You’re out of line, he told himself

But Dougal couldn’t stop kissing Roxie, or touching her.

The air vibrated between them. The erotic promise buried in their kiss made him shudder.

His need for her went beyond all reason. He’d never felt anything like this. He should escape while he could, but then she pulled away and whispered, “Would you like to come back to my room?”

No, no, say no.

But his stupid tongue did not obey. She was pulling him headlong into her fantasy. What he said was, “There’s nothing I’d enjoy more.”

She unlocked the door, flicked on the light, drew him inside the room with her.

Then she captured his mouth with hers again.

That was all it took to convince him that his decision had been the right one. Testosterone surged through his body. His muscles tightened. His hands roved over her lush curves and he dipped his head to deepen their kiss.

This was so unlike him—losing control, losing his head. And yet he couldn’t deny the power of this attraction. It was crazy and scary as hell, but it was too real to deny. His muscles ached. His skin burned.

Beyond all reason, he had to have her.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever wanted to cut loose and do something wild and crazy even if it’s not in your nature, simply to see how the other half lives?

Well, that’s what happens to good girl Roxanne Stanley when she finds herself recruited as a corporate spy by her boss. Her mission: find out exactly what goes on at Eros Airlines and Fantasy Resorts and report back to him. Roxie’s not keen on subterfuge, but she’s got a kid sister to put through college, and the promotion her boss dangles in front of her is too tempting to ignore. But what Roxie doesn’t count on are the sexual fantasies provoked by the erotic resort and one very sexy tour guide, aka our handsome hero, Dougal Lockhart, an undercover security expert! It’s not long before Roxie lands at the top of his suspects list and becomes the woman who drives him wild!

I hope you enjoy Zero Control. Don’t forget to tell your friends about the wonderful stories you can find between the pages of a Harlequin novel. Visit me at www.loriwilde.com.

Much love,

Lori Wilde

Lori Wilde
ZERO CONTROL

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lori Wilde is the author of forty books. She’s been nominated for a RITA® Award and four Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards. Her books have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan, Redbook and Quick & Simple. Lori teaches writing online through Ed2go. She’s an R.N. trained in forensics, and she volunteers at a battered women’s shelter.

Books by Lori Wilde

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

30—A TOUCH OF SILK

66—A THRILL TO REMEMBER

106—PACKED WITH PLEASURE

123—AS YOU LIKE IT

152—GOTTA HAVE IT

175—SHOCKINGLY SENSUAL

230—ANGELS AND OUTLAWS*

260—DESTINY’S HAND*

346—MY SECRET LIFE **

399—CROSSING THE LINE***

411—SECRET SEDUCTION***

423—LETHAL EXPOSURE***

463—THE RIGHT STUFF†

To Kathryn Lye,

who always makes me look good.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

1

“YOUR AGENCY HAS THE JOB, but only under one condition.”

Taylor Milton Corben, owner and CEO of Eros Airlines and Fantasy Adventure Vacations, folded her arms and leveled a look at former Air Force Captain Dougal Lockhart. Taylor was a sophisticated redhead with chic blond highlights threaded through her stylish hair, unwavering chocolate brown eyes and dynamite legs. She was also the new wife of Dougal’s best friend, Daniel Corben.

Dougal drew himself up to his full six-foot-two-inch height and held Taylor’s steady gaze. He should have known there would be a catch. In his experience, there was always a catch.

Did her stipulation have anything to do with the reason he’d left the military and started his own private duty air marshal service? Daniel had probably told her what had happened to him in Germany. Instinctively Dougal stuck his hand in his pants pocket and ran his fingertips over the 9mm slug fragment that he’d had turned into a key chain precisely so he wouldn’t forget. The bullet scar at his upper right thigh—at the very same level as his pocket—throbbed at the memory.

Dougal steeled himself for a proviso he couldn’t live with, but he wasn’t in any position to be choosy. He needed the work. He was trying to get his fledgling business off the ground and it was a struggle. Last month he’d been forced to take out a loan just to make payroll. But there were some things he simply wouldn’t do. No matter how badly he needed the money.

“What’s the condition?” He fisted his hands.

“I want you and your team to go undercover—”

“That’s a given.”

She ignored his interruption and went on smoothly. “As tour guides.”

“Tour guides?” She caught him off guard with that one.

“Tour guides,” she repeated.

“Why?”

“I need you and your men not just on my planes, but at my resorts, as well.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and angled her head to size him up.

“The Lockhart Agency is an air marshal service, not resort security,” he said.

“Should I take that to mean you don’t want the job?”

Dammit, he did want the job and she was well aware of it. At least she hadn’t made any reference to Germany or Ava. He shifted his weight, his feet shoulder-width apart, hands resting on his hips.

Taylor laughed. “You look like an old West gun-slinging sheriff staving off a lynch mob, Dougal. Relax, have a seat.”

He forced himself to drop his arms by his sides and settle into the plush leather couch across from Taylor’s expensive mahogany desk. He did have a tendency to brace for battle even when there was nothing to brace for.

“What does the job entail?” he asked.

“You’ll work for the entire first two weeks in May,” she said. “It’s a fourteen-day tour.”

He nodded. “No problem there.”

“You and your men will take tour guide training with the rest of my employees. You’ve got four men. We have four new tours starting next month and I want air marshals on all the planes and at the facilities.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously. “What else?”

“You’ll be required to wear costumes.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but it’s nonnegotiable.” Taylor might look like a pampered supermodel, but she was a sharp business woman. “In fact, if you decide to take the job, you should start growing your beard now.”

“Beard?” Involuntarily his hand went up to stroke his jaw. He’d never worn facial hair in his life.

“You’ll be playing the Bard.”

“Who?”

“Shakespeare.”

Dougal frowned. “I’m not following you.”

“I’m concerned that the saboteur is targeting the Romance of Britannia tour next, and the lead tour guide on that junket dresses as Shakespeare. Or rather the Shakespeare in Love version of what he dressed like.”

“Why are you so sure the saboteur is targeting that particular tour?”

Taylor opened up her desk, took out a green file folder and passed it across her desk. Dougal opened it and read the letter inside.

You thought those little incidents at your Venice resort was trouble? You haven’t seen anything yet, bitch. Just wait until one of your planes falls from the sky. Wouldn’t that set tongues wagging? Do you have any idea how vulnerable your air fleet is? Just take a look.

Attached to the anonymous letter was a schematic of the inside of a Bombardier CRJ200. In the margins, written in red, was a detailed listing of the numerous ways a saboteur could cripple the private jet.

His blood chilled.

Dougal raised his head and met Taylor’s gaze. For the first time, he saw real fear in her eyes and he was strangely comforted. If she was afraid, that meant she was taking the threats seriously, and the fact that she’d laid her cards on the table made him feel instantly calmer. He was the kind of guy who liked to have a map of the quicksand bogs before he ventured into the jungle. “What did the police say when you showed them the note?”

Taylor plowed a hand through her hair. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want any more negative publicity than I’ve already gotten. I prefer to keep this in-house.”

“We should have it dusted for prints.”

“I already sent it out to a private lab. There were dozens of prints on the envelope, none on the letter beyond mine and the temp who’s been filling in since my executive assistant decided not to return from maternity leave.”

“What happened in Venice?”

Taylor inhaled audibly. “A few months back my Venice resort experienced a series of…problems.”

“Meaning?”

“Malfunctioning smoke alarms that allowed a fire in the laundry room to go undetected until it had done several thousand dollars’ worth of damage. It was suspicious because the smoke alarms had just passed inspection the week before.”

“Cause of the blaze?”

“Undetermined.”

“Go on.”

“After one of the scheduled banquet feasts, a few guests contracted food poisoning, sending them to the hospital for treatment. And finally a Renoir was stolen. The security system had been turned off, and the police suspected an inside job. I fired the manager, hired someone new. Taken one by one it seemed like mere coincidence, but then I learned an exposé reporter was following me.”

“The incident between you and Daniel in Spain,” he said.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Once the reporter aired his piece, I thought the sabotage was all over. Apparently—” she waved at the letter Dougal was still holding “—I was wrong, and the guy was just lying in wait, lulling me into a false sense of security.”

“You believe it’s a man?”

She shrugged. “Aren’t men usually the ones who do these kinds of things?”

Dougal thought of Ava. “Not necessarily.”

Taylor pulled her lips back in a pensive expression. “I hadn’t considered a woman.”

“What makes you think this saboteur is going to strike the Romance of Britannia tour?”

“That diagram is not just any generic Bombardier schematic. It was torn from the handbook of the plane that services that specific tour.” She pulled the handbook from her desk and tossed it to him.

Dougal opened it to the back where the schematics were located and saw the jagged edges where the paper had been ripped out. It didn’t take a crime scene investigator to see that the torn segments matched. “Any clue as to who could be behind this?”

She shook her head. “I’m no stranger to controversy, you know that. There have been outspoken religious fundamentalists picketing my resorts, condemning them as hedonistic and wicked. Then there are the superkinky customers who threaten to sue me because Eros refuses to fulfill their illegal fantasies. My competitors are jealous of the way I’ve taken my father’s dated commuter airline model and given it a very profitable new millennium makeover. But many on the board of directors are unhappy about this new direction. Making enemies is all part of doing business in the tourism industry.”

“This feels more personal.” He fingered the torn pages. “For one thing, how did they get access to the jet’s handbook?”

“I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”

“I’m not sure how my men are going to like dressing up and playing tour guide.”

“I understand it’s asking a lot. I’m willing to sweeten the deal.” She named a figure so high it was all Dougal could do not to blink in disbelief. “What do you say?”

He smiled. “How can I refuse?”

Taylor reached across the desk, rested her hand on Dougal’s forearm. “I want this person caught and I want my guests kept safe.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

“I’m counting on you.”

He got to his feet, thought about what happened in Germany and swallowed hard. He could do this. He had to do this. He’d learned from his past. He wouldn’t be played for a fool again. He met Taylor’s steady gaze and made her a promise. “You can depend on me. I won’t let you down.”

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door and before Taylor could say, “Come in” the door opened and a heavyset older gentleman, with a straight-shouldered military bearing, stepped over the threshold.

Immediately, Dougal saluted the former general who had once been his superior officer. “General Miller, sir.”

“Please.” The general waved his hand. “There’s no need for that. We’re both retired.”

Dougal relaxed his stance.

“How are you, Uncle Chuck?” Taylor asked and got up to give the general a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m just fine, princess.” He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“How’s Aunt Mitzi?”

“Blowing through all my money on a spa day with her friends.” He grinned at her, and then looked at Dougal. “Are you in the middle of something here? I thought I’d take you to lunch and you could tell me what’s going on with that sabotage business.”

“Actually, I just hired Dougal and his team to augment my security staff. I just received another threatening letter. This one targeting my air fleet.”

“Oh?” The general canted his head.

“I’ve started my own private air marshal service, sir,” Dougal explained.

“Ah.” Miller nodded. “Applying the lessons you learned about security after that mess in Germany.”

Was that a personal dig? The man’s tone made Dougal squirm in memory over what had happened. “Yes. And I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that Eros Air stays safe.”

“See that you do,” Miller said curtly. “See that you do.”

“HEY, HANDSOME, YOU CAN SHAKE your spear over here anytime you want.”

In light of that sexy remark, Dougal forced himself not to roll his eyes as a group of women filed onto the Bombardier CRJ200, chatting, giggling and finding their seats. The majority of them were young, rich and attractive. The red-haired woman who’d cracked the suggestive comment briefly met his gaze, then lowered her eyelashes, licked her lips and murmured, “Yummm-o,” before moving down the aisle.

It didn’t help matters that Dougal was dressed like Joseph Fiennes from Shakespeare in Love right down to the artsy, beatnik beard he was itching to shave.

After all, this was Eros Airlines and Fantasy Adventure Vacations and Taylor’s company’s catch phrase was Something Sexy in the Air. Other than the pilot and copilot, who were both pushing sixty, Dougal was the only male employee aboard. He felt like the last cut of prime beef in the meat market on the Fourth of July.

He was going to have to talk to Taylor. The puffy-sleeved shirt and skintight leather breeches were bad enough, but the facial hair simply had to go. Resisting the urge to scratch his jaw, Dougal greeted each guest with the requisite smile, welcoming them aboard with an affected British accent. It was going to be a long two weeks.

Look at the side benefits. You stand an excellent chance of getting laid.

Except he and his men had signed a contract with a morality clause. While they were encouraged to flirt with the guests, sexual contact was strictly prohibited. Dougal watched a provocative young woman with a great ass wiggle away and he hissed out his breath.

Damn that morality clause.

That was the moment Dougal spotted her.

The last one to board.

The one who didn’t belong.

She stood out like a single red rose in a field full of dandelions, all genteel and otherworldly, an escapee from the pages of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. He half expected to see unicorns and songbirds and butterflies trailing after her.

Her hair was raven’s-wing black, her skin pure alabaster, her eyes a stunning shade of ice-floe blue. She must be wearing contact lenses; no one’s eyes were that color naturally. She was dressed in a butter-yellow sundress made out of some soft, frothy material that caused his mouth to water. Dougal could taste the sugar-coated marshmallow bunnies and chickens his mother had put in his Easter basket when he was a kid.

Unbidden, he found himself imagining what she looked like underneath that springtime sundress. Did she have on white cotton panties with a sensible underwire bra? Or would he find a delightful surprise? Maybe a wicked scarlet bustier and G-string panties?

Dougal tilted his head. No, he decided. Pink satin tap pants and a matching camisole. Sweet yet sassy. A good girl longing for adventure but nervous about reaching out and grabbing what she desired.

And yet it was more than her ethereal beauty that set her apart from the others, and Dougal was trained to notice subtle differences. It was the serious, “all-business” slant to her slender shoulders and the determined set to her chin, as if she had something to prove. It was the perceptive expression in her eyes, the purposeful way she moved and the manner in which she was sizing him up just as intensely as he was measuring her.

No mere vacationer, this one. Not a woman simply looking for a good time. This enigmatic lady had an agenda.

Alarm bells went off in his head. Until he knew exactly what her agenda was, Dougal was keeping a close eye on her.

Another thing that didn’t fit—she was traveling solo. Everyone else on the vacation had traveling companions, but this mysterious miss appeared to be all alone. No doting husband or fiancé or boyfriend at her elbow. No best buddy yapping her ear off. No mother or sister or cousin.

Perhaps she also worked for Eros, maybe she was an actress paid to help set the stage for the Romance of Britannia tour the group was embarking upon and it was her first day on the job. If you put her in historical garb along the lines of the ridiculous outfit he’d been forced to wear, she’d be a shoo-in.

Except that Taylor hadn’t told him about any new employees joining the group, and he’d made it quite clear that he was to be kept in the loop regarding anything to do with passenger safety. Odd, though, that while his brain and experience were warning him to watch out for her, his gut was telling him something startling and stupid.

She’s the one you’ve been waiting for.

Why the hell was he giving himself mixed messages? The last time this had happened he’d ended up with a bullet in his thigh.

The woman reached the top step of the metal mobile stairs and their eyes met. Quickly she glanced at his outfit and when her gaze found his again, a slight grin tipped her lips. She was laughing at him.

He cocked an eyebrow, gave her his best Joe Cool expression and stretched out his hand. “Welcome to Eros Airlines, where your pleasure is our only concern.”

The greeting might have been prescribed, but the emphasis was all his. Dougal didn’t know why he extended his hand as she stepped into the cabin. He hadn’t shaken any of the other women’s hands. Impulse motivated. That bothered him because he struggled so hard to control his impulses.

For the longest moment she said nothing, merely stood there staring at his outstretched hand. It was damned unnerving.

“Hello,” she murmured in a husky, breathy voice, and then turned her back on him and started down the aisle.

“Wait,” he said and touched her shoulder, stopping her. Hold up, you ’re coming on too strong. You don’t want to blow your cover. “What’s your name?”

She turned back, raised an eyebrow. “My name?”

Why was she being so cryptic? Did she have something to hide or was he too hypervigilant?

“For our exemplary customer service.” He blurted the first excuse that came into his head and manufactured what he hoped was an earnest smile. “We didn’t earn our five-star rating by calling our guests ‘Hey You.’”

There it was again, that sly, amused grin, as if she found him extremely comical. “I’m Roxanne Stanley. But my friends call me Roxie.”

“Roxie.” He extended his hand again.

“You’re assuming we’re going to be friends.”

“Not assuming, just hoping.”

The minute their palms touched, a shudder shot straight down his spine. His stomach squeezed and his balls pulled up tight against his body and he was just…rocked.

The intensity of his reaction disturbed him. Resolutely he shook off the feeling. By nature he was a guarded man. It was the way he’d been born—cautious, cagey, always on the lookout for trouble, seeing the world though the eyes of a troubleshooter. Life circumstances had added to his innate wall, one emotional brick at a time. The one time he’d opened himself up, let down his guard, chipped a few bricks off the wall and—wham!

His old bullet wound ached at the thought. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

“And you are…” Roxie tilted her head.

“Here to make your every fantasy come true.”

“Ah,” she said. “Is that so?” Her smile widened to reveal a double dimple deep in her left cheek. God, he’d always been a sucker for dimples, and look here, she had two.

Key word being sucker. Keep your testosterone in check, Lockhart. You’re on the job.

“Let’s see where you’re sitting.” Dougal leaned closer, ostensibly to read her boarding pass, but he already knew where she was sitting. He’d memorized the passenger manifest, and he recalled that Ms. Stanley was seated in the first row, near the window, while he had the aisle seat beside her. Handy coincidence.

What he really wanted was to see how she’d react to his proximity. Would she flirt like a single woman on a sexy vacation retreat? Or would she act guilty like someone up to no good?

When it came down to it, she did neither.

Instead, with an unflappable expression, Roxanne Stanley said silkily, “You’re blocking my way, Mr. Fantasy Man. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He moved aside, but the passageway was small and he was large. She had to squeeze past him to get to her seat and in the process her hip grazed his upper thigh. It was the slightest contact, barely there, and yet Dougal’s cock stirred instantly inside those damned leather breeches as surely as if she’d stroked him.

This was crazy. He didn’t lose control like this, not with so little provocation. He took a deep breath, trying to cool his heated blood. Wanting a woman—hell, who was he kidding, he was craving her—brought risks and vulnerabilities.

Think about something else. Whatever you do, do not watch her ass as she walks away.

The woman moved past him and his gaze homed in on her ass like a heat-seeking missile. She swiveled her head and caught him staring. Her steal-your-breath blue eyes locked onto his and sucked the air right out of his lungs.

In that moment it was as if they were totally alone on the airplane. The noise of dozens of voices humming in conversation faded away and Dougal’s focus narrowed to only her.

Her gaze was steady, but he saw a faint tinge of pink color her cheeks and she lowered those long, thick black lashes. His heart knocked. She looked at once strong and extremely vulnerable, and he wondered what secrets she was keeping.

Had she been sent by one of Taylor’s enemies? An irate stockholder or a competitor? Or was it a personal agenda? Was it revenge against Taylor? Was she a straitlaced saboteur deeply offended by Eros Airlines and its sexually adventuresome vacations, or was he totally off the mark about her altogether?

Dougal couldn’t deny that his instincts were telling him she wasn’t what she seemed, but did he trust his powers of deductive reasoning? Getting close to her was the only way to find out, but something told him if he flew too near the flame of her hot blue eyes he was going to get singed.

He clenched his teeth to keep from scooping her into his arms and carrying her away to some secluded corner of the expensively decorated airplane and stripping off her clothes in a hungry effort to discover if her flesh tasted as sweet as it looked. He wanted to cup his palm around her breasts, to thread his fingers through that mane of lush black hair, to press his mouth against her ripe, rich lips.

“Is there something you need?” she asked.

You.

“No,” he answered mildly.

He could almost hear her heart thumping, could feel his own heart slamming against his chest.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.” Behind him, the flight attendant closed the door, but he didn’t look away.

Roxie broke their stare. Ducking her head, she scurried toward her fully reclining, plush leather seat beside the window. Leaving Dougal feeling as if he was flying into the eye of a storm, and his instrument panel had just frizzed out.

2

ROXIE’S BOSS, PORTER LANGLEY, the owner and founder of Getaway Airlines, had seriously underestimated Taylor Corben. Roxie doubted that Porter realized how much money the woman lavished on her airline, nor did he have any idea that she was hiring gorgeous macho men as tour guides. Of course, that was the very reason Mr. Langley had sent her on this trip—to get the lowdown on Eros. Her boss hungered to follow in Taylor Corben’s footsteps and open his own destination resort in Ireland, along the lines of Eros’s version in Stratford.

The lavishness of the accommodations was the first item going into her report, after she got her hands to stop sweating and her pulse to quit pounding, following her encounter with the hunk in Renaissance attire. The way “Shakespeare” had stared at her caused Roxie to fear that he’d guessed her secret.

She was a mole.

Roxie hadn’t been happy about the whole go-spy-on-the-competition assignment her boss had cooked up, but she was loyal to the bone when it came to people who’d given her a break, plus she desperately wanted the head of public relations position that her boss had dangled in front of her. Pulling off this little piece of corporate espionage would cinch her promotion.

The job was not only one she coveted, but the bump in salary would also allow her to put her kid sister, Stacy, through college. Roxie didn’t want Stacy to end up like her, forced by circumstances and lack of money to give up on her dreams of becoming an actress.

She peered out the window. Even though she worked for an airline she wasn’t a comfortable flyer, and heading to London twisted her stomach. Crossing miles and miles of ocean held little appeal.

She blew out her breath, ran her palms over the front of her thighs and then dug her BlackBerry from her purse to distract herself. She started to type in her impression of the big man in the Shakespeare costume and the lavish interior of the plane—mahogany wood paneling, cocktail bar at the back of the plane with a gleaming granite countertop, opulent carpeting—but then he came over and strapped himself into the last empty seat on the plane.

The seat right beside hers.

Unnerved, Roxie shut off her BlackBerry and returned it to her designer knockoff handbag she’d picked up at a yard sale. She definitely did not fit with this crowd, but her childhood had taught her to be someone else whenever she was in a dicey situation. Slip under the skin of an invented character. For the duration of this trip she was a smart, sharp, infinitely calm, corporate spy. She just had to keep reminding herself of that.

Inhaling, she caught a whiff of his spicy, masculine cologne and felt herself come undone. Fear revved her pulse rate. Did he suspect she was not typical of Eros’s well-heeled clientele?

Play the game. Be the role.

To boost her confidence, she reached up to run her fingers over the gold-and-silver comedy-tragedy mask necklace she always wore. It was the last gift her parents had given her before they were killed two weeks after her eighteenth birthday.

“Hello, again.” His deep voice rumbled, rolling over her ears like a gathering storm.

She felt something shake loose in her chest, a tearing-away sensation like a boat breaking free from its mooring and drifting out to sea.

Be cool. You are an expert spy. Think Mata Hari, Antonia Ford, Belle Boyd.

“Hi,” she said casually.

“I’m Dougal, by the way. Dougal Lockhart. Sorry about stonewalling you earlier. It’s part of the flirtatious role-playing Eros requires from tour guides.”

Role-playing she understood. It was how a shy girl from Albany made it in New York City. “So I deduced. Are you sitting here for the entire flight?”

Oh, damn, her voice had come out high and reedy.

“Yep. Does that distress you?”

“You’re the one who should be distressed,” she countered. When she’d first started working for Porter he’d coached her on how to go on the offensive diplomatically whenever she found herself backed into a corner, but the skill didn’t come easily. By nature she was open, expressive, a people pleaser, and she had to fight against her tendency to be overly accommodating. It was only when she pretended to be someone else that she was able to change her behavior.

“Oh?” He cocked his head.

“I gotta warn you,” Roxie amended. “I’m a nervous flyer. I get fidgety.”

“And yet you’re traveling alone.”

“I am.”

“Vacationing by yourself?”

Was he fishing for details? Fear hopscotched through her and she dug her fingernails into her palm. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s brave.”

“I like traveling alone,” she lied. “I’m accountable to no one’s agenda but my own.”

“Touché.” His gaze skimmed over the naked ring finger of her left hand. “I take it you’re not married.”

“Astute conclusion.”

“Snarky.” His eyes twinkled. “Unexpected but engaging.”

“I’m happy I could provide you with some free entertainment.” She took a peek at his ring finger. “You don’t look married, either.”

“Astute conclusion.”

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

“Trying to keep your mind off takeoff.”

“I appreciate the effort.”

“If it would help any, feel free to grab hold of my arm,” Dougal invited.

She dropped a glance at his strong forearm, poking from the rolled-up sleeves of his puffy white shirt. His forearms were ropy with muscles and thick, dark hair. She curled her fingers into fists and forced herself to breath normally.

“I’ve got to warn you, I tend to babble when I’m nervous.” She scrunched her shoulder blades together.

“Babble away.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Not at all. I have earplugs.”

She had to laugh. Strange as it seemed, she was having fun.

The plane taxied from the gate.

“Quick,” Roxie said. “Say something to distract me. Takeoffs and landings freak me out the most. That and looking out the window when we’re over water.”

“Looking out the window freaks you out?”

“Sort of.”

“So why the window seat?”

“Because looking out the window keeps me from feeling claustrophobic.”

“You’re claustrophobic, too?”

“Only when I feel closed in.”

He laughed again, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling. “You’re funny.”

“I’m happy that you find my terror amusing.”

“It is a seven-hour flight. I have to take my amusement where I can find it.” The teasing expression in his eyes warmed her from the inside out.

The plane rushed down the runway, gathering speed, the tarmac whizzing by in a gray-black blur. Roxie gripped the armrest.

Dougal held out his palm. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold on to.”

Gratefully she took it, but the minute his fingers closed around hers, Roxie realized she’d made a grave mistake. His grip was firm, his palm calloused. His scent, a complicated aroma of spicy cologne, leather and sunshine invaded her nostrils.

Madness.

The plane was airborne, soaring.

Treetops fell away. Vehicles crawling along the freeway in rush-hour traffic glimmered like spotted stones. The early-morning sun burned orange against the clouds. Roxie jerked her gaze from the window to stare at the man beside her.

The warmth inside her kicked up to a sultry simmer. A labyrinth of emotions pummeled her. Overwhelmed, Roxie had to remind herself to breathe. What was going on here? Why was she feeling so…so…what was she feeling?

Attracted.

Yes, that was the word. She was attracted to him and the feeling scared her.

He held on tightly to her hand, and she closed her eyes so he couldn’t read what she was struggling to hide.

The landing gear came up with a bump. Her eyes flew open. The sound never failed to send her heart lurching into her throat. Dougal squeezed her hand. A sexual tingle shot all the way up to her shoulder.

Think about something else.

But that was difficult to do, considering how delicious he smelled and how his quick-witted banter reminded her just how long it had been since she’d had sex.

Roxie tried to concentrate on the luxurious surroundings. The state-of-the-art flat-screen television sets at each seat were so sophisticated they’d make a techno geek weep with happiness. There were the elaborate meal menus that could send a gastronome into paroxysms of epicurean delight and the butter-soft, oversize leather chairs with enough legroom to satisfy the long-legged man beside her.

“How long have you been a tour guide?” She searched for something neutral to talk about, something that wouldn’t inflame the feelings burning through her. Or result in her inadvertently giving herself away.

“I just started,” Dougal explained. “In fact, this is my first trip.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You seem so self-confident.”

“It’s all an act,” he confided. “Inside, my knees are jelly.”

“You fooled me.”

“How so?”

“You don’t look like you’re scared of anything.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” The way he said it, the penetrating expression on his face made her feel as if he’d whipped off all her clothes and she was sitting there stark naked.

“What did you do before you took this job?” she asked.

“Variety of things.”

“You seem a little old to still be finding yourself.”

“Some of us are late bloomers.”

“Late-blooming jelly knees? I’m not buying it.”

He stroked his bearded chin. “No?”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three. You?”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s impolite to ask a woman her age?”

“You brought up the topic,” he pointed out.

“I guess I did. How old do you think I am?”

“That’s so not fair. If I guess that you’re older than you are, then you’ll never speak to me again and that would be such a shame because you’re definitely a woman worth speaking to. So let’s see. You’re sixteen going on seventeen?”

Okay, so she was flattered. Roxie didn’t get this kind of talk from men very often. Mainly because she avoided situations where such talk could spring. To be honest, she avoided men and any hint of romantic relationships, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew it was part of his tour guide please-the-customer shtick, so she relented and let him off the hook. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“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—

Don’t even go there.

But how could any woman cheat on him? In spite of the theatrical costume he wore, Dougal Lockhart was, in every sense of the word, masculine.

“Have you ever been engaged?” he asked.

“Me?” She shook her head. “No, no.”

“You say that like the idea is preposterous.”

She almost opened her mouth and told him about her parents and Stacy, but then she bit down on her tongue. She was supposed to be a spy. Spies were quiet and unobtrusive. They didn’t blather. They got other people to talk. She shrugged.

“Not the marrying kind?” he supplied.

“Something like that.”

He unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Roxie, but now that we’re airborne and the flight has evened out, I need to schmooze with the other guests. A tour guide’s work is never done.”

“Oh yeah, right, sure.” Dolt, you’ve made him uncomfortable.

He got out of his seat, walked back to talk to the other passengers. Instantly the sound of flirtatious laughter drifted to Roxie’s ears. Who was he talking to?

Don’t do it, don’t look over your shoulder.

She turned to peek over the back of her seat. Dougal was leaning down, talking to two gorgeous young women a few seats behind her. He was speaking in an old English accent that should have sounded dorky, but in his deep baritone it came off sexy as sin and had Roxie wishing she’d been born in sixteenth-century England.

One of the women wore a low-cut blouse, and she was doing all she could to make sure he got a good view of her ample cleavage. The other woman was gazing at his crotch and practically drooling. These women weren’t subtle. They were making it perfectly clear what they were after.

Roxie gritted her teeth.

You’re jealous….

She wasn’t. She was embarrassed by the flagrant way the women were throwing themselves at him. She was peeved that he seemed to be having more fun talking to them than he’d had talking to her. She was…she was…

Oh hell, she was jealous.

Why him? Why now?

It was, she decided, Eros Airlines that had pumped her up. From the buttery leather seats cushioning her fanny, to the free alcohol the flight attendants started distributing throughout the cabin, to the way Eros provocatively dressed their tour guides. She thought of the brochure in her purse, recalled the opening blurb: Eros: where all your fantasies come true.

The fantasy had taken hold and made her long to behave in ways she would never behave back at home. Eros had woven a spell over her, and Roxie hadn’t even been aware of the spinning. Until now. Until she tried to dissect why she was feeling the way she was—lusty, jealous, greedy and intrigued.

Make notes. You need to get this down.

She reached for her purse for a pen and paper, but stopped herself. What if Dougal came back and caught her making notes? She glanced over her shoulder again. He’d moved on down the aisle, leaving twittering females in his wake. Roxie rolled her eyes.

Jealous.

Okay, so she wanted him all for herself. She wanted to kiss those commanding lips, wanted to slide her arms around that honed waist, wanted…oh, the things she wanted.

Maybe it was more than just Eros’s effective marketing campaign. Maybe part of this sudden and intense desire was due to the fact she’d put her personal life on hold for the past ten years while she raised her sister. Now that Stacy was in college, Roxie finally had the opportunity to explore her sexuality.

She’d had a couple of lovers, but both relationships had ended because she wouldn’t put the men above what was best for her sister. After the last relationship went sour, she’d made a promise to herself that she’d avoid romantic entanglements until Stacy was grown. Now Stacy was a college freshman, and Roxie was free to pursue a romance.

This wouldn’t be a romance. This would be all about having a good time. Great sex and nothing more.

The thought of it made Roxie’s ears burn. She’d never had casual sex and she had no idea how to handle something like that.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

Could she?

ROXIE SPENT THE REMAINDER of the flight with her nose buried in her book, doing her best to ignore Dougal’s presence beside her.

They landed at Gatwick Airport around six in the evening. The minute Roxie stepped onto British soil, a fresh surge of excitement pulsed through her. Even though she worked for an airline, she’d never traveled overseas. For one thing, she hadn’t wanted to be away from Stacy that long. For another there was the money issue. Although she got free flights, lodging, transfers and food didn’t come cheap. Every extra bit of cash she got she stashed aside for Stacy’s college tuition.

While the group waited for their luggage to be unloaded, Roxie checked her watch and subtracted the time difference. Perfect timing to call. Back at home, her sister would be in between classes, headed for lunch.

“So,” Stacy answered, “how’s London?”

“Right now we’re at the airport. Looks pretty much like any other airport.”

“Meet any cute guys yet?”

“I just got off the plane.”

“Planes have been known to harbor cute guys.”

“Uh-huh,” Roxie said, distracted by the sight of Dougal bending over to help an older woman with a ginormous, red plaid, attack-of-the-tartans-style suitcase. The man’s butt looked absolutely ferocious in leather. Absentmindedly, Roxie traced the tip of her tongue over her lips.

“Rox? You still there?”

She blinked. “Um…yeah, sure still here.”

“You didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds. I thought I lost you.”

Resolutely she turned her back on Dougal. “Nope, you didn’t lose me. I’m here. Rock solid.”

“Rock-solid Roxie,” Stacy echoed. “So you never did answer my question. Meet any cute guys yet?”

“I’m not here to meet guys, I—” Roxie broke off. She hadn’t told her sister the real reason she was in England. She’d let her believe she was taking a vacation. Guilt nibbled at her. “I’m here for adventure.”

“Guys qualify as adventures.”

Roxie made a dismissive noise.

“Come on,” Stacy wheedled, “when was the last time you had a date?”

“I went out with Jimmy last week.”

“Listen to yourself. Jimmy is sixty-five, our second cousin, and he took you to play bingo just because he thought you needed to get out of the house. That is not a date.”

“I shaved my legs for it.”

“Doesn’t make it a date.”

“You know I decided to put my dating life on hold since things with Marcus didn’t work out.”

“Um…” Stacy made a disapproving sound. “I was a freshman in high school when you were going out with Marcus.”

“Okay, so I haven’t had much of a love life lately, I—”

“You’ve never had much of a love life,” her sister corrected. “I’ve dated more guys than you and I won’t turn nineteen for another three months.”

“How’s school?” Roxie tried changing the subject.

“Same as it was yesterday. You’ve only been gone for a day, Rox. Chill out. Have some fun. Find a guy. Get laid, for heaven’s sake.”

“Stacy!”

“Don’t act so scandalized. You’re young, you’re hot, and you deserve to have all kinds of adventures. I thought that was the reason you picked Eros. I mean, come on, why else would a single woman sign up for an erotic fantasy vacation if she wasn’t interested in indulging her erotic fantasies?”

Why indeed? She couldn’t cop to being a corporate spy, so she was left with admitting that she was here for romance.

“That’s why I was so happy when you told me you’d booked yourself on the Romance of Britannia tour. I thought, at last, Roxie is going to get some sex.”

It felt weird having this conversation with her sister. In many ways they were more like mother and daughter than siblings. Not only was Roxie ten years her senior, she was also a lot more conservative in her outlook. Where Roxie treasured a quiet evening at home with a bowl of popcorn and a romantic comedy on DVD, her sister was the life of the party who collected friends the way some people collected shoes.

“Let’s say I’m second-guessing my reasons for being here. I worry about you being home alone.” That was true enough.

Stacy sighed.

“What?” An airplane took off, the noise halting their conversation for a minute. “What is it?”

“It’s time you stopped using me as an excuse for putting your life on hold. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Roxie, you know that, but I can’t keep being the thing that’s holding you back. I feel guilty and—”

“Don’t ever feel guilty,” Roxie said fiercely. “Raising you has been the joy of my life.”

“I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings, but you need a new joy in your life. I’m grown. I have my own friends, my own interests.”

The stabbing sensation deep within her heart hit Roxie. She knew everything her sister said was true, and yet, she couldn’t let go of the identity she’d taken on when their parents had been killed. Empty-nest syndrome was a bitch.

“I want you to make me a promise,” Stacy said.

“What is it?”

“You have to promise first.”

“I can’t promise until I know what it is I’m promising to do.” Roxie hardened her chin. Around her everyone was picking up their luggage and heading toward the terminal, but she barely noticed.

“Promise me if an opportunity for a vacation fling comes up, you’ll grab it with both hands.”

“Stace…”

“I mean it. Promise me.”

“Okay, all right, on the off chance that an opportunity for mad monkey sex with a handsome stranger presents itself, I promise I’ll swing through the jungle.”

Stacy laughed. “You don’t have to do anything that kinky, sis. Just relax and let yourself have a good time. Go with the flow. You deserve it. For ten years you’ve been the ultragood girl. It’s okay to be a little bit bad once in a while.”

“How did you get so wise?”

“I had a great teacher.”

A soft, mushy sensation replaced the lost, lonely feeling in her heart. She was so proud of her baby sister. A hand settled on her shoulder. A firm, masculine hand.

“Roxie.” Dougal’s voice was in her ear, her name on his tongue and his scent in her nostrils.

“Who was that?” Stacy asked.

“Huh?” She played dumb.

“You’re the last one left,” Dougal said.

Roxie looked over at him.

He held her luggage in one hand, pointed at the tour bus waiting beyond the chain-link fence surrounding the terminal gate. “We have to go.”

“It’s a guy. I definitely heard a guy’s voice calling your name. You sly woman, you’ve already met someone!”

“Listen, Stacy, I have to let you go, the tour bus is getting ready to leave and—”

“Go, Roxie, get your groove on.” Stacy chanted in a silly singsong voice. “Go, Roxie, get—”

“Goodbye, little sister. Don’t forget to study while I’m gone.”

“You do some studying of your own. My assignment to you—get up close and personal with physical anatomy. I’m rooting for you to get lucky with your new boyfriend.”

“I’m not getting lucky and he’s not my boyfriend.”

Stacy made clucking noises. “Chicken.”

“I’ll call you later.” Roxie closed her cell phone to find Dougal studying her intently. Had he overhead her conversation with Stacy?

“Let’s roll.” He held out his arm.

An edgy, warm feeling, thrilling and unwanted, pushed through her. She wasn’t going to have an affair with him just because he was good looking and she hadn’t had sex in years.

“I can walk myself to the bus, thank you very much.” She snatched her suitcase from his hand and scurried toward the bus. She was just about to climb on when Dougal called out to her. “Oh, Roxie.”

What now? She spun on her heels, still feeling hot all over. “What is it?”

“You’re getting on the wrong bus.”

AFTER HE MADE SURE ROXIE got on the right bus, Dougal spoke quickly to the Eros mechanics and told them to scour the plane for problems before letting it take to the air again. Then he placed a call to Taylor, but her cell phone went to voice mail, so he left her a message.

“Taylor, Dougal,” he said. “There was a glitch with the autopilot on the plane. I put your mechanics on it. Nick Peters thinks it’s nothing, but I…” He paused, looked toward the waiting bus, saw Roxie in profile at a window seat near the back. In all honesty could he really say he suspected the autopilot had been tampered with? It seemed like a simple problem. If someone was making good on their threats, they’d done a lousy job of it. “I think we should wait to hear from the maintenance crew before we make any snap judgments. I’ll call you later.”

He closed his cell phone and slipped it into his pocket just as Roxie’s eyes met his. Her gaze was steady, but he saw a flicker of something inside those cool depths.

What was it and why couldn’t he shake the feeling she was up to something? She was the most unlikely of suspects.

She smiled at him then, tentative and sweet, and gave him a quick wave. And damn if he couldn’t help smiling and waving back. He got a soft, achy sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Aw hell, this feeling wasn’t good. Not good at all.

THE TOUR BUS TOOK THEM to the Eros resort just outside Stratford-upon-Avon. Stubborn gray clouds hung in the sky, and even inside the bus the air smelled of impending rain and city soot. The driver wore rain boots and had a black umbrella stashed under the dashboard. Dougal sat up front behind the driver and narrated the sights as they motored through the crowded streets of downtown London. Outside the window the landscape looked just like in the pictures and movies she’d seen. Imagine. She was here. England.

Roxie found herself sitting across from twin sisters, while the seat beside her remained empty. That was just fine with her. She didn’t need a traveling companion, but then she thought wistfully of Stacy and wished her sister could have joined her on this adventure.

Yeah, drag your sister along while you commit corporate espionage. What fun. Not exactly the actions of a stellar role model.

A fresh stab of conscience had Roxie worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. If Stacy’s entire future didn’t depend on her salary, she’d call off the whole thing.

“Hi,” said the twin sitting on the outside seat. She extended her hand across the aisle to Roxie. “I’m Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam.”

The other twin leaned over her sister to extend her own hand. “And I’m Jessica, but everyone calls me Jess.”

She shook their hands. “Hi, Sam, hi, Jess. I’m Roxie.”

“Nice to meet you, Roxie,” Sam and Jess said in unison.

The twins were gorgeous, their elegant thinness a sharp contrast to Roxie’s rounded curves. They possessed matching noses so perfect Roxie wondered if rhinoplasty was involved, and they had high, dramatic cheekbones enhanced by artful application of blush. They looked as if they’d stepped from the cover of a fashion magazine with their stylish bobbed blond hair and designer jeans. Beside them, she felt frumpy and out of place in her summery yellow sundress.

Sam leaned across the aisle and lowered her voice. “You are so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“You got to sit next to Shakespeare for the entire flight.” Jess nodded toward Dougal.

Roxie hadn’t felt lucky, she’d felt…what had she felt? Unsettled was the best adjective she could come up with. “I guess there’s an upside to traveling alone. The tour guides take pity on you.”

“So tell us,” Sam breathed. “What’s he like?”

Roxie shrugged. “He’s just a guy.”

Jess’s eyes widened as if she’d said something blasphemous. “Oh, no, he’s not just a guy. Look at the muscles on him. And those aren’t pretty-boy, gym-induced muscles. This guy does something rugged. Rock climbing, I’m guessing.”

They all three turned to look at Dougal. He was busy pointing out Big Ben.

Yes, okay, the guy was gorgeous, but jeez, people. It wasn’t as if they could take him home and handcuff him to their bed or anything.

Although Jess and Sam looked as if they wouldn’t mind giving it a try.

“Skiing,” Sam said. “You got a guess, Roxie? Or do you already know our hunky tour guide’s sport of choice?”

Roxie cocked her head and studied him—the pugilistic set to his shoulders, the broadness of his chest, and she’d already seen the scars on his knuckles. “Boxing?”

“Ooh.” Jess giggled. “Astute observation. I’ll bet you’re right.”

At that moment, Dougal turned his head and stared straight at Roxie. Awareness buzzed through her body. His eyes burned black, hot. Unable to bear the scrutiny, she fumbled his gaze.

“Mmm, mmm.” Jess made a noise of appreciation. “That man is sweet.”

“How come you’re traveling alone?” Jess asked Roxie, after she and her sister were finished ogling Dougal. “Did a friend stand you up?”

Roxie shook her head. “I needed a private getaway.”

“Ah.” Sam nodded. “Busted romance.”

Roxie started to correct her, but then decided to let Sam believe what she wanted to believe. She simply gave her a smile that said, “I’m putting up a brave front.”

“You poor thing,” Jess said. “I went through a breakup six months ago. It’s hard, but you know what? Honestly, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“It is.” Sam nodded. “After Jess caught her fiancé doing the bedroom rumba with another woman just days before the wedding, she became a lot more assertive, and as a result of her changing attitude she got a big promotion at work.”

“I stopped looking for love and just started having fun,” Jess said. “Freed me up like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m envious of the easy way you approach romance.” Roxie shifted her weight, did her best not to look in Dougal’s direction.

“Oh, believe me,” Jess said, “this is not about romance. This is about nothing but hot, hot sex.”

The self-satisfied note in Jess’s voice plucked a twinge of envy inside Roxie. In all honesty, she’d never been overly impressed with sex. Maybe she’d just never done it correctly.

“You’ve never had a casual fling?” Jess asked.

Roxie shook her head.

“Seriously, woman. It’s the most liberating thing in the world. Discovering your sexual power, knowing it doesn’t have to lead to anything more than it is. Glorious. Freeing.”

“Really?”

“As long as you keep your heart out of the fray, and you’re with the right guy, it can be mind-blowing.”

“How do you keep your heart out of the fray?”

“That is a good question and it’s important to prepare for it.”

“I’m listening.”

“First off, don’t swap too many personal details about each other. No sharing intimate secrets. If you learn a lot of little details about each other, the next thing you know you start caring about them. That’s not so good for a healthy casual fling,” Jess advised.

“Thanks for the advice.”

Sam reached over to touch Roxie on the shoulder. “Hey, since you’re all by yourself would you like to hang out with Jess and me? We’d love to have you.”

The invitation shouldn’t have pleased her as much as it did, and she should have thought of a graceful way to bow out. She didn’t need to pal around with anyone on the tour. The more inconspicuous she made herself, the better. But she was flattered. More than that, she wanted to hang out with Jess and Sam. They seemed like a lot of fun.

“We understand if you say no,” Jess hurried to add. “Since you’ve caught the attention of our tour guide. He hasn’t stopped looking at you this entire ride. You might want to spend your time hanging out with him.”

Roxie didn’t dare turn her head to meet his stare. “I’m not interested in a romance.”

“Who said anything about a romance?” Jess made a purring noise. “I’d just love to have a fling with him. If you’re really not interested that is.”

Roxie couldn’t bring herself to say that she wasn’t interested. There was that damned jealousy again. Illogical and annoying.

“Anyway,” Sam said, “we’ll save a place for you at dinner, unless Mr. Handsome Man over there sweeps you off your feet.”

All in all, Roxie didn’t have many friends. Of course Stacy was her best friend. There was Magda at work, and Mrs. Kingsly who lived across the street, and Susan, the checker at the supermarket. But they were all over thirty-five and married with children. She didn’t really have anyone her own age she could relate to.

You can’t hang out with them. You’re here under false pretenses. Tell them you appreciate the offer, but you have other plans. Tell them you’re hoping for a romance and you’re worried guys will be less likely to approach women in a group than on their own.

Tell them…

She opened her mouth to use one of her excuses, but instead she spoke from her heart. “Sure, I’d love to hang out with you guys. Thanks for asking.”

4

THE EROS RESORT WAS a hedonist’s wet dream.

From the outside the place was picturesque. The main building was a replica of a sixteenth-century castle perched on a sloping green hill overlooking the river Avon, complete with its own moat. Inside the castle grounds, snug little thatch cottages were lumped like gray-green turtles along a unifying cobblestone path. The moment Roxie stepped off the bus in the thickening drizzle, she was hit with the acute sensation that her world had just cracked wide-open and she’d stepped into a fairy tale.

She tried not to stare openmouthed, but it was a bit difficult when they were met at the door by a cadre of bellmen all dressed in the same romantic sixteenth-century style as Dougal and speaking in the tongue of that time. They flirted and winked. Clearly it was their intention to make the guests feel both lusty and welcome.

“Let me take that for you, milady.” A dashing bellboy, looking for all the world like Romeo Montague from Shakespeare’s most famous play, bowed and relieved Roxie of her suitcase.

Jess and Sam tittered as similarly outfitted bellmen took their luggage.

The five-star rated resort’s lobby was a sight to behold. It looked both old world and elegant and deadly romantic with huge vases of fresh-cut roses, Stargazer lilies and gladiola resting on highly polished antique tables. The air was scented with their sweet fragrance. The sofas and chairs placed strategically throughout the cavernous lobby were upholstered in rich matching fabrics of cranberry and gold. In the middle of the lobby was a grand fireplace made of gray lintels carved with quatrefoils and spanned by a four-centered arch with molded decorations and a frieze topping the lintels. Over the mantel hung a stately coat of arms.

Stenciled on the walls in gilded script lettering outlined in black were famous quotes about love. Her gaze traveled around the room as she read the slogans.

Naughty, naughty. Roxie pressed her fingers against her mouth, suppressing a grin. Just then a pretty female assistant dressed in a gauzy floor-length gown and a crown of braided flowers wandered over to distribute small flutes of complimentary ice wine to the thirsty travelers queuing up at the registration desk.

Roxie sipped her drink. She was delighted to discover it tasted like golden honey, sweet and thick and pure. She didn’t imbibe often, and just a couple of swallows produced a warm glow that drew her deeper into the magical atmosphere. Porter Langley had no idea what he was getting into if he set his cap at competing with Taylor Corben’s lavish destination resorts.

While they were waiting their turn to check in, an older woman, dressed in the same Tudor style as the young assistant, passed out a form printed on white card stock. “Hi, my name is Lucy Kenyon and I’m the entertainment director. To help tailor this experience to meet your needs, I’d appreciate it if you’d fill out this questionnaire and leave it with me.”

Roxie took the form and read through the short list of questions. Most of them were centered on her personal likes and dislikes. She answered as best she could, but paused when she got to the end.

“What are your hobbies, special skills or talents that you still love but haven’t had time for lately?” Jess read the last line on her card out loud just as Roxie poised her pen to answer it.

The question hit home. It had been so long since she’d gotten to do the things she’d given up after her parents’ tragic car accident. Becoming a surrogate parent at eighteen had caused her to grow up quickly. She felt a tug of emotion in her belly, a sadness mixed with yearning for everything she’d lost. She didn’t regret giving up leisurely pursuits for Stacy, but she did miss them, and she hadn’t really realized it until now.

“Oh gosh,” Sam said. “I guess we’re spoiled. We pretty much do everything we love.”

“What about you, Roxie?” Jess asked. “What are you putting down?”

Roxie doodled on the edge of the form, remembering how she used to enjoy acting. She’d even toyed with the idea of majoring in drama when she went to college.

Except she’d never gotten to college.

“I used to enjoying acting,” she admitted.

Sam nudged Jess. “You used to be able to whistle ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ That’s a special skill.”

Jess rolled her eyes. “It’s not one I want to revisit. Anything else you used to like to do, but don’t get to do now, Roxie?”

“Fencing.”

Sam blinked. “You like putting up fences?”

“No, dork,” Jess told her twin. “You know, en garde.” She illustrated with a badly executed fencing pose. “Like Zorro.”

“Ah, that kind of fencing.” Sam nodded.

“My father qualified for the Olympic fencing team when he was twenty,” Roxie shared with her new friends. “But my mother had just found out she was pregnant with me and he chose not to go.”

“That’s so sweet and romantic,” Sam said.

“Fencing was one activity we did together, just he and I.” And she hadn’t picked up a foil since his death. Roxie blinked, swallowed past the lump in her throat and wrote down acting and fencing in answer to the final question.

“Oh, I know,” Jess said. “We used to go with Dad on stakeouts. Let’s put down sleuthing.”

“Your father was a cop?” Roxie asked.

“P.I.,” Sam explained and frowned at her twin. “Sleuthing isn’t going to come in handy around here.”

“How do you know they’re not going to have one of those mystery theater events? We’d kick ass.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.