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Angry Birds?”
    “Something along those lines.”
    “What is the app called?”
    “Zimdiggy.”
    “Oh! I’ve played that game. It’s fun. I love all the detailed levels. Have you invented more game apps?”
    “I sold out to a big gaming company, then I became a venture capitalist. I’m not really an idea guy.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “I’m more of a moneyman, backing other people’s inventions. I seem to have a knack for predicting the next big thing and I’m not afraid to take risks.”
    It was odd, this self-effacing side of him. It didn’t match with his confident outer persona.
    “Really? You’d rather work yourself into the ground just to keep getting richer than do something fun that you love?”
    “It’s not about getting richer. It’s about seeing how much I can achieve.”
    “So achievement is your passion, not creating your own game apps?”
    “This way, I help other people achieve their dreams.”
    “Your game app helps people. I can’t tell you how much Zimdiggy kept my mind distracted while I sat at my father’s hospital bed after his eye surgery.”
    A brief smile flitted over his lips.
    “When do you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor?” she asked.
    “My labor is the fruit,” he said it as if he really believed it, but a faraway expression in his eyes belied the words.
    Poor guy. He was unhappy and didn’t even know it, but she wasn’t about to point that out. He’d just deny it anyway. “So see, you are self-made.”
    “I wouldn’t have made it without my adopted father’s help.”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    “I feel like I’m only where I’m at by a twist of fate. If James had married someone other than my mother, some other guy would be here instead of me.”
    “You underestimate yourself, Mr. Martin.”
    “Gibb,” he said. “Call me Gibb, we’ve got a long flight ahead of us and when you call me Mr. Martin, I think of my stepfather.”
    “Even though he adopted you, you still don’t think of him as your father?”
    “He’s a tough man to get to know. I don’t want to sound ungrateful because he’s done a lot for me and my mother, but he and I never really bonded, you know?”
    Sophia didn’t know. Her father was her best friend. “So you are an only child.”
    “Yes.”
    “What happened to your real father?”
    “Who knows? Dead maybe, or in prison? He left my mom when I was a baby. I never knew him.”
    “You have no desire to seek him out?”
    “None at all.”
    How sad. She cast a sideways glance over at him. The man was a tight ball of barely contained energy, his hands curled into fists against his upper thighs. She remembered how he’d paced the balcony of his bungalow, restless as a tiger. He was not a man who sat still easily.
    A sweet shiver, like fingers gliding over piano keys, ran up and down her spine.
    Beneath the kumquat and leather notes of his cologne, she caught the scent of something deeper, more primal and masculine. Raw, sexual heat from his body radiated across the confined space, and crashed headlong into her.
    Did he feel it, too? Or was it all in her imagination?
    His gaze flicked to her legs again and something in his eyes flared hot. Oh, yes. He was feeling it, too.
    When was the last time she’d felt such a strong instant attraction to anyone? His gaze tracked from her legs to her breasts with an expression so sultry she could hardly breathe. Um, never?
    Who was she kidding? A man like Gibb Martin could never be interested in her. Not for the long haul at any rate.
    She wouldn’t need him for the long haul. One hot night in his arms would do the trick.
    Mmm. It was a delicious but dangerous thought.
    Just thinking about having sex with him had her going soft and pliant in all the right places.
    That light gray silk suit had clearly been tailored to fit his body. His hair was as sandy as the beaches of Limon, and cut short and neat.
    She lowered her eyelids, looked at him through the fringe of her lashes,