Free Her Perfect Stranger by Jill Shalvis

gone? How was it that whenever she so much as looked at him, she lost every thought in her head? And how in the hel was she going to keep it to herself? "So many worries," he said quietly, holding her face while he forced her to look into his eyes. "Share them with me." "Yeah, right," she managed to answer weakly, pushing away his hands. "I can't." "Won't you mean." He watched her pace the room. "Why are you doing this? Why are you this warm, soft, passionate woman with me, and yet with your team you're so..." She whirled on him. "So what?" "Hard," he said bluntly. "You're hard, Corrine." That hurt, and she had to swallow before she could talk. "If I have to explain it to you, you'll never understand." "Try." She looked into his earnest face and for some odd reason felt her throat tighten. "Mike. Not here." By some mercy, footsteps came down the hal. "Later then," he agreed. "But, Corrine? There will be a later." AT LEAST THE AFTERNOON session went more smoothly, though the damage had been done. Corrine was as uptight as she could possibly be. Everyone else seemed willing to move on from the morning's scene, however, so she put all her remaining tension behind a cool smile and a hard determination. After all, she had work to do and a mission to whip into shape. The solar array wings they'd be carting into space had to be treated with kid gloves, both while packing and transporting, and then while constructing and assembling on the space station. Each of the mission members, Corrine, Mike, Stephen, Frank and Jimmy, had a specific job, and each job was critical, requiring months and months of planning, and then months and months more of actual, hands-on practice. For instance, while attaching the very large solar array wings, each of which, when fully deployed, would stretch two hundred forty feet from wingtip to wingtip, Corrine first had to maneuver the shuttle into position so that they could open the payload bay and work in there. That alone — shifting a space shuttle in the available window at the ISS—would be an amazing feat. Stephen and Mike would operate the robotic arm. Frank and Jimmy, both of whom had extensive technical training, would do the actual repair. Three space walks were required, and each time, the robotic arm would be used as a movable platform for an astronaut to lie on. That astronaut, Jimmy in this case, would be strapped in, with Corrine directing Mike and Stephen into maneuvering Jimmy where he needed to go. The integrated equipment assembly measured sixteen by sixteen by sixteen feet, and weighed twelve thousand pounds. It required very precise teamwork, all done in a weightless atmosphere, hovering between the tight corridor of the space shuttle and the ISS, while wearing a bulky, hundred-pound spacesuit. Mind-boggling, when she allowed herself to think about it. She and the others would literally have their lives in each other's hands. Practice. Definitely practice. As pilot, Mike spent much of the day right by her side. They weren't alone, not even for a second. Though every inch of skin was literaly hidden from view—everything but their eyes, through the viewing lens on their mask— she was so aware of him that every time he so much as drew in a deep breath, she knew it. If he looked at her, she felt it. And when he accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—brushed up against her, her senses went into overdrive. She didn't like it. She ignored it. She did so by remaining cool and in control, refusing to be baited or sidetracked. Once, when the rest of the team was on the other side of the large mechanism they were using to hoist the huge pieces of equipment, Mike planted himself in front of her, purposely looking directly into her mask as his gloved hands slipped to her hips and gently but deliberately squeezed. They were separated by layers and layers, and yet she felt his fingers as if they were skin to skin. Her eyes fluttered closed, her heart picked