British Black Sheep: A Cocky Hero Club Series Novel Read online

  She tried to focus on her book, but soon gave up. After she retrieved her laptop from her bag, she pulled up her notes for the countess’s Christmas book and started plotting out chapters based on some the events that the countess said took place at Merryvale Court during the holidays. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Alex opened his own laptop back up. Both were lost in their own work for at least an hour.

  By the time the flight attendants came by to serve drinks and dinner, she was starving.

  “Filet mignon or chicken Parmesan?” The flight attendant asked Alec with a broad smile. The young woman practically leaned on the seat in front of him, displaying her figure to her best advantage to catch his attention.

  Alec’s eyes swept over her, but it wasn’t a very interested look, at least from what Brie could tell.

  “The filet, please. Thank you.”

  The attendant turned to her. “And you, miss?”

  “The same.”

  “For drinks we have this menu.” The attendant passed them a copy of the menu and Alec politely leaned left to let Brie see it at the same time.

  “A Diet Coke,” Brie said.

  “You’re in first class and you order a Diet Coke?” Alec muttered in disgust. Then he turned to the attendant. “A bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

  “Yes sir,” the attendant smiled once more at Alec, the invitation quite clear, but Alec only smiled back politely at the woman.

  “You’ll try the champagne,” he informed Brie.

  “Not very likely. You don’t seem like someone I’d want to share a drink with.”

  “Because I took your book?”

  “And made fun of it. Oh yes, I’d love to share a glass of champagne with you. You probably only read Salman Rushdie or Pulitzer Prize nominees, or Proust.” She then put her finger to the tip of her nose and pushed it up as high as it would go.

  “Charming behavior.”

  “Hey, you started it. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

  “Very well. I was simply trying to do you a favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “If you don’t enjoy first-class, you aren’t doing the thing properly, are you?” When he said this, it sounded so perfectly British, like she was sitting next to a modern day Mr. Darcy.

  “Okay fine. Twist my arm. It’s not like I’m buying.” This time when he smiled, he turned the full wattage on her. He hadn’t done that with the attendant. The expression knocked the breath from her. Damn, he had a gorgeous smile. It was slightly mischievous, as though whatever caused the smile was going to be trouble. He was trouble and she was stuck with him for the next seven hours.

  2

  Alec Halston had expected a nice quiet flight to London. After two intense weeks overseeing the setup of a new investment banking division at Barclays in New York, he was glad to be heading home. The work had been exciting, but now he was exhausted and on the edge of burnout. Knowing he had more work waiting for him back in London only added to his sense of fatigue. This flight was his only chance to rest before getting back into the chaos at his office, and he’d expected to sleep most of the flight.

  What he hadn’t expected was this puzzling contradiction of a woman sitting beside him. She seemed to be close to his own age, maybe a little younger. She had that mix of intellect and innocence he didn’t often see in his social circles. With her battered romance novel and delightfully witty reactions to his biting humor, he felt more energized by the minute.

  This woman was different…and that was surprisingly refreshing. She was attractive too, which didn’t help his plan to not get involved with anyone. He just couldn’t help himself; he enjoyed pushing her buttons. There was something delightful about the hint of a smile she had when she talked, even when she was clearly frustrated with him. It made a man wonder how it would feel to kiss those lips into silence in the middle of an argument and see them soften into a broad smile as she looked up at him.

  The fall of her dark brown hair was straight and shiny, almost like silk. Most women he’d known used products that made the strands crinkle when he tried to run his hands through them. With Brie, he could tell just by looking how soft her hair would be. It was too bad he had no excuse to reach over and verify. Then again, she’d literally fallen onto his lap earlier and damn if that hadn’t been almost as good. He knew he was an arse for thinking that, but he did enjoy it.

  Normally these flights were long and boring, but now things were getting interesting. His initial frustration at having this Brie Honeyweather share his row had faded. He was rather entertained with disrupting her. He liked the way her cheeks colored and her eyes widened when he had surprised her with his inappropriate behavior.

  The flight attendant returned with a bottle and glasses. “Your champagne.” The bottle was already opened, and she poured two glasses and set them on the attached tray Alec had flipped down. He handed Brie her glass.

  “Er… I really don’t think I need—”

  “Take it. Just don’t drink too fast. The alcohol has a greater effect at this altitude.” Alec took a sip. It wasn’t bad…for airline champagne.

  “Thank you,” Brie blushed again, and he resisted the urge to grin. Yes, spending the next few hours toying with her would be quite entertaining.

  She sipped her champagne and her eyes lit up in delight.

  “A champagne fan?” he asked. “I thought all you Americans preferred beer.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not into beer. Wine is okay, but I love champagne,” she admitted with another blush. The tension in her body relaxed and she eased into her seat.

  “So, what brings you to London, Ms. Honeyweather.”

  “Brie,” she corrected.

  “Brie. Lord, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I just keep thinking I should eat you with some crackers…or perhaps some grapes.”

  The second his innuendo registered, her face turned red. “Just when I thought you were starting to be nice.”

  “I’m teasing. Please, do tell me what brings you to London.”

  “I’m a ghostwriter.” She nudged the edge of her backpack under the seat with a toe of her brown boot.

  “A ghostwriter? What do you write?”

  “Mostly nonfiction. I work with people who have lived amazing lives, gone on incredible journeys, or made incredible discoveries. But they don’t always have natural writing talent. When they work with me, I bring magic and structure to their stories.”

  “It sounds like you enjoy your job,” he mused as he twisted his champagne glass by the stem.

  “I do.” She looked up at him, her confidence returning. “What do you do? Oh wait, I bet I can guess.” She twisted in her seat to eye him critically and tilted her head slightly as she held her drink.

  “Oh? And what am I then?” He set his glass down on his tray and crossed his arms, offering her his most charming smile, the one that made even married women consider hiding their wedding rings.

  “You are…” She squinted one eye, and the adorable expression on her face almost made him laugh. “An investment banker.”

  “Bravo!” He leaned toward her a little, closing the distance between them. “What gave me away?”

  She rested her chin on her hand as they stared at each other, only a few inches apart. A spark traveled between them and damned if he wasn’t tempted to close the distance and kiss this stranger. He’d had sex a few times on a plane but that was only for fun when there was a thrill. And for some reason this woman, the opposite of his usual tastes, was thrilling the hell out of him. He usually dated tall leggy blondes who looked like they came right off the runway, and she was the opposite of all that.

  He was completely fascinated with Brie’s soft, natural appearance and the playful relaxed way she interacted with him. There was a hint of sexual interest from her; he could see it every time her blue eyes swept down his body, but she wasn’t trying to lure him in or catch him. If anything, he sensed she was fighting to keep her distan
ce.

  “What gave you away?” she repeated softly, drawing out her explanation in a way that tantalized him. He had to admit he liked her voice. It wasn’t husky and low, nor was it high and girlish. It had hints of energetic delight, yet it was tempered by a soft sensual note. Forget writing books, the woman should narrate them.

  “Yes, tell me, what revealed my job?”

  “Expensive leather briefcase…” She squinted one eye again as though peering through a microscope. “Your perfectly tailored suit, that haircut—”

  He reached up to drag his hands through his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he demanded.

  She giggled, the effects of the champagne were starting to show. “Nothing,” she replied with wide, guileless eyes that didn’t fool him one bit.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  She gestured vaguely at his head. “You know.”

  “No, darling. I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” He rather liked his hair. To think that it might be… what was he thinking? His hair was just fine.

  “It has that whole overly perfect look to it,” she explained and took another drink of her champagne, emptying the flute.

  “It’s not overly styled.” He took his time each morning to get the look just right. It wasn’t overdone. He was certain of that.

  “It so is,” Brie asserted confidently. “You need it more like—” She leaned over, closing the distance between them and dug her hands into his hair. It was clear she was messing up his hair.

  “Very funny,” he grumbled.

  “I thought so.” She winked at him, but her hands didn’t leave his hair.

  Fuck… Her fingers threading through his hair felt good. Too good. He tried to prevent himself from being aroused by her touch, but it wasn’t easy. She ran her fingers through his hair a few more seconds, biting her lip in a way that did not help his condition whatsoever. Maybe he should just get her into the bathroom and—

  “Like that.” She pulled her hands free of his hair, but he reached out and caught her wrists before she could retreat.

  “I’m almost afraid to go look,” he muttered. His hair was probably standing completely on end. Alec brushed his thumbs against the skin of her wrists before letting go.

  She laughed. “You have to go look, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” He slid off the seat and went to the first-class bathroom and peered at himself in the mirror. His hair wasn’t mussed up. It was…good. It was perfectly touched up the way he liked, though it did look a little like he’d just made love to a woman and she’d been running her fingers through it. The thought gave him too many tempting ideas about Brie. He placed his hands on the counter and closed his eyes.

  Think of primary school, or algebra… Anything other than what it would be like to pin Brie up against the counter and pull down those jeans she’s wearing and—

  “Bloody Christ.” He drew in a dozen breaths before he regained enough control to leave the bathroom.

  When Alec returned to his seat, he found dinner waiting on his tray table. Brie had poured herself another glass of champagne and was swiping through the in-flight movie selections.

  Alec sat down and unrolled the silverware from his cloth napkin. “Anything good?”

  “Some rom-coms, a few thrillers, and a couple of documentaries.” Brie mused as she continued to swipe through the available shows.

  “You’d better eat before it gets cold.” He pushed her tray toward her.

  Brie glanced his way and smiled. “You didn’t fix your hair.”

  “I thought you did a fine job and didn’t want to waste your efforts,” he lied. The truth was he couldn’t stay in that bathroom without indulging in a fantasy that would lead to trouble. Trouble was the last thing he needed. Even though he enjoyed a quick hookup, he did not want to do that on a seven-hour flight, no matter how cute Brie was or how her mouth was making it very hard for him to think straight.

  “So, you’re a native Londoner?” she asked as she cut into her filet.

  “Not really. I grew up in the country outside of Manchester before attending Eton and Cambridge.”

  “I have a question about that. Why do Cambridge and Oxford have all these colleges within the main university?” She took a bite of her filet and made a sweet little sound of pleasure. “What’s up with that?”

  “Ah. No, I see your confusion. It’s not like they are separate schools,” he paused, thinking over how best to explain it. “It is more like residence halls that you would have at a University. So, if a student stays at King’s College, that would be the location of his or her room, perhaps even their dining hall for lunch and dinner. Some colleges were established with religious purposes hundreds of years ago, though the religious connections may no longer exist.”

  “Okay…” She paused, seeming to think it over. “So what college were you?”

  “The King’s College of Our Lady and St. Nicholas in Cambridge.” He could see he had her full attention. This woman liked history and he could bloody well deliver on that. “It was founded in 1441, but its construction was disrupted by the War of the Roses. It was finally finished in 1544 and has the world’s largest fan vaulted ceiling in its chapel. Notable alumni include Robert Walpole, the first prime minister of England, and E.M. Forster, the novelist.” He recited what he remembered from his first tour of the college all those years ago.

  Brie’s eyes lit with a fervent light as she began to recite a passage from one of Forster’s books. “I used to be so dreamy about a man’s love as a girl, and think that, for good or evil, love must be the great thing. But it hasn’t been, it has been itself a dream.”

  “Howard’s End?” Alec confirmed and she nodded. “Well said. That was the only book I read of his, but it was excellent.”

  Howard’s End was the story of a strong-willed, intelligent woman who refused to let her husband and his family ruin her life with their smugness and pride. It was not a romance, not like her bodice ripping pirate story.

  She seemed to realize the direction of his thoughts. “I don’t just read romance,” she replied. “But I enjoy stories with happy endings the best.”

  “Why? Real life rarely ends happily. At best, it ends in a draw.” His tone came out a little more belligerent than he’d intended.

  “Perhaps that’s why. People need to believe in things. Love, heroes, adventures, a purpose to a life that might otherwise feel purposeless. Romance gives people hope.” She grinned. “And the books are just fun. What do you read? And please, for the love of God, tell me you read and not something predictable like Hemingway. So many people don’t read anymore.” The way she said that, with a note of subtle sorrow intrigued him. Someone who had mattered to her most must not have been a reader.

  “I read,” he assured her. “Mostly nonfiction. True crime tends to be my favorite, but I admit I have a soft spot for Agatha Christie mysteries. I blame my mother for it.”

  “Murder on the Orient Express?” Brie asked.

  “Death on the Nile is my favorite. But Orient is very good. And Then There Were None is also a classic. Even though I know how they all end, I always like to reread them. There’s something to the way she weaves all the characters together until you’re left questioning whether you really do remember how it ends or who the murderer actually was.”

  “I think I watched more Hercule Poirot movies than I’ve read the books,” Brie admitted with a blush. “David Suchet was such a perfect choice for him.”

  “I agree. My mom loves the old Poirot show. I’ve caught her watching reruns more than once.” He couldn’t help but grin. It had been ages since he’d thought of how his mum would put a kettle on and settle in her favorite parlor to watch Poirot. He rarely went home anymore…and he especially avoided that place on Christmas. It was too painful. Even now the thought made his chest tight as he closed his eyes a second too long.

  Brie’s warm fingertips touched his hand, drawing him back to the plane
. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Sorry. Just thinking.” He tried to return to the subject. “I must admit I have a certain fondness for Kenneth Branagh’s recent take on the detective. Sometimes a new interpretation brings fresh energy to a well-known story.”

  They finished dinner and the attendants cleared their plates. They were given a small leather tote containing lip balm, toothpaste, a hairbrush, hand sanitizer, and lotion. When the cabin lights dimmed, many of the passengers around them pressed the button to flatten their seats into beds for the night.

  “A real bed,” Brie sighed dreamily. “The last time I flew overnight was when I was in college. I flew in coach and I can’t sleep sitting up.”

  “Nor can I,” Alec agreed. It was why he’d made Barclays pay for first class. He couldn’t sleep with all those people crammed in around him.

  “Do you mind if I…?” She held up her toiletry kit and nodded at the bathroom.

  “Sure.” He stood to let her pass, straightening as she brushed against him. He was lost for a moment in the feel of her body pressed to his. Then his stomach dropped as the plane tilted. He reacted instinctively, grasping Brie’s hips. She clutched his chest to keep from toppling into the row across from them. His hands tightened and he fought hard not to do something completely reckless like steal a kiss in the middle of a crowded plane.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, and he reluctantly let go. Something was wrong with him. He’d become fixated on this woman. He needed to focus on work. He waited for Brie to return and then used the bathroom after her, brushing his teeth and using the facilities. When he got back to their row, she was trying to fix her bed without success.

  “Alec, I’m sorry to bug you but—”

  “I’ll see to it.” He leaned past her to turn her seat into a bed and then handed her the pillow and blanket that came with her seat. It was only when he’d settled into his own bed that he realized just how close he was to Brie. Lying down in the dark, their breath mingled as they faced one another.