Ricochet (4 page)

“Really. Now you’ve got my full attention. Unfortunately, I haven’t called to give you a free round of phone sex. I’ve called because Renegades is looking for an explosives expert, and Troy gave me your name and number.”

“How…disappointing. If I said I’d consider blowing something up for Troy, could we renegotiate the phone sex? ’Cause, really, your voice already has my jeans a little tight.”

“Tell me you’re wearing nothing else but those sexy, tight jeans.”

The memory of their call made a broad smile stretch his mouth as he took her hand. It was small and cool from the drink she’d been holding. But her eyes were melted caramel and dark-lashed. There was definitely a sexy little siren inside this woman.

What an excellent twist of fate.

“Thanks. I’m Nathan.” His own name felt strange coming off his lips. He never used it. Knew he shouldn’t be using it now. But he wanted more of Rachel than he knew he’d get if he told her the name he went by, his last name.

“Nathan. That’s nice.” Her lips curled deeper. Her head tipped just a little, and her gaze darted down, then back to his face. “I don’t see a wedding ring.”

“Not married.”

“Divorced?”

“Nope. Never married. You?”

“Same.” She released his hand and picked up her drink again. “Catching a flight tonight?”

“Nope. Came in a couple hours ago.”

“Hours? Are the drinks here that good?”

He smiled. “The buddy who was going to pick me up can’t make it. I’m just grabbing a drink before I have to brave the Los Angeles traffic.”

“Smart. Where’d you come in from?”

“New Orleans.”

“Is that where you live?”

“No,” he said. “Just visiting a friend.”

And drinking. And getting laid. And generally escaping reality.

“Vacation?” she asked.

“Not exactly.”

She sipped from the glass without taking her eyes off his. She wanted to dig into his vague answers, and she had a spark of intelligence in her gaze, making him realize he might not be able to pull off this Nathan ruse.

She set her drink down and licked her lips. The sweep of her pink tongue flooded his mind with so many delicious, erotic thoughts, he almost missed her next question. “Can I see your tattoo?”

Her gaze darted to his arm again, and he grinned. “I love a woman who asks for what she wants.” He reached over and pulled his sleeve up where the waving flag wrapped the curve of his shoulder and biceps, extending almost to his elbow.

“Wow,” she murmured, her eyes inspecting the design with intense interest. “That’s amazing. What a talented artist. Where did you get it done?”

“New York.”

“Beautiful.” She took another sip of her drink and returned her gaze to his face. “What were you doing there?”

“Visiting a friend.”

“And what brings you here?”

“Favor for a friend.”

“The same one who abandoned you?”

“As a matter of fact…”

Her lips pursed again, and Ryker took far too much interest in the sight. She sipped. “Sounds like you have a lot of friends.”

“I hear you can never have enough.”

“Depends on the friends,” she said. “And you don’t sound exactly thrilled about this favor.”

“It’s been one hell of a long day.” He lifted a shoulder and grinned. “But meeting you has given the trip a whole new positive spin.”

She picked up her drink and turned toward him. The direct movement made him fear he’d said something wrong, that she was going to grab her things and walk away. Or that she recognized him in some way, and was going to confront him on his identity. But she hooked one arm over the back of her stool and looked him directly in the eye. Then she smiled, showing those pretty teeth and that adorable dimple, both a sugary contrast to the sultry look in her eyes.

And, God, she was pretty. Who knew a little pair of glasses could hide so much? With his gaze drawn to the dark frames, he’d missed everything beneath—the steep angle of her cheekbones, her big, gorgeous, warm brown eyes, the dash of freckles down her nose, the way it all fit together so prettily, so perfectly.

Christ. She was
so
not his type.

“Then I say we celebrate the end of a very long week.” She lifted her drink toward him. “And start fresh.”

Ryker was having an even harder time separating desire from duty now. But one thing he knew for sure— turning Rachel away to discuss explosives was damn well not in his best interest. Not for a job he didn’t want. In a place he didn’t want to be. Ryker’s best interest at the moment sat right in front of him.

“To the end of a very long week.” He lifted his glass and touched hers. “And new friends.”

Friends? No. Rachel had plenty of sexy male friends in her life. What she needed was a hookup guy. One unrelated to everything else—no work connections, no family connections, no friend connections. Someone who didn’t want more than Rachel was interested in giving—one night.

Maybe Nathan had missed her innuendo—probably the most direct come-on she’d ever used, although admittedly weak. She wasn’t exactly a practiced seductress, and this attempt was putting her in the strangest mental-physical lock.

While her body and her logic were on the same page—hot sex, no attachments—her psyche had been balking ever since she’d made the decision to change her perspective on relationships and men months before.

But she was sticking with the new plan—a new plan for a new woman.

She might not be up on all the recent sex trends, but she was pretty sure this situation screamed hookup. She just hadn’t expected to find a scorching-hot guy to enact that plan with at LAX, for God’s sake.

His thickly lashed eyes focused intently on her instead of darting around as if she couldn’t hold his attention the way other men’s did. His lips were outlined in the dark stubble of a day’s beard and full enough to get Rachel thinking about the naughty things she hoped he did well. And the scars…the scars absolutely intrigued her. One on the side of his chin, one above his lip, one on his temple, another at his hairline.

The logistics of getting him from a bar in the airport to a hotel room nearby wasn’t anything she’d anticipated. She’d always envisioned something simpler, like sweeping out of a club and falling into bed at the guy’s place so she could leave when it suited her.

“What do you do, Rachel?”

Nathan’s question drew her from the tangle of doubt and made her smile. She was getting way ahead of herself. He was a stranger, and they were simply talking. She’d been hanging around a bunch of sexual skydivers too long.

She slowed her intake of alcohol so her brain would actually function. A decent conversation with the guy would be a good start, even though all she wanted was to lose herself in a man who could quell all the frustration buzzing through her after that drive and her mother’s earlier call.

“I don’t have an official title, really,” she said, taking a small sip of the yummy drink her friend Rubi had introduced her to a month ago. “I work for a stunt company. You know, secretary, bookkeeper, glorified gofer. You?”

He hesitated, and the look in his eyes warned Rachel a lie was coming. Something about the subtle momentary glaze that came over his intense, smoky-green irises, his mind going distant for a split second before answering. It was the same look every Renegade gave her just before they tried to fib their way out of trouble.

“A little of everything,” he said. “Do you like your job?”

Definitely lying. Typical guy.

But really, did she give a damn?

She let her gaze take him in once more—the faded cornflower-blue T-shirt with a surfing logo, molding to strong shoulders, a wide chest, and built biceps, then going loose around a tight abdomen and dropping to the waistband of deep brown cargo pants.

Nope. She didn’t give a damn.

At least not here and not now. And here and now was all that mattered.

“Most of the time,” she answered. “The guys, you know, they’re guys. But they are a hell of a lot of fun, and
always
challenging.”

His grin widened.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I like your take on working with men. We’re very different, especially in a pack. Something most women never get. And rarely like.”

“I love men,” she said, then quickly added, “not, you know… Okay, that came out wrong. I mean I enjoy the company of men. And, yes, I get them—mostly.”

“I know what you meant, and mostly is more than…well, most.”

She laughed, took another sip, surprised to find her second drink almost gone. Glancing down the bar, she realized the seats were filled with businessmen and one middle-aged couple. Two edgy-looking young women pushed to their feet and sauntered past her and Nathan toward the door. But his gaze never even flickered their way.

Fascinating.

Men like this rugged Nathan usually looked right through her.

“How long are you giving the guy to show?” he asked.

“Oh…” She shrugged and finished her drink. “I gave up on him about an hour ago.”

Nathan’s grin turned warm, and his lips parted to say something.

Rachel’s cell chimed.

Disappointment flashed across his face. “Maybe you’re not getting out of it as easily as you thought.”

Dammit
. He’d been about to take the next step, she could feel it. If this text was from one of the guys telling her where to pick up Ryker, she was going to implode.

She met his smile with a sly one of her own. “Maybe he’s not getting picked up, regardless.”

Nathan chuckled.

Rachel read the text.

6612010666: Hi. Mom says you’re not coming this weekend. We really need to talk.

The sight of Nicole’s cell number raised a cluster of emotions she didn’t want or need. It took all her willpower not the type back
tough shit
. She clicked the power button to turn off the screen just as the phone chimed again.

Rachel clenched her teeth, tapped the screen and read the message.

6612010666: Dante will be with me. We’d both like to see you.

Hurt, fury, betrayal… They stormed inside her, a hurricane threatening to overwhelm her.

“Everything okay?” Nathan’s low, sexy voice pulled her back—to the bar, to her tipsy state, to the hunk sitting within reach.

“Yes,” she said deliberately, forcing it to be true. She powered off her phone, and smiled up at Nathan. “That was my boss. The guy I was here to pick up got tired of waiting and took a taxi to his friend’s house.”

One of Nathan’s dark brows rose. “Really.”

Rachel pushed her phone into her purse and pulled out the hotel key card she’d picked up before coming to the airport so they didn’t give Ryker’s hotel room away when he was late checking in.

“Really.” She might be tipsy, but she was still in complete control of herself as she tapped the plastic card on the bar, sliding it through her fingers. She continued to flip and slide the card, looked directly into his eyes, and, with a ball of anxiety in her throat, said, “Looks like that suite at the Crowne is going to be empty tonight.”

Shifting on his stool, Nathan filled her personal space with his heat, his clean, male scent, his intention.

“An empty hotel suite,” he said slowly, lids heavier now, gaze taking on that sharper focus men got when their minds turned interested, “is a terrible thing to waste.”

When she laughed, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek with the back of one finger. Her heart gave a jolt, and she sipped a breath as his finger slid down her cheek, along her chin, and continued over her neck.

The delicate touch seemed odd for such a rough man, but she only had a second to think about that before his finger followed the line of her dress, tracing the skin along her chest, then…her cleavage. His darkening gaze followed the path of his touch. Her heart beat faster. Her skin prickled. Her breasts tugged. Nipples hardened. She squeezed her drink glass so hard she feared she might shatter it.

“That’s just what I was thinking.” She pulled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and let her gaze drift over that square, stubble-darkened jaw, riveted to the way his scars kept his beard from growing in evenly. She wanted to ask how he got them, yet didn’t. The less she knew, the better, because this wasn’t about getting attached. This was about moving on.

That thought curbed her nerves over propositioning a stranger. Just a guy passing through, looking to kill time.

She lifted her eyes back to his. “Wanna check it out with me?”

She was fully prepared for his sudden backpedal. Some guys got weird when a woman made the first big move. But his expression softened and his eyes closed briefly before he whispered, “Thank you, God.”

The utter relief on his face made Rachel laugh again and went a long way toward healing her ego, her pride, and her self-worth.

“You just made my week, baby.” He stood and tugged her to her feet, pulling her gently against his chest. The smooth way he slipped his arms around her made it clear he’d been here before. Often. For Rachel’s new life plan, that worked perfectly.

“Are we walking, cabbing...?” he asked.

“Sh-shuttle.” A surprised thrill made her head cloud. “Or…my car is in the lot.”