The Pregnancy Test (NY Girlfriends #1)(11)
Author: Erin McCarthy

His expression was inscrutable, but he said, "You need a blanket," and pressed the button for the flight attendant.

Oh, dear, God.

She was mortified.

Yet her uncooperative body was gleefully warming up from the inside out, reacting to being so close to a virile man.

Virile? Where the hell had that word come from? Mandy crossed her legs tightly. She was pregnant! The last thing she needed was more virility in her life. Any more virility and she’d be having quadruplets.

The flight attendant smiled at them. "Can I help you?"

"We need a blanket."

What was this "we" business? Of course, he was probably embarrassed and wanted to get her covered up. As the flight attendant searched the overhead compartment for a blanket, Mandy scrunched in her seat toward the aisle, away from Damien. She could smell him, a light masculine cologne intermingling with the scent of fabric softener.

He seemed like the type to be overenthusiastic with the fabric softener. His neatness was legendary around the office. In the bottom door of his desk he kept a dust buster, to suck up the crumbs from his lunch.

"Thank you." She took the blanket being held out to her and peeled it out of the plastic bag.

"Thanks." Damien nodded to the flight attendant.

The woman, attractive and neat, smiled at Damien. "You’re welcome. Is this your first trip to Punta Cana?"

"Yes." And he smiled back.

He actually smiled. The man who never smiled to Mandy’s knowledge, not that she had much, she realized. It wasn’t as if she ever saw him, since she was usually hiding behind a cubicle wall or slipping into the copier room when she heard his voice approaching. But he wasn’t known for being the life of the party. Yet here he was smiling at the flirty flight attendant with the big breasts and sleek blond hair.

Mandy snapped the blanket open, aware that this woman was probably more Damien’s type than she was anyway. Not that she wanted to be his type. She was just hormonal and celibate and plagued by dreams of those stupid, freaky, blue eyes of his.

"Oh, it’s gorgeous there. You’ll love it."

"I’m sure we will. We’re looking forward to it."

Placated, yet simultaneously unnerved by the whole plural pronoun thing, Mandy curled her feet under her legs and snuggled beneath the blanket. Busty Blonde took Damien’s not-so-subtle hint and continued on down the aisle.

"She was flirting with you, you know," Mandy said after a minute, unable to keep her mouth shut.

Damien glanced up from his PC Now magazine. "Was she?" The question was rhetorical – he clearly knew she’d been sending out flight attendant feelers.

"Yes. And don’t feel you have to restrain yourself on my behalf." Well, that sounded incredibly stodgy.

He turned a page and glanced at her. "Don’t worry, I don’t restrain myself for anyone. If I had wanted to flirt back, I would have. But thank you for your permission."

She’d just crawl under her blanket now.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, his hand hovering over the seat pocket in front of him, ready to grab the airsick bag. "You still look a little… pale."

"I’m British. I’m always pale." Though offended, she realized immediately she had snapped at him, when he was actually being very solicitous. He’d come to check on her in the rest room, got her a blanket. "But thank you. I feel okay now."

He just nodded and slapped his magazine closed. His leg jiggled. "Did they say we could turn on our laptops yet?"

They were twenty minutes in the air and he was already restless.

"No, not yet. I don’t think we’re at cruising altitude." Only three more hours to go smothered up next to the object of her fantasies.

Maybe if she thought about work, the time would pass quicker. "Mr. Sharpton, what are we going to be doing on this trip, exactly?"

"I think you should probably call me Damien, Mandy. It’s the Caribbean, man. Things are casual."

She grabbed her armrest so she wouldn’t slide to the floor in shock. He had used an accent. He wanted her to call him Damien. The changing air pressure must be affecting his sanity.

But then again, she’d always suspected he had a sense of humor behind his workaholism.

"I won’t be able to do as much as I’d like, because the Internet connection will be slow, so I can’t connect to the server. But I plan to get caught up on reviewing promotion requests and employee development plans."

"What will I be doing?" And how far away from him would she be? She couldn’t imagine hovering in his hotel room with him.

"Clearing out my e-mails and submitting my expense reports for the last three weeks."

"That won’t take me very long. Maybe a day."

"Then I guess you can go to the beach when you’re finished."

It was an appealing thought. New York had been gray and cool all spring, and the thought of lying in a chaise lounge and taking a twelve-hour nap sounded like paradise.

"You didn’t really need me to come on the trip, did you?" Mandy was curious why he had chosen to take his superfluous secretary when he could have taken a girlfriend or a buddy. Or his mother, though she had a hard time picturing a maternal influence on Damien.

He shrugged. "Maybe not. But think of it as a reward for going two whole months working for me and never once shedding a tear."

Mandy laughed. "I can’t picture you making anyone cry. That girl must have been overly sensitive."

"I don’t scare you?" he asked, his lip curving up at the corner.

"Not at all." You intrigue me. You stimulate me. You turn me on. "I’ve enjoyed this position."

His eyes locked with hers, and suddenly her words sounded vaguely suggestive. She was acutely aware of how close they were, surrounded on three sides by seats and the window, and of how her breath caught. Her already tender and swollen breasts ached painfully, and that tight pit of longing swirled in her belly and rolled down between her legs until she wanted to twitch.

"I’m pleased with my decision as well."

Then his finger slid up to his mouth, and he bit his fingernail, before yanking it out and looking at it in disgust. "I haven’t done that in…"

Damien shifted on the seat, whatever comfort and intimacy that had been brewing between them gone in an instant. His shoulders were stiff, expression guarded, words polite. "I suppose I should have asked you if there was a reason you didn’t want to take this trip. Like maybe a husband or a boyfriend that doesn’t want you gone."