Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair: Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair

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.

He hated weakness, any lack of control over his mind or his body. Ever since his mother had brought home a chocolate Lab puppy for his seventh birthday he’d known extended exposure to dogs made his sinuses go haywire.

Bella’s hand floated to her chest, over her heart. “You took allergy pills so you could be with me?”

Her blue eyes glinted with a wonder that made him itchy. “Vanity dogs are a must for a large number of my clientele. So the hotel allows small pets.”

True enough, but the passing contact wasn’t enough to cause a problem. Still, she didn’t know he’d put the call in to his doctor for the meds just so he could be near Bella—and Muffin.

Her look of wonder faded to irritation, her chest heaving with indignation. “Vanity pets? Vanity pets! Muffin is not a vanity pet.”

“Well of course not,” he said, unable to peel his eyes off the flush spreading along her milky skin. “That is not one of those purebred, froufrou animals.”

Bella relaxed and started swiping a few stray dog hairs off her black jeans.

He couldn’t resist needling her. “She’s too damn ugly to be a vanity pet.”

“Ugly?” she gasped, her hands fisting. “I cannot believe you just called my precious Muffin ugly.”

The door leading to the cockpit creaked open… Then closed again as the folks up front must have realized no one was in danger.

Damn, Bella was hot when she got all fired up, which led him to keep right on stoking the flames. “Good God, have you checked out your dog’s Billy Idol snarl lately?”

“Shush!” She glanced back at the sleeping dog as if somehow the animal might understand his words. “She’s a sweetie pie.”

“I never said she wasn’t—”

“Last time I checked—” she staked closer, jabbing a finger in his chest “—it’s the inside that counts, not appearance. If I turned ugly tomorrow, would you stop being my friend?”

“We’re friends?” That was a start.

“We were.”

Were? Past tense? Not so fast, Bella. He advanced a step, pushing his chest against her poking pointer finger. “So you consider yourself beautiful.”

She snatched her hand back and crossed her arms. “I don’t consider myself vain. Understanding strengths and weaknesses is a part of the business.”

Something niggled at him about her reasoning. “Am I to assume you believe you’re only chosen for roles because of your looks?”

“I want to be taken seriously as an actress. That’s why I fought so hard to get the lead in this film.” Her fists unfurled and she studied her nails. “My brothers were always the brains in the family.”

He thought of a thousand ways she’d shown her innate intelligence in the short time he’d known her—her knowledge of French architecture while they’d been shopping. Her quick wit. He could think of a number of other examples, but he suspected she would just brush those aside in embarrassment.

What a strange dichotomy she presented. One of America’s hottest women was a mass of insecurities.

Since he couldn’t tell her what he really wanted to—that she was so damn hot and smart he wanted to take her behind that curtain and tangle up with her on the bed until they landed in the States—he opted for, “I’m sorry for saying your dog is ugly.”

Muffin perked up in the leather chair, her ears twitched. Damned if that mutt actually could understand humans.

The dog jumped to the ground and scampered to her owner. Bella scooped her up and snuggled her scruffy pet under her chin. “Muffin forgives you. But it may take me a little while longer.”

“For what it’s worth, I think Billy Idol is a badass.” He winked, stroking a finger along Muffin’s chin, then Bella’s.

She froze.

Her chest rose and fell faster, her lips parting with each gusty breath. Memories of their night together flared to life in his mind until he could taste her, feel her even without touching. He was right to link up with her this way. They both deserved more of what they’d shared in his suite. He wouldn’t let her be so foolish as to throw away a chance at enjoying the chemistry between them until it ran its course.

He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. When she didn’t twitch away, he leaned toward her, already anticipating the explosion of sensation that would come just from sealing his mouth to hers—

The PA crackled to life. “Mr. Garrison,” the pilot’s voice called over the speaker, “we’re heading into some turbulence. You will both need to buckle into your seats, please.”

Bella blinked fast, clutched her dog closer and angled past him double-time without a word. Her silence and evasive eyes were all the more telling than any words of dismissal.

All talk of friendship and no sex be damned, she wanted him, too. Now he just needed to show some restraint until that desire grew so taut she came to him.

Bella stood on her front stoop with Sam as the sun hovered low on the horizon. While it was only suppertime in California, she was suffering from a serious case of jet lag. A car’s motor sounded in the distance but continued around the drive toward Hudson Manor’s twelve-car parking garage.

Sam pressed a hand to the door frame, stopping her from passing. “So this is your place.”

She leaned against the railing, not as eager to leave as she would have expected. The whole allergy pills incident still whirled around in her head. He may not have taken the meds just for her, but he was continuing to do so because of Muffin and that tugged at her heart.

Beyond that, she was relieved to see his unmistakable disapproval of drugs. She’d witnessed firsthand the ruin too much money could bring to people who snorted their wealth up their noses. “I moved here to the guesthouse a few years ago to live on my own. Of course it’s obvious I didn’t move too far away from my relatives.”

She’d made her big independent stand by moving across the lawn and redecorating the two-bedroom, one-story cottage in a shabby chic, Bohemian style totally at odds with the French Provincial formality of Hudson Manor.

She’d needed to step out of her very large family’s shadow, find her own style and voice. Right after moving in, she’d painted each room according to different moods. Blue ceilings to evoke the sky. Green-painted hardwood floors with sea-grass mats to ground her in the natural world. Her bedroom ceiling was dotted with stars. She’d even used a constellation map for accuracy but regretted that the night sky was permanently set to October. She made a home for herself rather than letting some decorator stamp his own personality onto her life.

Security lights flickered on as the sun drifted deeper into the horizon. Her childhood house loomed in the distance, a fifty-five-room white stone and wrought-iron mansion. Fifteen acres of sculpted landscape afforded plenty of privacy here.

Privacy with her whole big family all around. She eyed the lengthy garage in the distance and all the doors were closed. She tucked deeper onto the porch so a sprawling tree would block them from any curious eyes in the main house.

She stared up into Sam’s mesmerizing gray eyes, allowing herself a moment to just sink into their appeal. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For bringing me home, for the shopping trip in Paris, for clotheslining the reporter, for offering to come with me to the premiere, for taking allergy pills.” She stared down, scuffing her red heels along the stone step. “For respecting my stance on no more sex.”

“I respect your opinion, but make no mistake, that doesn’t mean I agree.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, his really hard and hot chest. “Hey, I mean it when I say I’m not going to invite you inside, not even for coffee.”

“I’m a man who stands by his word.” He picked up her hand and linked their fingers. “As much as I detest media attention, maybe if I feed the hungry press hounds for a few days they might get off my back.”

Since she intended to be an actress for as long as the industry would hire her, her life would be full of media frenzy indefinitely. Sam had made his feelings about the press known. Sure she wanted privacy at times, but she also appreciated the hand they played in helping her promote her work.

That put her lifestyle in direct conflict to his. She didn’t have to worry about him pressing for more. His short-term offer must be as genuine as it sounded.

Great news.

Right?

So why did it leave her wanting to squeeze his hand, yank him closer and steal up all the kisses she possibly could?

Her mouth dried and she forced herself not to moisten her lips. “Good luck with your new hotel.”

A hotel nearby in Los Angeles. A hotel that could bring him back again in the future… She stopped those thoughts short.

“Luck? Hard work makes luck more inevitable.”

“I like that.” She was actually finding she liked him and that was a dangerous thought to have while standing on her front stoop. Too easily this man could entice her to toss aside her intentions to keep him—any man—at arm’s length until her life settled back down again. “I spend a lot of time with diva sorts, male and female, who barely carry their own bottled water, much less a suitcase.”

Damn him for being so muscular and charming and enticing. What would it have been like to meet him before she’d made the mistake of falling for Ridley? Back during a time when she’d believed her parents had the perfect marriage and happily ever after was for real.

She would have invited Sam into her home, into her bed.

He leaned toward her as he’d done on the airplane. She’d wanted him then, wanted him even more now, a need made all the more painful because she knew just how good they could be together. Her body flamed in response, memories of champagne kisses still fresh in her mind. He angled closer—to open her door.

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