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back there, we’ll get you on your way to Nantucket promptly. Looks like smooth flying ahead.”
    It certainly looked smooth in the back cabin.
    She smiled. “That’s quite a title you’ve got. What should I call you?”
    Of course, Vivi would joke about the title. So was this Vivi? “Call me crazy for letting this go on so long.”
    With a sex-kitten laugh, she strutted like liquid sin to the two leather recliners on the other side of the small cabin, side by side, there for the sole purpose of buckling up during takeoff and landing.
    He followed, of course. Because keeping an eye on her was his job. And figuring out what the hell she was up to was also his job. Was this Vivi Angelino’s version of going undercover? Then someone was in big trouble. Like him.
    She slipped into one of the chairs, stretching out like a cat. A cat in white wisps of lingerie and thigh-high black boots. The netting stayed securely over her face, but this close, he could scrutinize her features. That was Vivi. It had to be.
    Right?
    Uncertainty gnawed as he sat next to her and automatically pulled on his seat belt, aware that a bit of a tent had already grown in the crotch of his khakis.
    She skipped the seat belt, but leaned close to him, stared at that rise, and slipped one glossy lip under a tooth, biting the blood right out of it. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable, Mr. FBI Agent?”
    “I’m very comfortable,” he said, not pulling away. “Ms. Ferrari.”
    At the use of her name she dropped back, seemingly satisfied as the whine of the engines filled the cabin.
    “How long are you going to play this game?” he asked.
    She bristled. “This is not a game.”
    “Then what do you call it, Vi—”
    “Please.” She closed her hand over his arm, squeezing hard as she turned to him, the net veil a thin barricade between their faces, her dark eyes pleading.
    “Yes?”
    Very slowly, she slid her hand from his arm to his thigh, spreading white-tipped, diamond-covered fingers. Not the hands of Vivi Angelino, who never wore nail polish and kept her only diamond poked in the side of her nose.
    “Could you buckle my seat belt for me? You know, just to make sure it’s… secure.”
    He said nothing, aware of how close her hand was to his growing erection. “If you’d like,” he said.
    “I think we’d both like,” she said suggestively.
    He dragged the belt over her bare belly, his forearm brushing the bottom of her breasts as his fingers dug for the end of the seat belt. Click. “Got it,” he said.
    “Mmmm.” She rocked just a little in the seat, the plane’s acceleration pushing his arm against the swell of her breasts. “You certainly do.”
    As he drew away, her fingers tightened on his thigh, the pressure and heat shooting more life into his already stiff cock. “Takeoff scares me a little,” she whispered.
    “
You
scare me a little.”
    She laughed. “Thank you.”
    Centimeters from her face, he could feel the warmth of her breath and inhale a flowery, feminine smell that was so not Vivi.
    His fingers itched to lift that veil and study the angles of her face he knew so well. Without giving into the urge, he looked hard through the net. Where was the nose piercing? Not so much as a pore was visible on her creamy skin, let alone a pierced hole for jewelry. Could she hide that? He’d never seen it out before.
    The G-force of takeoff pushed him back to his seat, theRolls-Royce engines on a plane so new it still smelled like the Gulfstream factory escalating to a nice, loud scream.
    “Are you really scared?” he asked.
    “Are you?” She smiled, enough for him to see she had perfect teeth—with no teeny-tiny chip on one in the front.
    Christ alive, it wasn’t Vivi.
    The landing gear rose up and the nose shot through the clouds like the knife through his gut at the realization.
    He reached for the net but she backed off, finally releasing her grip on his leg.
    “Uh-uh,” she warned. “No touching.”
    He