She took a tiny sip of the cognac and tried to relax. If the man's income matched his appearance, it seemed odd he would choose to sit in the cheap seats instead of first class. Unless, of course, he hadn't been given a choice. A last-minute booking and a case of either take an economy seat or go for the next flight could account for where he was sitting.
Then again, he could be one of those people who didn't think it worth paying twice the price simply to get a slightly wider seat, a fancy appetizer and a choice of either chicken or fish for his dinner.
She continued to watch as the man raised his glass. The instant the man's lips touched the glass Trish's mind went into overdrive. She imagined that same wonderful mouth touching hers. Hot, sexy, wet lips gliding over her skin looking for excitement and finding it. Already she could feel those beautiful, long-fingered hands moving gently over her body, stroking and caressing, seeking out her secret places. His tongue would be as hard and bold as his cock, licking her quickly to readiness, then thrusting urgently inside her to give the kind of wild abandoned pleasures she'd only read about in-
Horrified by intensity of her runaway thoughts, Trish wrenched her attention away from the man and back to the magazine. What in hell was wrong with her? She felt hot and shivery at the same time and her stomach felt downright strange, as if she were sickening for something. Maybe she had food poisoning. The hotdog she'd eaten in the airport had tasted fine, but it could have been past its sell-by date. And with the up and down temperatures lately, she could have picked up a bug of some kind.
Her face burning with fever or embarrassment-she wasn't quite sure which-she took a couple more sips of cognac. Then, in the hope the man next to her could not read minds, she flipped to the next page in the magazine and tried to concentrate on the printed words. She'd never had such wild and wicked thoughts about anyone in her whole life before today. In fact, that was a big part of why she and Stuart had decided to call it quits. She'd felt he was too preoccupied with his physical needs, and he'd thought she was too old-fashioned and narrow-minded about sex. He'd said she needed to think dirty thoughts, experiment a little, and generally get with the program.
If only it were that easy!
She'd always felt shy and a tad ill-at-ease around men. Probably because she'd grown up in an all-female household. In fact, if she was honest, that was the real reason for the trip-a chance to meet men somewhere far from home, where she could let her hair down and act wild and crazy with no one she knew to witness the egg on her face if she made a complete idiot of herself.
Just then, the man next to her reached up and switched on the overhead light. "Is that better?" he inquired.
"Yes. Much better. Thank you," she said, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the page and wondering why she hadn't had the presence of mind to push the damn switch herself.
He waited until she'd flipped over a couple more pages, then he cleared his throat, presumably to catch her attention. "So…do you live in Toronto?"
Since he seemed determined to chat, Trish gave up trying to read, closed the magazine and shoved it in the seat pocket in front of her. "No. Not since-"
"Not since what?"
"Not since I decided I'd like a change." She smiled sweetly, silently daring him to continue the interrogation. Trish had only a few dislikes, but answering questions posed by nosy strangers ranked up there at the top of the list, right next to airplane take-offs and landings. Even if the nosy stranger happened to be the most gorgeous man she'd seen since she couldn't remember when. That smile…and those sexy, half-closed eyes…the kind of eyes her mom always described as bedroom eyes.
Oh, yes! It was so easy to imagine him in a bedroom-preferably hers. Maybe wearing a pair of low-slung jeans, or possibly nothing at all. Yes! She could just imagine him buck naked and stretched out on a bed with a come-and-get-me twinkle in his eyes.
"But you do live in Canada?"
"Umm…" She pushed the image away. "Yes, of course." The first time he'd spoken, she'd noticed he had an accent, but it was too faint for her to guess at his ancestry. "What about you? Are you Canadian?"
"No, I'm French. I live in Paris. I was in Toronto for a few days on business."
Just then dinner arrived-the usual plastic chicken, with the usual tasteless vegetables, limp appetizer salad, and nameless gooey dessert, all served in plastic containers, on a plastic tray, with plastic utensils to scoop it up.
For the next little while, Trish nibbled on the salad, gave the chicken an exploratory poke, and ate the surprisingly fresh bread roll with what the wrapper assured her was the world's best butter.
She'd always heard Frenchmen were super fussy about their food, but maybe he'd missed the memo. Like most men, he ate every last scrap on the tray, shoveling the food into his mouth as if he were starving. After he was through eating, he wiped his hands on the wet paper towel and when the attendant collected the trays, he raved on about how delicious the meal had been, as if she'd prepared it personally with her own fair hands.
Rather than after-dinner coffee, since she figured it would keep her awake, Trish requested a second cognac. Her neighbor asked for the same.
He'd actually said very little while he gobbled his food and she played with hers, but after their fresh drinks arrived, he said, "I assume you're going to Europe on vacation, yes?"
"That's the plan."
"And you'll be staying in Paris?"
"The first few days for sure."
"At one of the tourist hotels?"
"No. I have a friend who works for an international news agency. She's currently away on assignment, so she said I could use her apartment as my base. I can stay there in between wherever else I go. There's ton of stuff I want to see in Paris. I also want to go to Versailles and Chartres. Neat, huh?"
"Sounds like the perfect arrangement." He frowned as he loosened his dark blue tie and pushed his seat back a couple of notches. "Especially at this time of year when hotel rooms are at a premium."
Trish always noticed a man's hands. His were nicely manicured and his ring finger was bare. Whether or not that meant anything…
"You look tired," he said, interrupting her thoughts.
A little surprised by the man's perceptiveness, Trish tried to pass it off by saying, "Too much work; too much everything."
"But nothing serious?"
"No. I just need to kick back for a couple weeks. A little rest and relaxation, and a complete change of pace and I'll be good as new."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"Nothing too interesting at the moment. I've been working a couple of minimum wage jobs to pay the bills while I finished my degree. You know, the usual kind of thing students take-working at a fast food restaurant and stocking shelves at the supermarket. Nothing to tax the brain or interfere with my studies." She rubbed her tired eyes. After working the late shift at the restaurant last night, she'd had to stay behind to help with the clean-up. Then, being her last day, she'd gone out to a bar with a few of the other employees and hadn't made it home until almost three this morning.