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She snatched up her bag and headed for the exit, intending to search out the gift shop, not even thinking about Blake. That was until she was out the door and felt a rush of disappointment that he was gone. Clearly, she was so not over her Mr. Wrong guy syndrome. Nor, she realized five minutes later, was she going to have a headset for the flight. Darla charged down the walkway, and just that one chink in her travel armor had her fear soaring. What if they crashed? What if the engine stopped working? What about birds?
She halted at the gangway to the plane and handed the stewardess her boarding pass. The woman scanned it and smiled. “Welcome, Ms. James. You’ll be in a window seat on the fourth row and I’ll be by to check on you momentarily.”
“Thank you,” she said, and wondered if the reality show had put her in first class because it was safer. That had to be it. Why else would they spend such a ridiculous amount of money on a seat not so unlike the others a few rows behind? She inhaled, and fought the urge to ask the stewardess the millions of questions rushing through her mind—like how experienced the pilot was and how much rest he’d had.
Forcefully, she sent a command to her legs to move, to walk through the entry and down the aisle. And that’s when the second wave of turbulence hit her, because Blake Nelson was sitting in the seat next to hers.
2
“I TRIED TO WARN YOU,” Blake said, doing his best not to smile at the adorably distressed expression on Darla James’s face. He could see why the Colorado country girl gone big city had charmed her audience into a top ratings slot. He was as taken with her as her viewers were, something no woman had done to him in a very long time, he realized.
“Warn me?” she asked, blinking in confusion and shoving a lock of blond hair from her eyes to see him more clearly.
“Right,” he said, unable to keep himself from teasing her. “When you tucked tail and ran into the bathroom.” And it became abundantly clear that she didn’t know he was taking the trip with her.
“I did not tuck…” Understanding slid across her lovely heart-shaped face. “You were going to warn me that we were traveling together?” He gave a slow nod and her pale green eyes glinted with yellow flecks, then narrowed on him suspiciously as she, no doubt, began to put two and two together. “How would you have known we were on the same flight, next to each other, unless…”
The same person made our reservations, he finished silently for her. Noting the flight attendant approaching her from behind, he suggested, “I think you need to sit down.” He stood up to let her by and reached for her bag. “Do you want me to put that overhead?”
“I’ll keep it and I don’t need to sit. I need you to tell me what is going on.”
“Hello, Ms. James,” the flight attendant said, drawing her attention. “Is there a problem? I need to clear the aisle for boarding. I can help you with your bag if you need help?”
“I… No. No problem.” She turned a perplexed look on Blake, her ivory cheeks now flushed a pretty pink. “I guess I need to sit down.”
His lips twitched and he motioned her forward. “Probably a good idea.”
She scooted into the seat by the window and Blake quickly took his seat, the soft scent of her floral perfume hung in the air—sweet like the woman. He was really ready for sweet, and someone with her own career, her own dreams, instead of the women who chased his success or his money.
She whirled on him, her tartness doing nothing to sour her sweetness. “What’s going on?”
“I work for the same network as Stepping Up,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’m filming a special segment on the first audition stop.”
She inhaled and exhaled, her fingers curling around her bag, which she clutched in her lap. “I’d have thought someone would have warned me.”
“Well,” he said. “I did the same thing last year. They probably assumed you knew that since we have competing morning shows. I guess I should warn you that I’ll be back the first week the finalists move into the contestant house to film the reality portion of the show. Then again when the winner is announced and gets the studio contract and the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar prize. And, for the record, I doubt the studio thought you’d react quite so…shall we say intensely to my presence, since you’re the one with the new cable contract.”
“I was surprised, not intense,” she countered. “Whatever intense is supposed to mean.”
He glanced down at her bag. “You’re holding on to that bag like you either plan to hit me with it or make a run for the door.”
