The phone rang for the third time since Beth arrived at the airport. She dug the noisy device out of her purse and glanced at the screen—not that she needed to look—and slid her finger to ignore, again.

Her sister, Sophia, was in full-out meltdown. They'd talked several times this week, but this was her fourth call since six this morning. Beth was going to have to explain why she'd missed her fitting.

There was just a month left before Sophia's wedding, and maybe if Beth were a better sister she would be at Sophia's side to help. But the truth of the matter was she could barely stomach the whole idea of being a bridesmaid, let alone be a willing and happy participant. So, for both their sakes, Beth was at the airport, waiting to board a plane to take her far, far away from the whole drama. Spending the next two weeks on board a cruise ship crossing the Atlantic, well away from cell reception, would be the best for everyone involved.

The phone rang again. The clock over the gate blinked nine thirty. It was almost time for the plane to start boarding, so she might as well put Sophia out of her misery.

"Hey, sis," she said through a forced smile.

"Beth! You've been avoiding my calls."

So much for pleasantries. "You know I'm at the airport. My cruise leaves today."

"You promised to get fitted for the bridesmaid dress before you left. I waited at the dress shop for an hour. There won't be time—"

"If you had picked out a dress before June, this wouldn't have been an issue. You've known since December that I had this trip planned. Why did you wait until the last minute?"

Beth bit her tongue. She really didn't want to fight with Sophia. That's why she was leaving until the wedding. She started over, a little softer this time.

"I'm sorry I didn't make that appointment yesterday. I was packing and I didn't realize how late it had gotten. I'm bringing the dress with me. They have tailors in Spain, and I will get it fitted, I promise."

"I hoped we could do our fittings together, just you and me. I even talked the bridal shop into opening early this morning so we could do it before you left."

"What can I say? My flight time was changed." Or she called the airline last night to take the earlier flight. "Six months is more than enough leeway to accommodate my schedule. Call one of your other bridesmaids. You'll have more fun that way. I'll be back in time for the wedding."

"Beth," she sighed over the phone, "this should be the happiest time of my life. But it's just not the same without you. I'm terrified that things will be different between us now."

Beth looked at the clock again. There were just a few more minutes before boarding and this wasn't the time or place to have this conversation.

"I know things are still awkward. It's not like Robert and I planned for this to happen," Sophia said into the silence. "I didn't think the wedding would be so hard for you. We've been dating now for over a year. "

"Really, Sophia? It's a little more than just awkward," Beth said with more bitterness than she intended. "He asked you to marry him less than six months after breaking up with me."

She wouldn't have cared so much if it wasn't for the timing. Robert never jumped into things. They'd dated, or whatever it was they'd been doing, for over three years, and he'd always kept things casual. But a few months of being with Sophia and suddenly he wanted a wife and kids. Well, that was just fine. They were welcome to each other.

"It's not as if we were strangers. Robert and I have been friends for years, and you were the one—"

"I know." Beth pinched her nose, trying to relieve the tension building behind her eyes. "I'm happy for you. We'll work things out. I promise. But like I explained in December, this trip was planned well before you announced your engagement and the tickets are nonrefundable."

Okay, so maybe she planned the trip after Sophia told her the date of the wedding.

Her job usually gave her a few months off during the rainy season, and the transatlantic cruise to Spain was a knee-jerk reaction. She'd never been on a cruise before and if that flyer from her travel agent hadn't come in the mail earlier that week, who knew what she would have done. But in her defense, Beth had known what a three-ringed circus the whole wedding would turn into, and she wanted to stay out of the mess.

This vacation before the wedding was purely defensive. If she wasn't around for the pre-wedding planning, she didn't need to get involved. She was completely over Robert and she didn't care who he married. Even if it was her little sister.

She’d agreed to be a bridesmaid. Wasn't that enough? All she really needed to do was show up at the wedding and be there for the photos.

The airline announcement filled the terminal. "We'll be boarding flight 498, Chicago to Orlando, in just a few minutes. Please have your boarding passes ready. We have final seat assignments for our standby passengers. Bobby West, Beth Riley, and Matt Carver, please come to the ticket counter."

Beth tried to keep the relief out of her voice after the announcement ended. "Sorry, I have to go. The plane is boarding. I promise to get the dress fitted in Spain. I'm sure Ana will know the best place to take it. I'll email her from the ship."

She tossed the phone into her purse but not before turning it off. She didn't want to think about the wedding anymore. She had the next four weeks all to herself. She was going to put aside the telenovela her life had become and just relax.

Drinking to excess, poolside naps, overeating, and several trips to the spa were all on her To Do list. And for the two weeks she'd be visiting family in Spain, her cousin Ana had all sorts of things planned. She could have flown back after the cruise, but staying longer and coming back just in time for the wedding would be better for everyone involved. Sophia wouldn't have to sulk around Beth like a guilty child, and Beth wouldn't have to deal with her own unresolved feelings on the matter.

Beth picked up her carry-on and made her way to the ticket counter. On her way, she scanned the passengers waiting for their section to be called, noting a few good-looking guys in the mix.

The last few months she'd thrown herself into her work, and Beth hadn't even considered dating. Maybe a hot Spanish fling needed to go on that To Do list, too.

After boarding, Beth found her aisle, but it wasn't until after the doors had closed that she realized she’d have the whole row to herself. Both large, leather seats were all hers to spread out and relax for the three-hour flight. This trip was starting out perfect.

For the next few hours, there'd be no calls and no drama. She wasn't even going to bother with the Dramamine.

Unfortunately, she was a bit too optimistic on that point. A stress-free getaway wasn't in the cards today. After the plane had taxied onto the runway, the flight was delayed due to weather for almost an hour. And when they were finally in the air, Beth wished they'd just stayed on the ground.

With her head between her knees, Beth gripped an airsick bag, and mentally kicked herself for not driving to Florida, or even maybe taking a train, a bus, hitchhiking… Anything else but this.

As the plane plunged another hundred feet, and the rain pounded the window beside her, the oddest thing ran through Beth's mind. While she fought back the nausea and prayed for death, all she could think was, Thank God I have on my fancy vacation underwear.

Honestly, if she were going to die, at least she'd indulged and purchased Agent Provocateur's new summer line. The thought made her laugh. She could see it now. Her mother would come to collect her body, and she'd approve of Beth's gorgeous underwear. It might be the only decision Beth had ever made that her mother would approve of.

The lights in the cabin flickered, and Beth could feel the nausea returning. The plane dipped again before making a steep climb, and the captain's voice filled the cabin.

"Sorry about the turbulence, folks. It looks like we'll be in this storm front for the next twenty minutes, so please remain seated. After we're clear of the front, it should be a smooth ride for the rest of the flight."

Beth gripped the armrest so hard her fingers ached. Smooth ride her ass. A smooth ride would have been doing sixty down the freeway in her Mustang with the windows down and the radio blaring. Or even watching the trees fly by as she stared out the window of a train. Heck, she'd prefer a pack mule right now. It might have taken her three times as long, but at least there was less chance of falling out of the sky.

One of the first-class flight attendants leaned down, startling Beth out of her current panic. "Can I get you something to drink, Ms. Riley?"

The older woman did an assessing glance down at her. Beth still held the armrest in white-knuckled terror, with the airsick bag crushed in her lap, and the flight attendant smiled knowingly.

"I can get you some ginger ale. Maybe a glass of wine or something a little stronger might help you relax? We'll be out of this rough patch before you know it. This time of year the Midwest can be brutal."

"Just some water, please," Beth said, but even the thought of that made her stomach turn.

She didn't need a drink. What she needed was something to take her mind off the anxiety. If she had someone to talk to it would help. A quick glance around the cabin offered no solution, but there weren't many options. Most of the seats were filled with pairs: two couples deep in conversation, some businessmen chatting while checking their phones. There was only one other lone traveler.

Beth wasn't a shy person. She would have hopped over to the seat beside the other single, but he had headphones on, engrossed in a book—the universal signal for "leave me alone."

So much for that idea. Beth closed her eyes and suppressed the urge to go screaming down the aisle, reenacting Shatner's scene from “The Twilight Zone.” Thank God the flight was almost over.

* * *

Matt hated flying. Well, mostly he hated sitting next to strangers. Most of the time he tried to get an empty row. But the flight, even in first class, was almost full. However, after he boarded and saw the pretty blond sitting in the seat next to his, Matt didn't think the flight would be too bad.

Poppy was going to Florida for a conference. She was excited and filled their long delay with pleasant conversation.

She came off as poised and charming, and Matt liked her right away. It turned out they had a lot of things in common. Poppy's grandmother died last year and left her with a sizable inheritance. She was planning on starting her own business with the money.

Matt had similarly taken most of the money from his trust fund and invested it in a startup with two of his close friends. It was refreshing to meet a kindred soul. So many of the socialites he'd met just relied on their family's wealth, instead of working or doing something with their lives. It was nice to meet a woman who wanted to make her own way in the world.

But first impressions weren't always what they seemed. A few minutes after the plane took off, Poppy started talking about her new business venture.

"You see, microlending really took off overseas. I got this email a few months ago from a company looking for investors. The CEO, Andrew Bennet, thinks there's a market for microlending in the United States. With the size of my investment, I'll be able to open four microlending banks in Chicago," she had explained.

Microlending in Africa had merit, and he was curious how they were planning on transferring that concept to the U.S. But after he asked a few more questions, Matt realized Poppy was investing in a chain of payday loan shops. His family had made their money in banking and Matt could smell a scam a mile away. He tried to point out the legal and ethical issues involved in the scheme, but she got defensive.

"This isn't anything like payday loans. The economy is bad right now. Poor people need a place to turn to for help. Actually, it's more like charity than a business."

Matt almost laughed out loud when she said that. But she steadfastly continued on with the sales pitch she'd been fed. She wasn't long into her spiel before she got tripped up over the more complex banking ideas, like daily periodic interest and APR.

Matt knew there wasn't anything he could say to persuade her, so he tried to exit the conversation tactfully. At first he tried to change the subject, but she was determined to talk about her business.

"Mr. Bennet says if you don't talk about what you do, how will people know about this great business opportunity?"

Fine, if that wouldn't work, he would just stop responding and let the conversation die. He even pulled out his phone and tried to look occupied, but she ignored his subtle hint. It was becoming obvious she liked the sound of her own voice.

His mother had raised him to be polite, but this woman was testing his will. There was a point where Matt could have sworn she just started making up nonsense words just to fill the silence. Or he may have nodded off. Either way, he needed to escape.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, hoping a trip to the bathroom would stop the conversation. He might have spent the rest of the flight there just for the silence, but as he stepped into the aisle, the flight attendant rushed over.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need you to remain seated until the captain turns off the seatbelt sign."

"I was just headed to the bathroom," Matt said.

"Unless it's an emergency, I need to ask you to remain in your seat," she said firmly. "We should be through the weather in just a few more minutes."

"You'd better listen to her. After 9/11, stewardesses are like the police on a plane. I read this story on the internet about a man who argued with the stewardess. She tased him, then duct-taped him to the seat." Poppy gave the flight attendant a cautious glance and said in a loud whisper, "It's like the Wild West up here."

Matt couldn't resist the eye roll that time. "I'll be right back. I promise," he almost pleaded. Even a few seconds away would be reprieve from his annoying seatmate. But just as he was trying to step around the flight attendant, the plane dipped and pulled back up. Matt had to grab the seatback to keep from crashing into her.

"If you'll take your seat, sir," the woman said through a forced smile, "so I can get back to mine."

"Excuse me." The woman sitting two rows behind him spoke up. "The storm is really bothering me and I was wondering if my friend, Matt, could come sit with me until we get through the weather."

He had no idea who the woman was, but her pensive smile and huge doe eyes made her look small and frightened. Matt immediately sympathized with her. And besides that, stranger or no, he saw his chance to escape. Not waiting for the flight attendant's approval, Matt excused himself from Poppy and moved back two rows.

"That's fine," the flight attendant called after him, "as long as you stay seated."

Matt settled in the aisle seat beside the woman. He'd noticed her at the terminal, talking on the phone. She was tall and slender, but filled out the clingy sundress quite well. Her olive skin and dark hair made her look exotic, at least to him. Matt was so used to pale blonds and waiflike brunettes back home. This woman was a nice change.

She caught him staring and smiled. "I promise, I'm not going to bite."

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

"Nope," she said without further explanation.

"Then how did you know my name?"

"I was standing behind you when they called first-class boarding. Besides, that Poppy girl repeated it twenty times." She shrugged as if it should have been obvious. "When you stood up, I thought you might want to change seats. You looked desperate to get away. After the last hour of listening to your seatmate's incessant chatter, even I was hoping the plane would crash. You should have seen the look on your face when the flight attendant told you to sit down. I honestly thought you were going to push her down and make a break for the bathroom. Then she would have been forced to tase you."

She laughed, but he noticed the humor didn't reach her eyes. The plane did another couple of dips, and she reached out and grabbed the armrest until her knuckles were white.

"So you weren't lying about the storm bothering you."

"I get motion sick. I fly a lot, but I hate flying in bad weather. To be honest, I prefer driving. It's more interesting scenery, and it's on the ground," she said through clenched teeth.

"You know, statistically—"

"If you tell me flying is safer than driving, I'm going to make you go back and sit with Chatty Cathy."

"Okay, okay." Matt held up his hands in surrender. After a few seconds, the plane leveled off again, and the woman beside him relaxed, but only a bit. "I'm at a disadvantage here. I never got your name."

"Beth." She released her kung fu grip from the armrest to shake his hand. Her slender hand was icy cold and sweaty at the same time. She yanked back her hand and quickly wiped it on her jeans before returning to her death grip. "Sorry."

"Not a problem," he said and tried to tamp down the urge to grab her hand again. People didn't go around holding strangers' hands, no matter how cute or vulnerable they looked. "And thank you, Beth. You were right. I needed rescuing. Now you look like you could use some help. Is there anything I can do? Maybe the taser-wielding flight attendant can bring us some wine."

"Why, Matt, are you trying to get me drunk?"

"That's not what—"

The plane bounced up and down, like a car on uneven pavement, jostling him forward. Beth reached up and started rubbing the charm around her neck, clearly agitated. "Just talk," she said, then pressed her eyes shut and took long, slow breaths. "Talk about anything. I need something to keep my mind occupied, instead of thinking about Bernoulli's principle and whether the plane is going to fall out of the sky. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

He wished she would have asked for a drink. Matt was terrible at small talk. He spent his days working with computers. Outside of his office, and the occasional function his mother begged him to attend, he didn't socialize. And to be honest, he preferred it that way. There wasn't anything worse than trying to entertain someone with mindless chatter.

If he was forced into social situations, he usually resorted to asking a few probing personal questions. After one or two, he was usually off the hook because people loved to talk about themselves. But she wanted him to do the talking.

* * *

After several seconds of silence, Beth opened her eyes to make sure he hadn't left. He was staring down at his hand, looking a little pale and sweaty himself. Maybe he was bothered by the turbulence, too.

"Are you from Chicago?" she prompted, trying to get the conversation moving.

"Yes."

"Have you always lived there?" she asked, coaxing him a little more.

"I was born there," he said. "But I left for a few years during college."

He wasn't making this easy, that was for sure. It was obvious he was uncomfortable carrying the conversation. No wonder the woman he was sitting with ran roughshod over him.

"But you live in Chicago now, right?"

As if a light bulb went off, Matt finally caught on and started filling in the gaps. "Yes, I came back after school. My whole family lives in Chicago. I thought about staying on the East Coast after college, but I had the opportunity to start a business with some friends. We—"

The plane did a quick drop, and Beth grabbed his hand. She didn't care that he was a stranger. She needed human contact. To her relief, Matt didn't pull away. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently and continued talking.

"We started a marketing company several years ago. We focus mainly on web design, social media marketing, and other online strategies. At the time we opened, there were only a few marketing agencies that offered anything like that, so it wasn't an easy sell. For the first few years, it was hard to convince large companies that they needed to have an integrated strategy that included an online and social media presence."

Matt continued to talk about his company with real passion, and Beth began to relax. She didn’t even notice the weather change until the captain's voice came over the intercom.

"Looks like we've finally cleared that storm. I'm going to turn off the seatbelt light, and your flight attendants will be by with beverage service in just a few minutes. The weather put us behind schedule, but I'm hoping to make up some of that time. It looks like we'll be landing at noon local time."

Reluctantly, Beth let go of Matt's hand. She rubbed her palm absently. The residual warmth from their joining was a lingering reminder of their physical contact.

She took some time to study the man while he was ordering his drink. She had noticed him at the terminal. It was hard to miss those broad shoulders and lean, athletic build. But she'd dismissed him out of hand. And he wasn't anything like the men she dated these days. Matt was handsome. He looked like he just stepped off a “GQ” or “Men's Fitness” cover. His dark shaggy hair was messy, but not in the forced way that was so popular these days. It came to him naturally. But what stood out most were his striking blue-green eyes that seemed to shift color in the light. She could get lost in those eyes.

But after Robert, Beth tried to avoid men like Matt: smart, sexy and driven. Men like that wanted something different than she could give. It was best to steer clear.

"And what about you?" he asked after a long period of silence. "Are you a native Chicagoan?"

She'd been staring so long she hadn't even noticed the flight attendant had moved on.

"I'm a transplant," she said. "My mom's from the area. She moved back after my parents divorced. But I spent most of my childhood in Africa."

"Africa?"

From the expression on Matt's face, you would have thought she said she grew up on Mars. "Yes, Africa. My father is a doctor and worked for an organization that helped train midwives in African villages."

"That's different. Is that where the necklace came from? Is it some kind of protective charm or something?"

She fingered the necklace again and smiled. "I doubt it. But my father had it made for me before we left Africa. He said since it was carved out of ebony, it was like carrying a little part of Africa back home with us. That was a long time ago."

"But you do live in Chicago now? What is it you do for a living?"

"Cause trouble," she said with a wicked grin.

"What?"

"Sorry, that's what my mother always says. She doesn't approve of my life choices. But that's a whole other conversation. I don't actually work in Chicago. It's just where I hang my hat. I'm with a nonprofit, and travel out of the country a lot."

Beth started to tell him about her work with the Clean Water Project. Now it was time to see where Matt fell on the patriarchal scale. The minute she brought up her job, most guys fell into one of two categories—and sometimes both. They either thought she was an environmental zealot and backed away very slowly, or they tried to tell her the places she traveled weren't safe for women. It was almost like a game with her. And it was an easy way to weed out the bad ones.

"So you've been living in the jungles of Brazil for the past year?" he asked with a bewildered look on his face. He shook his head slowly.

Beth sighed, disappointed. He fell into the "that's too dangerous for a woman" camp, and she couldn't help the pang of disappointment.

But then he surprised her. "What a fantastic job. I bet you have some great stories. Do you stay in the same place for long?"

"A month or two in each village. As a project manager, I travel between different teams. I had a base camp in a village outside Imperatriz."

"Just you? You didn't have any problems with armed militants or whatever?"

"I had Alejandro. He was my driver, but he also protected me."

"A driver? That's it?" Matt asked.

"He wasn't just a driver. I'm not completely stupid. I contracted him through a private security firm." Plus, it was the only way she could appease her mother. Beth may have stretched the truth a little and let her mother believe there was a whole security team traveling with her, and not just one guy in a beat-up pickup truck. But the less Mom knew, the better. "We play it safe, and for the most part they leave us alone. The locals are happy for the help. These well and sewer systems save lives."

"And you do all this traveling, but are afraid to fly?" he said with a laugh.

"I'm not afraid to fly. I just get motion sick, and…okay, I do get a little nervous. But you shouldn't let fear hold you back from something you love. Don't you think?"

"A hero and philosopher," he said with a slight bow of the head. "So tell me a little about Brazil. I've always wanted to go."

Matt had retreated back to captive listener, but unlike with Poppy, he seemed genuinely interested in her stories. The conversation continued, and the next hour flew by. She'd completely forgotten about her motion sickness until the captain came on again, announcing their arrival. Landing was the worst part. The change in altitude always caused her stomach to turn.

Matt must have caught on to her shift in mood. Without fanfare, he reached down and entwined his fingers with hers. She looked to their hands and back up to his face as he smiled reassuringly. It was a sweet and surprisingly intimate gesture from a man she'd met a couple hours ago. And she thought, not for the first time, about how easy it was to like him.

"Just a few more minutes and we'll be back on the ground," he said, giving her hand a firm squeeze as if he routinely held hands with sick women.

Maybe she was reading too much into it. Most likely he was trying to distract her because he didn't want her hyperventilating or hurling on him. And it worked; she could almost forget they were encased in two hundred tons of steel plummeting toward the ground, until the wheels made contact.

"That flight sucked, but I'm glad you sat next to me. I'm not sure I could have made that entire trip without the flight attendant duct-taping me to the seat. Maybe I should bring you along for all my trips."

She meant it as a joke, but Matt frowned. "I won't be flying back to Chicago from this airport."

God, he was the sweetest guy ever. He didn't even know her and seemed ready to act as her flying companion at the drop of a hat. Without thinking, Beth leaned over and kissed him.

It was a big mistake. What was supposed to be just a platonic gesture of thanks quickly morphed into something else. Beth had to fight the urge to crawl into his lap and take more. His lips were firm and tasted of the bourbon he'd sipped during the flight. And damn if he didn't smell like sex on a stick.

Reluctantly, she pulled back and smiled, hoping the heat she was feeling all over her body didn't show in her face. "You've done more than enough. Thank you."

Matt didn't say anything. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt and retrieved a bag from the overhead compartment. After rifling through it, he handed her a card. "When you get home, call me. If I'm not back yet, my assistant will get the message to me. I'd like to see you again." He looked down at his watch and sighed. "I'd love to get a drink now that we're back on the ground, but with the delay, I'm running late."

"Oh." She looked down at the card. Matt Carver, Chief Creative Officer. "Well, thanks again for sitting with me, Matt. I hope the rest of your trip is good."

"It was my pleasure, Beth. I'll look forward to hearing from you." He turned and shuffled off the plane with the other first-class passengers.

As she collected her carry-on and made her way downstairs, Beth hoped she'd see him. She wanted to let him know she'd be out of the country for a month. She wanted… Hell, she wasn't sure what she wanted.

But by the time she made it to baggage claim, Matt was gone.

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