do? Are you a pilot?”
He chuckled, voice low. “No, but I wanted to be. I have a special kind of color-blindness. I mix up blues and greens, so I can’t fly.” His stark blue eyes never left hers. It was hard to imagine anything being wrong with them. “I wanted to fly fighter jets but couldn’t, back when I was twenty.” He shrugged one fit shoulder. She got a whiff of his cologne. Something subtle but earthy. She liked it. She found herself leaning in a bit more. “So instead of going to the Air Force Academy, I went to Wharton. And...here I am.”
“So what do you do?”
“What do I do for a living or what am I passionate about?”
Juliana considered this. She knew many folks who might not be so focused on their careers as their passion. She understood that. It wasn’t like consulting was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. She’d much rather someday run her own company, call her own shots. That was what she’d like to do. Be the boss.
“What are you passionate about?”
“Charity and innovation.” Law’s eyes grew a brighter shade of blue. This really was his passion. She couldn’t help but be surprised. Something about his take-no-prisoners attitude didn’t seem to fit with a nonprofit. “I just started a charity. It helps encourage entrepreneurs from all over the world. I think we need more innovation, and sometimes big companies can hinder competition.”
“So what does the charity do?”
“We give out grants to small business owners, but from all over the world, whether that’s Uganda or New Jersey.”
“That’s great.”
He grinned, a blinding flash of white. She met his amused stare and found herself forgetting everything she wanted to say. Those eyes. So blue. So amazingly clear. Those firm, muscled arms on display through the thin cotton shirt. Juliana mentally shook herself. What was she doing? Drooling all over the passenger in 34H? Seriously? She wasn’t some teenager crushing all over the new boy in class; she was a professional woman with responsibilities. Besides, he was probably married. Her attention
