Why me? she thought glumly. Why couldn’t God’s gift to women have settled in the smoking section?

“Are you flying farther than Charlotte?” he asked conversationally.

She shook her head no, trying to make the motion chilly and dismissing. Even his voice annoyed her; it was one of those husky, sexy baritones. She closed her eyes, ignoring him.

“Do you want me to get you a pillow?” he continued blithely. “I’ll probably sleep through the flight myself. I’ve been traveling for more than thirty-six hours.”

Unwillingly, her eyes blinked open again, and unfortunately his were there waiting for her-dark blue and suggestive of satin sheets and accomplished seduction techniques. His lips broke into a wonderful smile at having won her attention.

“Hart Manning here.” He extended his hand.

For the sake of politeness, Bree offered him her hand. His grip was firm and warm and-as expected-lingered far too long. His thumb brushed her wrist in a way that promised limitless sensual potential. Yawning, Bree tucked her hand back in her lap where it was much safer, resisted the urge to fasten the neck button of her blouse, and stared with annoyance at her skirt, which had ridden up above her knees. To push the thing down would be like admitting he was getting to her.

“You didn’t say if you wanted a pillow.”

All she really wanted was for him to shut up. She shook her head.

“Is there some reason you’re not talking?” he asked, his tone throaty with amusement. “Or maybe your name’s a deep, dark secret? It’s a long flight, you know.”

And getting longer. Luckily, the stewardess paused in front of them, diverting her seatmate’s attention. Actually, the two appeared mutually diverted. The brunette was savoring Mr. Manning as if she’d just discovered chocolate. “I’ll be serving snacks in just a bit. Would either of you like a drink in the meantime?”