Huh?
Dr. Keagan's answer hadn't come from Mr. Bow Tie, but from the surfboarder dude with incredible pecs and horrid fashion sense.
Darcy dropped into her seat with more force than a botched parasail landing. She blinked, stared again.
Sure enough those tropical-flower-clad h*ps were advancing toward her end of the table for an introduction. Not Mr. Bow Tie. That guy was crawling along the floorboards searching for an outlet for the computer like an eager-to-please research assistant.
Surfboarder dude extended his hand. "Dr. Max Keagan."
A beach bum with a brain. Fantasies didn't come any better.
"Hello, Doctor." Standing, she transferred her sunflower seeds to her left hand and extended her right. "Lieutenant Darcy Renshaw."
His callused fingers enfolded hers, his scent chasing right up the link to blanket her with intoxicating potency. Coconut oil, salty air and a hint of musk wafted from him, like a pina colada after long, sweaty sex on the beach.
If she'd ever had such a moment.
For a crazy, impulsive second, Darcy wondered what it would be like to make that memory—with this guy. A shiver whispered through her that had nothing to do with the whoosh of the air conditioner.
Did she see an answering attraction in his blue-green eyes? Maybe the slightest narrowing of his gaze to one of those sleepy-lidded assessments she'd seen her eight kazillion pseudo big brothers give other women when—
Bronco cleared his throat just before the chair behind Darcy jarred the back of her knees. Damn. Did the big guy have to kick it so hard? Be so obvious in pointing out she was still clasping Max Keagan's fingers?
Darcy jerked her hand away and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the pilots stood side by side, a mismatched Mutt and Jeff with identical smirks.
Double damn and dirt. They would razz the hell out of her all the way across the Pacific.
She willed herself not to blush. Salvaging what she could of her pride and professionalism, Darcy pulled to attention. "Dr. Keagan, a pleasure to meet you."
Pleasure? She stifled a groan at her word choice.
Bronco snorted.
Forget salvaging squat. She turned on her boot heel toward the aircraft commander. "With all due respect, sir, I'm going to roll you off the load ramp right after we cross into international airspace."
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.
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.
Touch-and-go. Her heart rate fired like jet pistons chugging to life. Why did a routine flight term suddenly sound sexy courtesy of Dr. Keagan?
Duh! Because his bad-boy, fine self was 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 from any guy. 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.