Page 3 of An Accidental Love Affair

“You look like you could use these.”

Nicole opened her eyes to find two large hands in front of her face. One held a glass of water while the other held two Tylenol. Her eyes traced from the hands, up the arms to the torso, and then past the neck and shoulders to the face with its blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and serious cleft in the chin. She stared, long and hard, blinked, and then continued to stare.

Had her jaw dropped? It felt that way. She reached under her chin to be certain. No, her mouth was closed. It must be her imagination. There was no way . . .

“Hello,” the man said as he flashed his one-sided smile. “I’m . . .”

“I know who you are. You’re Reece Collins.” She winced at the excited, fan-girl tone of her voice. She was making herself look like a groupie.

“Yes, I know, but . . .” With a sheepish expression, he glanced away then back again. “I’m the one who knocked you down.”

She rolled her eyes. “That figures.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Nicole shook her head, groaning when the pounding in her brain began again. “It’s my bad luck.”

“Oh.” He was still holding out the water and pills. “I acquired these for you. You must have a monster of a headache about now.”

She snorted, “You have no idea,” she said, reaching for the offering.

He sat down on the seat across the aisle. “I truly am sorry about that.” He cocked his head to the side. “At times my job can be a whopping pain in the . . .”

“Head?” she inserted, a snarky grin touching the corners of her mouth.

He chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, leaning over and studying her face. “You’re going to have one hell of a black eye.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I feel like I just lost a boxing match.” She peered up at him with a rueful expression. “So, is this the way you sweep all the girls off their feet, or am I just special?”

He smiled, sliding sideways in the seat, his head resting on the armrest and his feet dangling in the aisle, swinging back and forth. “I didn’t catch your name as we were falling all over each other.”

“It’s Nicole . . . Nicole DeLancey.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “Should you be do

ing that?”

He leaned up on his elbow. “Doing what?”

“Sitting in the seat like that. What if someone wants to get by you?”

He snorted. “They can use the other aisle.” He glanced around. “I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem with crowding.”

She peeked from beneath her lashes. The section was empty except for them and a few other passengers. “Did you have something to do with it?”

He considered the question. “Not so much. The studio may have bought one or two extra seats to grant me a bit of peace and relaxation, but not an entire section. They like me, but not that much.”

“Must be nice,” she mumbled, reaching down to pull her laptop case onto her lap. “They could’ve rented a private jet for you, saving themselves a ton of money.”

He grinned. “If I were on a private jet, I never would’ve met you.”

“Lucky me,” she replied with a snarky tone.

He chose to ignore her sarcasm. “So, Nicole, what takes you to England?”

She pulled down the tray, setting her computer atop it. “I’m going for research purposes.”

He tilted his head. “What type of research?”

She pursed her lips; her defensive walls were rising. She hated when people asked about her chosen profession. Most folks looked down on it. Her own family felt she was wasting her time.

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