Tell Me a Fantasy

Chapter Two

"I'm so sorry to ask you this, sir." Blue-Eyes rested his hand on the man's shoulder in a chummy and familiar way. "But my office bungled my reservation and those of my wife here."

He gestured at me with an open palm.

His wife? Holding my champagne flute in mid-air, I reared back. The handsome stranger winked at me, an almost imperceptible gesture. I wasn't sure what I surprised me more—that he was trying to save me from the vulgar guy or that we'd all been in the TSA line together and were now on the same flight to London.

I blinked a few times, hoping both would go away. I wanted to be left alone with my thoughts and my anxiety. The pilot needed my positive vibes. Irrational, I knew, but I wanted nothing to do with either man in front of me.

"My secretary somehow managed to get us seated apart. You know how these things happen." Blue-Eyes again gestured in my direction. I gaped.

"Would you mind switching seats with me? Mine's actually better—in the first row, the row that's one seat instead of two. Lots of legroom, a swivel seat. Surely you understand. We're newlyweds and all..." The corner of Blue-Eyes' mouth lifted. I was uneasy with how he'd commanded this situation so fluidly.

"Oh, Jesus, of course. Of course. I wouldn't want to get in the way of some mile-high action, if you know what I mean."

"Thank you, sir."

The man stood up and clapped Blue-Eyes on the shoulder, yelled something about congratulations, then wrested his briefcase from the overhead compartment. He lurched forward several rows.

I took another sip of champagne. We hadn't even taken off and this flight was already a disaster.

Blue-Eyes took his phone out of the inner pocket of his pinstripe grey suit jacket and placed it on his seat. Then, with precision, he took off the jacket, folded it in half, and placed it in the overhead compartment. This man's movements were fluid and careful.

He picked up his phone and sat, smoothing his deep red tie with a big hand. He grinned.

"Your wife." I said this as a statement, not a question. "How clever. Why did you switch seats with him?" I gave him a side-eye.

"I know a damsel in distress when I see one."

I rolled my eyes. Maybe sitting next to this guy would be even worse.

He chuckled, a rich, deep noise, and something inside me hummed despite the ridiculous situation. "You can thank me now."

With a dainty sip, I looked away from his handsome face and finished my champagne. "I guess I should, although by the time we get to London, you're probably going to curse me and wish you'd have left me with that terrible person."

"Hardly." He held out a hand that looked like it should belong to a prizefighter, not a businessman. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Colin."

"Samantha." I leaned in his direction and inhaled. He smelled like ice and mastery and a hint of chocolate. Dangerous, for a certain kind of woman.

I wasn't that kind of woman. Not anymore.

We shook, and I was surprised how pleasantly warm and smooth and firm his hand was, the sensations all at once. He seemed like a take-charge guy, perfect if we experienced a disaster on the plane. And he was muscular and strong, if the way he filled out that dress shirt out was any indication. This was a positive development. Maybe sitting next to him wouldn't be so bad. I exhaled.

"Normally," Colin said, pausing, probably so I could admire his low baritone, "I fly on charter planes. And when I don't, I get pre-check at the TSA line. But today's been a disaster all the way around."