Zero Control

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.