to mention she didn’t like flying. She’d arrived at the airport this morning to find that her camera had been taken off the usual helicopter she flew in and mounted on this tiny, two-seat bubble-cockpit-thingie she’d never flown in before. Why the last-minute change to this mosquito of an aircraft, she had no idea. But she had a bad feeling about it. What if the camera mount came loose? Or the helicopter crashed and killed her? Or...
“Ever fly in one of these puppies?” a husky male voice asked from directly overhead.
She lurched, startled, and promptly banged her head into the belly of the helicopter. “Oww!”
Big, tanned hands reached past the spots dancing in her eyes and lifted her to her feet. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” she snapped, embarrassed. “The damned helicopter whacked me on the head.”
A chest came into view, clad in black leather. An aviator’s jacket. “Bad, bad helicopter,” the laughing voice chided the offending aircraft.
Scowling, she looked up at the face to go with the jacket...and stared. Whoa. Rugged jaw, complete with sexy, dark, whisker stubble. Generous mouth and a dazzling smile. Lean, male-model’s cheeks. Dark, slashing brows. And then her gaze met his. Hoo, baby. His eyes were as black as midnight and so hot she was fairly sure she felt her extremities threatening to catch on fire.
“Are you one of the actors in the movie?” she asked breathlessly. Lord. Where did all the oxygen in Northern California go all of a sudden?
He tapped the name patch over his right breast. “Wings. Pilot. It’s my bird that attacked you.”
She looked back and forth between him and the olive-green helicopter. “You need to take that thing to obedience school before it really hurts somebody.”
His mouth curved up in a sinfully hot smile. “Once I’ve got my hands on her, she’s the soul of cooperation. She does whatever I want, whenever I want it.”
Her gaze riveted on his mouth as he formed the words. She’d bet all the girls did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it once he had his hands on them. She finally managed to tear her gaze away from his GQ face, and it slid downward past the broad-shouldered leather jacket to the black jeans cupping his family jewels... Please, God, let there be truth in advertising behind that bulging zipper.
Her face did catch on fire then. She tore her gaze away from his fascinating anatomy, but not before she glimpsed long, powerful thighs and black leather cowboy boots.
She stammered, “Where’s Gordon Trapowski? I’m supposed to fly with him today. You’re not him.”
“Gee. Thanks for noticing,” the god replied, as unlike burly, rough Trapowski as a man could get.
“I checked around the hangar,” she elaborated breathlessly, “but he’s not anywhere to be found. Do you know where I might find him?”
“No idea where he’s got off to. He’s going to be flying the combat-drop bird that’s being filmed today, I think.”
Oh. Alarm filled her gut. As much as she disliked flying, she’d come to trust Gordon’s piloting skills over the past few flights with him. He was crude, a chauvinist and an all-around ass, but he was a competent, if jerky, pilot. Apparently, she would be filming him today instead of riding with him. Who was this guy, then?
“Any idea where I can find the cameraman who belongs to this camera?” the new guy in question asked, his voice rich with amusement.
“I’m him. I mean, I’m her. I’m your cameraman. Woman. Camerawoman.” Dammit. Did she have to stutter like a thirteen-year-old talking to her first boy?
“Ready to take a wild ride with me?” he murmured low, his voice charged.
Trepidation rattled through her. She sincerely hoped not. Wild was not high on her list of favorite flavors. That was, not until she’d turned twenty-five and realized abruptly that she was becoming a boring cat lady about to live the same tired routine for the next fifty years.
Hence the shift from early-morning local TV news crew to action-movie camera operator—a choice she was deeply reconsidering right about now. This pilot and all his raw sex appeal were scaring her to death.
That and his vicious attack helicopter.
On a movie set, she supposed she had to expect to be around sexy studs. She just hadn’t expected one of them to actually notice her. Good news was the stick jockey would lose interest in her soon enough. She would hide behind her camera until he hooked up with one of the hot, young starlets roaming around the set and forgot about her.
If her sister, Mina, were here, she would be all over this guy. But then, Archer would be all over Mina, too. He would never have given mousy little her the time of day. Which would have been a relief. Although for once, she wasn’t so sure she wanted this magnificent male specimen to look right past her.
Part of her—the part that didn’t want to end up alone, eccentric and smelling funny—wondered what it would be like to have his hands on her, and do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.
If only she wasn’t completely jinxed when it came to men. If this poor guy actually took a second look at her, no telling what horrible fate would befall him. Her last almost-boyfriend had nearly died of food poisoning on their first real date. And then there was the guy who found out on a picnic with her that he was deathly allergic to bee stings...
“You didn’t answer my question. Ever been in one of these puppies?”
Startled back to the present, she risked a peek up at the sexy pilot. “I’ve been up with Gordon in a big helicopter with two engines.” Two nice, safe engines. If they lost one, they still had a second one to land with, everybody in one nice piece.
“But you’ve never been up in a fast maneuverable bird like this one?”
“No. Never.”
“Ah. A virgin. Excellent.”
Her jaw dropped. How did he know... Oh. A fast helicopter virgin.
His eyes widened for a shocked instant and then narrowed speculatively. Damn, damn, damn. Please let that be him planning how to scare her in his helicopter. Please let that not be him picking up on what she’d almost given away.
“In you go,” he instructed. He was holding the passenger door for her, and damned if he still didn’t have that thoughtful look on his face. Swearing silently, she climbed awkwardly into the seat. A dizzying array of dials and knobs covered the dashboard in front of her. But then she spied the viewfinder for her camera. Familiar turf. Mounted on a swivel, she pulled the wide metal tube in front of her face and rested her forehead on the rubber face-piece. She felt a little faint.
“Slow down, darlin’. Gotta buckle you in first.”
She jerked her face away from the view box as hands touched both of her shoulders and knuckles skimmed down over her breasts. She lurched in shock at the intimate contact. What the...
Oh. He was feeding the shoulder harnesses down her body. Through her thin T-shirt and thinner bra, her nipples leaped to attention. Of course, his gaze went straight to them and heated up a few hundred degrees more. Did he have to look like a volcano about to blow? Although, in fairness to him, the way her own face heated up as his avid gaze took in her breasts was pretty volcanic, too.
She watched him, practically panting as he reached across her and ran his hands around her hips. They ended up at the juncture of her thighs and commenced fumbling around there. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Seat belt,” he explained smoothly. A metallic click punctuated the word. He yanked at the loose ends of the nylon web strapping, tightening the restraints. Looking straight at her chest, he muttered, “Is that too tight?”
Her chest did feel mashed by the shoulder straps, but