High Octane (9 page)

Her hand inched up his leg. Turbulent emotions splintered off her like shattered glass, spreading through the room with prickly warning. Anything she did right now was born of that emotion, not of sound judgment.

Ryan stared at her as she inched closer, her hand creeping farther up his leg, the floral scent of woman and desire threading his nostrils. He wanted her. He wanted her in a bad way. This was a woman he could fall for. It was a hard realization, as was the fact that she wanted an escape, not him. Points near impossible to absorb beyond pure lust as she pressed herself close to his side, her lip brushing his jaw. Her hand farther up his thigh. She wasn't running from him this time. She was running from her past.

Ryan knew what that meant…it meant regret. And that wasn't what he wanted from Sabrina. Normally, he'd say “Hell, yeah” to such an arrangement. Hell, yeah to a voluptuous, sexy woman who would be happy with a fast goodbye. But there was nothing normal about the way Sabrina had climbed inside him and taken hold. And just then, climb she did, shocking him as she slid across his lap to straddle him.

His hands went to her slender waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck. The V of her body hugged his rock-hard erection, and desire ripped through his
body. She leaned forward to kiss him, her breasts high and close, begging for his hands.

Somehow, Ryan pulled back. Somehow, he reminded himself she wasn't thinking straight. “What are you doing, Sabrina?”

“I don't want to wait, Ryan,” she purred. “I want you. I want you now.” Her mouth had somehow moved closer again. Her breath warm.

“What happened to all that reserve you were showing?” he asked, his voice rougher than intended, laden with burning need.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” she purred, ignoring the question. “I thought you wanted me.” The witch shifted slightly over his hips, rubbing herself against his erection. He wanted her moving like that with nothing between them. He wanted to feel her wet and hot, wrapped around him. Riding him.

Her mouth pressed to his, soft and full of promise. Ryan felt the touch in every inch of his body, told himself to stop. Told himself just one more second. And another. Her tongue was what did him in. It flickered against his lips and sent a surge of need through him.

Ryan's hand slid to the back of her head, threaded through her silky hair and pulled her mouth fully to his. Tasted her. Drank her. Hungered for more, for all of her. Soft moans slid from her mouth, feeding that need. He touched her. Exploded. Her shirt came off, and she tossed it aside. Somehow, in the act, the book fell to the floor. The thud wasn't loud, but it rumbled through Ryan with an impact.

Sabrina reached for the front clasp of her bra, and Ryan pulled her to him, hugging her, inhaling her scent and drinking in a hard dose of sanity. The book. The damn book that had started this. The book, symbolic of how different her world was from his. How he and Sabrina, somehow together now, in a moment in time, were just that—a moment in time.

He was, like the Mexican food, a walk in the unusual for her. An adventure. A memory she may or may not even claim. And for reasons Ryan couldn't explain, that idea dug at his consciousness. Gnawing away at him inside and out. He told himself to use her. That she was using him as so many before her had done, while he was here today. He might be gone tomorrow. But Sabrina wasn't like the others, and why that was, he didn't know, nor did it matter because this was going nowhere. Because she was acting out of character, and she would hate him for doing this tomorrow. And she'd hate him now for stopping her, but nevertheless, he had to end this.

With almighty will, Ryan set her away from him. “No,” he said. She gasped, her breath coming out in hard blasts. He pushed to his feet, ran a hand over his face and then over his neck. “Not like this. You want me because I'm some sort of statement. Some sort of payback. Which is exactly why I should take you up on your offer and enjoy myself and not look back.” He snatched her shirt and tossed it to her. “But I won't do that.”

She looked down, inching her arms into her shirt,
unwilling to make eye contact. No denial. No vow she wanted him. Not so much as a word. Her silence was the final dig with that ice pick. Ryan ran his hand over his face again and headed to the door, no saunter in sight. His step was fast, as was his exit, sealed with a promise of goodbye.

“Y
OU ARE THE MOST
amazing woman I've ever met.”

It was Friday morning, almost a week after her disastrous attempt to play seductress with Ryan. Sabrina looked up to find her boss Frank standing in her doorway. Seeing him but not really seeing him. Frank was Frank. New version of the same white shirt and black tie, with a smug expression plastered on his well-lined face.

Sabrina, however, had gone for a celebratory outfit today that she'd hoped would be lucky. A red-and-black leather racing jacket and black jeans—the jacket a gift from Calista, probably to shmooze her into a speech—but still appropriate for this day, considering the occasion.

On Sabrina's desk lay the paper featuring her first interview in the six-part series called “An Intimate Ride in Marco Montey's Backseat.” Apparently, Frank was pleased with the results. At least she could please someone. It sure wasn't Ryan. In fact, he'd been quite
obviously displeased when she'd gone from prim senator's daughter to seductress. She'd dared to reach beyond her comfort zone, and he'd been all about “regrets” and “can't do that,” etc. Then he'd run. Exactly why she'd refused his calls—her mother's and father's, too, for that matter, but that was another story—and had worked late every night. Of course, if he'd really wanted to see her, he'd have found a way.

“Jerk,” she mumbled.

“Easy now,” Frank said dryly, snapping her back to the present. “I've been called a jerk by pretty women plenty of times, but not usually after I tell one she's wonderful.”

“Amazing,” Sabrina corrected, setting the stage for what she wanted. “You called me amazing.”

“Okay,” he said. “You're wonderful and amazing. This is where you say ‘thank you, Frank.' Or even ‘I know.' Or ‘told you so.' Not where you call me a jerk.”

“Does this mean you'll stop bugging me about attending political functions?”

“If you really want me to,” he said. “But check your email. I sent you some interesting tidbits on the soldier-turned-bank robber. Then get to work on part two of the Marco spread. You gave us the Can Cola and Red Rock conflict in story one. Give me something good week two. I expect the phones and email to light up next week, like they are today.” He disappeared down the hall.

Frank was elated, and hadn't said a word to her about politics, except for the MIA wife, all week long.
She
should be elated, excited, thrilled to the bone. She was on her way to a new career, a new life. That made it a good day. Good. Day.

She itched to read that email from Frank. Told herself not to. Told herself to object. To have him forward it elsewhere. Her finger was almost on the delete key when the phone on the desk jangled. Sabrina inhaled and stared at the offending device.

She reached for the phone. “This is Sabrina.”

“Read the email,” Frank ordered and hung up.

Sabrina grimaced and hung up the phone, then opened the email that read, “Look at the date on the attached.” She frowned and pressed the key to bring the attachment into view. It was a copy of the mayor's visitation register that showed the wife of the dead soldier visiting him, then another copy of the same document, that had been edited to erase her name. She eyed the date and her jaw dropped. The wife had visited the mayor before her husband had died. What the heck was going on?

She quickly typed an email to a friend in a high place to see what she could find out about the soldier's military unit, and then another to a medical specialist she knew who'd been a credible source in the past. She knew someone well up in the Army ranks, as well, a friend of her father's, but getting him to talk would mean first talking to her father. She'd hold off on that contact as long as she could. She'd barely finished typing the emails when her phone rang again. She grabbed it. “I saw the document,” she said, without giving Frank time to talk. “And yes, I'll look into the story further, but I'm
only helping, someone else can take any credit. No—I don't, so don't ask.”

“I expected
no
after you ignored my calls for a week, but you could at least say hello first,” came the warm, sexy, maddening voice so unmistakably Ryan's.

“Funny,” Sabrina said before hesitation could form. “I thought you liked the word
no
far more than
yes.
”

“I like
yes
very much,” he said, his voice a soft purr of seduction.

She snorted. “Just not from me.”

“Most definitely from you.”

She could feel her jaw tense. “Right. That's why you left. Because you wanted me.”

“I want you, but I want you honest. Not reacting to emotion you may regret the next morning. But that night, things were, as you like to say…complicated. Under the same circumstances, I'd still do the same thing.”

Emotions spun inside her and settled in her chest with a thundering jolt. She wanted to see Ryan. She wanted to touch Ryan. She wanted him to want her so much he couldn't walk away like he had. But he didn't. He couldn't. And it upset her on some deep, irrational level that she blamed on some feminine need, bordering on fantasy, to feel desired by a man as ruggedly male as Ryan. That had to be it. There could be no other reason. They barely knew each other.

When she didn't immediately respond, he gave her a reprieve with a lighter subject. “I saw your Marco feature. It's good, Sabrina. Really good.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved, the change in topic
allowing her a chance to regroup. “It would never have happened without your help.”

“My help wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't turned the interview and the presentation into gold. I'm sure you'll soon have the new career. That is, if you decide you still want it.”

Still want it? What did that mean? She would have asked, but he spoke first. “We should talk,” he said softly. “In person.”

“No,” she said quickly when she wanted to say yes. Wanting him more than he wanted her would only mean heartache she couldn't withstand right now. Resolve thickening, she repeated, “No. I think it's better we leave things as they are. I'm a firm believer that things happen for a reason.”

Suddenly, Jennifer appeared in her doorway, smiling and waving a hand, looking adorable in jeans and a blue-and-white plaid shirt. She tipped her hand back and pretended to drink, and then mouthed, “Happy hour.”

“Sabrina—” Ryan started.

“I have to go,” she said. “I've got a visitor. Thanks for calling. It was—” she paused for the right choice of words “—good to hear from you.”

She could hear his hesitation, his frustration, crackle through the phone line, before he said, “Goodbye, Sabrina.” And the line clicked. Sabrina's stomach pretty much hit the floor at the sound. That was it. She should be relieved. And she would be. Soon.

Sabrina motioned Jennifer forward. “Did someone say happy hour?”

 

W
ITH A GRIMACE
, Ryan ended the call with Sabrina, his boots scraping off the wooden desk of his Hotzone office where they'd rested. He planted his feet solidly on the ground. Damn it to hell, the woman was killing him. Giving him mental whiplash. Never in his life had he had a woman do this to him. Thank God the Army had contracted a skydiving training camp at the Hotzone—he'd been absorbed with it all week, sunup to sundown. Otherwise, he might have gone and seen Sabrina, and made a real fool of himself. At least he'd got the proverbial “Dear John” slap in the face by phone.

In avoidance mode, Ryan headed to the lobby of the Hotzone, determined not to speak to anyone, feeling fouler than foul and he knew it. But before he made it down the narrow hallway, he heard his name.

It was Bobby, and he could hear Caleb mumbling in the background.

Groaning inwardly, Ryan called over his shoulder. “Whatever it is has to wait. I'm outta here.” The last thing he wanted right now was to talk business, which had been all the Aces had been about for a month. Which was cool and all, but not now, not tonight.

“What if we said dollar beer on draft was involved?” Caleb shouted.

Ryan stopped walking. Turned on his heels. “I'd say…what
are
we waiting for?”

 

S
HORTY'S WAS A COUNTRY BAR
complete with cowboys, women in tight jeans and lots of loud talking and laughing. Eyeing the couples sashaying around the dance floor
near her table, a memory of dancing with Ryan, all close and cozy, assailed her. Why, oh, why, had she agreed to this?

The two-dollar happy-hour margaritas that she and Jennifer had ordered appeared on the table, and Sabrina's eyes lit. “Oh, yeah. That's exactly what I need right now.” Sitting at a high wooden table next to Jennifer, she sipped long and deep.

A tall cowboy with sandy-brown hair appeared in front of the table. “Howdy there, ma'am,” he said. “Wanna dance?”

Sabrina looked at Jennifer. Jennifer laughed. “He's talking to you.”

“Me?” she silently mouthed, and jerked her gaze to his. “Oh, no. No. I mean, thank you, but I came to drink. No dancing.”

The guy gazed at her with a bit of a wounded look and then turned tail. “Jeez,” Sabrina said. “I need to make a sign that says Unsafe On The Dance Floor.”

“What fun is that?” Jennifer said. “Dancing makes the world a better place.” She snickered. “Or maybe it's margaritas.”

“Hear, hear,” Sabrina agreed, taking a big swallow. “And I don't get this ‘ma'am' stuff. How is making me feel old going to get me to dance? Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“This is Texas, Sabrina,” Jennifer said. “
Ma'am
is just part of the culture. It's not about age.”

Jennifer's cell phone buzzed with a text message. “Oh, good,” she said after reading it, pushing to her
feet to wave through the crowd. “Bobby!” He appeared through the crowd and Jennifer motioned him forward before sitting back down. “I've barely seen him all week. The Hotzone just landed a contract to train small groups of soldiers for the Army. The guys worked darn near around the clock all week.”

The guys, meaning Bobby, Caleb and Ryan. So Ryan had been consumed all week. A tiny part of Sabrina lit with that news, clinging to an excuse as to why he might not have come by to see her.

Suddenly, Caleb appeared in the crowd, directly behind Bobby, both men striding across the room with that same confident, dominant vibe that Ryan possessed. Sabrina held her breath, wondering if Ryan was about to appear, her heart thundering in her ears.

But Ryan was nowhere to be found. Sabrina told her self it was relief she felt, though the ball in her stomach screamed of disappointment.

Bobby appeared by Jennifer's side and gave her a hug and kiss. Caleb took up command on the opposite side of the table, giving Sabrina a quick “hello” before flagging a waiter. Soon, the beer was flowing, and the laughter with it.

Caleb offered her his hand. “Hi. Caleb. I think we were supposed to jump together, weren't we?”

“The timing wasn't right,” Jennifer said. “Ryan was going to take her up for you, but then Marco showed up.”

“So when are you coming back out?” Caleb asked.
“I'll take you up.” He smiled, friendly rather than flirtatious. “I'm nicer than Ryan.”

Probably true, but not more interesting and definitely not hotter. Her cheeks flamed instantly with the thought, and Sabrina quickly sipped her drink and tried to hide the reaction. Then she replied, “I think I'll pass. It was one of those fleeting, daredevil things that I talked myself out of.”

Caleb tipped his drink back and studied her. “Ryan didn't scare you away, did he?”

No. She'd scared him away. “Jumping was Jennifer's idea. I shouldn't have listened.”

“She's a control freak,” Jennifer chimed.

“Ryan would have scared the crap out of you, then,” he said, and then frowned, eying Bobby. “Speaking of Ryan. Where is he? He said he was coming.”

“He pulled off at the gas station a few miles back,” Bobby said. “He'll be here.”

“What'd he do?” Caleb asked. “Use a water hose to fill his tank?”

Sabrina felt every nerve-ending in her body come to life. She'd said nothing to Jennifer about Ryan. Told her nothing beyond the ride with Marco. Ryan was her little secret.

“There he is!” Bobby shouted, and then whistled. “Ryan! Over here!”

Sabrina wasn't prepared for this. Hadn't counted on this. She leaned into Jennifer. “Restroom break. Be right back.” Sabrina didn't wait for an answer, quickly weaving into the crowd, careful to avoid Ryan's path.
The restroom was behind the DJ booth, on the other side of the room, which was good because it gave her more time to figure out how to get out of this mess. She wasn't up to facing her one-night stand that wasn't really a one-night stand, but a night of embarrassment.

She darted around the corner of the open archway leading to a row of mirrors and chairs. A chair. Oh, yes. Sabrina sank into the faux-leather seat, her knees wobbling.

“You okay, sweetie?” a tall woman in a sparkly T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans asked her, sounding far more motherly than her appearance suggested. “You look like you've seen a ghost…or an ex-boyfriend.”

Sabrina tried to smile. “Just a guy with a bad two-step, right onto my feet. Hiding. Hoping he goes away.”

The woman chuckled and waved a hand. “Good strategy. Hope it works.” She headed for the door, sashaying away, swinging her hips wildly.

One woman after another whisked in and out of the restroom, and Sabrina realized that she couldn't stay here forever. Jennifer would come looking for her. No. She needed to sneak out of the bar and call Jennifer from the car. Make her escape.

Sabrina pushed to her feet and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She barely recognized herself, and it wasn't because her business suit had been traded for black jeans and a black V-neck tank that morning.