The Rogue And The Rich Girl. Christine Pacheco

jaw dropped. She closed her mouth with an audible snap. “You sound as if you have a vested interest, Mr. Lawson.”

      “Nope.” He released her. A warm Pacific breeze toyed with his hair, subtracting years, if not determination, from his face. “I’ve got friends that don’t want to see Cabo de Bello become another sweatshop just to line the deep coffers of your client’s purse.”

      “You’re being melodramatic.”

      “Maybe you’re not being realistic,” he countered.

      “They’ve invested over four million dollars and two years on this project—”

      “Two years is nothing, compared with the way of life you’ll change forever,” he interrupted, hostility making his words deeper, more husky.

      A primitive part of her responded with an internal leap to the sexiness in his voice. Yet, right now, he was on the opposite side of an issue, an issue her survival depended on. “Opening the plant on time hardly compares with ruining a way of life,” she said, brows furrowing together.

      “Sure it does. Your client...”

      She didn’t like the emphasis on the last word.

      “...Will be getting clothes made at dirt-cheap prices, then selling them for a huge profit. The standard of living won’t increase much here, but some fat cat in the States will get even fatter.”

      “That’s free enterprise,” she insisted.

      “That’s robbery. Just because it happens doesn’t make it right. Have you stopped to think about the jobs that might be lost at home?

      “Be warned, Ms. Jackson,” he said, the heat of his breath feathering across her cheek. “I mean it when I say I intend to do everything in my power to send you back with a change of heart. You and your client can find another place that’s anxious for your kind of progress.”

      Nicole shook her head and several strands of her hair met and mingled with his breath. “That’s not possible.”

      More than he knew was at stake. Everything she’d spent years fighting for lay on this deal. If she didn’t salvage the project, she would lose the account. God knew she—and WorldNet—couldn’t afford it. Because of a series of disastrous failures, her company might be swallowed whole by the highest bidder, maybe by the one person she and her father had trusted implicitly.

      Bitterly, she thought of Sam Weeder, her father’s partner—her own godfather. Weeder had worked to undermine her company since her father’s death. He’d placed a mole inside WorldNet, jeopardizing accounts. Judging by last quarter’s financial statements, he’d done a heck of a job.

      Failure was unacceptable. She intended to approach success with single-minded determination.

      “I can be persuasive.” He traced his blunted fingernail down one of her cheekbones.

      She winced, not liking the way her treacherous body responded, then pulled back. “I won’t be persuaded. Not even if you pull out all the stops.”

      He grinned. Certain. Cocky. Threatening.

      “Fifteen minutes,” he said for the second time. “Be ready to fly.” Obviously dismissing their conversation—his veiled threat and hinted promise—he pivoted and strode away, long legs gulping the distance to the outbuilding.

      Her shoulders sagged against the plane. She hadn’t counted on her pilot having an explosive personality, hadn’t counted on the fact she might run into opposition even before she stepped foot on the Central American island near Belize.

      Not one to wallow in useless thought, she pulled herself together and decided to freshen up. Standing on her tiptoes, Nicole reached behind the seat. She bit out a quick curse when she couldn’t shove Ace’s duffel off her bag.

      Knowing she could make do with the few cosmetics in her briefcase, she grabbed it from the floor. Nicole snapped the latches open and took out a picture of the plant.

      WorldNet’s client blended the plant with the island’s natural beauty. They’d spent millions of dollars on the state-of-the-art plant. It hadn’t been until they were ready to start hiring that the trouble started.

      She shook her head.

      Saving the account would save her client. And WorldNet.

      Nicole allowed the full-color glossy to flutter back into place. After digging out the cosmetics bag, she reached for the box of motion-sickness pills. She shook out the foil pouch, then sighed when seeing each piece of foil jaggedly torn. She had another box...in her unreachable luggage.

      Nicole glanced around for her pilot, but didn’t see him anywhere. And her allotted time was ticking away. For a few seconds she fought against her conscience, which told her not to rifle through his belongings, even though he’d earlier given his permission. Realizing she had no other options if she was to be prepared when he dictated, she closed the briefcase, set it on the floor, then knelt backward on the passenger seat.

      She grasped the small zipper tab. The rasp of the zipper sounded unnaturally loud in the summer silence. She groaned when she noticed everything was tightly packed, with no evidence of the first-aid kit. If she wanted the Dramamine, she would have to dig for it.

      Inserting her hands down the sides, she discovered nothing but the various textures of fabric—rough and smooth. Trying again, she came across a razor, obviously not used recently, a tube of toothpaste squeezed from the middle and a nearly empty plastic bottle of after-shave. On her third attempt, she grabbed the folded kit. When she pulled it out, a piece of clothing snagged on a torn end of the vinyl.

      Nicole tugged on the clothing, suspiciously soft, like satin. She pulled it free, holding it in her hand. “Pinocchio?” she whispered in disbelief. He didn’t seem like the type. She pursed her lips. She couldn’t believe she’d entrusted her life to a man who carried a knife and wore Pinocchio underwear.

      Embarrassed by the intimacy of handling the material that wrapped, probably snugly, around Ace’s hips, she gingerly took the nose between her thumb and forefinger and pulled it free from where it had snagged. It was at that second she noticed Pinocchio’s nose was designed to accommodate a certain part of Ace’s anatomy. With plenty of room for growth.

      “Oh my God.”

      Heat chased up her cheeks. As if they’d singed her fingers, she threw the briefs back into the duffel bag, yanking the zipper shut. The man was too much.

      Pulling her professional demeanor around her as a protective barrier, she raided the first-aid kit, leaving it on the seat between them.

      She climbed down the plane and hurried to the rest room. By the time she had resculptured her cheekbones with an artful sweep of blush and pulled her hair back into a chignon, she was in control. Unshakable.

      Even by Ace and his less-than-civilized tendencies.

      He’d kept her off kilter so far, but she could handle it. Except for the missing polish on his veneer—the crude language, unshaven chin and well-worn blue jeans—he was exactly the same as every man she’d ever met.

      An unfamiliar nagging voice reminded her of the long silky nose that had hung between her fingers, Pinocchio’s ridiculous eyes wide with delight and mouth smiling devilishly. Of the two men she’d been involved with, one had worn baggy boxer shorts and the other had worn white briefs with standard apples and grapes on the tag. No, Ace wasn’t like any man she’d known.

      Nicole squared her shoulders and left the bathroom feeling confident and composed. Ace was signing the bottom of a fuel invoice when she reached the plane.

      He handed the attendant the clipboard, then flicked his gaze over her. “I liked your hair the way it was.”

      She fingered the secured knot. “I prefer it up.”

      “Yeah.” He took mirrored aviator shades from the breast pocket of his ragged denim jacket. “You would.”