He hoped so. It would be better if she didn’t remember what had happened to her, he thought, absently rubbing his hand where she’d bitten him. Seth liked fight in a woman. Just not this woman. And not now.
As he watched her, he remembered the feel of her in his arms—her surprising physical strength, as well as her strength of will. He waited expectantly, still seeing Shanna in her and wishing he didn’t.
She offered a drunken lopsided smile. There was no sign of nausea, he thought, pleased with his choice of drugs. Nor any fear in her expression. Yet. He knew it would take a few minutes before she’d be coherent and by then they’d have landed and she wouldn’t be his problem anymore. This was one job he’d be glad to have over.
She frowned and looked around, her gaze questioning. He wondered if every emotion this woman felt showed as clearly on her face, or if it was just her drugged, uninhibited state. Again he felt that tug of interest and found himself wondering about her. He caught himself. It didn’t matter. Actually, it was better not to know. It made things easier. Less personal. And that’s the way he liked them.
“You’re in a plane,” he said in response to the look. “We’ll be landing soon.”
The brows unfurrowed. She blinked and seemed to study the plane as if she thought she should recognize it. Why did he get the feeling she’d been in a private jet before? For the moment, she seemed satisfied with his answer and he was glad of that.
When she looked at him again, the violet eyes registered flashes of random emotions from confusion to curiosity. But it was the intelligence he saw there that worried him. Intelligence and strength of will? Seth hoped he wouldn’t regret that he hadn’t handcuffed her to the seat.
* * *
SHE WAS FLYING? It didn’t surprise her. She felt airborne and wasn’t sure she even needed the aircraft. Her thoughts zipped in and out like fighter planes, so fast she couldn’t catch even one for more than an instant. Her body floated as if weightless, although it seemed to be slumped in the plush seat. Her brain was unable to get her limbs to respond.
She smiled to herself, relishing this alien notnecessarily-unpleasant feeling. If she’d been able to reason, she’d have been horrified at this inability to think or move, let alone the idea of waking in a jet with a strange man. She didn’t even like to have more than a glass of wine because of her need to be in control at all times.
But that Levi was gone. This Levi couldn’t care less. She soared. Free. And it felt...delicious.
While she had no fear of flying, she did wonder how this cowboy had ended up on her magic carpet ride. As she looked over at him, she also wondered who he was and how she felt about him. She had no idea how she should feel about him, since her mind was still senseless and her body wonderfully insensible, but she felt something. In fact, her awareness of him seemed magnified, as if just one touch, even one whiff, would tell her everything she needed to know.
She closed her eyes and sniffed. Mmm. Very male. Unique as fingerprints and just as telling, his masculine scent seemed to fill her with what she knew instinctively were small truths about him. Strong. She smiled as another truth invaded her senses. Sexy. Very sexy. She opened her eyes, drunk with the essence of him, and grinned. At least she thought she grinned.
He gave her a small smile. She thought she felt her grin deepen into a smile, but who knew. She liked to think at least her lips were working.
“Would you care for some juice?” he asked.
Nice voice. Soft, considerate and something else that dodged her grasp. Apprehensive? That didn’t make any sense. What would he have to be apprehensive about?
She passed on the juice with a laborious shake of her head, feeling too far beyond forming the words “No, thank you.”
He didn’t seem to mind. Part of her watched him open an orange juice and take a drink.
His hands drew her attention. Large hands. She blinked, still staring at his long, sensuous fingers, as a jolt of fear shot through her. Odd, she thought, dragging her gaze back to his face. Where had that come from?
Nothing about the man looked dangerous. Certainly not his face. It was a pleasing sculpture of strong angles and planes, broken by the midnight black of his thick cowboy mustache that softened the hardness of bone and muscle to make him downright handsome. The mustache filled his upper lip and curled down past the corner of each side of his wide, well-defined mouth. His hair, the same shiny black, was thick and long enough to brush his collar.
Dressed as he was, he could have passed for one of the ranchers who frequented the Cattleman’s Club in San Antonio. He wore jeans, a blue-checked western shirt, a leather vest, a tooled leather belt with an elk-horn buckle and western boots. A Stetson sat atop a sheepskin coat on the empty seat to his left.
He rested one long, muscular leg on the knee of the other and appeared as complacent as a tomcat sunning himself.
She decided there was nothing about this cowboy that seemed cause for concern. And yet...she couldn’t remember what he was doing here any more than she could remember what she was doing here.
What was wrong with her anyway? She still felt a little...drunk. But she didn’t remember drinking even one full glass of wine at dinner. Strange. She didn’t remember much of anything since dinner, she thought as she glanced out the window.
It was dark outside. She frowned as she looked down at her watch. Seven-thirty. Thanksgiving Day. Startled, she realized her last clear memory was driving back from taking Natalie into San Antonio. That had been just a little after five o’clock. How could she have lost two and a half hours? And more importantly, what had happened between then and now?
In that time, she could have flown hundreds—even thousands—of miles from home. But why had she? Worse yet, she still hadn’t been able to place the man with her. Of course she had to know him. She’d never get into a plane with a total stranger. Maybe he was a friend of Natalie’s.
She looked over at him again, a sense of something at the edge of her memory, something... foreboding.
“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t know who you are or where we’re going,” she said politely, always a senator’s daughter. “I think I might have imbibed a bit too much.” That wouldn’t have been like her at all, but how else could she explain this?
“Don’t worry about that now,” he said, giving her a smile. “You should get changed before we land.” He handed her a large, bulging shopping bag. “I need to speak to the pilot. Since you’re still a little woozy, you might want to change right here.” With that, he got up and left.
She stared after him. Still a little woozy? But why was that? And why did she need to change?
Inside the bag, she found jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, a winter coat, boots, hat, wool socks and gloves. Wherever they were headed must be cold.
The moment she tried to get to her feet to change, she realized he was right: she was woozy. She sat down again and dressed as quickly as she could, considering her body still wasn’t reacting sensibly and she had no idea when the man would return. For some reason, the thought of adding more clothing made her somehow feel...safer. Safer from what?
She was trying to puzzle out these odd thoughts, when the plane began its descent. Out the window she could see no lights, no illuminated landmarks, just a nothingness as if she were being dropped into outer space. Waking in a private jet had come with a certain sense of security. Even the stranger hadn’t posed any threat. So how did she explain her growing anxiety? It was those dark, frightening images banked at the back of her brain. Were they memories? Or just bad dreams?
She wished he’d return so she could ask him some questions now that she felt a little better. Before they touched down, she’d like to know what she was doing here. And with him.
The wheels hit and bounced, then settled into the runway. She’d expected to see more than