The Best Man and The Wedding Planner. Teresa Carpenter

put the seat in sleep mode and lay the bag across it.” He poured a glass of champagne and then another. “Will that work?”

      “Yes, that will be perfect. Thank you.”

      “Seats aren’t allowed to be reclined during takeoff. Once we reach cruising altitude I’ll be along to put the seat down. And I’ll look for something to secure it in case the flight gets bumpy.”

      “Great. You’ve been very helpful.”

      Lindsay headed back to her seat. Halfway through first class she caught sight of the newcomer and her breath caught in the back of her throat. He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Long, lean features with high cheekbones, dark, slanted eyebrows and long, black eyelashes. Dark stubble decorated his square jaw.

      Suddenly her eyes popped wide and she let out a shriek. “Get up!” she demanded. “Get up right now!”

      He was sitting on the dress!

      A frown furrowed his brow. He slowly opened lambent brown eyes so stunning she almost forgot why she was yelling. Almost.

      “Are you talking to me?” he asked in a deep, rasping voice.

      “Yes.” She confronted the man, hands on hips. “You’re in my seat. Sitting on my dress. Get up!”

      “What’s the problem here?” The other attendant appeared next to her.

      “He’s in my seat.” She pointed an accusing finger. “Sitting on my garment bag. Make him move.”

      Behind her a young child began to cry. Lindsay cringed but held her ground.

      The beading on this dress was intricate, all hand-sewn. If it had to be repaired it would cost a fortune. And she’d already paid a pretty penny to make sure nothing happened to it. How could someone sit on a garment bag without noticing it?

      “Let’s all calm down.” The blonde attendant squeezed by Lindsay. “Sir, can I ask you to stand, please?”

      The man slowly rose. He had to duck to the side to avoid hitting the overhead compartment. He must be six-four, maybe six-five; a long way to glare up from five feet four. She managed.

      “I’m not sitting on anything.” He gestured across the aisle. “I moved it there because it was in my seat.”

      Lindsay looked to her left. The garment bag rested in a heap on the seat with her heavy satchel dumped on top. She jumped on it, removing her bag and smoothing the fabric. It was all mushed as though it had been sat on.

      “May I see your tickets, please?” Dan requested.

      Lindsay pulled hers from the front pocket of her satchel and waited to be vindicated.

      “Actually, you’re both in wrong seats. My fault, I’m afraid. I’m used to a different plane. I do apologize. Ms. Reeves, you are on the left and, Mr. Sullivan, you need to move forward a row.”

      Lovely. She couldn’t even blame the beast. Except she did.

      At least he’d be in the row ahead of her so she wouldn’t have to have him next to her the entire flight.

      His brown gaze went to the toddlers in the row in front of the one the attendant indicated. “I’d prefer the back row.” He pasted on a charming smile. “Is it possible to trade seats?”

      No. No. No.

      “Of course.” The blonde gushed, swayed, no doubt, by his dimples. “There was a cancellation so no one else is boarding in first class. Is there anything I can get you before we continue boarding?”

      “A pillow would be nice.”

      “My pleasure, Mr. Sullivan.” She turned to Lindsay. “Anything for you, ma’am?”

      Ma’am? Seriously? “I’d like a pillow. And a blanket, please.”

      “We’ll do a full turndown service after the flight gets started.” She gave Sullivan a smile and disappeared behind the curtain to the coach area.

      Lindsay stared after her. Did that mean she didn’t get a pillow or a blanket? This was her first time flying first-class. So far she had mixed feelings. She liked the extra room and the thought of stretching out for the long flight. But Blondie wasn’t earning any points.

      Lindsay draped the garment bag over the window seat as best she could until the seat could be reclined. Unfortunately that put her in the aisle seat directly across from Mr. Tall, Dark and Inconsiderate.

      Nothing for it. She’d just have to ignore him and focus on her work. It would take the entire flight to configure the seating arrangement for the reception. She had the list of guests from the bride and the list of guests from the groom. And a three-page list of political notes from the palace of who couldn’t be seated next to whom and who should be seated closer to the royal couple. What had started as a private country wedding had grown to include more than a hundred guests as political factors came into play.

      It was a wedding planner’s nightmare. But she took it as an opportunity to excel.

      Before she knew it she was being pushed back in her chair as the plane lifted into the air. Soon after, Dan appeared to fold down the window seat. He carefully laid the heavy garment bag in place and secured it with the seat belt and a bungee cord. She thanked him as she resumed her seat.

      She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see Sullivan had his pillow—a nice, big, fluffy one. Ignore him. Easier thought than done. He smelled great; a spicy musk with a touch of soap.

      Eyes back on her tablet, she shuffled some names into table seats and then started to run them against her lists to see if they were all compatible. Of course, they weren’t. Two people needed to be moved forward and two people couldn’t be seated together. That left four people at the table. She moved people to new tables and highlighted them as a reminder to check out the politics on them. And repeated the process.

      A soft snore came from across the way—much less annoying than the shrill cry of one of the toddlers demanding a bandage for his boo-boo. Blondie rushed to the rescue and the boy settled down. Except for loud outbursts like that, the two boys were actually well behaved. There’d been no need for Sullivan to move seats.

      “Would you care for a meal, Ms. Reeves?” Dan appeared beside her.

      She glanced at the time on her tablet. Eight o’clock. They’d been in the air an hour. “Yes, please.”

      “You have a choice of chicken Cordon bleu or beef Stroganoff.”

      “I’ll have the beef. With a cola.”

      He nodded and turned to the other side of the aisle. Before he could ask, Sullivan said he’d have the beef and water.

      Her gaze collided with his. Brown eyes with specks of gold surveyed her, interest and appreciation sparkled in the whiskey-brown depths, warm and potent.

      Heat flooded her, followed by a shiver.

      “What’s in the bag?” he asked, his voice even deeper and raspier from sleep. Way too sexy for her peace of mind.

      “None of your business.” She turned back to her table plan.

      “Must be pretty important for you to get so upset. Let me guess, a special dress for a special occasion?” He didn’t give up.

      “Yes. If you must know. And it’s my job to protect it.”

      “Protect it? Interesting. So it’s not your dress.”

      She rolled her eyes and sent him a droll stare. “I liked you better when you were snoring.”

      He grinned, making his dimples pop. “I deserve that. Listen, I’m sorry for my attitude earlier and for sitting on the dress. I had wine with dinner and wine always gives me a headache.”

      Lindsay glared at Sullivan. “So you did sit on the dress.” She knew it. That had definitely been a butt