In The Arms Of The Sheikh. Sophie Weston

were a business traveler.”

      “I’m her bodyguard,” he said, because he felt as if he needed to explain his suit. Plus it would drive Melanie crazy.

      “Are you serious?” The woman eyed Melanie more carefully. “Are you famous?”

      When Melanie started to shake her head no, Hunter touched her knee. “She’s not famous to the average person. But those who know who she is are such rabid fans she’s accumulated some stalkers. I’m here to protect her.”

      “Oh. My.” The flight attendant unlocked her cart and started to push it. She asked Melanie in a low voice, “Can I ask what industry you’re in?”

      Hunter didn’t expect Melanie to play along. He thought she would bluster and apologize and say it was really her boyfriend the famous photographer who had a stalker. But she stunned him by nodding solemnly and saying, “Sure. I’m an adult-film star. Maybe you’ve seen some of my work? Poke Her Haunches? Or maybe Romeo, Juliet and Juliet?”

      The curious smile disappeared. “No, I haven’t.” The cart moved rapidly three feet down the aisle.

      Coughing to cover his laugh, Hunter looked at Melanie in amusement. “I wasn’t aware of your history.”

      “I don’t like to brag,” she said breezily.

      “Home videos? Or can I download them online?” He knew she was joking, but without warning an image of Melanie in a corset and touching his sword ambushed his thoughts.

      She smacked his leg. “Neither. You goof.”

      “I’m a goof, am I? You’re the one messing with the flight attendant.” He eyed her carefully. “Be honest, you wouldn’t even make a home video. That’s not your style.”

      “Hey! What do you know about my style?”

      “You don’t seem like an impulsive person. Making a sex tape at home is usually for couples who are spontaneous. Or daring.”

      “I could be daring.”

      His assessment seemed to have annoyed her. Or at least made her slightly defensive.

      “I mean, I have posed naked, you know,” she said.

      “Your boyfriend is a photographer. I don’t find that particularly daring.”

      “My ex-boyfriend is a photographer. Past-tense boyfriend. Not my boyfriend anymore.”

      Hunter felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

      She shrugged. “I didn’t just pose for him at his place alone. I took part in all his shoots. It was like our private joke. I had to travel with him anyway for work, so there I am, in every photo he’s done for the past year.”

      “Really? You’re like Where’s Waldo? Only naked?” That was a tantalizing thought. Holy hell. The chick had guts. And was clearly comfortable in her own skin, which was incredibly hot.

      Melanie laughed, and took a sip of her drink. “Sometimes I wore a disguise.”

      “How do you wear a disguise when you’re naked?” His mind ran in directions that were so dirty he was glad his jacket was still lying in his lap.

      “Glasses. A wig.”

      “Right.” Because she wasn’t a total pervert like he was. “Fascinating. Here’s to you getting naked.” He raised his plastic coffee cup and offered her a toast. “For posterity and for art.”

      “For art.” She lifted her own tumbler and clicked it gently against his, giving him a soft, sexy smile.

      The minute the plane landed he was going to search the shit out of Ian Bainbridge’s photographs online. Wig or no wig, he was certain he would recognize Melanie’s sexy curves anywhere.

      Thank God for the internet and both Ian’s genius as an artist and his stupidity as a man. This assignment was turning out to be a whole lot more exciting than Hunter had anticipated.