Maureen Child - Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair - Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair

Had Sam been lying about keeping his distance, or was he really genuine about seeing benefits in helping her out? Maybe he was just one of those gallant guys who couldn’t resist a woman in distress.

After the way his mother had been treated, Bella could understand how he would have developed that tendency. Maybe he didn’t really have a hidden agenda. Perhaps he genuinely had business to accomplish and figured he would be a good guy along the way.

Her initial idea for facing Ridley at the premiere had been to borrow one of her brothers for the evening. But how lame was that? Sam would make for a powerful piece of eye candy to distract gossip-hungry people from wondering why she and Ridley were no longer an item.

She could ruminate about this all morning, but regardless, her escape to France was officially over. She couldn’t hide from her family’s drama anymore. Thanks to Sam, she wouldn’t be facing everyone alone.

Bella sagged back in her seat, sliding the shade closed over the small oval airplane window. She scrubbed her fists along her gritty eyes. She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning all night as she worried if she’d made the right choice in coming back to the States with Sam. A yawn stretched her face.

The bed behind the privacy door was inviting, but she feared sending the wrong message. Hell, she feared her own willpower weakening if she crawled onto a mattress with Sam anywhere near. She was better off making use of the additional sleeper chairs out here.

Was she cutting off her nose to spite her face, as he’d said?

No, damn it. She wasn’t in any position for a new relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to her.

Caffeine, yeah, that was the ticket. She just needed more caffeine to jolt her awake and get her brain working again.

She unbuckled her lap belt, placed sleeping Muffin on the seat and strode forward to the small kitchen area where Sam had headed a few minutes earlier. “Anything with caffeine up here?”

Sam’s back tensed at her words, his shoulders rising ever so slightly. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and turned toward her. “Coffee, tea, soda, your choice. Let me know and I’ll pour it for you. The steward is up with the pilot right now.”

“I can serve myself.” She sidled by him in the narrow galley kitchen. Very narrow. The heat of his body permeated through her thin blouse, his chest grazing her breasts. “What are you having?”

“Just bottled water.” He angled past and out of her way, even as his silvery-gray gaze stayed locked in tight on her.

Bella opened the stainless-steel mini-refrigerator and pulled out a Diet Coke from the rows of neatly arranged beverages, fresh fruits and cheeses inside. She considered fishing through the dark mahogany cabinets for a cup and ice, but her hands had started shaking right about the time his body had rubbed ever so enticingly against hers. She wrapped a napkin around the can and popped the top.

A bracing gulp later, she worked to establish some emotional distance again. “I appreciate your help with the Ridley issue, but I want to make sure you understand. No more interfering with my family like you did by calling Charlotte’s husband.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re lying.”

He leaned against the bulkhead, his feet crossed in front of him. The sun glinted through the oval window highlighting hints of russet in his deep brown hair. “You sure are a charmer today, Bella.” He smiled wide and wicked. “Why would you accuse me of something so devious?”

She wadded her napkin and tossed it at his chest. “Because you have a reputation for being ruthless when you want your way.”

Beyond his success in the work world, she’d heard rumors he changed women with the season.

“I make no secret of being a driven, determined person.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Of course that could mean you’re reckless in climbing onto my airplane.”

“Ha-ha. Not amused.” She passed him his bottled water. “If we’re going to give this ‘friends’ thing an honest go, then you need to be truthful with me.”

Sam stiffened, only a hint and only for a second, but enough to make her wonder what he was covering up.

He reached for his drink, taking it with his left hand, rather than his right, which he kept stuffed in his pocket.

Like he was hiding something.

She thought back to when she’d come to the galley. He’d only been drinking water. What else could he have…

An awful, awful possibility—probability—flooded her mind. She’d seen the look and stance often enough when walking in on people at inopportune times at parties or raves.

Oh, my God. Sam was hiding more than she’d thought, something she never would have considered. “What were you doing here before I walked up?”

“Getting a drink of water, like I said.” His face went totally blank.

His complete lack of expression spoke louder than anything else. He should have been at ease.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Like hell. I’ve been around Hollywood types all my life. I’ve seen more than my share of alcohol and drug abuse.” Disillusionment threatened to swamp her even as her anger topped the charts. “You’re popping pills.”

His jaw dropped open for a flash, then snapped shut.

But he didn’t deny it.

She stood her ground. She might be hurt, but she was also mad as hell and she wasn’t backing down. “I may have to put up with that kind of behavior from those I work with, but I absolutely will not tolerate it in my private life.”

His frozen face cleared and…he laughed. Not just a chuckle, but head-back, full-out laughter that muffled even the drone of the airplane engines. Was that what his drugs did for him? Separate him from reality so thoroughly he found this amusing?

Steam built inside her, fuming, filling her with anger and cynicism. That made her all the madder. She shouldn’t care what kind of man he was. He should mean nothing to her.

But this disappointment on top of everything else was just too much. “Don’t you dare mock me. I’m serious. Get out. Get out now.”

He scratched his forehead. “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you there. We’re in the air, in my plane.”

She stomped her foot. “Damn it, you make me so mad sometimes.”

His laughter faded, but his grin remained. “Good God, you’re even hotter when you’re fired up.”

His eyes sparked with awareness, his gaze locking on her face so long she suddenly felt self-conscious. “I’ll just go back to my seat.”

She started to turn and he caught her arm. The heat of his familiar touch seared through her lightweight sweater. He stared down at her with somber gray eyes. “I’m not popping illegal drugs.”

He pulled his other hand out of his pocket, a pill bottle in palm.

She shoved his wrist away. “Prescription drugs, then. Abuse and addiction all the same. Go get high somewhere else.”

He thrust his hand forward insistently. “Look at the label.”

She frowned. “The label?”

“I’m taking allergy medicine.”

Oh crap. She’d let her temper take control and screwed up. She owed him a whopper of an apology. “You have allergies?”

“I am a human being, last time I checked anyway.” He held up the bottle and rattled the pills. “Humans get sick.”

“What are you allergic to?” Unease prickled up her spine with an impending sense of doom as she crossed her fingers, hoping he wouldn’t say what she feared.

He dropped the bottle of allergy meds back in his pocket and faced her straight on. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

Ah hell.

His secret was out.

He’d done a decent job at hiding his allergy to her dog before, popping pills and trying to put distance between himself and the mutt. Their shopping jaunt in Paris—with Muffin staying back at the hotel—had given his sinuses a break. But the recycled air in the plane was really wreaking havoc with his allergies.