Connal Lancaster had moved to the bottom of the stairs.

His expression was bland, an annoyingly professional mask in place, ready to do his duty and assist her if need be.

Not knowing that she would not accept assistance from him if he was the last man in the universe.

Which was, of course, precisely the kind of vow the universe liked to play havoc with.

Because as Sophie descended the narrow gangway, on the third step from the tarmac, her oversize bag caught on a metal rivet in the handrail. She lurched forward and probably would have fallen down the remaining few steps if not for Lancaster, who was always aggravatingly ready for anything, including, it seemed, a woman falling into his arms.

She hit him with enough force that it should have knocked them both over, but he was rock steady. She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart and a sensation welled up in her of pure and unadulterated longing, and something even more unsettling. Homecoming.

As if this was the only place she had ever wanted to be, in the circle of Lancaster’s arms.