SIGNET ECLIPSE Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M4V 3B2, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Srurdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Playing for Keeps copyright © Cherry Wilkinson, 2005 Nothing to Lose copyright © Jill Shalvis, 2005 Dare to Desire copyright © Julie Leto Klapka, 2005 All rights reserved ISBN: 0-7394-5043-3 SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Printed in the United States of America Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. PUBLISHER'S NOTE These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors' rights is appreciated. Playing for Keeps by Cherry Adair Nothing to Lose by Jill Shalvis Dare to Desire by Julie Elizabeth Leto To Rachel Kizer, my favorite .5 You go above and beyond, and I love you for it. Mahalo. Danica Cross wheeled the drinks cart down the narrow aisle, heading back to the galley. The cabin of the 737 was hotter than usual, and she blew her bangs off her clammy forehead as she walked. While handing out drinks with plenty of ice, she assured the passengers that the problem with the heat would soon be resolved. She'd reported the passengers' complaints to the captain an hour ago, but she couldn't feel a notice-able decrease in the temperature at all and tempers were rising with the heat. She wasn't usually fanciful—and God only knew Captain Marks was an ass, but she doubted he'd leave the temperature this high intentionally. Danica hated to even think it, but something was wrong. She'd had this vague niggle of disquiet since Flight 723 had taken off from South America two hours ago, and the sensation had only become stronger. With relief she pushed the drinks cart into the small galley and locked it in place, then tugged her white uniform shirt away from her damp skin at the small of her back. "Did you give Monster Kid his ninety-ninth apple juice?" Angie Hotchner asked, handing Danica a cold soda. While the more experienced flight attendant looked as hot as Danica felt, she didn't appear concerned. Danica tried to ignore the butterflies doing takeoffs and landings in her tummy. Forcing a smile, she accepted the drink, rubbing the icy can over her forehead. "Shh, someone will hear you." Popping the tab, she rested her butt on the cabinet behind her as she drank. "Oh, like they couldn't hear the kid whining for the past ten thousand miles?" Angie jerked her head toward the cabin. "Have you ever seen anyone kiss up to a seven-year-old like that?" "This heat's getting to everyone." All 148 seats were occupied by sweating members of President Palacios's staff. And one of those passengers was his very bored, very spoiled son. It had been a long, long flight from San Cristobal to Miami with an all-male, all-demanding, all-women-are-servants contingent of passengers. The heat, coupled with the loud demands of a cranky, whiny child, didn't help any-one's disposition. Dani, Angie and the first officer, Jean Harris, were the only females on board. Lucky them. The crew had been offered a hefty bonus to do the round-trip from Miami to South America and back in one day. Danica had her eye on a nice little condo in Delray Beach. Thoughts of that bonus had kept her moving, and biting her tongue, as she'd worked her way through the cabin. "He's President Palacios's only son," she finally answered after gulping the rest of the soda and savoring the icy burn down her dry throat. "Guess the little guy's used to getting what he wants." "Yeah?" Angie took a lipstick out of her pocket and uncapped it. "If he were my kid I'd blister his arrogant little butt so bad he wouldn't be able to sit down for a wee— Jay-sus! Is it menopause, or is it getting hotter in here?" Danica tossed her empty can in the trash with studied nonchalance. "Everyone's still complaining. I'll go speak to the captain again." "May the Force be with you." Danica grinned as she pushed through the curtain and turned to the secure door into the cockpit. She pressed the buzzer, then stood there with the sensation of every dark eye from the cabin checking out her butt. Should've grabbed a diet soda. "Come on, you guys, open up," Danica mumbled under her breath, glancing through the portal in the exit door at the blur of murky browns and faded greens thirty thousand feet below. They were already flying over the Everglades. She'd be home in just over an hour. A dip in the apartment pool sounded heavenly. She jabbed the buzzer again. Jon, her soon-to-be-ex, was a white-knuckle flier. Perhaps in some perverse way that was why Danica had become a flight attendant a year ago when she'd seen the writing on the wall. So much for soul mates. "Open up, Jean," Danica muttered under her breath, frowning at the closed and locked door to the cockpit. Dean Marks was an arrogant, womanizing jerk. And if the copilot had been any woman other than Jean, Danica would have been convinced they were boinking in the cockpit—which Marks had almost been caught doing on a flight to Singapore last year. But since Jean was a happily married grandmother of five, he wouldn't get to first base. Okay. So no mile-high club in the cockpit. Why weren't they opening the friggin' door? Bile churned in Dani's stomach. Glancing down at the small gold watch on her wrist while she waited, she sighed. Still another twenty-two minutes and thirty seconds to go on this flight from hell. She pressed the buzzer again with a little more force than necessary. The bonus, remember the bonus . . . The door between the cockpit and the main cabin didn't open, and Danica felt a spurt of something elemental in the pit of her stomach. Instinctively she knew the door wasn't going to open. It wasn't her imagination. Something was wrong. She pasted a reassuring smile on her face for the passengers and hotfooted it back to Angie in the galley. "Ange, someth—" "We're going to crash." Angie said it so flatly, so calmly, it took Danica a second to compute the words that she herself had been thinking. She strode over and touched her friend's shoulder. A small pop was immediately followed by the sensation of the floor shimmying under their feet. Both women grabbed the countertop to keep their balance. Their eyes met. In the cabin, the passengers shouted in alarm. The president's son started shrieking in terror. A terrible calm came over Dani. Her weird way of reacting to trauma. The back of her neck tingled—a sure sign of impending doom. She'd had it the night Jon had staggered into their house bleeding like a sieve a year and eight days ago. She'd had it the day she told Jon she wanted a divorce. "No, we are not crashing," she told Angie with more confidence than she felt. The more her friend panicked, the calmer Danica became. It was a gift. "Just turbulence." Wind shears were a bitch to fly through, requiring skill and attention from the cockpit crew. Which explained why the pilots hadn't re‐ sponded and why—she swallowed as her stomach rushed to her throat—the plane suddenly lost about five thousand feet of altitude. "Come on. Let's go and strap in the inmates." Just because there wasn't a cloud in the sky didn't mean the thermals weren't surging against the body of the aircraft. "Angie. Come on." "It's a faulty rudder system/' Angie said, barely moving her lips. She'd flown for Transair for thirty years. She could probably fly the aircraft herself. She grabbed Dani's arm in a white-knuckled grip. "I'm the one who's been stealing your M&M's. And I told Gracie how much you paid for those—" Another popping sound—not nearly as happy as that of a champagne cork being released—rang through the cabin, this one louder and more ominous than the last. Dani's feet slid on the carpet as the nose of the craft dipped. Call-button lights flashed on the panel on the bulkhead above the jump seats. Off. On. Off. On. Flicker . . . Shit. "We've got to go out there and calm the passengers, Ange. Now. Come on." Danica tore through the drape and into the cabin, where pandemonium reigned. Half the passengers were out of their seats. All of them were yelling, screaming like girls, or crying. Ha! Where was all that superior machismo now? She unhooked the PA mic and spoke calmly and quietly until the hysteria subsided a little and they could hear her. She listened to her own voice, amazed at how cool and calm she sounded when she knew, absolutely, unequivocally knew, they were all about to die. "Gentlemen, please. There's no need to panic. Everyone, take your seat." She motioned them to sit down. "All seats must be in their upright positions with tray tables up and locked. Please keep your seat belts firmly fastened. We're just experiencing a little air turbulence. Captain Marks assures us there is no danger." And while she was asking herself rhetorical questions: where were Kent and Cisco, the other two flight attendants? She glanced back to check on her friend. Angie, white-faced but professional, was helping to calm the passengers.