From what she’d seen of Ryan, Sabrina was pretty certain he was the man she was pretty certain he was the man she wanted.

But she also had a feeling this “wild ride” equaled a plate of poison food to a starving man—pleasure with a lethal endgame. Jumping out of a plane was enough of a dare, thank you very much. She didn’t need to add a hot cowboy with a rock-hard body and sultry brown, bedroom eyes. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was champing at the bit to skydive anyway.

“I can wait for the other instructor,” she said. “No rush, really. I’ll comeback next weekend, or maybe the one after that.”

A slow smile charged Ryan’s too-handsome face. “I’ll be easy with you, darlin’. I promise.”

He promises. Said the cat to the mouse, she thought cynically, but that didn’t stop her imagination from conjuring an image of her strapped to a parachute, with him attached to her…er…backside. Uh-huh, he would be dangerous in all kinds of ways.

Dear Reader,

The sun isn’t all that sizzles in Texas since three ex-Army Special Forces buddies, once members of the elite “Crazy Aces” team, opened the skydiving operation, The Texas Hotzone. In Jump Start, you met Bobby Evans, who was determined to seduce the love of his life back into his bed, where he planned to win her heart. Now, it’s time to get High Octane, with Ryan “Cowboy” Walker, a man with nothing to lose. And one of the things I absolutely loved about writing Ryan’s story is that he never, ever, backs down from a dare.

So when Ryan meets Sabrina Cameron, the prim and proper journalist who needs a little fun and excitement in her life but isn’t sure she dares, Ryan is all about making sure she does—with him. Only, before Ryan knows what hits him, Sabrina turns the tables, and Ryan isn’t sure who’s challenging whom. With each hot little encounter he shares with her, Sabrina leads Ryan to the one ultimate dare he swore he would never take—the one called love.

So read onward for a wild and wicked High Octane ride—I dare you. And so does Ryan!

Lisa Renee Jones

High Octane
Lisa Renee Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lisa spends her days writing the dreams playing in her head. Before becoming a writer, Lisa lived the life of a corporate executive, often taking the red-eye flight out of town and flying home for the excitement of a Little League baseball game. Visit Lisa at www.lisareneejones.com.

To my home state of Texas, where the Margaritas are chilled, the fajitas are sizzling, and the cowboys are just plain hot. And to all my friends and family in Austin—Hook ’em Horns. I love ya’ll.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

1

“SABRINA! WHERE IS SABRINA?”

With disbelief, Sabrina Cameron stepped out of the ladies’ room of the Austin Herald to hear her name shouted in the distinctive gravelly tones of new editor-in-chief, Frank Roberts.

Only a month before, she’d said goodbye to New York City, and her U.S. Senator father, along with a highprofile political column at a renowned newspaper. So much for thinking she’d left behind the hectic life where being hunted down in the restroom was the norm.

“Sabrina!” came another shout, as Frank barreled around the corner and into the hallway, his tall, lanky frame in pursuit of his target—her. The man was highstrung, with a penchant for long hours filled with hectic demands, usually made by him of everyone else.

His hard, gray eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. Surprise flickered in his keen stare as he noted her long, brunette hair, worn loose now for the first time since her arrival, and then her unusually casual attire: a pale-blue Western shirt tucked into her black jeans.

Lips thinning disapprovingly, he demanded, “Why are you dressed like that? Where’s the suit you had on this morning?”

“I’m reporting from the Kyle Strawberry Festival this afternoon,” she said, looking forward to a fun night without the pressure of having anyone analyzing her political views versus those of her father. Oh, and the cowboys. She was really liking the combo of tight Wranglers with scuffed boots that the men wore like business suits here in Texas. You never knew what was under those Wranglers—a millionaire or a ranch hand—and no one seemed to care. It was refreshing. And sexy.

“Put the other outfit back on,” Frank ordered brusquely, snapping her out of her momentary Wrangler fixation. “You’re going downtown for a press conference with the mayor.”

“Oh, no,” Sabrina insisted, “that’s not my area. I don’t do politics. Not anymore.” Nor did she want anyone to know she ever had. So much so that she’d taken a pseudonym to ensure no one would connect her with her past. She needed her own life, her own identity, an ability to make decisions without becoming manipulated by how they might impact her father’s career.

“I need you on this,” he said, his arms folding in front of him. “You’re going.”

“No politics,” she repeated, shoving her fists to her hips. “That was a condition of my employment.”

“I’ve given you a fifth-grade ‘Dare’ graduation, a 5k run, and now apparently a silly strawberry festival,” he bellowed. “Now you’re giving me this. You need to get your backside to that press conference and not in those jeans.”

“You gave me those stories because that’s what we agreed I’d do the first six months,” she said, her voice low as she quickly made sure no one else was around be fore continuing. “Fluff stories that establish me as some one other than who I was back in New York. Stories that keep me off the radar. I moved across country to make a new life for myself. A press conference with the mayor is not a good enough reason for me to risk jeopardizing that.”

“Then I guess you didn’t hear that an American soldier, one of our own, robbed a bank last night, and he was connected to a drug cartel. That’s big news. The right take on the story could get you a television mention, or maybe even an interview.”

“I heard,” she said. “People do stupid stuff every day. It’s sad but it doesn’t require me to report on it person ally. And you aren’t going to use me to get your own press. The last thing I want is a television mention that will destroy the entire reason I’m here—to get away from the pressure of the spotlight.”

“You know that world,” he said. “You can find out what I want to know.”

“‘That world’?” she said. “You mean politics? Yes. I do. And I wish I didn’t. Exactly why I came here and took a job with specific duties that do not include ‘that world.’” She was thirty-two, long past having every breath she took approved by her father.

“What if I told you I have a person on the mayor’s staff who says the mayor not only knows this soldier, but he’s trying to bury this story.”

“Why would he do that?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

“Maybe the mayor is dirty and I know how you hate a dirty politician,” he said. “Maybe he’s even involved with the drug cartel. The possibilities are endless. That’s why I need an expert on this story. Do I have your attention now?”

“No,” she lied. “No, you do not.” She’d come here to create a new life, not move the old one to another state. “This isn’t why you hired me. And you know my father is known to be highly ambitious and that he’s rising as a leader for his party. I don’t need to be in the middle of a scandal involving a Governor. Especially not one of the opposing party, which this one is.”

“If anyone can get inside this story—”

“I don’t want inside this story,” she said, cutting him off.

“Well, I do,” he said. “And that means you do. This is investigative reporting, Sabrina. Not political-opinion commentating. It’s about facts. And no one can judge you for the truth.”

“My job—”

“Is to do what I tell you to do,” he said. “And mine is to report the news by using every resource possible. Strawberry festivals are beneath you. Period. The end.” His eyes sharpened, his voice firmed. “The press conference is at four o’clock. Be there.”

She ground her teeth, fighting the part of her that yearned for more substantive reporting, the part she’d dismissed to get her life back. She liked plans. And this story didn’t fit her plan.

“Sabrina,” he said.

“Oh, all right, Frank,” she said. “I’ll go, but I don’t want my name attached. Have someone else write the story with my notes.”

His lips twitched and he turned with a mumbled, “We’ll talk,” and headed toward the newsroom.

Sabrina debated pursuit and that “talk” right now, but Jennifer Jones, the petite blonde veterinarian who was the newly established pet-advice columnist appeared in her path, rushing toward her.

“What the heck was he shouting your name for?” She stopped in front of Sabrina. “I swear I’ll never get used to this place. I need to get back to my clinic. Barking dogs and hissing cats are so much nicer than hot tempers and demanding bellows.”

Sabrina might have laughed at the flustered look on Jenn’s face, if not for the knots in her own stomach. “Can I go with you?”

“Depends,” Jennifer said, smiling. “How do you feel about chickens? I hear I have someone bringing one in this afternoon.”

“A chicken?” Sabrina asked, laughing. It had only been a month, but she already considered Jennifer a friend. The woman and her silly animal stories hit all the right notes at all the right times. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a mama hen,” she said. “This is Texas. People take their chickens seriously. This one belongs to a highschool kid in Future Farmers of America.”

“In New York,” Sabrina told her, “it’s the rats we take seriously, only they aren’t school projects or pets.”

Jennifer snorted. “And here I thought New York City didn’t have wildlife.” She smiled. “Did Frank’s shout mean you are otherwise occupied or can you grab some lunch before I retreat to the animal kingdom of my clinic?”

Sabrina blew hair from her eyes. “It means I need a margarita and some chocolate, though I’ll settle for lunch and dessert. But I need to—”

“Drive,” Jennifer said for her. “I know.”

Sabrina frowned. “You do?”

She nodded. “We’ve been to lunch three times, and every time you found a reason to drive. Just like you have to fill your coffee cup to an exact spot. You’re a control freak.”

Sabrina opened her mouth to deny this, but Jennifer held up a finger. “Let me go grab my purse.” Jennifer rushed away toward the newsroom in a flash of long blond hair and bubbly personality.

Sabrina stood absolutely still, frowning over Jennifer’s assessment that she was a control freak. She wasn’t a control freak. Her father was. And she intended to prove that fact to Jennifer over lunch.

An hour later, seated in a red-leather booth of a family-style restaurant, the main course completed, Sabrina helped herself to the huge brownie, covered with chocolate and ice cream, in front of her.

“I’m not a control freak,” Sabrina insisted, having just taken Jennifer into her confidence with a confession of how and why she’d come to Texas.

Jennifer arched a brow.

Sabrina pursed her lips in rejection of that silent challenge. Darn this woman for seeing so much, for forcing her to face facts. “Fine. I admit it. I’m a control freak, but it has been by necessity. Back home, every step I took was analyzed, dissected for political gain. I’m out of that environment now, and I want to be free, but it’s hard.”

Silence followed as Jennifer savored a big bite of brownie, and then said, “Have you ever watched the Dog Whisperer?”

Sabrina laughed in disbelief at the off-the-wall comment that seemed to fit nowhere in this conversation. “Big Fan,” Sabrina admitted. “And not because I’m trying to be a dog whisperer. I don’t even have a dog. It’s the way those animals instantly submit, well…that kind of control is really sexy.”

Jennifer set her spoon down. “Listen, this isn’t going where I meant for it to go. We are talking about giving away control, not making it sexy.”

“Oh, good grief,” Sabrina said in realization of her mixup. “I’m completely conflicted. I’m in way worse shape than I thought.” And on that note, she did the only logical thing she could do—she took a huge bite of her brownie.

“We’re all confused,” Jennifer assured her, but not before she stifled a laugh. “It’s called being human.”

“Then maybe you have the right idea,” Sabrina said. “Spend all your time with animals.” She frowned. “Oh, wait. You’re married, though, right?”

“I’m married, yes,” Jennifer said and wiggled an eyebrow. “And thankfully Bobby knows all the right times to be an animal.” They shared a laugh, and then she continued, “What I was going to say is this. In the Dog Whisperer, when a dog is aggressive, Cesar shows people how to make that animal become submissive. He has the animal lie on its side in the middle of other dominants—to learn to accept a submissive position.”

“Okay,” Sabrina said. “Just for the record, I know you’re a vet so I’m not going to be offended by you comparing me to a dog. But I still don’t get the point.”

“The point is that he conditions the dogs to see that less aggressive behavior gets them what they want, which in their case is praise,” she said. “I think you need to condition yourself to let go of control, so you can see that the world won’t shatter because you do.” Her eyes lit up. “And I know just how you can do it.”

“If it involves a chicken, I can tell you right now, I want no part of it.”

“Skydiving,” Jennifer said. “It’s perfect.”

Sabrina gaped. “Skydiving.” That was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “Are you crazy? You want me to jump out of a plane? Surely you can think of something less dramatic?”

“Bobby and a few of his Army pals own Texas Hotzone, a skydiving operation thirty minutes outside of Austin. You can make your first jump with Caleb. He’s one of Bobby’s best friends. A nice, soft-spoken guy who’s gentle. You can give him control without feeling like you really gave it away, and he’ll keep you safe.”

“No,” Sabrina replied, setting her spoon down in rejection. “The idea behind me moving here was to live life. In other words—I don’t have a death wish.”

Jennifer shrugged. “I jump and I love it. But then, I’m not a control freak. I guess that allows me to enjoy things you can’t.”

“Oh, that was a low blow,” Sabrina chided, narrowing her eyes on her friend. “Really low.”

“I know.” She leaned in close. “But it worked and you know it.” Her watch beeped. “Shoot. I need to go.” She reached for her purse. “I won’t be back to the paper until next week.” She set a business card on the table. “That’s the address of Texas Hotzone. Meet me there on Saturday before two. That gives you three days to chicken out, but don’t do it. You moved across the country to change your life, so change it. Don’t relocate the old one.” She pushed to her feet. “I dare you.”

Sabrina sat watching Jennifer depart without really seeing her. She’d moved across country, left her job, changed her name, and all for what? To remain captive to her father’s world?

She grimaced. Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to report on strawberry festivals. It was simply that strawberry festivals were safe. Frank had been right. Reporting facts was different from writing her political POV as she had in New York. And investigative reporting had been her roots, the way she’d started in the media years before.

She wanted to go to this press conference. She wanted to find out the facts. She wanted to write the story she wanted to write. To choose the friends she wanted to choose. To choose a man because he was exciting, not safe, either.

Heck, she wanted to be able to have a one-night stand if she so desired and not worry about being gossip fodder. But she’d never dared such a thing before. She gave that a moment’s consideration, picturing a set of rock-hard abs, perfect pecs and wild, erotic passion.

She sighed and discarded the idea, inhaling a spoonful of her half-eaten dessert and deciding to savor every bite. The brownie was the closest thing to orgasm she was going to get anytime soon. Maybe she’d better go with skydiving. At least jumping out of a plane came without the risk of scandal. The risk of scandal… Would she ever be free?

IT WAS SATURDAY AFTERNOON, a hot time at the Hotzone for Ryan “Cowboy” Walker, who sauntered behind the front desk to complete the day’s log. He was outta here early today, taking off for the first time in a month, since their grand opening. He was heading out for an appointment with a real-estate agent to look at houses, though he hadn’t shared that little detail with anyone. He’d given himself a deadline for deciding if he was committed to the civilian life, and once he committed, he would be fully committed. Though secretly the idea of owning a home scared the crap out of him, far more than any of the many snake-infested jungles he’d seen in his time. The only home he’d ever been willing to claim was the Army, with his AK-14 as his front door.

Ryan believed you did things all the way or not at all. People who walked a line usually ended up dead or miserable. He didn’t like either of those choices. Which was why he’d left the Army a month before and invested with several of his Crazy Aces in the Hotzone. At one time, he would have sworn he’d have been a life-timer. But soldiers followed orders without question, and he no longer could. Not when he’d come to realize there was an outside agency involved in their mission, of questionable ethics. Nothing had been what it seemed. And so here he was, about to house-hunt, forced into domestication like some sort of wild cat, but still committed.

He slammed the logbook shut, satisfied he was ready for Monday’s jump class. He was going to show the new Special Forces recruits what had put the Crazy in the Aces—namely, him. They’d never jump out of a plane with anything but cool confidence when he was done scaring the hell out of them. Better they wet their training pants on his clock than on the enemies’.

Ryan was headed around the counter and toward the door when his gaze caught on the parking lot and the woman approaching the building; she gave hot a whole new meaning. He stopped dead in his tracks and a low whistle escaped his lips.

With an all-consuming interest that made house-hunting a distant memory, he tracked the curvy brunette’s path.

His gaze simmered on the confident stride of the woman headed his way, those long legs eating the distance between them. Oh, yeah. He was going to like this woman. Anticipation charged his nerve-endings with a fire he’d not known in far too long. His around-the-clock work schedule had left no time for dating or other pleasures. A dry spell that would soon be ending, he decided. His groin tightened at the sight of the sexy she-devil’s snug black jeans and fitted black T-shirt, both of which hugged her with deliciously arousing perfection.

She reached for the door; her silky dark hair fluttered around petite shoulders and high breasts. He wanted that hair on his face, on his stomach. He wanted this woman.

She stepped inside the small office equipped with a couple of steel desks and not much more, shoving her sunglasses on top of her head as the door swung shut behind her. Light green eyes the color of new grass blinked him into focus and connected with his, the attraction between them instant, hot. No. Damn hot. Electricity charged the air, stroking his cock to full attention, the room so silent it was eerie.

“Hi,” she said in a rich-wine kind of voice that rippled along his nerve-endings and sent a rush of fire straight through his veins.

His gaze slid to the rise and fall of her ample breasts, and then lifted in time to see the alluring scrape of teeth along her full red bottom lip. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to taste all of her. Ryan tipped his cowboy hat, undisguised interest in the heated look he fixed in her direction.

Another silent, crackling moment followed before she announced, “I’m here to see Caleb.”

Ryan barely contained a curse. Caleb. She was here to see Caleb. His partner. His fellow Ace. His friend. Ryan ground his teeth at the off-limits territory he was treading on, an out-of-character possessiveness rising within him. He’d never taken anything from one of the Aces. They were family, his blood without blood. But Caleb had better stake his claim on this woman and stake it fast. Because Ryan wanted her in a bad way, and what Ryan Walker wanted, Ryan Walker went after, and blood was the only thing that could stop him.

2

RYAN WAS LOCKED on to the brunette beauty, not about to let her get past him without getting what he wanted, and that was a whole lot more than name, rank and serial number. That was, until she was intercepted.

“Sabrina!” Jennifer shouted, charging past him and into the path of his target. “You’re late,” she accused, chiding the woman who’d become the center of his attention. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“You mean you thought I was a big ol’ chicken,” replied the woman, Sabrina. She followed the response with a laugh. It was a sexy, smoky sound that did nothing to take the edge off Ryan’s growing desire or the bulge beneath his zipper.

Jennifer’s hands went to her hips, her back to Ryan, her body irritatingly blocking his view of Sabrina. “We both know your tardiness means you almost pulled a no-show.”

Jennifer stepped a bit to her right, her arms still planted on those hips, and Ryan could see the flush spread across Sabrina’s ivory-perfect skin before she asked, “Was there a specific time I was supposed to be here? I thought you said Saturday…as in anytime today.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Jennifer scolded instantly. “I said before two o’clock and you know it.”

Sabrina laughed, skipping any attempt at denial. “Okay, I almost talked myself out of coming,” she admitted. “I know I’m late.”

“Ah-huh,” Jennifer said. “That’s what I thought. And you secretly hoped it would be too late to jump. Well, you got your wish. Caleb is booked all afternoon.”

Ryan leaned one elbow on the counter and crossed his dusty, booted feet. To hell with house-hunting. “I’ll take her up,” he said in a lazy drawl that defied the outright molten heat charging through his body.

Sabrina glanced around Jennifer, her pale green eyes glinting like crystals as they slid down his body in a long, lingering inspection, before her gaze popped to his. “And you would be?” she inquired.

“A better choice than Caleb,” he assured her.

“Not for Sabrina,” Jennifer countered and gave him her back. “Ryan is a wild ride you don’t want any part of. Trust me. You want Caleb.”

FROM WHAT SHE’D SEEN of Ryan, Sabrina was pretty certain he was the man she wanted. But she also had a feeling this “wild ride” equaled a plate of poisoned food to a starving man—pleasure with a lethal endgame. Jumping out of a plane was enough of a dare, thank you very much. She didn’t need to add a hot cowboy with a rock-hard body and sultry, brown, bedroom eyes. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was chomping at the bit to jump to her death anyway.

“I can wait for Caleb,” she said. “No rush, anyway. I can always come back next weekend.”

A slow smile filled Ryan’s too-handsome face. “I’ll be easy with you, darlin’. I promise.”

He promises. Said the cat to the mouse, she thought cynically, but that didn’t stop her imagination from conjuring an image of her strapped to a parachute, with his front attached to her…er…backside. Oh, yeah, he was dangerous. In all kinds of ways.

“No, Ryan,” Jennifer said urgently, and shifted her attention to Sabrina. “Caleb is calm and controlled. He’ll be a pillar if you get scared.”

“I’m calm and controlled,” Ryan said.

Jennifer took a long glance at Ryan. “There is a reason you take up the experienced jumpers, and you know it.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Because I teach them that calm control doesn’t have to be boring. I push them to the edge rather than pull them back. I show them how to expand their limits.”

The words resonated through Sabrina and spoke to her deep beneath the surface. She already knew how to be calm and controlled. She’d spent a lifetime living just that. What she didn’t know how to do was be calm, controlled and daring at the same time. To live outside her safety zone. Ryan was more than the man she wanted. Ryan was the man she needed. “I’ll jump with Ryan.”

Jennifer started to object. “Sabrina—”

Sabrina gently touched her arm. “It’s okay,” she said in a low voice. “Really. I’m here, and honestly, if I leave, I may never do this. And it’s a good idea. It’s a good thing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Am I sure about jumping out of a plane?” Sabrina asked incredulously. “Of course not. But I can’t go through hours of convincing myself to go through with this again. Now or never.”

Jennifer looked as if she might argue and then grabbed Sabrina’s hand. “This way.”

Jennifer then tugged Sabrina toward the interior of the office. In her path stood Ryan, whom she passed with mere inches separating them. Ryan, who looked hotter and harder, upon closer inspection. And inspect she did, she lingered on his long, muscular thighs poured into tight denim that would no doubt be hugging her thighs in the very near future. Her mouth watered, and she jerked her attention upward, her gaze colliding with the only soft thing about Ryan—his brown eyes—the sizzle between them impossible to miss. She was, indeed, in for a wild ride, and amazingly, though she was scared, Sabrina realized something she couldn’t ignore. She was excited. She felt alive for the first time in years. She was doing something she’d never have dreamed of doing a few months ago. She was changing her life, but also pushing herself to experience the world.

Unfortunately, the path to experiencing that world led—at least for the moment—away from Ryan and into what looked like a classroom. Sabrina soon found herself sitting at one of six steel folding tables, signing liability paperwork. Lots of it. Suddenly, she forgot long, hard Ryan and thought of the long, hard fall she might take if her chute didn’t open.

“Okay,” Jennifer said, sitting next to her. “Last signature.” She pointed to the release form. “Sign here.” But then she pulled the paper away. “Or don’t. You can still change your mind.”

Sabrina grabbed the paper and signed. “You are so not helping, Jennifer. Have you forgotten this was your idea?”

“It was my idea to send you up with Caleb,” she said. “Not Ryan. Yes, he’s part owner, yes, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Jennifer let out a sigh and shifted in the steel chair. “I pushed you into this. I don’t want you to have a bad experience. I want you to feel it was fun, and that it really did help you with the whole control-freak thing. And Caleb…he’s sensitive, patient. He’ll know if you’ve reached your limits. He’ll know to pull you back. Ryan doesn’t know limits. He’ll push you. Especially if he knows why you’re doing this.”

“I can handle Ryan,” Sabrina said. “And, truth be told, I have my reasons for choosing him.”

“Jenn,” came the deep, silky male voice, “call for you.”

Sabrina’s gaze lifted to directly across from them where Ryan filled the doorway with all kinds of hot male goodness, his hat tipped back, his sultry bedroom eyes fixed on her.

“Good luck, honey,” Jennifer said. “You want him, he’s all yours.” Ryan sauntered into the room, his dusty boots some how only adding to his appeal as he gave Jennifer space to pass. Only she didn’t pass. She paused. “Behave.”

“Like a perfect angel,” he assured her.

Jennifer snorted and disappeared.

Ryan leaned on the table directly in front of Sabrina. “Any hope one of those reasons for choosing me is my hot body?” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Sabrina knew how to talk the talk. She was a politician’s daughter, after all. “Actually, yes,” she answered. “If you were out of shape and wheezing with every breath you drew, I can’t say I’d be eager to jump out of a plane with you.”

“I got the impression you weren’t so eager to jump out of a plane with anyone.”

“I’m sure a lot of people feel that way right about the time they sign their paperwork,” Sabrina said.

“Only the ones who’re talked into coming by some one else,” he bantered. “But those people don’t normally come alone. They come with a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a pal. That ‘someone’ they are trying to please by pushing themselves. Who are you here to please, Sabrina?”

Her chin lifted, fingers lacing together in front of her, as they rested on top of the forms. “Myself.” For the first time in a very long time, she added silently.

His eyes narrowed. “By pushing yourself to do something that scares you?”

“More like something I wouldn’t normally do,” she countered, not giving him more than she had to. This was her private journey. He didn’t need to understand it to be a part of it.

“I need more than that if I’m taking you up,” he said, rejecting her evasive answer.

“Why?” she snapped back instantly.

“Because I’m responsible for you up there,” he said quickly, and then hit her with another question. “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“Flying?”

“No.”

“Falling?”

“No.”

He studied her from under the ridge of his hat. “Dying?”

She considered that a moment. “No. No, I’m not afraid of dying. Once it’s over, it’s over. I think I’m okay with that. And do you ask these questions of everyone you take up for jumps?”

“No,” he said. “But Caleb does.”

“I didn’t ask for Caleb,” she said. “I asked for you.”

“Why?”

Why. She’d walked right into that, but decided quickly she didn’t care. Fine. He needed to know. He could know. Maybe sharing what she felt was a part of letting go of control. “Because I want to be pushed when I’m on the edge, not pulled back,” she said, repeating what Jennifer had said when comparing the two men. “And because I know all about calm control, but I also know my limits are way too narrow.” In other words, she wanted what he had offered.

A bit of surprise flickered across his face, followed by full-blown interest. “You really think you can handle me, Sabrina?”

Truth be told, he scared the holy bejeezus out of her, but he also excited her in a wickedly wonderful way she would never have dared to explore before now.

“I can handle you, cowboy,” she assured him, with only a tiny white lie of uncertainty. “The question is…can you handle me?”

A slow smile slid onto his lips. “Sweetheart,” he said, “if I can’t, I’ll die trying. And I’ll do so a happy man.”

He could have left out the die, considering they were about to jump out of a plane, but she managed to shove that aside, using the much-needed distraction of this hot man flirting with her.

Sabrina slid her paperwork forward. “I’m ready when you’re ready.”

Keeping his gaze locked on her face, he said, “You have a decision to make.”

Wasn’t jumping out of a plane with this man enough of a decision for one day? “Which is what?”

“First choice. You can take several hours of training and jump on your own. That gives you the control, which appears to be important to you.”

“Jumping out of a plane with no one anywhere near to help me is not what I call control,” she said with no hesitation. In fact, she could feel her chest tightening, hear her heart pounding in her ears. “I thought I could jump with you? Can’t I jump with you?” She pushed to her feet, and barely remembered doing it.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said softly, holding up his hands and slowly lowering them. “Of course you can jump with me. But maybe we should go get a beer instead of jumping out of a plane. Give you some time to think this through.”

Suddenly, she realized how silly she must seem. My God. How had she become this scared little girl, too frightened to do what a million other people did without fear?

“No,” she said, knowing that if she gave herself time to think, she’d back out. “Let’s go. I want to jump.”

Ryan stood up and walked around to her. Close. Towering over her. He extended his hand. “I’ll make sure you enjoy every last minute.”

3

SAFE, 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.

4

SHE 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.”

RYAN 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.

5

SABRINA COULDN’T BELIEVE she was sliding into the back of a Town Car to interview the hottest man on the tracks, with the sexiest cowboy in Texas right next to her. A sexy cowboy whom she’d just kissed. With a mud mask in place. Which had gotten all over him, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him it was still smudged near his ear, though she had no idea how it had gotten there.

His ear wasn’t exactly where her mouth had been, though it was a nice ear, worthy of attention. Everything about Ryan demanded attention. In fact, it was especially hard to remember why she had thought Ryan was more dangerous than jumping out of a plane, when the taste of him still lingered on her lips despite her clean-scrubbed face.

“You must be Sabrina,” Marco said, turning the full magnitude of his blond, city-sleek good looks, high cheekbones and intelligent eyes on her. Yet, all she could think about was the thigh of her rough, tough cowboy settling beside hers. Marco cast her an amused glance, taking in her bare face and piled-high hair, as well as her black sweat suit, the only thing she could manage in the two minutes she’d had to get dressed. “I told Ryan to warn you I was coming.”

“I’ve only just met Ryan, but I think it’s safe to say he likes to shake things up.” She cut him a reprimanding stare. “Namely me.”

“And you like it,” Ryan assured her with a wink, before tugging the door shut, darkness consuming them as the overhead light shut off. Ryan’s thigh melted into hers, a shiver of awareness shimmied up her spine and back down.

Marco tapped the back of the driver’s seat, sparing Sabrina a witty comeback her brain simply wasn’t producing. “Drive like you were me,” Marco ordered. “I have a plane to catch.”

“If I could drive like you,” the man behind the wheel said, “I wouldn’t be shuttling you around. But I’ll give it my best shot.” The man hit the accelerator, and the car jerked into motion.

Sabrina jerked with it, her oversize purse with her notepad, pen and recorder tumbling to the floor at Ryan’s feet. Instinctively, she reached for something solid to keep from falling. That something solid turned out to be Ryan’s jeans-clad leg, the one she’d been admiring earlier. Instantly, his hand came down on hers, holding it captive. Her gaze snapped to his, and the twinkle of his eyes cut through the inky shadows.

“I assume Ryan warned you my sister is a big fan,” Marco commented from her left.

“Big fan?” she echoed, the question barely permeating the lusty Ryan-formed clouds muddling her brain. “I’m sorry. What did I miss?” She glanced between the two men, all too aware that her hand remained trapped beneath Ryan’s bigger, stronger one—on his thigh, impossible for Marco to miss.

“Sabrina and I didn’t get much time to talk,” Ryan replied, releasing her hand and settling into his seat.

“What didn’t we talk about that we should have?” she asked, wondering why her hand still tingled where Ryan had held it.

“It seems today is all about deals,” Ryan said, no mistaking his meaning. “Marco’s sister was with him at the Hotzone when I brought up the interview,” Ryan explained. “She knew you instantly from your column in the New York Prime.”

“And the bargaining began,” Marco said, with a disgusted snort. “She might as well be a politician. Oh, wait. She is. She’s on the city council with aspirations of more.”

Sabrina’s stomach tightened. “Oh, really,” she said, trying to fight the tension in her voice.

“Here’s the situation, Sabrina. My sister’s been trying to convince me to speak at some political fundraiser—and I won’t mention for which party because I try not to talk preferences. It gets me in trouble with the press.”

“Like drinking Red Rock Cola?” she asked, trying to change the subject from anything that involved politics and where his sister was headed.

He laughed. “Exactly like drinking Red Rock Cola. That’s what I get for being thirsty and drinking what someone pushed into my hand.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Wait for the interview,” he said.

“So this isn’t the interview?” she asked, frustrated they were back to his sister, and a bargain for an interview with him. As in, Sabrina speaking at that political fundraiser in his place.

“Marco’s not asking you to take his place or I wouldn’t have brought him here, Sabrina,” Ryan said, seemingly reading her mind. “You have my word.”

His word—a loosely given vow uttered by many a politician. But Ryan wasn’t a politician, she reminded herself. He was a darn good kisser, and the man who’d gotten her in the car with Marco Montey.

“All I promised Calista was a chance to talk to you,” Marco assured her. “Speak or don’t speak at that engagement of hers. It’s of zero consequence to me. I did my part by arranging a call. In return, she stops pestering me about you, and you get your interview. As in a full, no-time-constraint interview—by phone, if you can deal with that. I’ll talk to you like no one else I talk to, on one condition. No politics. I know that’s your thing, but I don’t talk politics. Like I said, it pisses off my sponsors. Hell, I don’t even vote.”

“You don’t vote?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Marco pointed at her. “No politics, remember?”

Okay, fine. Good actually. She tested him to be sure. “I won’t speak at your sister’s political event.”

Marco smiled. “Then don’t,” he said. “And yes, you still get your interview.” He reached into his bag on the floor and pulled out a can of Can Cola and popped the top. “Be sure you mention I was drinking this when you met me.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Your interview request was well timed. I need some good press right now.”

Relief washed over her. This interview was going to happen and she had Ryan to thank for it. Ryan whom she had kissed. Ryan who was daring and dangerous. Ryan who made her hot, and considering they were in the same car—was most likely going back to her apartment with her.

A FEW MINUTES LATER, the short ride to the airport was over, the call to Calista and the interview with Marco had been arranged.

“The driver will take you back to your place,” Marco told her with a smile. “Talk to you soon.” Marco exited the car, leaving her and Ryan alone. Sitting next to each other. Close. Her mind raced—okay, stumbled—over what to do next. Move? Don’t move? Why wasn’t she moving? Wouldn’t moving be running? She couldn’t run. This was supposed to be the life she took charge of. This was the life in which she dictated what came next.

Ryan’s cell rang, and Sabrina said a silent thank-you for the reprieve. She slid to the other side of the car to give him space to snatch his phone off his belt and glance at the ID. She wasn’t running. She was simply being…courteous.

Ryan silenced the ringer and ignored the caller, then snatched her purse and held it out to her about the time the muffled ring of her cell radiated through the black leather.

“That’ll be Jennifer,” he said, as she accepted her purse. “I’m sure she wants to know how the meeting went with Marco.” He settled his back against his door again. “And if I managed to keep my hands off you as ordered.”

That was a conversation she wasn’t about to have in front of Ryan. And he knew it. She set her purse down. “I guess I’ll call her and let her know about Marco. And we both know you already failed the hands-off promise.”

“I didn’t promise,” he said. “She talked. I listened. Guess she’s afraid I’ll offend the delicate sensibilities of the politician’s daughter.”

“I do not have delicate sensibilities.” Sabrina bristled, folding her arms across her chest.

He arched a brow. “Jennifer appears to think you do.”

“Maybe she simply thinks you’re trouble,” she said.

“Then maybe you should run,” he suggested.

Run. That darn word again. “I don’t run.”

“Then why’d you leave New York?”

Now he was making her mad. “Why’d you leave the Army?”

He stared at her and chuckled. “I had my reasons.”

“And so did I.”

His lips twitched. “Copy that. Then I guess we understand each other.”

Understand each other? “I doubt that.”

“No?” he asked. “Highly improbable.”

“Because of your delicate sensibilities,” he teased.

She leaned forward and pointed. “Don’t push me,” she chided.

He leaned forward, close. “Can’t help myself.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. Sexy, wonderful mischief that made her feel more alive and turned-on than she had in a very long time.

A few seconds ticked by. Gray and white shadows swirled with passing reflections. It occurred to her she wanted to kiss him. Her. Kiss. Him. Not the other way around. If they held their positions much longer, he’d kiss her and then she’d never know if she had the courage to go first.

She leaned back and crossed her arms again. He mimicked her position, arms in front of his broad, gorgeous chest. Silence ensued as did an outright stare-off. Sexual tension inked a path from him to her. Or maybe it was her to him because everything about the man, from his demanding personality to the scar she had just located right above his top lip—that really full, sexy lip—did a number on her. Proven by the damp tingling feeling in the V of her body. A sensation she found downright unnerving, considering the man was several arm lengths away.

She wanted to forget everything with Ryan and just experience him. To let go. But how could she after the political attachment that had come with Marco, through him? Ryan, who had kissed her. Ryan, who she wanted to kiss her again. Ryan, who she’d considered dangerous because he excited her, scared her, made her want to toe some invisible line that felt erotic and daring.

Yet, she’d never considered he could have a political agenda, or that he might sell her out to someone who did. He seemed too true-blue for that. Still…

“Do you vote, Ryan?”

“Call me paranoid,” he said, “but it seemed a bad idea to vote for, or against, anyone who might later be assigning me a death mission.”

The last thing she’d call Ryan was paranoid. Or safe. Was he teasing her again? “Soldiers get secret ballots like the rest of us.”

“I wasn’t just a soldier,” he said. “In fact, for all practical purposes, I didn’t exist. If I went on a mission and didn’t come back, I just didn’t come back.”

“Are you saying you were afraid to vote?”

“Careful now,” he warned in a teasing voice. “Us tough-guy soldiers take issue with being called afraid. Besides, most of the time, I was so deep inside enemy territory, I couldn’t be found if you wanted to hand me a ballot. Only a few people knew of my missions.”

“A person can’t just disappear,” she said softly. “Your family would miss you. They’d ask questions.”

His lashes lowered to half-veil, a split second of heavy silence falling before he replied, “The Army was my family.”

Translation. He was alone. As in, no parents to drive him crazy, but still love him insanely, as hers did. No matter how she tried to escape her family’s craziness, the insane-love part was never in doubt and always comforting.

A million questions flew through her mind, but she settled for, “Yet, you left.”

“Like I said,” he replied, “I had my reasons.”

Suddenly, he moved, and he was leaning over her, his arms framing either side of her shoulders. “Ask me the question that’s on your mind. The real one. Not something you say because you’re on the spot.”

She inhaled a sharp breath, laced with the spicy, warm scent of him, his mouth close. His kiss a promise she wanted to make reality. And she didn’t play coy. She hated coy. She liked straightforward. She liked direct. She liked what you see is what you get. And she needed to know if that was what Ryan was going to give her. So she asked the question he wanted to hear, the question she most wanted answered. “What do you want from me, Ryan?”

“You,” he said. “Just you.”

The claim, spoken in his deep baritone voice, de livered raw sensuality. A shiver raced down her spine, and it was all she could do not to pull his mouth to hers but…the driver. She squeezed her eyes shut as she accepted the part of her life that relocating could not change. She hated that she cared about gossip, hated that even with a man like Ryan so close she could taste him, she remembered how easily a third party could spread rumors, how easily those rumors could become poison to a political career like her father’s. Sabrina ached to feel free.

“Sabrina, look at me,” Ryan ordered, his tone rough with a low command, his breath warm on her lips.

She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.

Instantly, his hands framed her face, his mouth slanting over hers, his tongue gently parting her lips. He tasted her deeply, sensually, drawing her into the moment. Coaxing her to forget everything but the way his tongue drew on hers. The way his body felt beneath her palms that had somehow come to rest on his broad shoulders. Another caress of his lips, another slide of his tongue. Her hands slid around his neck.

His hand rested on her hipbones, long fingers wrapping around her waist, fingers that slid intimately over her ribs. Brushed the curve of her breast. Her nipples tightened, she clenched her thighs, suddenly realizing Ryan was between them. Crazy panic overcame her. A picture, a tabloid story. She had to get up. She… Ryan kissed her long and hard, driving away the thoughts before announcing, “We’re here.” She glanced around to realize they had, indeed, arrived at her condo, and, with their arrival, she had escaped the dilemma of the driver, and found another. The moment of truth. There were no barriers, no cameras, no hiding inside her apartment. Not with Ryan there with her.

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