Zero Control. Lori Wilde
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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