The Millionaire's Proposal. Trish Wylie

space of the personal variety.’

      ‘That’s certainly tempting.’ Kerry’s eyes narrowed as she pondered the ‘temptation’ involved in flirting with a complete stranger while travelling on the first leg of her grand adventure. Mind you, he was temptation personified—so who could really blame her? And even if he was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt just a shade or two darker than his sensational eyes, he had managed to afford to pay for better seating. That had to be a good sign.

      Serial killers didn’t travel in the good seats, she reckoned. Now kidnappers, well, possibly— the money was probably better…

      His chin dropped and he leaned a little closer, employing a large hand to lift one side of her open book so he could read the cover, a hint of a smile hovering on the corners of his mesmerizing mouth.

      ‘Enjoying the guidebook?’

      Kerry turned it over on her tray table, grateful for the distraction, and nodding as she answered. ‘So far—there’s probably more detail in here than I need, though. I’ve read tonnes of them these last few months and this was one of the better ones.’

      His dark brows quirked a minuscule amount when she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. ‘More detail in what way?’

      ‘Well, there’s about a gazillion places listed in the back to begin with. And having never been there it’s tough to decide what to see and what not when you’re on a timescale, y’know?’ Her gaze had locked fully with his again while she answered and a weird quiver of what almost felt like cold ran up her spine, goose-bumps appearing on her arms.

      And when she felt like that it was normally an indication that she was clueing in on something— so what was it this time? Apart from the obvious feminine awareness of an incredibly good- looking male, that was.

      She searched his face to see if she could figure it out. And even that was disconcerting. It was the proximity, she supposed. There was a certain intimacy to being seated beside someone on a plane. So the fact she was so aware of his breathing, the musky male undertone of his scent, the dark hint of stubble on his jaw, and each flicker of his thick lashes, was a completely natural reaction.

      When she studied him a little longer than was probably considered polite, he turned his upper body in the seat and folded his arms across his broad chest.

      ‘So how would you change it to make it more useful to you, then?’

      What? Oh, yes, they’d been making polite conversation about the book, hadn’t they? Kerry took a deep breath and looked back down at it, shaking her head a little at her uncharacteristic lack of being able to think straight. ‘I dunno. Graded the chapters, maybe?’

      ‘What way?’

      ‘Length of stay? If you have two days you shouldn’t miss this and that, a week you should try and see—that kind of thing.’

      When she didn’t get a reply she looked back up at him to discover a view of his profile, dark brows creased downwards in thought. He really was fascinating to look at, wasn’t he? Not shaving-commercial good-looking, but certainly rugged enough to advertise outdoor wear or heavy duty Jeeps or maybe even activity holidays. He looked like a man’s man and that meant he was automatically a woman’s man too, didn’t it? After all, there was something about a very male man that tugged at something deep inside a woman.

      She was studying the short cropped dark chocolate of his hair when he snapped her out of her reverie…

      ‘A list of things to pack for each length of trip might be useful too. Maybe a small section at the end of each chapter for whether you’re a classical sightseer type or an adventurer or a party-goer or if you have kids along…that kind of thing…’

      Kerry smiled indulgently as he mumbled to the back of the seat in front of him. ‘Planning on rewriting the book now, are we?’

      When he turned to look at her a smile danced in his eyes and she found herself mesmerized all over again before he hummed beneath his breath and answered with a softly spoken, ‘Maybe.’

      Unfolding his arms, he extended a large hand towards her. ‘Ronan O’Keefe. And whatever you want to drink should really be on me to say thanks for buying a copy of my book. But as drinks are included I’ll just have to promise not to make you spill anything.’

      Kerry gaped, swiftly checked the name on the cover of the book, and then, rolling her eyes before shaking his hand, ‘Just as well I didn’t say anything too insulting about it, really, isn’t it?’

      And it explained the something she’d felt too. It’d been a forewarning of sorts, hadn’t it?

      Her hand enfolded firmly in the warmth of his long fingers, he held on just a little too long while fixing her gaze with his as he answered with a rumbling, ‘Yes, it is.’

      The warmth transferred to her smaller hand. He had the kind of firm handshake her father would have approved of and respected. But it wasn’t quite respect Kerry was feeling. She even had to clear her throat before speaking.

      ‘Would you have let on who you were if I had?’

      ‘After a while.’

      And the continuing sparkle in his eyes told her he’d have had fun with it too. ‘Happened before, I take it?’

      ‘Occupational hazard when travelling.’ He inclined his head, ‘I’m also incredibly good at recommending them to people in airport bookstores when I see them pick one up.’

      When he added a lazy wink, Kerry couldn’t help but laugh. Oh, he was a bit of a charmer, this one, wasn’t he? Full of good old-fashioned Blarney, her nana would say with a throaty chuckle. He probably spent half his life chatting up women on planes, she wasn’t anything special, which reminded her—it really was time she let go of his hand.

      Gently extricating it, and immediately feeling the loss of warmth in contrast to the cool air from the plane’s air-conditioning, she lifted her chin and challenged him with an upward arch of one brow,

      ‘And how do I know you are who you say you are?’

      ‘You could take my word for it?’

      She turned her hand palm up and waggled her fingers, ‘I might need to see your passport to be sure.’

      ‘I might have a pen name.’

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘No.’

      Her fingers waggled again.

      ‘Not very trusting, are you?’ He shook his head, working hard at keeping the smile twitching his mouth in check. ‘Lesson one, by the way, would be: never give up your passport to a stranger when travelling alone.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know I’m travelling alone?’

      ‘In my experience, people who travel together tend to sit together on planes.’

      Good point. ‘Well, it’s not like I can grab your passport, climb over you and escape with it at twenty-seven thousand feet up, is it?’

      ‘True—’ he leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a deliciously deep rumble ‘—though the climbing-over-me part might be fun to watch. No one’s ever tried that before—brings a whole new meaning to the term “in-flight entertainment”.’

      When she heard the click of his seat belt and he leaned closer still, she automatically leaned back towards the window to make room for him. Not that it wasn’t tempting to just stay where she was and ‘sit’ her ground, but this kind of dalliance was obviously something he was well practised at—and, Kerry being Kerry, she called him on it.

      ‘Do you flirt with every woman you meet on a plane?’

      Shooting her a challenging quirk of his brows as he reached behind him, he replied with,