"Would you care for a drink, sir?" The first-class flight attendant smiled, her white teeth gleaming beautifully against her tanned skin.

"No, thank you. I'll have another cappuccino."

"Of course." She smiled again, expecting a reaction from him, then hiding her disappointment when there was none.

But as beautiful as the woman was, she paled in comparison to Bridget.

Turner had never before experienced the kind of passion Bridget inspired, and the one time he’d had her was enough to turn him into an addict.

A week away from his feisty redhead doctor had proven to be an unexpected challenge, but the trip to South America had been unavoidable.

If it were anyone other than Arturo Sandoval, Turner would have managed the operation from his offices in Los Angeles, but Arturo was the kind of client who demanded personal attention. Dealing with an underling, or even worse, a subcontractor would have been perceived as a slight.

Especially when the extraction mission involved Sandoval's nephew. Arturo needed to send a message to his rivals and any future upstarts that he didn't pay extortion money.

Except, he had to do so while preserving his public image, which he managed by hiring foreign private operators.

To have his loved ones returned to him, Sandoval eliminated with extreme prejudice anyone who dared take what was his.

Turner approved.

In Third World countries, power was the universal language everyone spoke. A mighty show of violence was the best way to prevent future bloodshed that would have eclipsed the brutal attack Turner had coordinated by order of magnitude.

The message had been sent.

The nephew was back home, though Turner had a feeling the guy wasn't exactly safe. Arturo would make sure his nephew never repeated the mistake that had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

It had been an intense week that had left Turner little time to work on his new pet project. In fact, the only progress he had made was securing Sandoval's promise to assist. Not that Turner had said anything about his plan to extract the girls. That needed to remain confidential. What he'd shared with the guy was the magnitude of this worldwide plague and the need for governments to stop pretending that the problem didn't exist and do something about it.

Building awareness was the first step.

Sandoval had agreed to contribute financially. The rehabilitation side of the equation was no less important than the extractions, and building schools and shelters for the girls was going to cost more than even the clan could afford as a charitable contribution.

Even better, Arturo promised to talk to his powerful friends and business associates and get them on board as well.

A win-win.

By taking on the humanitarian project, Sandoval would gain a much-needed boost in public approval, and the clan would not have to shoulder the monumental undertaking on its own.

The unexpected offer of support from Arturo had given Turner the idea to repeat that with his other influential customers. Except, he couldn't contact them directly and just ask for money. The way it happened with Sandoval was much better. The guy had volunteered his help without any prompting. Perhaps having four teenage daughters of his own had something to do with that.

Turner felt like sharing the good news with Bridget.

Opening his laptop, he typed her a quick message. On my way back. You will be glad to know that my friend is very interested in our project and is offering financial help.

A moment later a return message arrived.

I got the test results from your doctor. Can you come see me when you get back? Or do you need to go home and crash?

The advantage of flying first class was arriving fully rested after a good night’s sleep. It would be early afternoon when he landed. Plenty of time to go home, shower, stop by the office, and then go over to Bridget's.

Adding the time required for each task in his head, he fired off another text. Provided there are no delays, I can be there at six-thirty.

Great. I'll see you later.

When the flight attendant returned with his cappuccino, Turner put the laptop away.

"Thank you." He treated her to a lukewarm smile, which was more than he usually bothered with. He was polite, but not friendly. People didn't linger to chat once he let them know they were dismissed.

So why did it bother him that Bridget hadn't said anything personal to him the entire week? Or mentioned the phenomenal sex they had shared?

He had called her a few times under the pretext of needing her input on the presentation he was preparing for Kian, and each time she'd been helpful and professional. Once or twice she'd politely inquired about the weather and how he was feeling, but that could have been the doctor asking, not the woman.

She'd seemed cold, remote.

Had he imagined what had happened between them?

Was he just another hookup to her?

Bridget had been quite upfront, telling him about her history of picking up random guys for sex. To her, he might have been just another one-night stand in a long line of meaningless encounters.

Turner looked out the window even though there was nothing to see. The guy next to him was sleeping and snoring loudly, an unavoidable discomfort even while flying first class. It was good that he'd brought along his noise-canceling headphones.

That night, after the incredible sex they'd shared, Turner had fallen asleep in Bridget's bed. A first for him. He wondered whether he'd bothered her by snoring.

Did he snore? The last time he'd shared sleeping quarters with others was in the army, but no one had told him whether he did or not.

Sometimes small things like this made him realize how isolated his life was. Most of the time he didn't think about it. He was comfortable. There was no need to change anything.

He should be grateful that Bridget didn't attach much meaning to the sex they had shared. Other than his body, he had nothing to offer her, and if he didn't transition, pretty soon that wouldn't be on the table either.

Turner was in fantastic shape for his age, but even without the cancer that wasn't going to last long. In a few years, a decade at most, his body would start its inevitable decline. Bridget was too smart to allow herself to get emotionally attached to a mortal.