“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.”
“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.
“You did,” he assured her. “And I refused.” The plane started to move and she sat bolt upright to look out of the window.
“Oh, no,” he said, easing her back. “Don’t watch. That’s the worst thing you can do.”
“I have to watch,” she said, glowering at him. “And how would you know that’s the worst thing I can do?”
“Because my mother was afraid of flying,” he said, trying to distract her. “And she is one hundred percent a control freak. I bet you balance your checkbook every day.” He shoved down the window shade.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I don’t.”
“Well, that’s a mistake.” She glowered. “Let go of the window shade.”
“If you don’t look out of the window you won’t know whether or not to question if it’s normal or not.”
“I told you. I have to look.”
“That’s what my mother said, too, and then she tried it with the shade down and it worked. She relaxed instead of spending the entire flight in a tense ball of nerves. Now she’s a travel writer.”
“I’m not your mother.”
“No,” he said softly, his hand dropping from the window, and settling on her leg. “You are most definitely not my mother. And believe me, I am very aware of that fact.” Sexual tension crackled between them, as good a distraction as he could ever hope for. Then the damnable wheels growled beneath the plane, retracting.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, “did we just take off?”
He flipped up the armrest between them. “Yes,” he answered, turning so that he faced her fully. “See how fast things happen when you aren’t watching every little movement? How about opening that chocolate?”
“I need to look—”
He ran his hand down her arm, keeping her toward him. “Look at me.”
Her eyes met his and the connection was instant. He didn’t remember the last time a woman made his blood boil with nothing more than a look. But this one sure did. “You need another strategy to deal with your fear, other than mimosas and chocolate, if you’re going to make the twenty-city audition schedule.”
“Thirty,” she corrected.
“Thirty,” he repeated. “That’s a lot of cities. It’s going to be hard to keep up that pace if you stay this uptight. Try it my way. Stay away from the window and focus on other things. Like me.”
“I think focusing on you is a bad idea.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’ve been drinking and I might forget how much I don’t like you.”
“Or alternatively,” he suggested, “you might remember that you actually do like me.”
* * *
THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT SHE WAS worried about. Liking him. Forgetting why she shouldn’t. Forgetting he
was just another one of the power-hungry, driven men who attracted her, but later left her emotions bruised. He’d proven that by using her for better ratings. Blake was far more the wrong guy than any of the wrong guys before him, because he could impact her career. She’d been clipped by his potential power already and survived. Next time she might not. So, knowing all of this, why, why, why was she staring at his mouth, wishing he’d kiss her and distract her from the window? Didn’t she care that they were in a semipublic place?
“You might even decide that you want to kiss me,” he said, as if reading her mind. He leaned in closer, so that the spicy male scent of him teased her nostrils.
There was no “might” about wanting to kiss him. It was all she could do not to press her lips to his, which was a clear indication that a mimosa was not the way to cope with travel—or Blake Nelson.
“I’m not going to look at you or out the window.” She shifted in her seat and put her tray table down, setting the bag of chocolate on top and grabbing her book. “I’ll read.” She opened up her romance novel and began reading from where she’d left off.
She shoved him to his back, straddled him. Kissed him. Wild didn’t begin to describe what kissing Lara unleashed inside Damion. One minute they were kissing, the next they were touching, licking, tasting. Her naked backside rubbing against his cock drove him insane with need. He couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t make himself stop kissing her, caressing her, couldn’t resist molding her breasts in his hands and swallowing the moan that slid from her lips to his. They melted into one another, the play of tongue against tongue, and wildness turned into an unfamiliar desperation like nothing he had ever experienced with another woman, a need to escape into each other, a need not to speak, not to think.
Damion’s hand slid up her back, into her hair, angling her mouth to deepen the kiss, to take more. Whatever happened beyond this moment, beyond the desire, didn’t matter. There was no right or wrong, no enemies or even friends—there was just feeling, needing, taking.
Darla set the book down. No enemies or even friends. That passage was just a little too close to what she wanted to happen with Blake. This was so not the answer to resisting Blake Nelson. She reached for the bag of chocolate and unwrapped a piece, not looking at Blake, but she could feel him looking at her. She was about to stick the first Hershey’s kiss into her mouth when the plane jolted. She yelped and the candy—the piece in her hand, and the entire bag—went flying.
Blake captured the bag and pushed her tray up, turning her toward him again. “Turbulence is nothing to worry about. Once you’ve been on a few really bad flights you realize just how much a plane can take.”
The attendant rushed over to them. “Everything okay?”
“Is it?” Darla asked.
“Of course, honey,” she said. “Bumps are normal. It’s August. This time of year, hot air pockets create turbulence.”
“You’re sure?” Darla asked, watching her expression closely for signs she, indeed, was not sure but didn’t want to say as much.
“I’m positive.”
“Two more mimosas when you can, please,” Blake said, his focus on Darla. “If you get drunk, I promise to get you to your room, and I won’t take advantage of you, no matter how much I want to.”
3
HE WOULDN’T TAKE ADVANTAGE of her, no matter how much he wanted to. That was the statement Blake had made that had opened the door of possibility for Darla, the one that spoke of honor, of a good man. Maybe she really had misjudged him. Maybe she was so conditioned to believe she always chose the wrong men that she was looking for flaws in Blake unfairly.
“Here you go,” the flight attendant said. “Two more mimosas.”
Blake passed Darla her drink and kept one for himself.
“Actually,” Darla said. “I think we need to even the stakes here. I’ve had two. These two are yours.”
He arched a brow and then eased his shoulder back into the seat, still facing her, his voice low and intimate. “I really will take care of you if you want to drink that.”
“I believe you. How old is your sister? Younger or older?”
“Younger by five years,” he said. “She’s twenty-seven.”
“And here I thought the wrong man syndrome was a curse for show business types. Maybe it’s the curse of the twenty-seven-year-olds.”
“I love the hell out of my sister, but she has issues way beyond age. Namely, she needs to act hers—but that’s a long story that would require a few extra mimosas. And you and I, well, we aren’t exactly in an industry that’s relationship friendly. It’s populated with a lot of people who are out for number one. That has to be different from the life you were living as the Colorado rancher’s daughter.”
“I still live life as a Colorado rancher’s daughter,” she said. “And the minute this business makes me something else, I’m out.”
“You might not know when it happens,” he suggested. “Most people don’t.”
“My family will know and they’ll knock some sense into me.”
He smiled. “Same with mine.”
“You’re close to your family?”
“Very. It was my father’s investment strategies that got me here to begin with. I started doing YouTube investment segments about the stock market while I was in college, which began with too much tequila and a dare.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “Luckily I handle my alcohol better at thirty-two than I did at twenty-one. The first video was such a hit that I kept doing them, and somehow, someone who mattered saw them and the rest is history. That’s how I ended up writing that handbook for investing in the stock market and why it’s a regular feature on my show.”
“You highlight stocks on your show and I highlight romance novels,” she observed. “Like night and day.”
“Which is why there’s an audience for both of us,” he said. “Sometimes people want business advice and sometimes they just need to escape. Sometimes the same person might want one thing one day and the other the next.”
She’d thought the same thing many times. “You’ll never convince my network of that. They want me to take you down.”
His eyes—so brilliantly blue—twinkled with mischief. “And what about you? Do you want to take me down?”
“After you made a fool of me on your show, I did,” she admitted.
“I didn’t—”
“I’m willing to accept that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t responsible for what happened,” she conceded.
“Maybe?”
“That’s all you’re getting from me right now.”
“It’s better than the outright hatred I got from you earlier, so I’ll take the maybe.” He downed the drink. “You know, this is a three-hour flight. You can drink another mimosa and still not have to worry about what happens when we get off the plane.”
She was more worried about what wouldn’t happen if she drank. Meaning, she wanted him to know that if their flirtation went beyond this flight, she was clear-headed. Not that she was planning to do anything with this man. Still…options were good.
She took his empty glass from him and handed him her full one. “I’ll consider another drink when you’re one up on me.”
He hit the attendant button. “Then I better get busy.” He downed her drink.
She laughed. “I thought you weren’t going to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”
“That’s exactly why I need to get you drunk,” he assured her. “So you’ll be safe. But just in case you’re wondering, I’m okay with you getting me drunk and taking advantage of me.”
She laughed again but right at that moment, the plane jolted back and forth. Her heart lurched and she grabbed his leg. “Easy,” he murmured, his hand closing over hers. “Just the heat—remember?” He eased closer so that their knees were touching. “You’re perfectly safe right now.”
Heat. Oh, yes. There was heat—plenty of heat screaming a path through her body, making every nerve ending she had tingle
with awareness.
“Hi,” the flight attendant said.
Blake glanced at Darla. “Another drink?”
“Only if I eat first.”
“We’re actually about to serve brunch,” the attendant said, and proceeded to give them their meal choices.
Once they’d ordered, Blake turned back to Darla, still holding her hand. She stared down at his. He had big, strong hands. Hands that made her think of him touching her.
“Now where were we?” he asked, drawing her gaze. “Oh, yes. Talking about you getting me drunk and taking advantage of me. But since I’m barely above getting beaten with your bag, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. So why don’t you tell me how your show got started?”
The plane shook and she inhaled, quickly diving into her reply to keep herself from diving for the window shade instead. “I was at the University of Colorado with my sights set on a journalism degree. I took a drama class thinking it would be a fun, easy elective that would allow me time for the college paper. The next thing I knew I was writing scripts and producing a school play. Long story short, I ended up working for a casting director in New York and met with a producer looking for a new morning-show host.”
“And the producer decided it should be you.”
“Yes, but I said no at first. I was terrified to be in front of the camera. I still am half the time. I have silly things happen, like when I spilled water all over Miss Universe, who’d come on the show to support a children’s charity.” She cringed. “I suppose if they didn’t fire me over that I shouldn’t have thought they’d fire me over my broken shoe. I just keep worrying they’ll realize I’m not meant to be on camera.”
“Those things make your audience love you, you know,” he said softly. “It’s part of that country-girl-gone-big-city charm.”