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“Hitting you with my bag would bring me a lot of joy after what you did to me a few months ago,” she said. “Unfortunately, it would also bring unwanted attention and trouble, so I’ll settle for simply fantasizing about it. It’ll distract me from the run to the door. And I’ll just tell you right now that I don’t like to fly. You might want to consider changing seats with someone. I’m going to drive you bonkers. Then again, maybe you should stay. This trip will be my revenge for your past sins.”
“Ah,” he said. “You’re a control freak.”
“I’m not a control freak.”
“People who don’t like to fly are control freaks.”
“I’m not a control freak. And by the way, before I forget and you think I didn’t catch what you said—you wouldn’t have felt the need to ‘warn me’ if you didn’t think I was going to react intensely to you being here.”
“I thought you said you didn’t react intensely?”
“Your word, not mine.”
“Can I get you two something to drink?” the flight attendant asked, stopping beside them.
“A glass of champagne,” Darla said quickly.
Blake frowned. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Then make it a mimosa,” she told the attendant, then to Blake, “That has orange juice in it. I wasn’t joking when I said I was a bad flyer and, honestly, I’m not a good drinker, either, but it’s better than a sedative.” She glanced back at the attendant. “In fact, you better bring him one, too. Actually, you might want to have one yourself because you were unlucky enough to have me on this flight.”
Blake laughed along with the attendant and nodded his approval. “Bring me one, thanks.”
The attendant glanced at Darla’s bag. “It needs to go under your seat for takeoff.”
Darla unzipped it and handed Blake a bag of chocolate. “Hold this, please.” Next she handed him a book. “And this.”
He glanced at the romance novel and read the title. “Dangerous Passion by Lisa Renee Jones?”
She shoved her bag under her seat and buckled her seat belt. “Paranormal with a hot military hero who is going to save the world and his woman.” She grabbed the candy and the book. “It’s for the book club on my show. You got a problem with romance?”
“Not at all,” he chuckled. “In fact, maybe I need to send a few to my sister. She falls for losers and then wonders why they walk all over her. I’d rather she find a hero in a book than try and turn someone into one that isn’t.”
“Your sister and I should talk,” she murmured. He would have asked about that loaded comment, but she quickly added, “And on that note, not one word we exchange on this flight better end up on your show. If you turn my fear into a joke, I swear to you—”
“I won’t,” he said, capturing her gaze, trying to let her see the truth in his. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Mimosas have arrived,” the attendant said. “But drink up quickly. We’ll be getting underway soon.”
Blake accepted the drinks and handed one to Darla. She reached for the glass, their fingers touched, and damn if he didn’t know that touch. She felt it, too, that connection they’d had on the red carpet. A connection that he’d fully intended to act upon, if not for the disaster on his show the following morning. He’d been hot for this woman then, and time hadn’t changed that. Hot and hard, and remarkably getting harder from nothing more than the idea of touching her, holding her as he had when she’d fallen against him. He was going to hold her again, all right, and this time without an audience. There was something about this woman that made him want to know her and that was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
He lifted his glass. “To new beginnings.”
She studied him a moment and clinked her glass to his. “To new beginnings.” And suddenly, the plane’s engines started.
“Oh, God,” Darla exclaimed. All the heat and fire in her stare turned into panic.
“I promise you,” he said, strongly contemplating the likelihood that kissing her right now as a means of distraction would end with him getting punched. “Everything’s fine. If it makes you feel any better, my father’s a retired commercial pilot, so I’ve flown a lot.” He glanced down at her drink, but not before he noticed, and not for the first time, the small, sexy mole just above her lip. Damn, he liked that mole. “This might be a good time to drink that mimosa.”
She downed it. “Can I have another?”
He handed her his. “I thought you said you weren’t a good drinker?”
She downed his drink. “I’m not. I need to eat something.” She tore open the chocolate.
“Chocolate isn’t food.”
“Chocolate absolutely is food.” She laughed. “Oh, boy. I’m already feeling a buzz.” She sank in her seat and cut him a look. “Did I mention that you should probably find another seat?” The stewardess came by and took the empty glasses while another began the standard instructional chatter.
