She wore a skirt made of fabric so thin he could see her bare legs through it, a tiny T-shirt didn’t even cover her midriff and her dark hair hung well below her shoulders, held back by a colorful scarf. She’d tucked a flower behind her ear, the creamy-white color a stark contrast to her deeply tanned skin. “Are you sure you should be messing with that? Maybe you should wait for the pilot.”

Her head snapped up and he met her gaze. Trey’s breath caught in his throat as the most stunning pair of sapphire eyes fixed on his face. He watched as her expression quickly shifted from thinly veiled annoyance to embarrassment. A pretty blush colored her cheeks and she forced a smile. “I-I am the pilot, monsieur,” she murmured.

Trey couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re the pilot?”

She straightened her spine. “What? You don’t think a woman might be capable of flying a plane?”

A smudge of grease marred her exquisite complexion. Even from this distance, he’d become lost in her eyes, rimmed by long, dark lashes. Her features were perfectly balanced, and even without a bit of makeup, her beauty stole the breath from his lungs. “No. Of course not. I was just…surprised, that’s all.”

She grabbed a rag, wiped her hands, then climbed down the ladder. “It seems I’m both. Pilot and mechanic. Sophie Madigan.” She said her first name in the French way, with the accent on the last syllable.

“This is your plane?” he inquired.

“No, it belongs to my father. But I fly it. I am a licensed pilot,” she said. “There is no need to worry, Mr. Shelton. I know what I’m doing.”

He reached out and took her slender fingers in his, shaking her hand. God, she was stunning. This island was teeming with gorgeous women, but this woman put them all to shame. She was slender and delicate, with long legs and graceful arms. Her clothing clung to every curve of her body and if he had to guess, Trey would venture she wasn’t wearing a whole lot underneath.

“You are younger than I expected,” she said, a tiny smile curving the corners of her mouth. Her gaze was still fixed on his face, her eyes slowly taking in his features. For a moment, he thought she might say more.

She didn’t seem to recognize him, even though his name should have given him away. Trey’s reputation as a celebrity playboy usually followed him wherever he went. The press had dubbed him the male equivalent of Paris Hilton. They’d documented his exploits with women and poked fun at the various careers he’d attempted.

Most women found his bad-boy reputation irresistible. But he found the thought of going unrecognized for once intriguing. What would it be like to be judged on his own merits rather than an image perpetrated by the press?

“My friends call me Trey,” he said, turning on his most dazzling smile. She still showed no sign of recognition.

“Très? Très what?” Sophie asked, frowning.

He chuckled softly. “My name is actually Peter Shelton the Third. My grandfather was the first and my father was the second. I’m the third. Trey.”

“Oh, like un, deux, trois. Well, that makes sense then,” Sophie said, dragging her hand from his. “But I’ll call you Mr. Shelton. Okay, just have a seat and let me finish and we’ll be on our way.” She climbed back up the ladder, then gave him an odd look.

“I’m good right here,” he said. “I’d be happy to give you a hand.”

She shrugged and went back to work. His gaze slowly drifted along the length of her body, lingering on her backside. Hell, he’d flown in a lot of planes, but he’d never had a pilot like this. The thought of going up with her made him a little uneasy. Was it because she was a beautiful woman? He couldn’t deny his immediate attraction to her, so why even bother? Or was it because she seemed so young?

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” he ventured.

“It depends upon the question,” she said.

“How old are you?”

“This is not a proper question for a man to ask a woman,” she said, sending him a coy smile.

“But I think it’s highly proper for a passenger to ask his pilot.”

“I’m twenty-six,” she said.

“Are you French?” he asked.

“Half,” Sophie said, glancing up and bracing her arms on the edge of the engine compartment. “And the other half, American. Why? Is that a problem, too?”

He shook his head. “I was just curious. The accent. It’s a little confusing.”

“I can talk American,” Sophie said, her accent shifting with lightning speed. “If that would suit your ears better.”

He shook his head, grinning. “No, I like the way you talk,” he said. “It’s…exotic.”

His words seemed to take her aback for a moment. She gave him an uneasy look, then returned to her work. “My father has chosen some spots he thought you’d like to see. Is there anywhere specific you want to go?”

“Three islands,” Trey said, pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from his leather messenger bag. “Waruhatu, Pareaa and Suaneva.”

“Those are all on my list,” she said. She glanced over at him, then reached up to close the cowling over the engine. “All done. I’ll just do the preflight and we’ll be ready to leave in about ten minutes. There are some cold drinks in the cooler over there if you want to grab one. You can stow the cooler behind the front seat, if you’d care to help.”

She brushed by him as she returned the wrench to the tool cart and Trey caught the scent of her perfume, or maybe it was the flower in her hair. Whatever it was, he found the smell incredibly intoxicating. What was this beautiful girl doing in such a place? he wondered.

True to her word, they were rolling down the runway ten minutes later, Trey strapped into the passenger seat and Sophie Madigan behind the controls. Though Trey had never been afraid of flying, something about this situation made him nervous. For the first time in his life, he’d placed himself in the hands of a beautiful woman. The most he’d ever surrendered to a woman in the past was his body and even then, it had never been complete surrender.

The plane smoothly lifted off the runway and soared into a steeply banked turn over the water. As they continued to climb, Trey closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. She seemed to be a very competent pilot, at least so far.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her brow furrowed. “Yeah.”

“If you’re going to be sick, there’s a bag under the seat.”

“I’m not going to be sick,” he said. “I’m just not a big fan of small planes.”

She shrugged again. “Don’t worry. I can put this plane down anywhere. That’s the benefit of an amphibious plane. Water or land.”

“How about on the side of that mountain over there?” he said.

“Why would I want to put it down there?” she asked.

He’d never met a woman quite so unimpressed with him. Trey knew he was a handsome guy, and charming, quite the catch according to everything he’d read in the tabloids. Although he wasn’t sure how much of the attraction had to do with him, and how much with his money. But now that the trust fund he’d inherited from his grandfather’s estate was virtually gone, he’d had to make some changes.

In less than a year, when he turned thirty, his father would decide whether to give him his share of the larger Shelton family trust, millions set aside for each Shelton heir, controlled by a man who thought Peter Shelton III had nothing substantial to offer the world.

To prove himself, Trey had gone to work for Shelton Hotels, focusing on a new division that developed smaller, more exclusive resorts, the kind of properties that appealed to his celebrity friends.

To Trey’s surprise, he enjoyed the work. He’d found himself building resorts in his head-from the basic architecture to the linens in the rooms. After living in hotels nearly his entire adult life, Trey knew what worked and what didn’t. And he was beginning to wonder if he might have something to offer the family business.

It was still a rather revolutionary concept-Trey Shelton, giving up the fast life for a real job. He figured he’d decide what to do with his future once he convinced his father to release his share of the Shelton family trust. If he still found the job appealing, then maybe he’d stick around.

He looked over at Sophie. She seemed quite relaxed behind the controls, as if she’d been a pilot for a long time. “Where did you learn how to fly?” he asked.

“I just picked it up. I flew all the time with my father, and one day we were doing preflight together and he put me in the pilot’s seat and we took off. He taught me what I needed to know and I got my license.”

“How old were you?” Trip asked.

She smiled as she remembered. “I was twelve when I first got behind the controls.” Sophie laughed softly. “I think my dad always wanted a son. So, for a while, I was happy to become that son.”

“I think you make a much better girl than a boy,” he teased.

Trey watched her face as another smile curled the corners of her pretty mouth. Maybe she wasn’t immune to his charms, after all. He certainly found Sophie intriguing. He didn’t see a wedding band, so she probably wasn’t married, but beyond that, his radar wasn’t working. He couldn’t seem to read her reactions to him. Had she been flattered by the compliment or just amused at the attempt?

He reached out, curious to push the issue a bit further. His movement startled her, causing her to draw away. “Sorry,” he said, pointing to her cheek. “You have a smudge of grease there and it’s been bothering me.”

“Really?” She reached up and rubbed her cheek, missing it entirely. “There?”

Trey shook his head. “Do you mind?”

Sophie hesitated, then shook her head. “Not at all.”

He gently rubbed a spot just above her jaw, the grease wiping away easily. Yet he didn’t stop. Instead, Trey continued to smooth his thumb over her soft skin, fascinated by the silken feel of it. “There,” he finally said. “Perfect.”

She seemed to be as affected by his touch as he was, shifting uneasily in her seat and trying to focus her attention on the instruments in front of her. If she’d been driving a car, he might have asked her to pull over so they could explore his attraction in a little greater detail. But unfortunately, there weren’t any curbs in the sky and one couldn’t just park a plane in the middle of a flight.

Trey slowly pulled his hand away. “When will we see our first island?” he asked.

“I’m heading out to Suaneva first and then we’ll work our way back to Tahiti.”

They flew for a long time in silence, Trey studying a report on power-generating windmills he’d brought with him in between watching her. He’d been right to call her exotic. Though she spoke like an American, she acted more like the French women he’d known-haughty, aloof, indifferent at times. And then there was a bit of Polynesian in her, as well, in her dress, in the careless addition of a flower behind her ear, in the sexy little tattoo above her ankle.

She glanced over at him and caught him staring. Trey quickly turned his gaze back to the report.

“What are you reading?” she asked.

He held it up, showing her the cover. “Just researching an idea I had. It’s nothing.”

“Windmills?”

“They’re ecologically friendly,” he said.

He’d been turning the idea over in his head ever since his father had put him on the payroll. Why not build an eco-friendly resort in the South Pacific? He’d have to deal with the problems of providing power and water to a small island anyway and there were now methods to do it without impacting the environment.

“This is not really a good season to be seeing our islands,” Sophie said.

“I’ve noticed it rains a lot.”

“It’s the rainy season,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes, it rains for days.” She looked out the window of the plane. “Today is a good day. I can’t promise you that tomorrow you’ll even be able to see anything below us.”

Trey grabbed his messenger bag from between his feet and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Tell me everything you know about Suaneva,” he demanded, anxious to keep her engaged in conversation.

He listened, silently taking notes as she explained the physical topography of a Polynesian atoll in comparison with an island. But he was less interested in the facts than he was in the sound of her voice.

“Suaneva is an atoll. An atoll begins with a volcano sticking out of the water,” she explained. She let go of the controls and turned to him to gesture with her hands. But when she saw the startled look on his face, she sent him an apologetic smile. “I set the autopilot.”

Trey exhaled the breath he’d sucked in. “Oh. Well, fine then.”

“Coral builds up around the base beneath the water’s surface,” she continued, “and over the years, the volcano top falls away until all that is left is the coral ring and a huge lagoon in the center. Vegetation grows on the ring and beaches form and you have an atoll. They look like little rings in the sea.” She pointed out his window. “There. You see? This atoll is part of the Archipel des Tuamotu. The Tuamotu Archipelago. We are about 150 miles from Pape‘ete. Tahiti is part of les Îles du Vent. The Windward Islands. Mostly mountaintops that haven’t erupted or disintegrated. Although there are many atolls, too. Vous comprenez?”