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“Sorry to have awakened you,” he said politely.
She sat up straight and tugged down her skirt, which had ridden halfway up her thighs.
They were good thighs.
Actually, they were great.
Firm. Smooth. Lightly tanned to a sort of gilded bronze. Was she that color all over? Her hips. Her belly. Her breasts …
Damnit, he thought, and when he spoke again his tone had gone from polite to brusque.
“I said I’m sorry to have—”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
Probably not. Who could sleep, jammed between a woman who looked like a ticking time bomb’s worth of neuroses and a guy with a look about him that reminded Draco of some movie character he couldn’t place.
“And what are you doing here?”
Draco cleared his throat. This wasn’t going quite the way he’d anticipated.
“I
, ah, I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
Dio, was she going to make this difficult?
“About the seat. If you want it, it’s yours.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Her tone was flat. Sarcastic. Was she playing to their audience? The guy to her right and the woman to her left were both watching him with the intensity of people viewing an accident on a highway.
So much for doing the right thing, Draco thought grimly, and met her slitted stare with one of his own.
“Why?” he snapped. “Because, fool that I am, I thought you might still prefer a first-class seat to—to this!”
“What’s wrong with this?” the woman next to her demanded, and Draco threw up his hands and started back up the aisle.
“Wait!”
The cry carried after him. It was her, the blonde with more attitude than any one person, male or female, could possibly need.
A smart man would have kept walking, but Draco had already proved to himself that he wasn’t being terribly smart tonight, so he stopped, folded his arms, turned …
And saw her hurrying toward him, that ridiculously lumpy briefcase swinging from one shoulder.
Despite himself, his mouth twitched.
What had become of all her crisp American efficiency?
The heavy case had tugged her suit jacket askew in a way he suspected Giorgio Armani would never approve; her golden hair had slipped free of its clasp. A shoe dangled from her fingers. In her rush to go after him, she’d apparently lost one of those high heels, which she’d managed to retrieve.
Those incredibly sexy high heels.
The thought marked the end of any desire to laugh. Instead, his eyes grew even more narrow. It was an indicator of his mood, and would have made any of his business opponents shudder.
