Lori Wilde - Zero Control

“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?”