Zero Control

“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.