High Octane (3 page)

S
AFE, BORING, WITHOUT RISK.
That described the men, and the events, of her life. She yearned for some excitement. She yearned to get past her fear. To live, to breathe, to enjoy life. Not just to survive it.

Sabrina stared at Ryan's hand—big, strong and an invitation to be daring that included so much more than jumping out of a plane. Her gaze lifted to his chocolatebrown stare, her hand tingling with the desire to touch him. The sexual tension between them was palpable, darn near consuming.

“Okay, Sabrina,” Jennifer said, rushing into the room, “I have news that is either going to totally frustrate you, or make your day.”

Sabrina turned to face her friend, abandoning Ryan's outstretched hand, as if her own hand were caught in the cookie jar. “News?” she asked.

Jennifer approached them and glanced suspiciously between Sabrina and Ryan. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Sabrina said quickly and then shoved her
paperwork forward. “Nothing but paperwork, that is. All done.”

“Paperwork,” Ryan said dryly. “Nothing but paper work. What's the news?”

With keen, skeptical eyes, Jennifer grabbed the forms, but focused on Ryan. “Apparently Marco Montey enjoyed himself yesterday. He's coming back this afternoon. He called jumping with you the best adrenaline rush he'd had off the track in years. In other words, you can't take Sabrina up today. And for the record…that a well-known daredevil views you as an adrenaline rush is a perfect example of why I don't want Sabrina with you.” Her attention shifted apologetically to Sabrina. “Sorry, sweetie. I know it took a lot for you to get here today. I hate that I put you through this just to send you home, but maybe it's for the best.”

Sabrina doubted Jennifer really understood how much it really had taken for her to get herself here. How much she'd fretted. How much she'd self-analyzed and denied. Not jumping? For the best? Sabrina wasn't so sure about that. No one should get this worked up for nothing. Yet, she had. Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut. She should feel relieved she wasn't jumping. Instead, surprisingly, she felt let down.

Ryan cleared his throat, regaining their attention.

“Hang out until sunset, and I'll take you up then,” Ryan offered, his brown eyes sympathetic rather than challenging. His words low, for her ears only. “If you're going to skydive once in your lifetime, that's the time
to do it. It's truly one of the most spectacular sights ever.”

Sabrina blinked, fighting the most unnerving urge to reach out and touch the light stubble on his ruggedly handsome face. The man loved skydiving. He lived life while she merely existed. She wished she could be brave and exciting like him, but the truth was, he was beyond her. And so was jumping out of a plane.

Swallowing regret that had everything to do with Ryan, and nothing to do with missing a chance to nosedive from a plane, she replied, “I'd better pass because, you know, sitting here, waiting for my turn to jump from a plane, potentially to die, pretty much ruins the ‘spectacular' part of the equation.”

His lips twitched. “You aren't going to die. I promise.”

She jumped on that—the only jump she intended to take now, no matter how tempting the man. “You can't promise that and you know it.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she flung up a staying hand, her nostrils flaring with the spicy scent of him that darn near rattled her resolve. She forcefully added, “I like my promises absolute, not probably absolute. People die while skydiving.”

“People die crossing the street,” he countered.

“Rarely,” she said.

“More frequently than they do jumping out of a plane.”

“Because more people walk across streets, not because skydiving is safer. I checked the statistics. It's June,
and already this year alone, there have been twenty-five people who've died in skydiving accidents. I spent all morning wondering if I would be number twenty-six. I can't sit here all afternoon and do the same.” She shook her head. “No. I can't. I won't.”

“Then let me worry,” he said. “That's my job.”

She snorted, and ran a hand through her hair. “In other words, neither of us will worry.”

“And exactly what about that plan is bad?” he asked, the look on his face infuriatingly amused. And sexy. The man was sexy. Too sexy.

“Worry makes people careful,” she stated. All her life she'd worried and headed off problems doing it.

“Worry makes people nervous, and then they make mistakes,” he rebutted. “Training and experience make people aware, and awareness equals safety.”

“Let it go, Ryan,” Jennifer interjected. “It would be insane to make her wait. Montey has boatloads of money, and from what Bobby said, he doesn't mind spending it. He could be here all night. If he lives that long. I swear, Ryan…you'd better keep that man safe. If he dies here, we'll never get another client.”

“Right. I'll make sure he dies someplace else. Check.”

“Dang it, Ryan,” Jennifer said. “You know what I mean. Montey is big news.”

The haze of self-absorbed fear clearing, Sabrina asked, “Marco Montey is coming here? As in
the
Marco Montey? The race-car driver?”

“Yeah,” Jennifer confirmed, crossing her arms in
front of her chest. “Apparently he graduated from the University of Texas and has family here. And if the tabloids have him nailed, he can't stand living an entire day without tempting fate.” She slanted her gaze toward Ryan. “Thus, his new love affair with him.”

“Can I meet Montey?” Sabrina asked both Jennifer and Ryan. “Or rather interview him?” Pushing past the ingrained need for privacy despite Ryan's presence, she turned an appeal on Jennifer, “I follow racing so I can hold my own with him. I won't embarrass you. And Montey is notorious for joking around with the press and telling them absolutely nothing about his life, or his future career plans. And right now, he's in a dispute with his sponsor, Can Cola, for drinking Red Rock Cola on camera. If I can get the scoop on that and more, this will be my opportunity to prove to Frank I can deliver compelling stories that have nothing to do with my father's politics. I know you know what that means to me. Please.” She glanced between the two of them. “I really need this interview.”

“I don't know,” Jennifer said tentatively. “Ryan? Can she interview Montey? Can you get him to talk—as in really talk to her? Not brush her off.”

Sabrina fixed on Ryan sitting next to her, unaware of just how close they were until her knees brushed his. Heat darted up her thighs and thrummed through her core. “I…ah…” She stepped back a bit. “Sorry.”

Eyes twinkling with mischief, he teased, “Running away when you want something from me isn't the best strategy, you know.”

“Ryan!” Jennifer chided. “Will you behave?”

“Behaving is overrated,” he said, his attention never leaving Sabrina, his eyes hot with challenge. “I'll make you a deal. If I can score you an interview, you go out with me.”

Her stomach fluttered. An interview with Montey and a date with this wild cowboy. Montey was a building block of the new life she wanted. But at Ryan's bidding? An image of herself, strapped to a bed, Ryan naked and teasing her, had her all but visibly shaking herself to clear her head. Where the heck had that come from, and why did it arouse her so intensely?

Desperately, Sabrina focused her mind on the goal of a career-solidifying interview. “Does this date include jumping out of a plane?”

“Oh, good grief, Sabrina, you can't be considering this,” Jennifer said, setting the paperwork on the desk. “I'll let you two work this out. And I'll be up front when you do.”

Neither of them acknowledged Jennifer, either before or after her departure. “Only if you want it to,” Ryan replied to Sabrina's question, as if Jennifer had never spoken. Then he leaned toward her. “And for the record, I prefer you associate our first date with pleasure, not fear.” He eased back, the scent of him, spicy and male, lingering in her senses, as he said, “Do we have a deal?”

Making a deal with this man wasn't safe. It wasn't something she would normally do.

“A date in exchange for an interview,” she agreed, her resolve forming. “Yes. All right. We have a deal.”

She wanted this interview. She wanted Ryan. And for once in her life, she wasn't denying herself just so she could be safe. She was embracing the thrill, the danger…and, yes, the deal.

Satisfaction slid across Ryan's face. “I've got your paperwork and contact information,” he said. “I'll be in touch.” He pushed to his feet.

“What?” she asked, suddenly uncertain about what had just happened. “How? When do I get my interview?”

Ryan snatched up the paperwork with all of her contact information. “When I come to collect my date.” And then he sauntered toward the door.

“Wait,” she said, following him. “Or rather. Should I wait here? Now?”

He paused in the doorway. “No need.” He waved her papers at her. “I know how to find you and I will.” He winked. “And that, sweetheart, is a promise you can label absolute.” He disappeared into the hallway. Sabrina swayed, her fists balled by her sides, as she fought the urge to go after him. Resisted the urge to try and control what she couldn't control. And she was pretty darn sure she could no more control Ryan Walker than she could repress that burn inside her to give it her best try.

S
HE NEEDED THIS INTERVIEW
with Marco to solidify her new life in Texas. And not just a standard interview like the one the Mayor gave at his press conference about supporting the troops, and how this soldier turned bank robber had a stress disorder brought on by combat, which so many ex-military have, as well. In this case, she wasn't sure that was the real story. Especially since she'd gotten home to an email from Frank, with a snapshot of the soldier and his family, a wife and two kids, who looked very happy together. The email had read “My contact says wife has visited the Mayor's office after hours and her name was erased from the visitation log.”

It wasn't in her nature to not fight for people who needed help. The idea that the wife might need hers, well, it was getting to her a little. She'd dig around some but she wasn't telling Frank she was doing it. And in the meantime, she wanted that interview with Marco Montey—an interview she'd make into something that spoke to race-car lovers and managed to show off her
talents as a journalist. Not sure how she would do that, but she'd figure it out.

Exactly why Sabrina's cell phone sat on the edge of her new, fancy marble tub. The tub had tempted her into renting a condo with an option to buy, but she wouldn't be able to afford it if she didn't get her career on track. Thus why, in the far-too-many hours that had passed since her “deal” with Ryan, she'd done plenty of that worrying she'd sworn was a good thing; the knots in her stomach begged to differ. Plain and simple, she was fretting herself sick that she'd soon be leaving her high ceilings and shiny wooden floors for a cramped New York apartment with only a shower once again. Because that was exactly what was going to happen if she were going to report on politics, as Frank would have it. She'd get paid a whole lot more for it in New York where she had a reputation. Remaining here wouldn't serve any purpose, no matter how tempted she was to stay the course.

And it seemed temptation had led her to all kinds of places lately. To this condo, and now straight into the path of Ryan, who she couldn't get out of her head. Or her bath, she realized guiltily. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined him here, naked—water dripping off sleek muscles that she would lick dry. Grrrrr. There she went again!

Anxious to put an end to the unbearable waiting, Sabrina glanced at the lit-up face of her cell phone. Nine o'clock. The chances of good news at this late hour were slim, and she resisted the urge to be pushy and
dial Jennifer. The truth was, the disappointment sprang from more than the interview. It was about Ryan and his “deal.” About the excuse that deal gave her to go where she didn't belong with the man. It was Ryan who could give her Marco. Ryan who could give her…

“More than you can handle,” she murmured, rising to her feet in a splash of bath water, and reaching for a fluffy white towel she'd bought at a Macy's summer blow-out sale at about half the price of a New York summer blow-out sale. She could get used to these prices for sure. Even her morning Starbucks was cheaper, which helped justify the price of her condo. She liked this city. Austin had an artsy, contemporary feel, the music and movie scene, without the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Maybe she didn't have to go home to be home, and maybe she'd even be okay writing about the political scene here, with distance from her father. Her chest tightened. Or maybe not.

She knotted the towel firmly around her chest and padded across the thick teal-blue bathroom rug to the mirror above the stainless-steel sink, where she glanced at her hair piled atop her head in disarray. She looked like a wreck, felt like a wreck. Not one bit sexy, despite the sex on her mind.

She pursed her lips. “You aren't having sex with Ryan ‘Cowboy' Walker, nor are you ever going to,” she murmured in denial of her yearning for this man. With a regretful sigh, she opened the mahogany cabinet, snatching the new mud mask that the mall clerk had convinced her was the ticket to radiance.

“No sex with Ryan,” she told her image in the mirror, “so stop thinking about it.”

With determination to do just that, she spread the green goop all over her face. Task complete, she was satisfied that for the duration of her hour-long facial, she would not only look like Frankenstein, but all sexual urges would be diluted.

She'd only just traded her towel for her silver silk knee-length robe and started for the long hallway leading to the sunken living room, when a knock sounded on the door.

With a frown, she hesitated outside the red “good luck” door—as the real-estate agent had called it—certain that whoever was outside wasn't going to agree it was lucky if he or she saw her in this mask.

Still, what real choice did she have? She called out, “Who is it?”

“It's your jumpmaster, sweetheart,” came the deep, familiar voice she knew as that of temptation himself. “Open up.”

Sabrina's heart skipped a beat. A rush of adrenaline ran through her veins.

“You owe me a date,” he said. “I came to collect.”

“You owe me an interview,” she called out. This couldn't be happening. Not with mud on her face. “You can't just show up here unannounced.”

“Not even if I tell you Marco is in the car waiting for us to drive him to the airport?”

Marco was here? Without thinking, she flung the door open. “He's here? As in at my condo? You got
me the interview?” She'd barely spat out the questions before she realized what she'd done. Big gorgeous Ryan loomed above her, his arm resting on the frame above his head, amusement in his eyes as he took in her silk robe and the mess on her face. She'd fantasized about losing control with Ryan, and now she had. In the most unsexy of ways.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she noticed his hat was gone, his mussed sandy-brown hair neat to the naked eye. “I'm going to close the door now, and please pretend this never happened.”

 

R
YAN WASN'T ABOUT
to forget one moment of Sabrina in a skimpy robe.

“Afraid I can't do that,” Ryan answered, advancing on Sabrina with nothing short of a predatory stride. In a flash, he had maneuvered them through the doorway and inside the condo, the door kicked shut behind him. And because he was but a man, with only so much restraint, he tugged the silk of her robe over the swell of high, full breasts, barely concealed. “Not when you're teasing me with so much skin. Your robe was gaping.”

She quickly reached for the opening, her hands colliding with his, her gaze lifting in a panicked flutter of dark lashes on pale skin. “I… This is so not going well.”

“I'm not sure I agree,” he said. “Though taking your clothes off would be a lot more enjoyable than putting them on. I won't ask about the green stuff on your face as long as it won't stop me from kissing you.”

“You can't be serious,” she said, her voice raspy, breathless. “It'll get it all over you. And what about Marco?”

“Marco knew he had to wait,” he said. He could almost taste her. He wanted to taste her. To hell with the damn mask. “And I'm a soldier, sweetheart. I like getting dirty.” His hand wrapped the back of her neck, drawing her closer, his lips lingering above hers. “And unless you tell me not to and fast, I'll demonstrate.”

“Ryan—” The one word was a whisper, an invitation, a
yes
in his book. He took it, swallowed it, angling his lips over hers. She was sweet and delicious, and every thing he'd imagined for the hours since meeting her…and so much more.

Her mouth was soft and alluring, her tongue tentatively responding to his demands. She tasted both exotic and sweet, bold and tentative. A woman who had so much to offer but was afraid to give or take. It was the fear in her that kept his hands from traveling her body, that told him to go slow, to give her time. That she would be worth it. But she moaned, the sound driving him wild, urging him to touch, to take. And her hands—caressing a reserved path up his chest and around his neck—they were the ingredient that nearly set him on edge, them and her touch—knowing that only a tiny piece of silk separated him from her, from the pale ivory skin he'd already admired. Everything male in him screamed to repair that fact, to rip away the robe, to fill his hands with her breasts. He imagined the moment in his mind,
damn near tasted how sweet it would be. And then his cell phone rang a rude awakening.

“That'll be Marco,” he murmured against her lips.

Sabrina groaned and backed away. “I have to get dressed. I have to get this mask off my face.” Her eyes went wide, and she laughed, her finger running down his cheek. “At least I'm not the only one with mud on my face now. You—”

Ryan silenced her with his mouth. Damn, she was adorable. Gently, but no less forcefully, his hand went to her neck again, and he kissed her with a long, quick slide of his tongue. “We'll finish this later,” he vowed, all too aware of how easily she would then talk herself out of “later.” “You have about three minutes to get ready. Now go.”

“I'll think about the ‘later' thing,” she replied with a stern facade she couldn't maintain. An instant later, a smile touched her lips. “I wasn't joking about the mud on your face. The spare bathroom is on the other side of the kitchen if you want to clean up.” Her smile widened. “I'll be back in a flash.”

Not fast enough, Ryan thought. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had him so hot and hard, so ready. She rushed down the hallway—all but running. Oh, yeah, she was running. He'd seen it in her eyes today at the Hotzone. He knew the look all too well, because he'd once done the same. He'd run and found the military. He wondered what Sabrina was running from. He understood she had issues to work through. She'd be emotional, distant, then wild when she finally
let herself go. She'd need someone to use and abuse, without any demands beyond pleasure. Someone like him, who didn't mind a little mud on his face. His lips lifted. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.