Come Fly with Me Read Free Page B

almost had—was in a perfectly delightful Italian restaurant in New York five days ago with David Morrow’s awful, knee-squeezing agent, Morrie Samuels. She’d been so busy planning defensive maneuvers against his roving hands, she hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the delicious angel’s hair pasta primavera. Since then, she’d been living on stale sandwiches and coffee. And—she smiled ruefully—on candy bars.
    The thought of the candy reminded her of her mystery man and a little spark of pleasure soared through her. When the clerk looked up from the computer at last, Lindsay’s tired grumpiness had virtually vanished. She gave the girl a beaming smile. “Well?”
    â€œThere’s one seat left in first class,” she announced, her voice filled with relief.
    â€œI’ll take it.” Aside from the pampering, it would give her a chance to test her mother’s theory that she could meet the successful, handsome man of her dreams, if she’d only fly first class during the hundreds of flights she took each year on studio business.
    â€œThe kind of intelligent, successful man you need is not about to spend three hours with his knees under his chin and someone else’s kids drooling over his shoulder,” her mother had told her repeatedly.
    Marie Tabor had flatly ignored Lindsay’s constant denials that she even wanted a man in her life—in the air or on the ground. Pursing her lips stubbornly and glaring at her equally stubborn daughter, she had continued, “He’s going to want to sit back and relax with a nice meal, maybe some champagne. And then he’ll want enough room to spread out all those contracts for big, lucrative deals. If you’re not interested in him, think about those deals. At least business seems to turn you on.”
    â€œIf the man’s doing all that business, he’ll never even notice me,” Lindsay had retorted.
    â€œOf course he will. You’re a beautiful woman. Not that you do anything to make the most of it. You’re always wearing those drab, tailored suits that look so alike I can’t tell one from the other. And your hair...” She shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s so lovely. Couldn’t you think about getting it cut in a style that’s a little less...” She waved her hands helplessly. “A little less...unusual? It looks like it’s been whipped with an eggbeater.”
    Lindsay had grinned at the plaintive note in her mother’s voice. Her dark auburn hair was short, tousled and casual. It took her exactly ten minutes to wash it and another ten to blow it dry. It suited her fast-paced lifestyle.
    â€œI was thinking of dying it pink next time,” she teased. “What do you think?”
    â€œDon’t be absurd!”
    â€œThat’s no more absurd than your idea that buying a first-class ticket will also buy me love.”
    â€œJust try it. For me.”
    Lindsay sighed. Well, tonight she was trying it. Her mother would be thrilled. She had half a mind to make a quick stop at a payphone to let her know. She glanced at her watch and groaned.
    â€œForget it. I’ll call her from Denver and tell her about the engagement,” she muttered under her breath, as she picked up her carryon luggage and ran down the concourse, barely making the jetway before the door slammed closed. Breathlessly she entered the plane, stowed her luggage and slid into her seat. She fumbled with the safety belt, but one side steadfastly refused to budge from between the seats. Still short-tempered, she was about to stand up and yank the blasted thing loose, when a hand gently nudged hers out of the way and a familiar voice drawled softly, “Don’t kill the thing. It just needs a little gentle persuasion.”
    Lindsay’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened as she twisted in her seat to stare into very familiar black eyes.
    â€œExactly like a