The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

She slowly unfolded a body that had to be stiff from cramming into a tight spot. The painful grimace that followed confirmed her discomfort.

  Man, she had to be at least five-eight. Thin, athletic women had never appealed to him. His taste ran along the lines of lush curves with an accommodating disposition.

  How long since he’d had either? Too long.

  Passenger seats had been removed for maximum capacity in the Titan. Stooped over, his stowaway traversed the narrow passage along the twelve feet of cargo space, reaching out to the crates and the cabin’s low ceiling for support along the way.

  Her muted yellow T-shirt, still soaked from the rain, clung suggestively to her chest.

  Okay, she had curves after all, and in the right places, but he wasn’t at home in a Ft. Lauderdale bar about to exchange addresses, and this woman had a bad-ass bunch of men chasing her. Now that he’d plunged into the fray and swept their prize out of reach, they’d probably come after him.

  That bothered him even less than the weather.

  But who was she? Some rich guy’s toy of the month?

  Women couldn’t stay out of trouble. He knew first hand.

  She raised her head until the bill of her ball cap no longer hid her face. Two of the prettiest doe-shaped amber eyes adorned with thick cinnamon lashes gazed at him tentatively. She chewed on her lip. Hesitant. Fingers trembling.

  Seeing that hit him in the gut.

  No matter what her story was, no woman deserved to be run to ground like an animal by a bunch of hired goons.

  He’d give her a moment to settle her nerves before strapping her into the co-pilot’s seat where he could keep an eye on her. Reaching over, he swatted several rags off a metal box that was tied down behind the right seat.

  Splitting his attention between the controls and her, he turned to tell her she was welcome to sit down. That’s when he got a close look at the cuts and bruises on her legs. Some spots were yellowed from being a day or two old.

  The temper he’d buckled down broke loose. “What the hell happened to you?”

  She backed up a step.

  Damn. Way to go, dickhead. As if she wasn’t a step from diving out of the plane as it was. He had solid control of his flash temper, except for a few things, and nothing snapped his control faster than a man harming a woman. Now he regretted leaving Hack’s airport before having a heart to heart, or fist to nose, with those goons.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face did little to wipe away his anger. Zane took a long breath and tried again. This time in a human voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell. Please, have a seat.”

  Either she believed him or was too spent to stand bent over any longer and moved toward the metal box. She cupped her arm protectively around her waist as she leaned over and his first thought was she had internal injuries.

  But the movement pulled her T-shirt tight enough to outline a bulge around her middle that didn’t belong to that slender build.

  What could she be wearing like a belt?

  A money belt? Had she stolen something after all?

  Before he could say another word, a call over the radio beckoned him.

  ~*~

  Angel caught the pilot’s pointed look at her arm that shielded the coins hidden beneath her shirt. He’d noticed, been curious, but, thank God, he hadn’t said anything. That would open a line of dialogue she’d just as soon avoid. When he twisted around to face the cockpit, he slid his headset back over his ears and spoke into his mike.

  She eased down onto the makeshift seat.

  Her hand shook when she brushed a loose hair behind her ear.

  Get a grip. She’d accomplished the impossible and gotten away from Mason Lorde. For now.

  Not exactly a textbook escape, but she had no complaints – now that they were airborne. Of course, she’d had her doubts about that back on the runway.

  Who was this guy?

  Why hadn’t he handed her over to Mason’s men?

  She glanced toward heaven for a moment. Not complaining, mind you. Just sayin’ it’s strange.

  He’d known she was hiding on his plane when he taxied out of the hangar, but still lifted off with men chasing them. That departure had been anything but standard. And he’d actually laughed after barely missing those two sport utilities.

  Her stomach muscles hadn’t unclenched yet.

  Had she stowed away with Indiana Jones or a lunatic?

  And now that he’d helped her, what would he want from her? Nobody did anything for free. Especially not men. Every man she’d ever known had used her to get something he wanted.

  “What’s your name?” The pilot’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She gazed up into the cocoa eyes of her savior. Big guy, at least three or four inches over six feet. His leather flight jacket hugged impressive shoulders and he had the thick chest of a jock, maybe a linebacker.

  Those warm eyes patiently waiting for an answer didn’t look crazy.

  Short black hair had been cut and styled with careless abandon that pulled off sexy without trying. His face was carved of sharp lines from the narrow nose to his square jaw. Not a soft place anywhere except those thick black eyelashes that would be too pretty on a less rugged male.

  Words flew around her mind when she looked at him.

  Daring. Powerful. Rogue.

  Maybe Indy Jones did exist.

  Constantly monitoring all those gauges and lights in the cockpit, he reached past his seat and snatched up a second pair of headphones that he handed her.

  As she slipped them on, she heard him say, “Now we can talk without yelling and I can monitor the radio. What’s your name?”

  “Angel.” That’s all anyone needed to know. Angelina Farentino had been many things – a star athlete, a courier, a convict. But Angel was the woman inside who wanted a new life with new dreams and no prison record.

  “Zane Black, at your service.” His firm lips widened in a devilish grin.

  That smile could melt an iceberg.

  She finally remembered her manners. “Thank you for ... what you did.” For that she got a dismissive nod as if he rescued women every day. Maybe he did.

  He seemed to be waiting for her to volunteer information.

  Not going to happen. She searched for something to keep the topic about him. “Impressive take off.”

  Waving a hand in dismissal, he said, “That was nothing. Piece o’ cake.”

  This one almost certainly turned female heads regularly with those beautiful eyes and that devil-may-care smile, but she’d always found one thing more attractive in a man than all that – confidence – and Zane Black had it in spades.

  But what did she know?

  She’d found Mason attractive at first, too.

  Zane’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Impressive escape on your part. How far did you have to run?”

  “Not far.”

  The silence stretched between them, urging her to say more, but she knew better. She’d volunteered information once that had convicted her of a crime she never committed. She’d volunteered information a second time and was running for her life because of it.

  Time to stop being so blasted helpful.

  Zane’s curious gaze traveled down her damp T-shirt to her waist.

  She wrapped her arms across her middle. Poor attempt to hide the obvious bulge the coins created. She held her breath, expecting the inevitable questions.

  Why were those men chasing you?

  What did they want?

  And, of course, what did you do wrong?

  But, surprisingly, none of those came out of his mouth.

  Instead, he pulled a towel from a duffel bag behind his seat. “Here, why don’t you dry off? If you’re cold, I have a blanket in the back.”

  On the heels of being imprisoned and abused at the hands of Mason, this stranger’s consideration left her speechless until she remembered her brain needed to shake loose a response.

  “Thanks. I’m not cold, just a littl
e tired.” Her adrenaline rush had bled out, leaving aches, pains, and exhaustion in its wake. Only frayed nerves kept her from keeling over. “I’d love that coffee now.”

  He poured some in a thick paper cup and handed it to her. His fingers brushed hers when she took the offering, catching her off guard at the sensation that wicked under her skin. She shifted on the metal box, angling her legs to get more comfortable, which might have been easier if every move didn’t send pain shafting through her body.

  The sexy pilot lost his smile when he took in her legs once more and studied them with grim assessment. “We need to clean you up.”

  “I’m fine, really,” she protested mildly, not wanting to be touched. “Just a few scratches.” Minor injuries from her run compared to Mason’s abuse.

  “You are a badass if that’s just a few scratches.” He grinned, underscoring that he found her harrowing getaway impressive.

  She couldn’t recall the last time she’d impressed anyone with anything except her running speed, and warmed at his teasing compliment.

  Ignoring her claim that she was okay, he made a quick check on things in his cockpit then unhooked a first-aid kit mounted on the wall near his seat. Removing assorted medical supplies, he reached for her leg then hesitated, his hand in mid-air obviously waiting for her permission.

  Long seconds passed as they locked stares.

  Just give him a nod. How could she not after all he’d done? Her stomach clenched. Lowering her guard and trusting a man had put her in this position.

  Zane continued to hold his hand out with endless patience written in his face. No man was that patient.

  She wouldn’t bleed to death. Mason hadn’t raped her, yet, but he’d left her reluctant to allow any man to touch her. The reasons to say no just kept piling up in her head until Zane withdrew his hand and eased back.

  Understanding filled his eyes.

  How could he understand?

  She didn’t know, but he did. And the fact that he did was the tipping point that caused her to reconsider his offer. This man was not the enemy and she had no one to turn to. He was offering help. All she had to do was give a tiny bit of trust.

  Hadn’t he earned that by risking his life to save her?

  Offering him an apologetic smile, she lifted one leg for him to clean. His long fingers wrapped around her ankle and her pulse jumped.

  He tenderly cleaned the cuts with an antiseptic cloth. It stung, but she could handle that better than the embarrassment of a stranger seeing what Mason had done.

  No man would ever lay a hand on her again and walk away unscathed.

  Zane lingered over a particularly nasty bruise.

  She knew the minute he noticed the difference between fresh injuries she’d gained during her escape and those she’d had longer. He drew a slow breath as if trying to get past the fading yellow and blue splotches.

  But he said nothing and she silently thanked him.

  The airplane skimmed along through inky darkness punctuated by flashes of light from storm clouds a little ways off. She closed her eyes, fantasizing that she could stay up here forever where she was safe. An unfamiliar feeling.

  Warm fingers grazed her legs with more care than she’d known since her mother had died.

  After Mason’s brutality, this man’s consideration was a balm to her ragged emotions. She hadn’t felt the sting of tears in years because she’d simply refused to cry, but Zane’s kindness drew on emotions she’d buried to survive.

  He’d lulled her into a semi-comatose state until he replaced the cloth with fingers that glided across her skin, applying a salve.

  Her eyes flew open to see the top of his head where he bent over her leg. Close enough to smell his fresh aftershave. Her skin tingled and came alive. She clamped her lips shut to keep from sucking in air at the way her body was reacting. Heat sizzled along her legs, racing up to where they met and...

  He leaned forward, his hands moving higher along her leg.

  She bit hard on her back teeth, determined not to tremble and give him the wrong idea. He was only smoothing antibiotic cream over her skin, not trying to tantalize her.

  Tell that to your body.

  Her next breath drew in a scent of male, lots of male. The sexy combination overrode her shaky nerves to ignite a burst of feminine response – the last thing she’d expected.

  Sure as heck hadn’t seen that coming. What could be wrong with her to be turned on now of all times?

  One look at the attractive pilot answered her question.

  She liked large men. And sexy men.

  Zane Black fit the bill on both counts. He was gorgeous and had the kind of touch a woman craved.

  Her breathing hitched.

  He glanced up. His warm eyes darkened with a gleam of interest.

  She gave him a that-wasn’t-what-you-thought-you-heard shrug and waited to see if her bluff worked or if he was going to make a crack about how she could join the mile-high club.

  But he didn’t. With a quick look at his instruments, he went back to his ministrations.

  Life had been strange to this point, but not this strange. She’d escaped a maniac who would unleash all his extensive resources to find her. Mason would be out of his mind over losing the fortune in rare coins, but he also had a deadline for delivering them.

  Regardless, if she handed those over to him now, he wouldn’t let her walk away.

  No one embarrassed Mason and survived.

  She had a chance. Slim, but still a chance if tonight was any sign.

  Being saved by a dark warrior who could turn a nun’s head topped everything she’d faced before.

  At Zane’s gentle pull, her leg moved up and across his lap as he sat straighter.

  She didn’t resist, didn’t want to. After six days of pure torture, Angel struggled to muster the cool disinterest she normally offered men. But Zane applied salve over her legs as earnestly as a sculptor working on his masterpiece.

  A warm tremor stirred in the pit of her stomach again. Her breathing quickened at the intimate contact.

  Dammit, there couldn’t be a worse time for her to be attracted to a man, but clearly her body lived in the moment with no concern for the future. After all the misery men had put her through, she could come up with only one explanation for this strange attraction. As part of her training for a triathlon she’d hoped to compete in, she’d taken a survival course. The instructor had explained how complete strangers would bond almost immediately when thrown into life and death situations.

  Made sense.

  Mix fear of dying and adrenaline overload with one mouth-watering, white-knight hunk for instant attraction.

  And that would explain her lack of a love life since she hadn’t run into anyone like Zane before.

  “Let me see your arms,” he said.

  She jerked at his voice.

  His chest moved with a sigh she couldn’t hear. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “No.” She lifted her hand in apology. “I’m jumpy.”

  “With reason.” He smiled and her silly heart felt special.

  Without thinking, she extended her free arm for him to see the scratched skin. Stupid move. That was the arm with the plain silver band locked on her wrist.

  When he said nothing about it, she relaxed. He probably ignored the bracelet as a piece of junk jewelry.

  One she had to remove soon.

  Asking for a hacksaw right now might throw a kink into how well things were going. If Zane knew that bracelet was a tracking device, he’d jump to the conclusion that she was a criminal and bring in the police. That would be major FUBAR.

  Never again would she blatantly trust anyone, especially the law.

  Locked away for ten days with Mason and his death squad had reminded her just how vulnerable a woman could be, no matter what kind of physical condition she maintained.

  Zane’s deep voice boomed in her headphones. “Speaking of being jumpy and given the send off we just got –
want to tell me what’s going on? I can radio ahead to have someone in law enforcement meet us at the next stop.” His concerned voice flowed over her like a hot shower on a winter morning, but the question snapped her back to cold reality.

  He’d waited longer to ask those questions than she’d expected, and he deserved an answer. But telling this guy anything significant would be foolhardy.

  Still, she despised lying.

  Her mother had lied constantly about drinking even when her breath reeked of cheap whiskey. She’d lied her way straight into a casket, abandoning Angel.

  Her father had lied for years about how he lost a job and where he went at night. Then, to convince the District Attorney he was giving up everyone, her father had told the all-time whopper about her toting drugs. He’d never been much of a parent, but that had shriveled up what was left of her heart.

  The wimpy attorney she’d been assigned had lied about trying to win her case, and made the bare minimum of court-required visits while she lingered in jail.

  No one took responsibility for the truth.

  She’d tell the truth or say nothing.

  Lies had cost her a future she’d trained years to earn. Her life had changed irrevocably seven years ago, but then, as always, she’d adapted. Now, however, she might spend the rest of her days in a federal prison for getting involved with Mason Lorde.

  Men and lies went hand in hand.

  Even if this pilot were different, she’d never see him again. The less he knew, the better off they’d both be.

  “Angel, maybe—”

  “Have you ever had a relationship go bad?” she asked.

  “A few that were difficult, but not quite that bad.” Zane raised an eyebrow loaded with skepticism.

  “It’s complicated. I won’t burden you.” You wouldn’t believe me anyhow.

  “Burden me. I have nowhere to go for a while.”

  Just my luck to be rescued by Dr. Phil. Damn. “I wanted out of an arrangement. He didn’t see it my way.” Angel lifted her shoulders to sell her escape as no big deal.

  Rain pattered against the outer covering of the fuselage and the cargo chattered during the empty pause.

  Zane’s eyes hardened.

  He probably assumed she meant a personal relationship. She should be so lucky to have a normal woman’s problems. To clear up his confusion would involve details she could never share.