“I guess that’s why you became a tour guide? You know your way around the world.”
“I’ve been around the block a time or two.” He narrowed his eyes, his smile turned wicked and for a moment he looked positively hawkish. A calculating raptor analyzing the habits of his prey just before he swooped in for the kill. Suddenly she felt like a field mouse who’d ventured too far from home. What on earth had made her believe she could pull off something like this?
“Do you like music?” he asked.
“Sure.” She shrugged. Act nonchalant, sophisticated. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not everyone. I ask because Eros Airlines has satellite radio piped in. Listening to music might help you relax.”
He leaned over her to reach for the console containing the small flat-screen television. She tried not to notice that his broad chest was mere inches from her lap. He opened a drawer, pulled out a headset and handed it to her. “What do you want to hear? I’ll dial it in for you. Rap, country, classic, pop? You name it, we’ve got it.”
“Emocore,” she said.
The corners of his mouth turned down in a surprised, “Who knew?” expression. “Seriously?”
“You got something against emocore?”
“Matter of fact it’s my favorite, but I really don’t like the emo label,” he said.
“It’s dumb, I know. Why don’t they just call it poignant punk rock? Who are your favs?”
“Rites of Spring, Embrace, Gray Matter.”
“Oh, oh, don’t forget Fire Party and Moss Icon.”
“What do you like about it?”
“Emo is so raw, you know. Primal.” Roxie pressed her palms together. “But it’s also deep and expressive and soulful.” Some people thought the music was loud and chaotic, but to Roxie the sound represented a part of herself she was afraid to explore any other way. The part of her that longed to flaunt convention, throw back her head and just howl at the moon.
Dougal shook his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an emo fan.”
“Same here.”
They grinned at each other.
Dougal shifted in his seat, angling his body toward her. “Okay, so what’s your favorite food?”
“Italian.”
“Me, too. What dish do you like best? Lasagna?”
“Always a crowd-pleaser, but my hands-down fav is chicken Marsala.”
“No kidding? It’s my favorite, as well.”
“Wine, mushrooms, chicken in cream. What’s not to love?”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Brownies.”
“With nuts.”
“Absolutely.”
“Pecans or walnuts?”
“Either will do, but I like walnuts best.”
Roxie narrowed her eyes. “You’re just telling me what I want to hear. That’s your job.”
He grinned, shrugged. “I like seeing you smile.”
“Ha! I knew it. Flatterer.”
“Doesn’t mean that I’m lying. Slap some Fugazi on the MP3 player. Whip up a batch of chicken Marsala. Promise walnut brownies for dessert. Sit you across from me and it’s the stuff of dreams.”
Sudden silence sprouted between them, and Roxie felt an anxiety of a wholly different kind. “You can let go now,” she whispered.
“What?”
“My hand. May I have it back? We’re in the air. My takeoff terror has passed.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He let go of her hand.
She dropped her hot, damp palm into her lap and averted her gaze. Her pulse galloped. “Thanks,” she said. “You make a good distraction from fear of flying.”
Now all I need is something to distract me from the distraction.
The captain turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and Roxie, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Dougal as she could get, decided to visit the lavatory. A splash of cold water in her face to calm her racing pulse. She unbuckled her seat belt and got to her feet. “Excuse me, may I slip by you?”
Dougal moved his long legs into the aisle just as the plane lurched. Roxie hissed in her breath. The plane pitched again, thrusting her forward onto his lap. His arms closed around her, Roxie’s fanny snugged against his thighs. She peered into his face, glanced away, and then looked back again.
Sharp, dark eyes stared straight into her, holding her motionless. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice sounding husky and strange as if someone was tightening a wire around his throat.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Turbulence. It’ll be fine.”
A sudden stillness settled over her. She sighed deeply and all the air fled her lungs. She felt a million different things at once. Safe, desired, happy, confused. The shock of recognition passed through her. He was a stranger and yet it was as if she’d known him her entire life. How could that be?
In that split second of surprise, she felt as if she’d met her match, identified the other half of life’s jigsaw puzzle. She was like a lost traveler, wandering in a foreign land, who’d stumbled upon a field of flowers indigenous to her homeland. No, not just the flowers of her homeland, but the same glorious mix that once grew in her own backyard. She gave no thought to whether he was friend or foe. Her impulse was simply to rush to the sweet smells of home.
Roxie’s heart surged toward Dougal, and she knew in that moment she’d totally lost all control. How in the hell was she going to pull off corporate espionage when all she could think about was pulling off Dougal Lockhart’s clothes?
“YOU CAN LET GO OF ME NOW,” Roxie said.
Dougal loosened his grip, and she struggled to get to her feet. The plane lurched again sending her right back into his lap, and a small gasp of surprise escaped those perfect pink lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist again. “Maybe you should just sit tight until we get through this turbulence.”
Even as he said it, he had to clench his teeth to fight off his stirring erection. Getting a boner with her on his lap might be totally natural, but he was certain it would alarm her. It alarmed him. He was supposed to be in charge of passenger safety on this plane, not coming on to a guest.
He took a deep breath and immediately inhaled her heavenly scent. Her delicate aroma encircled his nose, played havoc with his brain cells. The fragrance, coupled with her body heat, slicked his mind with desire and he couldn’t think of anything but her.
Bad idea. Okay, no more breathing.
She wriggled in his lap, and Dougal swallowed a groan. This was crazy. He had to put a stop to it. “Um, maybe we should get you back into your seat.”
“But you said—”
“Buckle you down tight. That’s what you need. Buckled down.” Why had he said that? Now he had an image of her, seat belt resting against her lower abdomen, the buckle right at the level of her—
Stop it!
Before she could feel the erection he could no longer control, Dougal transferred her quickly into her seat, settled back against his own chair, plucked a glossy magazine from the pouch on the side and plunked