Her Perfect Stranger

under control, she came off as a moody bitch? But when a man did so, he was merely acting within his rights as a male in charge?

The unfairness wasn't new to Corrine, but for some reason, today it hit hard. She chalked it up to a lack of sleep, not the unquenched heat Mike had kindled within her body last night, and used her don't-mess-with-me expression to stare down the men.

Jimmy and Frank were unhappy, to say the least. Stephen looked equally so. 'I think this stinks,' he said. 'For the record.'

'It doesn't matter what you think,' Mike said evenly.

Fair or not, at his defense of her, Corrine felt smoke come out of her ears. She didn't want any heroics here, she wanted… she wanted-Oh hell. She wanted him, damn it! 'Obviously we need a break,' she said, standing. 'Now's a good a time as any.'

Mike was the last to the door, and she stopped him. 'I want to talk to you.'

'Do you?'

'I don't need defending.' She knew she sounded stiff and ungrateful, but as she was both at the moment, she couldn't help it. 'Especially in front of my team. Not now, not ever.'

'It's my team, too,' he said softly. Too softly. 'And I won't let anyone talk to you like that. Not now, not ever,' he said, mocking her words, while somehow utterly meaning what he'd said.

If she'd had more sleep, she would have seen it coming and deflected it. But as it was, she'd been sidetracked by all that heat in his gaze, so that when he cupped her cheek and stroked her jaw with his big, warm and oddly tender hand, all she could do was stand there and tremble like a damn virgin.

'Corrine.'

'No,' she whispered.

'You don't even know what I was going to say.'

'I don't want to know.'

'I'm going to tell you anyway.'

'Please, don't.'

'Please.' His lips curved. 'The only time I've ever heard you say that word was when I was buried inside you and-'

'Mike!'

His eyes darkened. 'And that, too. The way you say my name. Makes me hard, Corrine.'

'I'll be sure never to say it again,' she said through her teeth.

'I want you.' He shook his head, clearly baffled. 'God, I still want you.'

She crossed her arms, desperately striving for normalcy, which was impossible with this man. He set her body humming without even trying. 'We were talking about what happened in this room a few minutes ago. About the fact that you came to my defense when I didn't need it.'

'No, you were talking about that. I wanted to talk about something entirely different. Or not talk.' His eyes flared with an unmistakable desire. 'Not talk is okay, too.'

This was far worse than she could have believed, because how could all this…this heat still be between them? They'd had each other, more than once! It should be over.

Done.

And where had her anger gone? How was it that whenever she so much as looked at him, she lost every thought in her head? And how in the hell 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 hall.

'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 literally 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 up speed. And she actually ached. Ached.

When she forced her eyes open, she expected triumph to flare in his own deep, dark-brown gaze, but all she saw was his own response, which mirrored hers.

After that, it got harder and harder to ignore him. As a result, maybe she worked them all a little harder than she might have, but she told herself she was a perfectionist and simply expected the best out of them.

That they were delivering that best went a long way toward easing the knowledge that the rest of the team didn't especially like her. But they respected her, and had the same work ethic she did, so that would have to be good enough.