Page 11 of Frequency of Attraction

Quinn was still in that irritated-but-intrigued mood later that day when she popped into Mission Control for Vadim’s first flight simulation. He wouldn’t be able to fly for weeks, if not months, while he prepped for certification with the Federal Aviation Administration. Before he could climb into their training jet, and certainly before he ever sat in Stratos, he’d need that certification and hours of practice in the sim.

Quinn gloated to herself as she took a seat behind the one-way glass. Miriam, the very pregnant simulation lead, shot her a glance. “Whatcha doin’ back here?”

“Watching The Hulk.”

She tittered. “I don’t blame you. I’m happily married, butdamn.”

The two quieted their giggles as the booth filled with other technicians and people as nosy as Quinn. Even Tate joined.

Miriam perused the sheet of nonstandard flight issues that Thomas, Vadim’s director, had assigned. “Flight control, hydraulics, environmental,andfuel abnormalities? Thomas isn’t messing around today.”

“Hell no, I’m not,” Thomas harrumphed, joining them in the booth. The strong scent of coffee wafted from his mug. “I want to crush the kid.”

Quinn frowned. Vadim liked to push people’s buttons, like Chen had, but crushing him right out of the gate didn’t seem very welcoming. “Shouldn’t we let him get used to the systems first?”

“No better way to figure out the systems than when they’re not working. I need to see what levels of stress he’s capable of handling.”

Through the glass, she could see Vadim strapping into the pilot’s seat. Harv, Stratos’ longtime copilot, joined him in the sim. Vadim donned his headset and checked in via radio. He fired up the systems then barked, “Committed to takeoff.”

Quinn tried not to quake from his gritty voice filling the small space. Rumbling yet clipped, that accented baritone snaked through her.

“Cleared,” Miriam told him.

Quinn watched Vadim take the plane from ground to sky and tackle issue after issue. He handled most systems abnormalities beautifully. But then they threw him into a spin. The seconds ticked by and his plane was still screaming to the ground in an erratic dive. Knots formed in her stomach. He wasn’t a fighter pilot. Even Quinn knew he couldn’t have every condition checklist memorized yet. The spinning vistas on the IMAX screen reminded her how very real the danger was. They’d lost George, their original pilot, to a similar accident only a couple of months before. She glanced at Tate and guessed from his deep frown that he was thinking along the same lines.

As they watched, Vadim coaxed the plane out of the spin. A collective sigh of relief filled the room, Quinn’s included.

“I heard that,” Vadim’s deep voice rumbled over the speakers.

Quinn shook her head, more relieved than she should be. This stranger who had never even touched her should not hold so much power.

But maybe the stirrings inside weren’t really related to Vadim. Maybe he had just been there the moment her body decided to unleash its long-held hold on desire. Maybe this awakening was coincidental timing and nothing more.

Quinn decided to test that theory by swinging by The Saloon on her way home for an uncharacteristic mid-cycle visit. Perhaps she’d find that she was also now attracted to Trav, the cute bartender.

She chose her usual spot along the bar and watched his approach eagerly. Life would be so much easier if Quinn was attracted to anyone but Vadim Baranov. Trav’s Budweiser belt buckle drew her attention to his slim waist. Her eyes followed his well-formed torso, flicked over his chest, and up into his smiling face.

So far, nothing.

He leaned on the bar, and she once again studied his hands and smooth, unmarked forearms.

No sparks.

“Bonsoir, Trav.”

He actually blushed. But his heated cheeks didn’t do a thing to hers.

“Quinn. Nice to see you.” A single, tiny butterfly took flight in her stomach as his smooth voice washed over her. She wondered if he sang. He clearly had an affinity for music, what with the band and album cover T-shirts. But a single butterfly did not come close to the stampede that Vadim incited. “What can I get you,belle fille?”

Beautiful girl. Quinn laughed, secretly pleased. “Did you learn that for me?”

His lopsided grin should have kick-started her heart. “Maybe. Or maybe there’s another French girl I’m trying to impress.”

“Merci.” Quinn smiled. “An iced tea, please. Lots of sugar. And a salad with some of your amazing ranch.”

Her happiness at his compliment in her language faded as he walked away. Trav was handsome. Sweet. Had a voice like Henry Cavill. Too bad her lady parts didn’t give a damn. She had her answer. Sighing, Quinn wondered what she was supposed to do with an internal fire that burned only for Vadim.

She left their weekly experiential planning meeting the next day just as confused. Even Vadim’s stupid sprawled posture lit her up like the desert sky, tiny spots of light all over.

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