by Wilde, Lori
“And you’ve got your life all figured out?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
He reclined his seat, crossed his ankles. “What do you do for a living?”
“Executive assistant,” she said, wanting to lie as little as possible.
“Is this your first trip to Europe?”
“Yes. You?”
“Been many times. Twelve years in the Air Force.”
“I guess that’s why you became a tour guide? You know your way around the world.”
“I’ve been around the block a time or two.” He narrowed his eyes, his smile turned wicked and for a moment he looked positively hawkish. A calculating raptor analyzing the habits of his prey just before he swooped in for the kill. Suddenly she felt like a field mouse who’d ventured too far from home. What on earth had made her believe she could pull off something like this?
“Do you like music?” he asked.
“Sure.” She shrugged. Act nonchalant, sophisticated. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not everyone. I ask because Eros Airlines has satellite radio piped in. Listening to music might help you relax.”
He leaned over her to reach for the console containing the small flat-screen television. She tried not to notice that his broad chest was mere inches from her lap. He opened a drawer, pulled out a headset and handed it to her. “What do you want to hear? I’ll dial it in for you. Rap, country, classic, pop? You name it, we’ve got it.”
“Emocore,” she said.
The corners of his mouth turned down in a surprised, “Who knew?” expression. “Seriously?”
“You got something against emocore?”
“Matter of fact it’s my favorite, but I really don’t like the emo label,” he said.
“It’s dumb, I know. Why don’t they just call it poignant punk rock? Who are your favs?”
“Rites of Spring, Embrace, Gray Matter.”
“Oh, oh, don’t forget Fire Party and Moss Icon.”
“What do you like about it?”
“Emo is so raw, you know. Primal.” Roxie pressed her palms together. “But it’s also deep and expressive and soulful.” Some people thought the music was loud and chaotic, but to Roxie the sound represented a part of herself she was afraid to explore any other way. The part of her that longed to flaunt convention, throw back her head and just howl at the moon.
Dougal shook his head. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an emo fan.”
“Same here.”
They grinned at each other.
Dougal shifted in his seat, angling his body toward her. “Okay, so what’s your favorite food?”
“Italian.”
“Me, too. What dish do you like best? Lasagna?”
“Always a crowd-pleaser, but my hands-down fav is chicken Marsala.”
“No kidding? It’s my favorite, as well.”
“Wine, mushrooms, chicken in cream. What’s not to love?”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Brownies.”
“With nuts.”
“Absolutely.”
“Pecans or walnuts?”
“Either will do, but I like walnuts best.”
Roxie narrowed her eyes. “You’re just telling me what I want to hear. That’s your job.”
He grinned, shrugged. “I like seeing you smile.”
“Ha! I knew it. Flatterer.”
“Doesn’t mean that I’m lying. Slap some Fugazi on the MP3 player. Whip up a batch of chicken Marsala. Promise walnut brownies for dessert. Sit you across from me and it’s the stuff of dreams.”
Sudden silence sprouted between them, and Roxie felt an anxiety of a wholly different kind. “You can let go now,” she whispered.
“What?”
“My hand. May I have it back? We’re in the air. My takeoff terror has passed.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He let go of her hand.
She dropped her hot, damp palm into her lap and averted her gaze. Her pulse galloped. “Thanks,” she said. “You make a good distraction from fear of flying.”
Now all I need is something to distract me from the distraction.
The captain turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and Roxie, anxious to put as much distance between herself and Dougal as she could get, decided to visit the lavatory. A splash of cold water in her face to calm her racing pulse. She unbuckled her seat belt and got to her feet. “Excuse me, may I slip by you?”
Dougal moved his long legs into the aisle just as the plane lurched. Roxie hissed in her breath. The plane pitched again, thrusting her forward onto his lap. His arms closed around her, Roxie’s fanny snugged against his thighs. She peered into his face, glanced away, and then looked back again.
Sharp, dark eyes stared straight into her, holding her motionless. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice sounding husky and strange as if someone was tightening a wire around his throat.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Turbulence. It’ll be fine.”
A sudden stillness settled over her. She sighed deeply and all the air fled her lungs. She felt a million different things at once. Safe, desired, happy, confused. The shock of recognition passed through her. He was a stranger and yet it was as if she’d known him her entire life. How could that be?
In that split second of surprise, she felt as if she’d met her match, identified the other half of life’s jigsaw puzzle. She was like a lost traveler, wandering in a foreign land, who’d stumbled upon a field of flowers indigenous to her homeland. No, not just the flowers of her homeland, but the same glorious mix that once grew in her own backyard. She gave no thought to whether he was friend or foe. Her impulse was simply to rush to the sweet smells of home.
Roxie’s heart surged toward Dougal, and she knew in that moment she’d totally lost all control. How in the hell was she going to pull off corporate espionage when all she could think about was pulling off Dougal Lockhart’s clothes?
“YOU CAN LET GO OF ME NOW,” Roxie said.
Dougal loosened his grip, and she struggled to get to her feet. The plane lurched again sending her right back into his lap, and a small gasp of surprise escaped those perfect pink lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist again. “Maybe you should just sit tight until we get through this turbulence.”
Even as he said it, he had to clench his teeth to fight off his stirring erection. Getting a boner with her on his lap might be totally natural, but he was certain it would alarm her. It alarmed him. He was supposed to be in charge of passenger safety on this plane, not coming on to a guest.
He took a deep breath and immediately inhaled her heavenly scent. Her delicate aroma encircled his nose, played havoc with his brain cells. The fragrance, coupled with her body heat, slicked his mind with desire and he couldn’t think of anything but her.
Bad idea. Okay, no more breathing.
She wriggled in his lap, and Dougal swallowed a groan. This was crazy. He had to put a stop to it. “Um, maybe we should get you back into your seat.”
“But you said—”
“Buckle you down tight. That’s what you need. Buckled down.” Why had he said that? Now he had an image of her, seat belt resting against her lower abdomen, the buckle right at the level of her—
Stop it!
Before she could feel the erection he could no longer control, Dougal transferred her quickly into her seat, settled back against his own chair, plucked a glossy magazine from the pouch on the side and plunked it into his lap as camouflage. He prayed she hadn’t spied the overt evidence of his desire. He cast a glance over at her. She stared at him, wide-eyed.
His pulse jumped. Her gaze searched his face for a long moment. Stunning blue eyes, full of innocence. She smiled coyly, lowered her gaze and then turned to look out the window.
What was that look all about?
The plane jerked, shuddered. Several of the other passengers gasped out loud. Roxie splayed a hand at the
base of her throat.
He rested a palm on her shoulder. “You hanging in there?”
The tremulous glint in her eyes told him she was frightened, but the firm jut to her chin suggested she was toughing it out. Her vulnerability tugged at him.
“Are you sure it’s just turbulence?” she whispered.
Until Roxie had asked the question, he was almost positive the lurching of the plane was nothing more than turbulence, but now she had aroused his suspicion. Could there be something amiss with the aircraft?
He thought of the death threats Taylor had received. Immediately his mind conjured disturbing scenarios. Taylor had hired him because she feared someone might tamper with the planes, and he’d agree with her that the possibility existed. To that end, he’d been with the pilot when he’d done his preflight check, and Dougal had personally searched the private jet, but he wasn’t a mechanic. An expert saboteur could have rigged something up that neither he nor the pilot had detected.
The plane vibrated.
This time the collective let out more than just gasps.
Concern for passenger safety got Dougal’s mind off his attraction to Roxie and back on his job. He unbuckled his seat belt and stood.
“Is something wrong? You look worried.”
“I’m going to speak with the pilot about the turbulence.” He gave her a reassuring smile.
“Thank you.” She exhaled an audible sigh.
Dougal made his way up the aisle toward the cockpit. He was forced to pause and brace himself each time the plane pitched like a boat in a tropical squall. He tapped on the cabin door with a coded knock and the copilot let him in.
“Problems?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.
“Something’s wrong with the autopilot,” said the pilot, Nicholas Peters, a heavy-browed, stern-faced man with jowls that hinted at Russian ancestry. “Every time we try to switch over the plane pitches.”
Uneasiness rippled over Dougal. “Any idea what’s causing the glitch?”
Peters frowned, shook his head.
“Do you think someone could have tampered with the autopilot?” Dougal recalled the detailed schematics of the plane’s electrical system that had accompanied the most threatening of Taylor’s letters.
“It’s not likely,” Peters hedged. “I’m ninety-nine-percent sure it’s nothing more than a stuck valve.”
It was that one percent Dougal worried about. The pilot’s reassurance didn’t lessen the thread of anxiety pulling across his shoulder muscles. “Should we turn back?”
“Not necessary,” said the copilot, Jim Donovan. “We can fly manually. We’ve already contacted the control tower and reported the problem. They gave us the thumbs-up to continue on to London. It just means Nick and I’ll have to work a little harder on the transatlantic flight. But it’s nothing we can’t handle.”
That might be true, but Dougal was calling Taylor when they got to England and having her put a team of mechanics on the Bombardier, just to make sure there’d been no sabotage. Yes, he might be overreacting, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
“To keep from alarming the passengers, we’ll blame it on turbulence. I was just about to make the announcement when you came in,” Peters said, and then he hit the button that allowed him to deliver the message throughout the cabin. “Ladies and gentleman, sorry for the bumpy ride. We’ve hit a bit of turbulence, but we’re taking her up a few thousand feet, and all should be clear from here on out, so sit back and enjoy the ride.”
“Let me know if anything comes up that needs my input,” Dougal said.
“Will do.” Peters nodded.
Dougal made his way back down the aisle. Roxie looked at him with eyes that could break a man’s heart. He stood there for a moment as if held in place by a wire strung from the middle of his back into the plane’s ceiling, staring back, blood thick as paint chugging through his veins.
“Everything’s okay,” he said, forcing himself to slide into the seat beside her once more and noticing she had a death grip on the armrest. “You can relax.”
Take your own advice, Lockhart.
“Thanks for checking,” she murmured. “I feel better now.” Soft, light, feminine, seductive, she possessed the sexiest speaking voice he’d ever heard.
Do not start that again, stop being so aware of her.
Far easier said than done. She wasn’t the kind of woman you could choose to ignore.
“No problem,” he croaked.
“Not everyone would have taken the trouble to reassure me.”
Dougal could hardly think. Talk about eye candy. Perfectly arched eyebrows the same bewitching ebony shade as her hair. Long, lush lashes. A straight, slender nose with delicate nostrils. Her strawberry colored lips tipped up in a slight smile. Fascinating.
He fisted his hands. Roxie wasn’t for him. For one thing he had a job to do, and for all he knew she could be a saboteur. Never mind that she looked sweet and innocent. She’d probably be sweet and innocent in bed, as well, and who needed that kind of sex? He liked his women experienced and uninhibited when it came to lovemaking. He didn’t fancy himself as anyone’s teacher.
Who cares? You’re not going to find out what she’s like in the sack. That would break all the rules.
Besides, clearly they came from different worlds. The girl-next-door types didn’t mix well with burned-out Air Force captains who’d witnessed too much of the dark side of life. He’d seen terrorists’ bombs take out entire villages, had watched women and children starving in refugee camps, had heard of other atrocities he didn’t want to think about.
Yep, he was going to keep his libido locked up tight. No matter if he had to take a dozen cold showers a day until this trip was over. Not just for his sake, but for hers, as well.
3
HER BODY’S INVOLUNTARY reaction to the bothersome Mr. Lockhart worried Roxie more than she cared to admit. Not only that, but she was drawn to him on an emotional level—they had a lot in common. They liked the same music and the same food. And then there was that odd feeling she got whenever he touched her, as if she’d come home after a long journey.
Ever since he’d come back from the cockpit, she felt encased in a protective bubble, as if nothing could harm her as long as he was beside her. The thought was ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake it. He was so tall and strong, so commanding and reassuring.
Some corporate spy you are. Seriously, stop thinking about the dude. Keep your mind in the game or you’re going to get caught.
And if that happened, Mr. Langley would have no choice but to fire her and then who would put Stacy through school? Okay, no more noticing how those pants fit so snugly to his thighs. No more imagining what his chest looked like beneath that puffy-sleeved shirt. No more sliding surreptitious glances.
Her gaze drifted over him. Wow, but he was a muscular guy. Not bodybuilder physique, but hard clean through his core. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. His forearms were sinuous. His powerful hands bore the nicks and scars of a man who’d done manual labor. His fingers were long, his nails clean and trimmed.
His compelling profile drew her attention. He possessed firm, no-nonsense features. Sturdy, sharp nose, angular jaw that his beard couldn’t hide, lips shaped like a crossbow.
He turned and caught her studying him. His dark brown eyes, intense as an eagle’s, drilled right through her. His gaze was proud and commanding, yes, but there was more. She saw compassion beneath the rough edge and a kindness he couldn’t cloak. She didn’t question that he would catch her if she fell; he already had.
“How does a guy like you stay single?” she asked.
Good lord, why had she said that? She couldn’t have anything to do with him. He worked for Eros. She was a spy for Getaway. Not an auspicious way to start a relationship.
You’re not starting a relationship. Stop thinking like that!
He arched an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Pardon?”
Great, now she
was going to have to repeat the question. “How come a guy like you is still single?”
Shut up! What was wrong with her? Someone should put a ball gag in her mouth.
The eyebrow shot up higher. “A guy like me?”
She could hear the chuckle in his question. “You know. Good-looking, big, strong, all protector-y?”
“Protector-y?” Amusement lit his eyes.
“I’m just saying you don’t look like your typical tour guide.”
“No?”
“Not so much.”
“What do I look like?”
“A cop or a soldier or a fireman. Something rugged and tough.”
“What about a mercenary?”
The way he said mercenary lifted the hairs on her forearm. “Are you a mercenary?”
“Aren’t we all?” His eyes darkened and all traces of humor left his face. “In one way or another?”
Panic squeezed her lungs, snuffing out her breath. Anxiously her hand stole to her chest and she pressed her palm against her heart. Did he somehow suspect what she was up to?
Don’t freak out. There’s no way he can know what you’re doing.
No, but if she didn’t stop overreacting she was going to give herself away. “Have you ever been married?” she asked, trying to appear supercool even as she felt sweat trickle down the back of her bra.
“No.”
“Ever been engaged?”
“Almost. Twice.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “The first time we were too young, kids fresh out of high school. Luckily we both came to our senses before it was too late. The second time…”
“The second time?” she prodded. Why didn’t she just pluck that romance novel out of her purse and start reading and pretend he didn’t exist?
Why? Because ignoring him would be like ignoring the sun in the Sahara. He was that dominant, that powerful. And yet she couldn’t help feeling he hid a vulnerable side. Had he lost someone important to him? She thought of her parents and bit down on her bottom lip.
“Let’s just say that I was blindsided.”
“Oh.” So his ex-fiancée had cheated on him? Who would betray a guy like this? If he was her man—