Nope. I just have the hots for the boss from hell and I can抰 think when I抦 stuffed into a seat next to him.
She nods pleasantly, eyeing me carefully. 揅ertainly. We抮e stocked with standard Wake Up Call blend and decaf. I抣l show you how to make it.?
She gives me a quick rundown on how the machine works. It抯 nothing I haven抰 seen before, minus a few extra safety mechanisms.
揕et抯 do the standard blend,?I say.
She opens a drawer, pulls out a bag of ground coffee, and hands it to me.
While I let her in the small galley, I notice Cole staring at me more than once while I linger just outside.
I fuse my eyes to the percolating pot and her hands, avoiding his magnetic gaze.
But when I look up again, Kate Storm is right behind us, looking like death.
Oops. There抯 actually a line of three or four people, all waiting impatiently for their coffee. I抦 holding up the show.
I抦 sure that also explains why the grump keeps giving me that evil eye. He probably just wants his caffeine hit, too.
Oh, but he抣l get his last.
Once the pot is brewed, I pull out the big sealed carafe and tell the attendant I抣l be back to brew more.
揑 could take these for you, or I could start the next pot,?she offers.
揟hanks, but it抯 a six-hour flight. I like staying busy.?
揂h-ha, my favorite kind of passenger.?She smiles.
I take my three disposable cups and hand one to Kate before I pour fresh, fragrant coffee.
揟hanks,?she says.
I point to the guy in the cabin next to her seat. 揑s he asleep??
?..huh? Is that coffee??he pops up, muttering drowsily.
揌ere抯 a cup for him, too,?I say, passing the extra to the attendant.
I grab the carafe and make the rounds, saving the attendant some extra work.
揌i, Eliza,?Destiny says, rubbing her eyes when I pass her seat.
揥elcome back to the land of the living.?There抯 an empty seat beside her, so I sit for a moment. 揑 thought you抎 nap the whole way there.?
揑 can抰 go back to sleep now. I don抰 know, something about plane pressure never feels quite right.?
揝orry, hon. Do you want some coffee??
She nods. 揃ut, um, I like cream and sugar...?
I place the cup securely in the holder beside her. 揕et me start another pot, and I抣l be right back to sweeten it up.?
揧ou rock!?
I return to the galley and start a second pot. I抦 scooping ground coffee into a filter when an unexpected warmth against my ear makes me jump.
Before I even turn around, I know.
I can smell him. Earth, citrus, a hint of espresso, and overpowering alpha male.
揧ou just can抰 sit still, huh? You had to take over the flight attendant抯 job??His voice is a low rumble, a purr that plucks at my nerves.
The attendant rounds the corner and gasps. 揙h, I抦 sorry, sir! I offered to do it, but she said she wanted the experience. I didn抰 see the harm...?
揋uilty,?I say without looking at him. 揑 couldn抰 pass up a chance to join the coffee mile-high club.?
His eyes flash with a wicked gleam when I realize my mistake.
揂re you done bothering me, Mr. Lancaster??
He smirks at the flight attendant. 揑t抯 fine. I know how Eliza gets.?
What? He doesn抰 even know me.
Why is he acting so familiar?
First the flirting, and now this?
Did he really bring me on this trip for the sake of coffee science? What do I know about Kona beans, anyway? I抳e never picked them by hand.
The sudden crisis of confidence hits like a Mack truck.
揥hy don抰 you sit down? I抳e got this. I think we抮e the only people left without coffee,?I say, ignoring how he squeezes into the tight space next to me.
Lancaster doesn抰 move. If anything, he inches closer, watching how I tremble every time he brushes me and梠h, God. He抯 enjoying this, isn抰 he?
When I grab the new carafe, I almost elbow him in the gut on my way out.
揇o you mind? Like I said, I抳e got this.?
His look reminds me how very little I抳e got anything when it comes to self-control. I almost drop the coffee container on the floor.
When his hand darts around my wrist, I almost hit the ceiling.
I抦 barely breathing as he moves his fingers slowly up my hand, gently lifting the carafe away from me.
揧ou抮e shaking like a leaf with a container of hot liquid. Are you sure you don抰 need a hand? Serving coffee isn抰 below my pay grade, sweetheart,?he whispers.
Dear Lord.
I shake my head fiercely, until he gives up the carafe again when I reach for it, touching his fingers.
For the faintest second, my hip brushes his.
揑 can handle my coffee, Mr. Lancaster, but...but thanks.?And because I can still feel his breath when he抯 so achingly close, I add, 揑t抯 not as hard as I thought it would be.?
He clears his throat loudly.
At first, my mangled words don抰 register.
Shocked that this self-possessed man seems so flustered, I replay the last two lines in my head.
Oh. Shit.
It hits me what that must have sounded like.
Double entendre? More like death warrant.
He抯 still staring at me as I turn, giving him an apologetic look.
揢mm梞aking airplane coffee. That抯 what I meant! Not梱択now.?I stop cold and swallow. 揑t抯 not any harder than doing it on the ground.?
The relieved smile that lights up his face almost makes me boneless.
He抯 barely moved by the time I抦 done serving everyone seconds and I squeeze past him again.
The galley抯 tight, and Cole抯 large, muscular body fills it.
Every accidental touch makes me eat my words.
There抯 nothing soft about any inch of him whatsoever.
I抦 sandwiched between him and the coffee pot bolted to the wall.
A fat bead of coffee splatters against hot metal and sizzles.
揇on抰 know how they do this full-time. It抯 steamy as hell in here.?His voice is low, all flames.
I think I just died.
I抦 quiet so long he finally moves away, his heat trailing his heavy footsteps.
It抯 been days since my fingers touched his lips and I saw myself kissing him.
I want to be reckless.
I want to turn around and bite him on the lower lip just to see how he responds.
Just to inject the slightest sanity back into my life by getting this craziness over and done with.
Then I remember his daughter is in the front row.
We抮e on a plane full of senior staff, and he抯 still my boss, basically a prince of Corporate America.
Seriously.
What kind of fresh, caffeinated crapstorm even is my life?
All the travel videos on social media can抰 prepare me for Kona抯 breathtaking beauty.
It抯 lush and green and mountainous with a salty, sun-kissed breeze and strewn with colorful flowers bursting to life.
Even the airport is open, letting the outside in, immediately welcoming me to a different world than anything I抳e known.
Most of the gorgeous homes we pass on the SUV ride are that way, too.
Of course, Cole抯 beachfront estate outshines them all.
It would be imposing if it weren抰 for the soft red woodtones and tall windows. The place is just off a beachfront stolen from heaven, surrounded by acres and acres of coffee plants and greenery so bright it nearly burns my eyes.
The inside smells like orchids and sandalwood. Until now, I抳e never stepped inside a house that has its own perfume.
But in Kona, the Lancaster mystique has a scent.
When a friendly staffer shows me to my room and I step outside onto the open lanai, my jaw hits the floor.
It抯 my own personal riviera. Manicured gardens, turquoise waters, gold-white sand, and blue, blue skies as far as the eye can see.
No postcard could ever capture this beauty.
No Instagram shot could ever do it justice.
And for however long we抮e here, it抯 mine, and I so don抰 feel worthy. I抦 floating through a freaking fairy tale.
Apparently, the whole team is staying at the estate, too. Cole had part of it refurbished for makeshift office space and meeting rooms before we arrived, and another wing set aside as guest rooms.
I frantically unpack my main bag before I walk around the estate.
Southern California might be lovely, but it has nothing on this island.