Page 3 of In Too Deep

She faced Max Keagan again, unable to read anything on the man’s tanned—gorgeous—face. “I apologize for him and for my, uh…” Adolescent drooling? Mortifying lack of self-control? “For staring. You aren’t quite what I expected.”

“No problem. I’ve heard the same in more than one faculty meeting.” He let her off the hook with a few simple words.

Oh, man. Smart, hunky and nice enough to grant her an easy reprieve when he could have been an egotistical jerk.

She was toast.

“Let’s start again.” Composure thankfully back in place, Darcy made the formal introductions without a hitch.

They settled into their chairs, Bronco and Crusty suddenly opting for a new seating chart that left only one place for Dr. Keagan. Next to Darcy.

Great. Now instead of teasing her, they were “helping.” She had her very own hulking Cupid with a sunflower-mooching cohort.

Although she probably needed their help. And then some. If only she possessed as much ease with flirting as she did with touch-and-go landings.

Her heart rate fired like jet pistons chugging to life, thanks to this bad-boy, fine self sitting no less than eighteen inches away, his eyes gliding over her flight suit with a heat she’d never, never had sizzle her way before. After all, men did not look at their best bud that way, even if said bud was a woman.

Darcy savored the heat all the way to her toes.

Twenty-five years of being the good girl, of smothering by overprotective relatives, of being everybody’s pal and never the object of those sleepy-lidded stares, weighed her down like a seventy-pound survival pack ready to be shed after a marathon trek. She was tired of being slotted into safer roles.

Why wait until after this mission to go for what she wanted? Here was a big, hunky risk ready for the taking. And she could have that risk without breaking her personal rule. No military men. No men like her father, government protectors by training, trade and blood.

Before she lost her nerve, Darcy extended her fist toward Max. Her fingers unfurled to reveal a now-steady palm full of sunflower seeds. “Want some?”

* * *

Max stared at that slim hand, up to Darcy Renshaw’s wrist where a pulse double-timed in a fragile vein.

He wanted a lot more than sunflower seeds from the leggy dynamo seated beside him. Her flight suit and take-no-lip attitude assured him she could probably down the average man in five different ways. An incredible woman, no doubt.

Not that he intended to act on the impulse to accept that challenge. Following impulses could get even the best of undercover CIA officers killed.

Or worse yet, someone else.

“Thanks. But I’ll pass.”

A flicker of disappointment chased through her amber-brown eyes.

Followed by an impish flash of determination.

Well, what do you know? Flattering, sure, but her timing stunk. He couldn’t afford distractions, not now when eighteen months of deep cover was about to pay off.

Finally he would discover the traitor who’d sold out Eva two and a half years ago.

Captain Baker’s arm shot past toward the seeds. “I’ll take ’em, Wren.” She blasted him with an exasperated eye roll.

“Crusty, do you ever get full?”

“Nope. My jaws just get tired of chewing.” The wiry relief pilot grinned.

The other pilot added his nod of agreement.

In need of mental distancing from the leggy distraction beside him, Max studied the three bickering crew members who would fly him across the Pacific. He slid into work mode with determined focus, mentally merging the real people with the profiles from his intelligence briefing.

Captain Tanner “Bronco” Bennett. Air Force Academy grad who’d turned down a seven-figure pro-football contract to serve his country. Combat vet. Trustworthy. A team player down the line.

A dry smile tugged at Max. His father would have given his favorite fishing pole to have a son like that.

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