“Normally, I try to spend my time off actually off the plane.” I hand Ronan a paper cup that’s full of instant coffee I just made in the plane’s microwave.

“Thank you.” Ronan’s gaze is fastened on the activities off the team of mechanics and support staff who hover around the plane, looking for even the slightest sign of … something.

I settle into the same seat I use while flying and take a sip of my coffee.

“Which one is this Paul Caplan guy that you suspect?” I ask.

Ronan nods to the northeast edge of the activity. “The big dude with the beer gut, goatee, and the salt and pepper hair.”

I scan the crowd. “The one tapping the wrench against his thigh?”

Ronan nods. “That’s the one.”

I take another sip of coffee. “If he really is involved in animal smuggling, or something else illegal, don’t you think he’ll be suspicious that we’re sitting here, in the plane?”

“Maybe, but everyone knows that you and I have a little something something going on, so they probably figure we want a little privacy.”

“What do you mean, everyone knows?”

“Apparently Lynette told everyone about our makeout session in her office.” Ronan shifts in his seat and smiles. “According to Bruno Garrick, I’m something of a Northwest folk hero.”

“How’s that?” I ask even though I suspect the answer is going to piss me off.

“I did what everyone thought was impossible. Got inside the ice queen’s pants.”

My eyes bug out of my head. Temper lashes at my stomach.

“You did what?” I bellow so loudly I’m surprised the ground crew doesn’t hear me.

“Take it easy.” Ronan holds up his hands, palms turned outwards in the universal sign of surrender. “I’m just repeating what Bruno thinks. He called you an ice queen. I happen to think you’re an intelligent, wonderful, interesting, vibrant woman who happens to have a prickly side. I also think that your prickly side makes you even more fascinating.”

Somewhat mollified, I settle back into my seat.

“Bruno Garrick is a Class A bastard,” I mutter.

I can’t count the number of times he’s hit on me and then turned nasty the second I turned him down. I’ve never understood how some men think calling a woman names and trying to undermine her confidence will suddenly make her decide to jump into bed with them, but that’s exactly how Bruno thinks things works.

My thoughts turn to the test hidden in my flight bag and the possibility that right now, there might be a tiny clump of cells tucked away in my womb, dividing over and over again, until they form a baby. Will the sight of a baby bump turn Bruno and the other Northwest men like him off, or will they see it and assume I’m easy?

“I completely agree,” Ronan says, startling me. For a split, panic-filled second, I’m afraid I spoke my thoughts out loud, before I realize he’s responding to my comment about Bruno.

“He’s the kind of guy,” Ronan continues, “that gives all men a bad name. A discredit to my gender. We’re not all like that.”

Ronan certainly isn’t.

Silence falls between us as we drink our coffee and watch the ground crew. Paul Caplan doesn’t do anything that’s out of the ordinary or even remotely interesting.

“Hey,” Ronan stretches his leg across the space between our seats and bumps the side of my calf. “You’re probably right.”

“About?”

“About how us sitting in this plane probably looks suspicious, but I think I know how to convince everyone that we’re really in here because we want some privacy.”

The look in his eyes sends a shiver racing down my spine. “What do you have in mind?”

Ronan stands and grasps my upper arms, hauling me out of my seat. He lowers himself back into his chair and settles me on his lap.

He presses a hot kiss to the sensitive spot on the side of my neck. “It’s been too long since I’ve had you in my arms,” he growls against my skin.

“True,” I agree.

He runs a hand up my side until he reaches my breast, which he kneads through the layers of my uniform. He swivels the chair around so I’m facing the plane’s windshield.

“You’re in charge of watching to see if Paul, or anyone else, looks like they’re moving a pair of macaws onto the plane.”

“Mmm.” I hum my consent.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tilt my head back. One of his large, warm hands curls around the back of my neck. His mouth finds mine. An explosion of sensation shakes me to my core as his tongue parts my lips. My own swirls around it, teasing it. Ronan moans and the hard lump pressed against the side of my thigh grows louder.

Far below us, the flight crew continues to prep the plane for our return trip. One of the guys, a large man who wears his bright red hair in a mullet, flashes me a quick thumbs up.

Until this moment, I’ve never been the kind of girl who enjoyed public demonstrations of affection, but for some reason, knowing we have an audience right now makes Ronan’s kiss even hotter.

The hand that had been attending to my breast slides lower, until Ronan wraps that arm firmly around my lower back, pulling me closer until I’m half seated on his erection. He grinds it against me and deepens the kiss.

A flash of movement catches my eye. Without breaking the kiss, I glance down at the flight crew. Off to one side, the man Ronan identified as Paul Caplan is directing two other men who are handling a hand truck that contains a massive crate.

I pull back just enough to disengage from the kiss, though we’re still close enough that should Caplan look up, he’ll think we’re still kissing.

“Ronan,” I gasp. “Look.”

He rolls his eyes to one side and watches the action down below.

“A hundred bucks says there’s a pair of Spix’s Macaws in that crate,” he says.