Page 22 of The Billionaire's Catch

“I wouldn’t say that.” He flexed his fingers. “But maybe you can do something in exchange for me appearing more settled.”

Suspicion tempered her hope. “Something I can do? What do you mean–” A sudden drop of the plane startled her words to a stop. Like on a trampoline, the plane bounced up and down, pitching from side to side. Even as her heart thumped, people around conversed calmly, ignoring the plane’s acrobatics for the peaceful sky and marshmallow clouds outside the window.

“Don’t worry.” Jason put his hand on hers. “This is normal.”

She should pull away, yet warmth and comfort from the firm grip kept her still, even as nausea stole her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, shot them open as the sickness worsened.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jason moved closer. “Can I get you some water?” He grabbed a bottle of half-frozen Evian from his bag.

The thought of anything going in her mouth, even something as benign as water, caused her stomach to heave. “No, thank you.” She reached out with her opposite hand, just as the plane lurched again. As her entire body pitched, she knocked into the bottle, causing it to tip in his hands.

An icy waterfall poured over Jason.

It was like a slapstick routine. As Jason jumped in surprise, Dara reached for the bottle, but the plane listed to the other side, and even more water splashed out. She tried again, but the bottle was now slick and slippery. The remainder of the water poured on him.

“I’m so sorry!” She grabbed tissues from her bag and patted him down, yet water immediately soaked through them. The waterlogged shirt was hopeless, so she moved lower. She froze as gasps sounded.

Jason was staring at her with blazing eyes. All across the plane, the players watched as if it were the final play of the World Series. Slowly she looked down, saw where her hand had landed.

Uncle Pat spoke first, “At least it’s not his ass this time.”

CHAPTER 7

It was not his ass.

Nope, not even close.

It was worse.

Way worse.

She pulled back, and tissues flew up, across and everywhere, as if on a child’s toy spring. She grabbed at them, and then she accidentally grabbed him again.

Yeah, there.

She jerked back and dared peek at the now silent plane. No one said a word. People barely breathed. Not a single person did anything but stare. Even the plane, as if shocked by the situation, ceased its endless turbulence and cruised at a relatively peaceful promenade.

“I spilled water on him.” For some reason, she felt the need to explain. “I thought he might’ve needed help.”

“Needed help, honey?” Aunt Mary asked.

“There?” Pat added.

A few chuckles sounded from the audience. But Jason? He was deadly serious.

Her face flamed. “No, I’m pretty sure he can take care of those needs by himself.”

Eyes widened. Mouths gasped. “I mean he can clean himself ther… everywhere. By himself. It was just an accident.” She scanned the people, caught sight of Jenny. She was holding her camera. Oh crap. “You didn’t.”

The woman quickly shook her head, her expression far more sympathetic than Dara would’ve anticipated. She didn’t seem at all upset that Dara had touched Jason… there.

Neither did Jason.

“Doesn’t everyone have game strategies to study?” Pat growled.

Conversation resumed in reluctant brevity, amidst a thousand sideways glances. At least her nausea had subsided, probably too embarrassed to remain. She turned to the man she had inadvertently accosted again. “I’m so sorry. I lost my balance from the turbulence. I didn’t mean to… um…”

“It’s okay,” he broke in, saving her from yet another embarrassment. He sat back, then jumped forward, as his shirt squished like a toddler’s rubber ducky. He grasped the hem and lifted it away from his skin, revealing a sliver of hard muscle underneath. “Do you mind if I take off my shirt? It’s soaking wet.”

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