Ace shook his head. He needed sleep. And a stop at Rosie’s in Cartagena. He definitely didn’t need a woman reminiscent of his wife.

The heat built inside the small compartment as the California desert sun blasted through the windshield. Hardly a breeze stirred and only a few Joshua trees fought for survival in the hostile environment.

She returned in under ten minutes, white athletic shoes a marked contrast to the black tar. Supple denim snuggled her thighs and hips, conforming to her curves like a good male friend. Or a lover.

His gut tightened.

Ace reached across the cockpit and opened the door. His muscles tightened as he grabbed the briefcase. “What have you got in here?” It was hard to believe she hadn’t even struggled under the forty or so pounds.

“Notebook computer, power supply, cellular phone, calculator, modem, files. Why?”

Saying nothing, he reached for her suitcase. The luggage made the briefcase seem light. While she climbed aboard, he secured everything in the small area behind the seats.

Several minutes later, he taxied down the abandoned runway. The plane picked up speed. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the woman next to him.

“Fasten your belt,” he instructed, not believing she hadn’t thought to do that.

Without checking to see if she’d obeyed, he continued down the rutted, weed-choked runway, easing back on the yoke.

Urging the plane’s nose into the air, Ace reveled in the freedom of flight. The engine throbbed steadily beneath him, just like a hot, willing and undemanding woman. The sound of wind rushed past the fuselage, reminding him of the whisper of damp, musky sheets sliding to the floor.

He checked his instruments, then looked at his passenger. She hadn’t followed orders. The ends of the safety belt rested at the side of the seat.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow motions and her vivid green eyes stared at nothing, unblinking. The tips of her manicured fingernails dug into her palms, and streaks of artificial color painted her cheeks. Her lips were tightly pursed. Obviously, the grip of fear held her paralyzed.

Ace groaned. He’d been hired to shuttle an uptight businesswoman who got airsick before the land lay even three thousand feet beneath them. “Ms. Jackson?”

A sound emerged from her throat that was part whimper, part moan.

A knot twisted in his gut. The feeling was familiar, but something he’d thought he’d gotten rid of when Elana fled. Evidently not. Unfortunately, he no longer carried a bottle of mint-flavored antacid in his duffel to help tame the wild ulcer. Right now, his passenger could use it every bit as much as he.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hoping he would get the answer he wanted, not the one he feared.

She didn’t respond.

A burning in his stomach painfully reminded him of the ulcer’s existence.

Taking a hand from the yoke, he frantically dug through the map compartment for an airsick bag. There had to be one. Didn’t there?

A bead of sweat trickled down her patrician nose.

“Hang in there,” he urged. Ace prided himself on the ability to deal with anything life tossed his way. He’d flown through blazing fires, been shot at, tossed into jail for a crime he hadn’t committed, and another he had. And yet, he couldn’t deal with something so elemental, so natural.

Or maybe it was the woman herself who unsettled him.

The whimper in her voice became urgent.

“Damn.” While keeping one eye on the controls, he reached again and again into the compartment.

She flinched.

And surprisingly, Ace experienced a twinge of sympathy. Digging under the maps, he searched for the waxy-feeling paper. To no avail.

The woman’s shoulders drooped, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Since there were no bags, he had only one option: try to keep her from needing one.

“Open your eyes, Ms. Jackson,” he said softly, barely above the lulling hum of the engines. Fighting back impatience, he kept his tone even and cajoling. “You’re making matters worse.” For both of them.

She blinked.

“Take five deep breaths. Hold each for at least three seconds.”

She followed his instructions, drawing in a drink of air. With each breath, his corresponding pain lessened.

“That’s it,” he added when she gulped again. “Exhale slowly.”

She did.