“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?”