LITMIR.BIZ

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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 that his beard couldn’t hide, lips shaped like a crossbow.

      He turned and caught her studying him. His dark brown eyes, intense as an eagle’s, drilled right through her. His gaze was proud and commanding, yes, but there was more. She saw compassion beneath the rough edge and a kindness he couldn’t cloak. She didn’t question that he would catch her if she fell; he already had.

      “How does a guy like you stay single?” she asked.

      Good lord, why had she said that? She couldn’t have anything to do with him. He worked for Eros. She was a spy for Getaway. Not an auspicious way to start a relationship.

      You’re not starting a relationship. Stop thinking like that!

      He arched an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “Pardon?”

      Great, now she was going to have to repeat the question. “How come a guy like you is still single?”

      Shut up! What was wrong with her? Someone should put a ball gag in her mouth.

      The eyebrow shot up higher. “A guy like me?”

      She could hear the chuckle in his question. “You know. Good-looking, big, strong, all protector-y?”

      “Protector-y?” Amusement lit his eyes.

      “I’m just saying you don’t look like your typical tour guide.”

      “No?”

      “Not so much.”

      “What do I look like?”

      “A cop or a soldier or a fireman. Something rugged and tough.”

      “What about a mercenary?”

      The way he said mercenary lifted the hairs on her forearm. “Are you a mercenary?”

      “Aren’t we all?” His eyes darkened and all traces of humor left his face. “In one way or another?”

      Panic squeezed her lungs, snuffing out her breath. Anxiously her hand stole to her chest and she pressed her palm against her heart. Did he somehow suspect what she was up to?

      Don’t freak out. There’s no way he can know what you’re doing.

      No, but if she didn’t stop overreacting she was going to give herself away. “Have you ever been married?” she asked, trying to appear supercool even as she felt sweat trickle down the back of her bra.

      “No.”

      “Ever been engaged?”

      “Almost. Twice.”

      “What happened?”

      He shrugged. “The first time we were too young, kids fresh out of high school. Luckily we both came to our senses before it was too late. The second time…”

      “The second time?” she prodded. Why didn’t she just pluck that romance novel out of her purse and start reading and pretend he didn’t exist?

      Why? Because ignoring him would be like ignoring the sun in the Sahara. He was that dominant, that powerful. And yet she couldn’t help feeling he hid a vulnerable side. Had he lost someone important to him? She thought of her parents and bit down on her bottom lip.

      “Let’s just say that I was blindsided.”

      “Oh.” So his ex-fiancée had cheated on him? Who would betray a guy like this? If he was her man—

      Don’t even go there.

      But how could any woman cheat on him? In spite of the theatrical costume he wore, Dougal Lockhart was, in every sense of the word, masculine.

      “Have you ever been engaged?” he asked.

      “Me?” She shook her head. “No, no.”

      “You say that like the idea is preposterous.”

      She almost opened her mouth and told him about her parents and Stacy, but then she bit down on her tongue. She was supposed to be a spy. Spies were quiet and unobtrusive. They didn’t blather. They got other people to talk. She shrugged.

      “Not the marrying kind?” he supplied.

      “Something like that.”

      He unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ve enjoyed talking to you, Roxie, but now that we’re airborne and the flight has evened out, I need to schmooze with the other guests. A tour guide’s work is never done.”

      “Oh yeah, right, sure.” Dolt, you’ve made him uncomfortable.

      He got out of his seat, walked back to talk to the other passengers. Instantly the sound of flirtatious laughter drifted to Roxie’s ears. Who was he talking to?

      Don’t do it, don’t look over your shoulder.

      She turned to peek over the back of her seat. Dougal was leaning down, talking to two gorgeous young women a few seats behind her. He was speaking in an old English accent that should have sounded dorky, but in his deep baritone it came off sexy as sin and had Roxie wishing she’d been born in sixteenth-century England.

      One of the women wore a low-cut blouse, and she was doing all she could to make sure he got a good view of her ample cleavage. The other woman was gazing at his crotch and practically drooling. These women weren’t subtle. They were making it perfectly clear what they were after.

      Roxie gritted her teeth.

      You’re jealous….

      She wasn’t. She was embarrassed by the flagrant way the women were throwing themselves at him. She was peeved that he seemed to be having more fun talking to them than he’d had talking to her. She was…she was…

      Oh hell, she was jealous.

      Why him? Why now?

      It was, she decided, Eros Airlines that had pumped her up. From the buttery leather seats cushioning her fanny, to the free alcohol the flight attendants started distributing throughout the cabin, to the way Eros provocatively dressed their tour guides. She thought of the brochure in her purse, recalled the opening blurb: Eros: where all your fantasies come true.

      The fantasy had taken hold and made her long to behave in ways she would never behave back at home. Eros had woven a spell over her, and Roxie hadn’t even been aware of the spinning. Until now. Until she tried to dissect why she was feeling the way she was—lusty, jealous, greedy and intrigued.

      Make notes. You need to get this down.

      She reached for her purse for a pen and paper, but stopped herself. What if Dougal came back and caught her making notes? She glanced over her shoulder again. He’d moved on down the aisle, leaving twittering females in his wake. Roxie rolled her eyes.

      Jealous.

      Okay, so she wanted him all for herself. She wanted to kiss those commanding lips, wanted to slide her arms around that honed waist, wanted…oh, the things she wanted.

      Maybe it was more than just Eros’s effective marketing campaign. Maybe part of this sudden and intense desire was due to the fact she’d put her personal life on hold for the past ten years while she raised her sister. Now that Stacy was in college, Roxie finally had the opportunity to explore her sexuality.

      She’d had a couple of lovers, but both relationships

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