He wondered if his calluses bothered her. Wondered if the dirt under his nails bothered her. But he’d just finished a run. He wanted a cool shower, a colder beer and a soft pillow, but they were luxuries that had to wait.

“I didn’t realize you meant to take off promptly at ten.”

He ignored the apology. “Are you going to fly dressed like that? Or do you want five minutes to change?”

“Change?” Her smile vanished and she looked at her sheath-style skirt and spike-heeled leather pumps.

He took in the slick package of her chic appearance. Hell, the lady probably spent more each month on clothes than he’d made in the past ten years. What things he could do for others with that kind of money.

“Honey, you look like a million bucks, but your stockings are going to be glued to your legs and my seats eat stockings for lunch.” He shrugged elaborately. “And them heels...”

“My heels? What’s wrong with them?”

He didn’t even try to hide his amusement as she tried to pull the sunken heel from the tar.

“They’re stuck,” he said unnecessarily.

She grimaced.

He grinned, then rubbed his forefinger across the stubble shading his chin. “Tell you what. I’ll give you into something more comfortable.”

Nicole Jackson arched a tweezed eyebrow at him. He could well imagine an unfortunate underling receiving that harsh, wordless gesture. It might have terrorized some; it entertained him. “Besides, Cessie here isn’t a Learjet.”

She cut a glance to the side, taking in the single-engine plane that sported faded paint.

“I noticed.”

Her tone irritated him. His Cessna was his only worldly possession, and he loved it as if it were the child he always wanted but never had. Heck, he and Cessie had been around the world several times in the past few years. And she’d never failed him. Unlike the women he’d known.

“So what do you say? You want to take me up on my offer? You’re down to four minutes.”

She stared at him—nearly eye to eye, he noticed.

“Where do you suggest I change?”

“Over there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“But that’s an outhouse,” she protested.

“No attendant on duty, either.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. But her brows narrowed into a single, slim line.

“Look,” he said, patience waning. “We need to get in the air. If you don’t want to change, I’ll help you into the plane.”

“You’ll what?”

“That skirt won’t give an inch. You’ll have to lift it up or accept my help.” Ace hoped she decided not to change.

Indecision warred on her face. Finally, with obvious reluctance, she nodded. “I’ll need about ten minutes.”

Ace sighed.

“I’ll try to cut it short.”

She offered a tentative smile and his aggravation began to fade. Then she tried to yank her shoe free. And failed. With another sigh, he bent, capturing her ankle with his hand. The curve of her bone slid perfectly into the cup of his palm. Suddenly a breath threatened to choke him.

“Really, Mr. Lawson—”

“Ace.”

“There’s no need to...”

She trailed off as he looked up. Their gazes mingled for a flash of a second. A look, one he hesitated to name, passed between them.

“That is...”

“Yes?” He raised a brow.

“I’d appreciate the help.”

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed.

She nodded, setting down her briefcase.

Nothing prepared Ace for the feel of her fingers penetrating his whisper-thin T-shirt. Soft. Warm.

He jerked the reluctant heel from the black ooze, leaving several thin strips of leather behind.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling her foot away from his hand.

Pushing to a standing position, Ace watched her slip stocking-clad toes into the ruined pump. Without another word, she picked up her briefcase and headed toward the rest room—outhouse, he mentally amended—once again with that seductive sway.

Hell, maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. For the first time in days, Ace Lawson actually smiled.

Just as quickly, though, his smile disappeared. He had a job to do, then needed to take another hop into Central America.

To kill the minutes, he climbed aboard Cessie and started a second preflight instrument check—anything to keep his mind off what Nicole might look like beneath the tough exterior. Would her undergarments be serviceable cotton, or would they be silk, satin and lace? Did her bra have an underwire or an eighteen-hour support system? Did she even wear a bra?