Expecting the Boss’s Baby by Christine Rimmer

honed razor of a mind, his hot body. His gorgeous bedroom eyes that could look so low-lidded and sensual, but somehow always saw way too much. She loved her job. She would not lose it. And she had this feeling lately that Dax had set out to purposely tempt her.
    Just the two of them, in a small plane. It seemed…dangerous—though, really, how could it be? He would be flying the damn thing. No way would he have a chance to try convincing her of the benefits of joining the mile-high club.
    And even if he did break his own rule and make a pass, well, he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. She had her priorities in order. Ending up in bed with Dax was at the very top of her list—her never-to-do list.
    â€œZoe. Yoo-hoo. You’re zoning out on me here….”
    Zoe blinked away her worries and pasted on a bright smile. “Sorry. You’re right. The small plane thing is fine. It’s perfect. The whole trip is perfect. I don’t know why I’m complaining. I’m going to meet Ramón Esquevar. It’s my first Spotlight, one I came up with myself, and I’m thrilled to be going. There is no problem. No problem at all.”
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    They were in the air at eight in the morning on Monday, the second of August. The four-seater Cessna 400 Corvalis TT—for Twin Turbocharged—was top-of-the-line among single-engine aircraft, Dax explained. Zoe thought it was rather like sitting in a big, comfortableluxury sedan—a sedan that sailed the clear blue sky and had an instrument panel instead of a dashboard.
    There was plenty of room in back for the clothing and equipment they would need, and then some. Zoe had taken her Dramamine and was feeling pleasant and relaxed as she looked down on the San Antonio sprawl below them. She watched as it faded away behind them.
    â€œThis baby has a cruising speed of two-hundred thirty-five knots,” Dax told her with the pride men always seem to have in their big, expensive toys. “We’ll be in Nuevo Laredo in no time.”
    And they were. They checked in with customs and were cleared for takeoff again an hour later. Because the Cessna 400 had a ginormous gas tank, they could now go all the way to their destination airport at Tuxtla Gutiérrez. That would take another five or six hours.
    â€œI can’t wait,” Zoe said drily. But she would have to. She’d been careful not to go overboard on the morning coffee and to visit the ladies room at Nuevo Laredo. But even with that, she had a feeling she was going to be very grateful to touch down and race for the nearest el baño.
    For a while, Zoe watched the land flow away from them below and snapped a few random pictures of the starkly beautiful desert rock formations with her lightweight Nikon D90, which she considered the best possible all-around camera there was.
    Yes, she had more expensive cameras. She had a nice trust fund and could afford to indulge herself. But for most situations, the D90 and a couple of good lenses were all she ever needed.
    Dax seemed happy as a kid in a big candy store. He extolled yet more of the virtues of the Cessna 400.“Safety is a top priority with Cessna. Every exterior surface—fuselage and wings and the flight controls—is embedded with lightning mesh. You never have to worry about a lightning strike. Also, they install static wicks on the back edge of the wings and elevator, which means static buildup is discharged safely without affecting function or disrupting other electrical systems.”
    â€œThat really puts my mind at rest,” she told him drily.
    â€œI knew it would. I love to fly. My uncle Devon, the family ne’er-do-well, taught me. He had a ranch near Amarillo.”
    â€œBeing a rancher makes a guy a ne’er-do-well?”
    â€œTo my father, it did. He and my uncle were the last of the Girard line. My father expected my uncle Devon to do what all Girards have done. Because a Girard comes from