I uncovered a travel reservation in GSI’s name,” Drake looked very pleased with himself. “They were headed to a meeting in Honduras and apparently the owner liked to travel in luxury.”

“I think you found this because you didn’t want me to sleep.” Nikita had managed five hours.

Though she could have used fifteen, before Altman was kicking the bottom of her bed. “We leave for Miami in fifteen minutes. Shower, dress summer casual but upscale. A light engagement kit.”

Light engagement meant she’d only brought two sidearms and one rifle in addition to her clothes, spare ammo, and a diving knife. Upscale was a problem: her nicest clothes couldn’t pass and clearly there wasn’t time to go hit a wardrobe supply or go shopping. Well, back-of-her-closet shit would have to do.

Once she could stop blinking against the painful midday sun, she saw that it wasn’t a Black Hawk waiting for her either. Instead, it was a sleek Bell 429 in a VIP configuration with comfortable armchairs and a minibar from which she grabbed an energy drink. Nikita had gotten ready in ten minutes and still was the last one on board—its rotors were already spinning up. The five leather chairs faced each other: two turned backward and three forward in the wide-windowed rear cabin. Altman and Drake sat in the back-facing seats, Zoe was across from Altman, which left her across from Drake. Rafe and Julian were up front in the pilots’ seats.

Drake’s smile shifted from pleased about discovering the travel arrangements to tentative in a way she wasn’t used to seeing on his features.

It took her a moment to catch up with why. For ten minutes she’d been at a dead sprint getting showered and ready. Now she remembered a tight ass in her hands paired with a jungle-steamy kiss—he could kiss even better than he could shoot his Minigun, which was saying something. She definitely wanted to try that again when she was conscious. But she wasn’t going to be admitting that in front of her commander, so she went with a short nod and didn’t trust herself with a “good morning.”

“Oh my gawd! What is wrong with you people?” Chief Warrant Zoe DeMille rolled her eyes at Nikita as the helo lifted into the air. Zoe wore fashionable bright yellow shorts and tank top. Her white-blond hair was back in matching clips that emphasized the dark roots and she sported big, thick-rimmed round glasses that Nikita had never seen before so they must be merely decorative. Zoe even carried a ridiculously poufy jacket in the same yellow despite the warm day. She looked as if she’d popped right out of a designer magazine.

“What?” For lack of any other options, Nikita had worn a tight black t-shirt and her only skirt, a summer weight in floral blue that her mother had picked out for her ages ago and she hadn’t worn since. She had one pair of strap-on sandals. Her running shoes and boots were in the pack she’d stuffed into the cargo area. It wasn’t as if there was a whole lot more back at her apartment in Virginia.

She could tell that Drake liked the way she looked, and she liked how he looked in tan khakis and a simple, sky-blue, button-down men’s shirt. Again, keeping that to herself.

Altman had dressed the same as Drake, except in dark pants.

Zoe was still in a snit. “We so have to fix this before we land. You people are a disaster. They’re never going to buy in that we’re wealthy passengers. You said wealthy, right?” she asked Drake.

“Passage for four in something called an Oceansaway Suite aboard the Oceanwide Whisperer.”

“Oceansaway suite on an Oceanwide cruise? Oh my gawd!” Zoe’s Brooklyn accent was coming on strong in her obvious excitement. “I have a cousin who works booking cruise trips. That is awesome. Oceanwide is one of the luxury lines.”

“There are luxury lines?” Nikita had never been near a cruise ship except during training exercises for taking down a terrorist attack on one.

Zoe smacked a palm against her forehead. “Where have you been, Nikita? Carnival Cruises are for people who want to party. Disney for families with kids. Princess for people who want to be pampered, treated like, you know, royalty. Holland America draws an older crowd who still want to go out and see the culture and not just whatever party or sports thing is going on. Oceanwide is trying to take on Crystal and Silversea for the luxury niche and doing an awesome job of it.”

Nikita blinked as she tried to absorb and categorize all that. But at the speed that Zoe talked, she’d already forgotten two of the cruise lines names. She’d thought a cruise ship was a cruise ship.

Zoe glared about the cabin. “Next you’re going to tell me that you are planning on landing at Miami International and all crowding into a taxi to the ship. Please tell me that you guys aren’t that dense. Pretty please?”

Nikita could see by the look Altman and Drake exchanged that it was exactly what they were planning.

Zoe grabbed a headset, “Julian, we want to land directly aboard the ship—on the ship, not near it, not on the dock, on it. Get in touch with them and find out how to clear the helideck, these ships all have the capability in case they have to do a medevac at sea. And make it so that we arrive during the very busiest loading time. We want everyone to be looking at us.”

“No,” it didn’t sound right to Nikita. “We’re undercover. We want no one to be looking at us.”

Zoe hung the headset back on its hook without changing her instructions to the pilots. “Look, we are immensely wealthy, arrogant, and probably crooked contractors who have totally bought into our own hype. We’re arriving in a very pretty helicopter. We want to make a splash, right? We’re undercover, but our characters aren’t.”

“Right,” Altman nodded, ending that part of the discussion. He smiled down at Zoe in approval. She was definitely the pixie in this crowd. At five-four she wouldn’t even reach Altman’s shoulder and she was one of those vibratingly slender types. She almost seemed to shimmer, blurring her own edges until she might disappear if you glanced aside for a moment.

“They won’t see us,” Zoe fluffed her hair to make her point. “They’ll see our arrival. Well, they will see us if we can’t do something about the way you three look.”

Again Nikita scanned their clothes but didn’t see the problem.

Zoe rolled her eyes.

Altman scowled down at her.

“Okay, good,” Zoe pointed a finger at Altman. “That works. Big, tall, handsome, and dangerous-as-hell.” She leaned close to pluck the sunglasses from his pocket and slide them on him. She studied him a moment longer, then undid a button on his white dress shirt, then another.

Nikita was surprised that Altman didn’t put her down hard for getting inside his personal space, but he just sat there as she ignored his glower and did what she was doing.

“Delicious,” Zoe grinned. “Keep that fierce expression. You’re the muscle of this outfit. You’re the one all of the women will be looking at…and not a one will remember your face, not when they can see enough to imagine your beautiful chest, Luke.”

Nikita had never heard anyone call Altman by just his first name, not even the captain who commanded DEVGRU. Nikita also hadn’t ever looked at Lt. Commander Altman in that way. He was simply her commander. But now that she did, he looked amazing: muscular, handsome, and lethal. And when he noticed her inspecting him, very fierce.

“You two,” Zoe turned to face her and Drake. “You two are a problem. At least you have the good sense to buy designer shirts, Drake.”

Nikita looked at it, but it just looked like a button-down shirt to her.

The only sound during Zoe’s silent study was the beating of the rotor. Nikita had never been in a non-military helicopter before. On military helos you needed a headset or helmet just in order to survive. This aircraft must have used up half of its useful payload on sound insulation; they didn’t even have to raise their voices to speak.

Outside the window, she could see that they soared over the Chattahoochee River and into Georgia, then moments later crossed into Florida where the river bent to the west. On their current line, they’d pass close over Disney World. Maybe she could get them to drop her off so that she could climb on a roller coaster and get some sleep there—at least that would make more sense than what was happening around her now.

She didn’t like feeling slow, but the speed at which things were happening… Zoe seemed to be the only one keeping up with them. And then there was Drake Roman. Now that Nikita’s brain was coming back online, she was starting to second guess her actions last night. She remembered how good he’d felt.

Heat crept toward her face until she ordered it to stop as she considered why what had happened had happened. It had started…when? When Sugar had strode out into the field and fused the nerve endings in Drake’s gonads. Nikita had wanted to…mark her territory like a junkyard dawg? No! That was the merc’s style, not hers. She was a SEAL operator, first, second, and third. But she’d—

“Take off your shirts.”

“Say what?”

Zoe did point-and-swap motions at Nikita and Drake. “Trade shirts.”

Drake shrugged and began unbuttoning his shirt. He was lean-framed, but his chest and abs were soldier-fit. She remembered how he had felt when they were pressed together last night—this morning—whenever it was. Nikita had wanted to simply curl up against him. Actually, that’s exactly what she’d done and he’d felt glorious. Now she could see why.

Drake noticed Nikita’s attention. And Zoe’s as well, which was flattering, but it was Nikita he’d been trying to figure out since the start of the flight.

Her good morning nod of acknowledgement had been curt enough that he’d wondered if she indeed didn’t remember when she’d pinned him against her bedroom door.

Tired, not drunk.

So maybe irritated and wanting to pretend it hadn’t happened, which was about what he’d figured on while he dug through the data, then started chasing the leads that Nikita had bookmarked for further research.

But now she also offered a thin smile. No, she wasn’t smiling at him, but she was definitely smiling.

That in itself was unusual enough for her and he’d found it very encouraging.

As he took off his shirt, she wasn’t taking off her own. Instead she was simply watching. When she realized that he’d caught her at it, she reached back over her head and yanked off her t-shirt in a single pull, then held it out.

“A sports bra?” Zoe sounded aghast.

Drake had seen Nikita strip off a shirt that was soaking wet from a hard workout to change into a fresh one before. He’d seen her peel off a shirt, rank with Burmese swamp water, to wring it out. He’d seen her in just a sports bra any number of times.

But never had it been full frontal while sitting toe to toe in a leather-upholstered luxury helicopter. Whatever Zoe thought was wrong, he couldn’t find a thing. Nikita Hayward in a sports bra was a vision. Add that to the memory of her kiss and he was a very happy man at the moment.

Nikita took one look at him and heaved her t-shirt into his face.

He handed over his dress shirt with a formal courtesy and couldn’t wait to see her in it. He tugged on her t-shirt. Between her strength, his leanness, and their similar height, it wasn’t a bad fit. A little tight, but hopefully that made him look more muscular than he actually was. It was warm with her scent. Maybe he’d never give it back, or wash it.

Nikita started to pull on his dress shirt.

“No. Lose the sports bra.” At Nikita’s fulminating look and Altman’s even darker one, Drake wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“He’s right,” Zoe agreed. “It will give you the devil-may-care attitude to make up for—” she waved her hand at the rest of Nikita’s outfit in disgust.

Nikita and Altman shifted their scowl to Zoe, which was a relief, but it didn’t fluster Zoe for a second. She had more spine than he’d expected, facing down a pair of DEVGRU operators.

“Do it!” He’d never have thought that Zoe had a fierce mode, but she did and it was formidable.

Nikita snarled at Zoe, who continued to be unflappable. Then she turned to face him and Altman, “Both of you close your goddamned eyes.”

As much as he hated to, he did.

“Cover them!” It was a DEVGRU death-threat tone not to be argued with.

Then there was a movement of fabric just barely loud enough to hear above the rotor’s beat and the engines’ muted roar.

“Wow, you’ve got great breasts.”

Zoe’s exclamation almost had Drake uncovering his eyes to see but he caught himself in time. Then cursed silently, wishing he hadn’t restrained himself.

“Seriously, Nikita. What I wouldn’t give to have grown a pair like that.” Zoe was lean all the way down. It looked very good on her. Why didn’t women get that sometimes lean looked awesome?

To distract himself he tried to imagine Zoe with breasts more on the scale of Nikita’s, which actually wasn’t distracting him at all.

“No, like this,” more fabric sounds before Zoe announced it was okay to open their eyes.

Her transformation was so dramatic that Drake almost didn’t recognize the woman across from him. She’d let her hair down. It fell neatly to the open collar of his shirt—open far enough down to reveal a very nice cleavage.

Not the serious kind, like Sugar’s, pressed together and ready to burst forth at a moment’s notice.

Instead, Nikita’s cleavage revealed two soft swells of flesh that invited the eyes to linger and—that’s exactly what he couldn’t do. The shirttails were tied together above her flat stomach, offering more to admire. And she’d rolled up the skirt’s waistband until the bottom of the hem barely reached mid-thigh.

Zoe had produced a filmy yellow scarf from somewhere in her outfit and tied it as a decorative sash to hide the roll-up of the skirt. It emphasized Nikita’s narrow waist and made it look like she had even more womanly hips than he already knew she did.

Again, he’d admired her legs plenty of times in workout shorts and running shoes. But in the helicopter—with his shoes only inches from her sandals—her legs were astonishing.

“Roman,” Nikita’s voice was a threat that he was spending too long checking her out, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“I can also open the door and drop you into the Gulf of Mexico from five thousand feet.” The bad-ass version of flattery gets you anywhere.

“Better than a mangrove swamp,” he glanced outside to see that they were just skirting the Florida Gulf Coast as they headed south and if she threw him out it could go either way. “I’ve never been a fan of mangrove swamps. They’re snarly and smell awful.”

“Dead man,” she left the threat clear in the cabin.

He made a point of scanning her body and outfit one last time, “Totally worth the price of admission.” Even if he never got to touch her again, the way she looked was a memory worth keeping.