I swallowed, and my heart pounded from the compliment. Or was it the anxiety? I couldn't trust my body's reactions at the moment.

"I'm sure you say that to all the women," I teased, silently marveling that my flirting ability, while slightly parched and neglected, hadn't entirely dried up.

Colin smirked. "You know, the older I get, I'm not as attracted to as many people."

"Ah, so when you were younger, you were a playboy?" I grinned.

"A harmless one, but perhaps, yes." His thumb traced his strong jaw.

I nodded and looked at his hands, which were still holding my magazine. It was probably better to concentrate on this sexy seatmate instead of takeoff, even if he was a player. Anything to trick my mind into not melting down. And his thighs did look so marvelously strong in those suit pants.

"May I have my magazine back?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. I'm not done reading about you, Samantha Citrouille. Hang tight for a second. I need to school myself about the frivolous fashion world." He picked up the magazine and continued perusing the words.

Frivolous fashion world. I rolled my eyes. Who did he think I was? A person who sewed clothes in her garage and sold them at flea markets? What an arrogant man.

That shimmer of annoyance made me shift in my seat. I noticed his eyes reading the passage in the article about my divorce, and I went from irked to uncomfortable. I was thankful the article hadn't mentioned how my ex had stolen money from my company for years.

Thank God for celebrity journalists who weren't inquisitive and that had editors who only wanted happy slogans.

Being blissful never goes out of fashion.

I turned my body so I could look out the window and tried to mentally repeat the mantra my therapist suggested for during takeoff. Forget about Colin and his beauty and his arrogance.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Focus only on the breath.

Now fully buzzed from the champagne, I watched the activity on the tarmac. Planes coming and going, baggage carts zipping around. I tried to observe, like my therapist told me to. Observe and not judge. Observe and not think.

"You are a very interesting woman, Ms. Citrouille," Colin said. I turned to see him close the magazine. "We're going to have an excellent flight together."

I sighed as I accepted the magazine that he held in his hand, then wedged it in the seat-back pocket, in front of the pajamas. "I'll be honest. I haven't flown in years. I don't know how I'll react."

Colin cleared his throat. "And I'll be honest with you. I have a sister who has a severe panic disorder. Feel free to act however you want. Don't think you're going to embarrass yourself on my behalf. I can handle anything."

His steady gaze melted something inside me. I'd planned on white-knuckling it through the flight and possibly breaking down in the bathroom. Somehow, Colin's eyes eased my nerves.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"There's no need to thank me. And you can hold onto my arm if you need. You don't even need permission. Just grab and hang on." He tapped the fingers of his left hand on his right forearm, which looked meaty in the white shirt. I looked into his eyes to check if was making fun of me.

An inner voice told me he wasn't.

____