Zero Control

He reclined his seat, crossed his ankles. “What do you do for a living?”

“Executive assistant,” she said, wanting to lie as little as possible.

“Is this your first trip to Europe?”

“Yes. You?”

“Been many times. Twelve years in the Air Force.”

“I guess that’s why you became a tour guide? You know your way around the world.”

“I’ve been around the block a time or two.” He narrowed his eyes, his smile turned wicked and for a moment he looked positively hawkish. A calculating raptor analyzing the habits of his prey just before he swooped in for the kill. Suddenly she felt like a field mouse who’d ventured too far from home. What on earth had made her believe she could pull off something like this?

“Do you like music?” he asked.

“Sure.” She shrugged. Act nonchalant, sophisticated. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not everyone. I ask because Eros Airlines has satellite radio piped in. Listening to music might help you relax.”

He leaned over her to reach for the console containing the small flat-screen television. She tried not to notice that his broad chest was mere inches from her lap. He opened a drawer, pulled out a headset and handed it to her. “What do you want to hear? I’ll dial it in for you. Rap, country, classic, pop? You name it, we’ve got it.”

“Emocore,” she said.

The corners of his mouth turned down in a surprised, “Who knew?” expression. “Seriously?”

“You got something against emocore?”

“Matter of fact it’s my favorite, but I really don’t like the emo label,” he said.

“It’s dumb, I know. Why don’t they just call it poignant punk rock? Who are your favs?”

“Rites of Spring, Embrace, Gray Matter.”

“Oh, oh, don’t forget Fire Party and Moss Icon.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Emo is so raw, you know. Primal.” Roxie pressed her palms together. “But it’s also deep and expressive and soulful.” Some people thought the music was loud and chaotic, but to Roxie the sound represented a part of herself she was afraid to explore any other way. The part of her that longed to flaunt convention, throw back her head and just howl at the moon.

Dougal shook his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an emo fan.”

“Same here.”

They grinned at each other.

Dougal shifted in his seat, angling his body toward her. “Okay, so what’s your favorite food?”

“Italian.”

“Me, too. What dish do you like best? Lasagna?”

“Always a crowd-pleaser, but my hands-down fav is chicken Marsala.”

“No kidding? It’s my favorite, as well.”

“Wine, mushrooms, chicken in cream. What’s not to love?”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Brownies.”

“With nuts.”

“Absolutely.”

“Pecans or walnuts?”

“Either will do, but I like walnuts best.”

Roxie narrowed her eyes. “You’re just telling me what I want to hear. That’s your job.”

He grinned, shrugged. “I like seeing you smile.”

“Ha! I knew it. Flatterer.”

“Doesn’t mean that I’m lying. Slap some Fugazi on the MP3 player. Whip up a batch of chicken Marsala. Promise walnut brownies for dessert. Sit you across from me and it’s the stuff of dreams.”

Sudden silence sprouted between them, and Roxie felt an anxiety of a wholly different kind. “You can let go now,” she whispered.

“What?”

“My hand. May I have it back? We’re in the air. My takeoff terror has passed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” He let go of her hand.

She dropped her hot, damp palm into her lap and averted her gaze. Her pulse galloped. “Thanks,” she said. “You make a good distraction from fear of flying.”

Now all I need is something to distract me from the distraction.

The captain turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and Roxie, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Dougal as she could get, decided to visit the lavatory. A splash of cold water in her face to calm her racing pulse. She unbuckled her seat belt and got to her feet. “Excuse me, may I slip by you?”

Dougal moved his long legs into the aisle just as the plane lurched. Roxie hissed in her breath. The plane pitched again, thrusting her forward onto his lap. His arms closed around her, Roxie’s fanny snugged against his thighs. She peered into his face, glanced away, and then looked back again.

Sharp, dark eyes stared straight into her, holding her motionless. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice sounding husky and strange as if someone was tightening a wire around his throat.

“What was that?” she asked.