The Tycoon's Bought Fiancée by Sandra Marton Page B

fine.”
    â€œWe? We? ” Stephanie fumbled madly with her seat belt. “There is no we , there’s only me and this—this—” She glared at the attendant. “I want out of here!”
    â€œMadam, if you would just calm down—”
    â€œEither that or I want you to stop this plane. Take it back to—”
    She gasped as David’s hand clamped hard around her wrist. “You’ll have to forgive my, ah, my wife’s outburst.”
    â€œYour wife? Your wife? I am not—”
    â€œShe’s taken all the courses. Fearless Flyers, Flight Without Fright…all of them.” His tone was the embodiment of compassion and tolerance. “None of it’s worked. She’s still terrified of flying.”
    â€œThat’s a lie! It’s all lies. I am not terrified of flying, and you are not my—”
    â€œDarling.” David turned his smile, feral and sharp with warning, in Stephanie’s direction. “If you don’t calm down, this charming young lady is going to have to tell the pilot that he’s got a disturbed passenger on board and they’ll call to have an ambulance waiting at the gate, just the same as last time. Isn’t that right, miss?”
    â€œAnother lie! I am not—”
    The breath hissed from Stephanie’s lungs as David’s fingers tightened around her wrist.
    â€œYou wouldn’t want that to happen again, would you, darling?”
    â€œI am not disturbed.” Stephanie glared at the flight attendant. “Do I look disturbed? Do I?”
    â€œNo,” the girl said in a way that clearly meant just the opposite. “But, ah, perhaps it would be best if I went up front and spoke with the captain.”
    â€œI’m certain that won’t be necessary, miss.” David looked at Stephanie again. “Darling,” he said through his teeth, “I’m sure if you just calm down, you’ll feel better. You don’t want them to turn this plane around and take us back to Hartford, do you?”
    Stephanie glared at him. He was right, and she knew it. She pulled her hand from his, turned away sharply and stared out the window.
    â€œThat’s my girl.”
    Stephanie swung toward him. “I am most definitely not your…”
    Her eyes met those of the flight attendant’s. The only time Stephanie had seen a person look at another in quite the same fashion was the Fourth of July when Johnny Bullard had gotten drunk on White Lightning, pulled off all his clothes in the middle of the town square and announced to the gathering crowd that he was a rocket and he was going to blast off.
    Oh, hell!
    â€œNever mind,” she said glumly, and turned her face to the window again.
    â€œShe’ll be fine now,” David said.
    â€œAre you sure, sir? Because if there’s going to be a problem—”
    â€œThere won’t be, will there, dearest?”
    Not until I figure out a way to get even, there won’t be…
    â€œDarling?” David said. “Will there be a problem?”
    â€œNo,” Stephanie said coldly.
    The attendant produced another thousand-watt smile. “Thank you, ma’am. Now, if you’d just buckle your seat belt? I’m afraid we’ve been told to expect some bumpy weather ahead.”
    â€œFor the rest of the passengers, or just for the man sitting next to me?” Stephanie said sweetly.
    â€œI’m sure this young lady doesn’t want to get in the middle of our private little spat, darling.” David leaned toward her, a warning light glinting in his eyes. “Would you like me to buckle your belt for you?”
    â€œNot unless you want to lose both your hands,” she said through her teeth as she snapped the edges of the seat belt together.
    David looked up at the flight attendant. “Thank you for your concern. You can see that we’re fine now, Miss—” He peered at her badge, then