Mandy almost cringed under his scrutiny. The mirror in the rest room had not shown good things. Her hair was limp and her cheeks pale. So indignant at being sent hurdling back into morning sickness, Mandy gave no thought to politeness. This stupid trip was his idea, so it was his fault she felt as if she’d been tumbled in a hot clothes’ dryer.

“No, I’m not okay. I just threw up in an airplane loo, which means my face was hovering over a metal toilet. All of humanity deposits their filthy germs in an airplane rest room. It’s horrifying.”

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his hand. “But you’re starting to worry me…It seems like you’re always getting sick around me. Maybe I make you nauseous.”

Though it was meant to be a joke, ha ha, Mandy just wasn’t in the mood. “Don’t worry, it’s not just you. All men make me nauseous.”

His mouth dropped, and she suspected it was the first time Damien Sharpton had been at a loss for words.

Great. She sounded like a man-hating lesbian.

“I’m kidding. I’m just not feeling well. I get airsick.”

“You should have told me.”

“Then what? You’d have let me stay home? Taken a boat?” The plane bounced a little. “I need to sit down.”

“Of course.” Damien put his hand on her elbow, and they both froze. She ground to a halt first; then he did, clearly uncertain why she was stopping so soon after starting.

But his touch, such a simple meaningless gesture, seared through her flesh and lit a slow-burning fire in her belly. She had almost convinced herself that her fevered dreams had exaggerated his attractiveness. Then he’d met her at the gate before boarding, and she’d realized she hadn’t embellished a single thing. He was gorgeous. Tasty. Perfection.

“We’re not going to have a repeat of the elevator, are we? Because I don’t have any coffee this time.”

An embarrassed twitter escaped her lips. Here she was becoming a sex-obsessed nymphomaniac wanna-be, and his thoughts centered around capturing her vomit.

“I’m fine. I just lost my balance.” She hightailed it back to her seat, which was thankfully in first class and sporting a good deal of leg room. On the flip side, it was right next to Damien’s seat, which was mortifying and distracting.

He had taken the window seat on boarding, so she had to hover in the aisle while he eased past her. His leg brushed hers and she shivered like a ninny.

“This air-conditioning is too high,” she said to cover her movement.

He frowned at the sleeveless dress she was wearing. One she had chosen because it had no waist, which helped for comfort and camouflage.

“Don’t you have a sweater or something?”