belatedly that I had left the front exit unattended, I rushed back out of the cockpit in time to see that Trella had taken my place and most of the passengers were already off the aircraft. My face fell as I saw that my handsome passenger was already gone.
Trella turned to me with a white card in her hand. “Telma, some guy left this for you and asked if you’d be free to join him for a drink after the flight… god he was gorgeous!” Trella gave me a sly grin. “I didn’t tell him anything except that I’d give you his card. He said he’d be in the restaurant for a while if you would please join him.”
I’m a mature, intelligent, fun loving woman, and I’m very much aware of my sexuality… so why was my heart racing as I entered the KCI restaurant? Two steps inside and I spotted him sitting at a table speaking with a waiter. He rose as I approached and took my hand in his, gently, though not as if he was afraid I would break. I couldn’t help a slight shiver of pleasure at his touch and I don’t think he missed my reaction. A slight pang of irritation flashed through me as he smiled. He was so damned sure of himself! What is it about arrogance in a man? In some men it’s annoying as hell, and in some it’s almost an aphrodisiac. This man’s arrogance fit him somehow.
My irritation passed as quickly as it had arrived as the waiter brought back a single red rose in a vase, a split of a very fine Argentine champagne, and two fluted stems. “I took the liberty of ordering a drink and a snack in the event you decide not to accept my invitation to dinner,” he said. “My name is Everett Samson.”
“I know,” I murmured, “I read it on the manifest Mr. Samson. My name is Telma Cortez.”
“I know,” he murmured with a smirk, “I read it on your name tag.” I blushed, and then, I swear, I giggled like a high school cheerleader.
We shared a laugh then, amused at our own timidity. Neither of us was timid by nature and it seemed as if we both were aware that something unusual was happening. The waiter brought out a very nice wedge of Stilton and some crackers, as well as a tiny pot of Beluga Caviar. I hardly tasted any of it. Everett was witty and charming and he treated me as an equal.
He asked me about the CAT and it turned out that he had, as I do, a private pilot’s license and had experienced his own difficulties with wind shear and Microbursts. Soon we were chatting away as if we’d known each other for our entire lives, and I was more and more drawn to this gorgeous man. I even forgot I was still in my uniform.
The champagne and cheese, as well as the surprisingly delicious caviar were all gone and he suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, “I never asked if you have anything planned for this evening. Do you have some place you need to go or something you have to do?” I told him that all I had to do was check into the Westin Crown Center in Kansas City (I told you Charles doesn’t skimp on his aircrews, and besides, he owns a good sized chunk of stock in that chain) and that I had nothing scheduled for the next four days. “I’m booked in the same hotel. Would you like to join me for later? I used to live in Kansas City and I know the best places to eat.” I told him I would love to have dinner with him and we rode to the Westin in their own shuttle limo.
We checked into our rooms at the front desk of the impressive hotel. There was a full-fledged waterfall in the lobby that fell from the top floor to the bottom, and the rooms were arranged around the free space so that every single room had a view of the impeccably lit display.
“Which do you prefer,” he asked, “One of these fancy places that steam three pieces of asparagus and serve it with a rare piece of beef that has a French name I can’t pronounce or do you want a real Kansas City meal?” I laughed and told him the truth, I may be small and dainty, but I love to eat. Everett laughed
Trella turned to me with a white card in her hand. “Telma, some guy left this for you and asked if you’d be free to join him for a drink after the flight… god he was gorgeous!” Trella gave me a sly grin. “I didn’t tell him anything except that I’d give you his card. He said he’d be in the restaurant for a while if you would please join him.”
I’m a mature, intelligent, fun loving woman, and I’m very much aware of my sexuality… so why was my heart racing as I entered the KCI restaurant? Two steps inside and I spotted him sitting at a table speaking with a waiter. He rose as I approached and took my hand in his, gently, though not as if he was afraid I would break. I couldn’t help a slight shiver of pleasure at his touch and I don’t think he missed my reaction. A slight pang of irritation flashed through me as he smiled. He was so damned sure of himself! What is it about arrogance in a man? In some men it’s annoying as hell, and in some it’s almost an aphrodisiac. This man’s arrogance fit him somehow.
My irritation passed as quickly as it had arrived as the waiter brought back a single red rose in a vase, a split of a very fine Argentine champagne, and two fluted stems. “I took the liberty of ordering a drink and a snack in the event you decide not to accept my invitation to dinner,” he said. “My name is Everett Samson.”
“I know,” I murmured, “I read it on the manifest Mr. Samson. My name is Telma Cortez.”
“I know,” he murmured with a smirk, “I read it on your name tag.” I blushed, and then, I swear, I giggled like a high school cheerleader.
We shared a laugh then, amused at our own timidity. Neither of us was timid by nature and it seemed as if we both were aware that something unusual was happening. The waiter brought out a very nice wedge of Stilton and some crackers, as well as a tiny pot of Beluga Caviar. I hardly tasted any of it. Everett was witty and charming and he treated me as an equal.
He asked me about the CAT and it turned out that he had, as I do, a private pilot’s license and had experienced his own difficulties with wind shear and Microbursts. Soon we were chatting away as if we’d known each other for our entire lives, and I was more and more drawn to this gorgeous man. I even forgot I was still in my uniform.
The champagne and cheese, as well as the surprisingly delicious caviar were all gone and he suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, “I never asked if you have anything planned for this evening. Do you have some place you need to go or something you have to do?” I told him that all I had to do was check into the Westin Crown Center in Kansas City (I told you Charles doesn’t skimp on his aircrews, and besides, he owns a good sized chunk of stock in that chain) and that I had nothing scheduled for the next four days. “I’m booked in the same hotel. Would you like to join me for later? I used to live in Kansas City and I know the best places to eat.” I told him I would love to have dinner with him and we rode to the Westin in their own shuttle limo.
We checked into our rooms at the front desk of the impressive hotel. There was a full-fledged waterfall in the lobby that fell from the top floor to the bottom, and the rooms were arranged around the free space so that every single room had a view of the impeccably lit display.
“Which do you prefer,” he asked, “One of these fancy places that steam three pieces of asparagus and serve it with a rare piece of beef that has a French name I can’t pronounce or do you want a real Kansas City meal?” I laughed and told him the truth, I may be small and dainty, but I love to eat. Everett laughed
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