Zero Control. Lori Wilde
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