High Octane Page 7

  A part of Sabrina burned to say yes to the invitation—this was familiar territory. Who didn’t want to feel as if they were valued? Appreciated? She wanted to do good things, to stand up for people, but she didn’t know how to do that, and really make a difference. No, she’d hit an emotional wall over the constant conflict her involvement created. She’d made her decision, and she knew she needed a change, at least, until she figured out how, and if, she could contribute in a positive way.

  Resolve formed. “As much as I am flattered by your invitation, there is no doubt such an event would pluck me from the obscurity I’ve come here to find. I can’t let that happen.”

  “You know I want to pressure you,” Calista said.

  “But you won’t,” Ryan said firmly, casting Calista a meaningful look. “And that’s wonderful of you.” His cell rang before he finished the last word.

  “Realtor,” he told Sabrina after a quick inspection of the phone. “I’ll take this outside.” He dismissed himself. Sabrina watched him leave, warmed by his brawny protectiveness. She had friends who’d defended her work at the Prime, her editor Ava being one of them. But Ryan’s protectiveness wasn’t about her work, it was about her.

  “From politics to extreme sports, I see,” Calista commented. Sabrina refocused on the other woman as Calista sipped her coffee and winked. “I guess I see why you want out of politics.”

  Had she been drinking her coffee, Sabrina would surely have choked. Playing coy, she pretended they were talking about Calista’s brother, Marco. “I wasn’t aware race-car driving was considered extreme sports.”

  “No,” Calista agreed. “But jumping out of an airplane with that man sure was. I don’t know how I got talked into that. Have you tried it?”

  “No,” Sabrina said. “I came close but thankfully, you and Marco showed up that day.”

  “Your luck was my loss,” Calista said. “I wish I had a little luck so I could talk you into speaking at my event.” She waved off the comment, silently letting Sabrina know she wasn’t pressuring her. “Back to the extreme sport otherwise known as Ryan Walker. I’m pretty sure you can come up with some exhilarating activities with that man that do not include skydiving. Don’t let him talk you into it.” A slow smile slid onto her lips. “He’s hot, girl, and he looks at you like he wants to gobble you right up.”

  “No,” Sabrina said dismissively, and then because she couldn’t help herself, leaned forward and asked softly, “He does?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Calista assured her. “What a way to leave the political white collars behind in style. And honey, with a man like that all to yourself, I don’t blame you for wanting to protect your privacy.”

  Sabrina bit her lip. “This isn’t about Ryan.”

  Calista offered a coy look of her own. “Maybe not,” she said. “But I wouldn’t blame you if it was.” She reached into her purse and slid a card to the table. “Listen, the paper is only a few blocks from my office. We should have lunch. A real lunch, no politics. Just friends.”

  The two of them would never manage “no politics,” which was why Sabrina accepted the card and said nothing but, “Thank you. That would be nice.”

  “Translation,” Calista said knowingly, “no, thanks.”

  “It’s not you,” Sabrina said. In fact, she felt she quite clicked with Calista. And that was the problem. “I really need a clean break from politics, and you’re clearly immersed in that world.”

  “I’m not going to talk you into speaking, am I?”

  “No,” Sabrina agreed. “You’re not.”

  Calista pursed her lips. “I respect that, but I’m still hoping you’ll change your mind.”

  It wasn’t long until Ryan returned and did what appeared to come naturally—got right to the point. “So, Calista. How about calling Marco and telling him to give Sabrina her interview?”

  “Of course,” Calista agreed. “I never meant to have this be some sort of quid pro quo. If Marco made it seem otherwise, I’ll happily kick his backside.”

  Ah, sibling love, Sabrina thought, with wistful amusement. She’d never experienced it, but often thought a friend for life who she could always count on would be a joy.

  “Then you won’t mind calling Marco now, I assume,” Ryan commented. It wasn’t a question.

  Calista shook her head and glanced at Sabrina. “Did I mention I never jumped out of that plane? He pushed me.”

  “I encouraged you,” Ryan corrected, and gave Sabrina a sideways mischievous look that said the word push might be the most accurate.

  Calista scoffed and retrieved her cell from her purse. “I felt a distinct push. Like now. Only this time I don’t mind. I’m calling Marco.”

  Several minutes later, Sabrina had not only bypassed Marco’s manager and set a time for her phone interview with Marco, but also one with his lead mechanic. She was on the way to her six-week exposé. Now, she just needed Frank’s thumbs-up.

  Sabrina and Ryan said their goodbyes to Calista and laughed their way across the parking lot. “Tell me you didn’t really push Calista out of the plane?”

  “Nudged is more like it,” Ryan said, yanking open the door to his shiny blue Dodge Ram. “Marco had just told me we’d go by your place if there was time before his flight. I made sure we had time.”

  His hands settled on her waist, and she stepped onto the ledge to climb inside the truck when a moment of spontaneity hit her. She turned and faced him, her hand resting on his chest, their bodies so very close.

  “Thank you,” she said, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “For what?”

  “For having no political agenda,” she said. “When this Calista thing came up I was afraid…” that you were like so many before you, she added silently, but said instead, “…you might have an agenda of your own.” His arm wrapped around her waist, folding her into his body.

  “Politics is the last thing on my mind where you’re concerned.” His lips pressed to the corner of hers in a tease of a kiss before sliding full on, where he lingered. Every nerve in her seemed to splinter and then collide into one center point before shimmering through her body. And, for the first time in a very long time, politics was the last thing on her mind. She might just be developing a love for extreme sports. Or at least the one named Ryan.

  9

  “THIS REALLY ISN’T going to work for me,” Ryan said, his tone uncompromising.

  Sabrina blinked at Ryan’s words, taken aback by how fast and certain his decision appeared.

  Leaning against the cherrywood cabinetry of one of five houses the Realtor had shown them over the course of the afternoon, Sabrina watched as Scott Miller, said Realtor in question, tried to hide his impatience. The man might come off as country in his cowboy boots and jeans, as did so many Texans, but Scott was all about business. After five houses, all of which had had charm and appeal, Ryan had quickly dismissed every one as easily as this one. Sabrina was beginning to think she was never going to get Ryan alone to move past their hands-off policy.

  “Maybe if you could give me more specifics about what you like or don’t like, I’d be able to narrow the search,” Scott suggested.

  So far Ryan’s comments had included “Not for me,” “Not the one,” “Can’t see me in this one” and now “This really isn’t going to work for me.”

  “I like the cabinets,” Sabrina said, running her finger over the gray-and-maroon granite top and trying to give the Realtor something to go on. “Do you like these, Ryan? Or did you prefer the lighter wood in the last house?”

  Ryan shrugged. “They’re nice,” he said, not indicating which of the two kinds of cabinets he preferred.

  Sabrina indicated the floor. “And this is amazing hardwood.” The color was light with darker streaks to match the cabinets. “Really gorgeous.”

  “It’s hickory,” Scott quickly said.

  “Really?” Sabrina said. “I’ve not heard of hickory hardwoods. I like this quite a lot.”

  “Big back
yard,” Ryan said, walking to the sliding glass doors off the casual dining area. “Not sure what I’d do with it. But it’s big.”

  He’d dismissed two prior houses because the yards were too small. Scott’s lips thinned with frustration, and really, Sabrina couldn’t blame him.

  “Since the house is vacant,” Sabrina asked, “Can Ryan and I stay and look around? Maybe we can talk through what he likes and doesn’t like and narrow the search.”

  “Absolutely,” Scott agreed quickly, and before Sabrina knew it, she was given instructions for locking up and left alone with Ryan, who still stood at that window, staring into the backyard.

  Sabrina stared at his aloof form and frowned. There was always a raw untamed energy to Ryan, but now, it was darker. Almost solemn. Sabrina found herself moving toward him, eager to find out what was going on in his head, in his heart. She felt oddly comfortable with a man she’d just met. A man who somehow felt amazingly familiar. She liked him. Liked him in a way you did an instant friend, with the added perk of intense sexual need. He was a man worth being a little daring for.

  She stopped, sliding her arms around him from be hind, and hugged him, resting her head on his back. “One might think you really don’t want to buy a house.”

  He turned around and wrapped her in his embrace, offering her the first smile since they’d met that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you ever take me shopping, I promise not to complain when you try on the entire store,” he teased.

  She found the idea of big, sexy Ryan sitting outside a dressing room while she tried on clothes a bit disconcerting. And appealing.

  Lacing her fingers with his, he led her to the kitchen. “It’s nice,” he said, releasing her hand and surveying the counters and stainless-steel appliances.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Sabrina said. “It makes the house.”

  “Not that I cook,” he said.

  “Well, neither do I,” she admitted. “My mother was always so busy, we ate a lot of takeout. Thus I eat a lot of takeout. Or microwave meals. But still. There’s something about a great kitchen that makes a home.”

  He frowned at that. “So, your condo…did it feel like home when you first saw it?”

  She nodded and leaned on the counter next to him. “I was in love with it right away. But no, it didn’t feel like home. It felt like someplace I could make home. But I’m drawn to condo-style living because I grew up in Manhattan, where a building, rather than a house, is the norm. Maybe think about what was ‘home’ to you in the past. It’s clearly not the style of the houses we’ve been looking at.”

  He scoffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve been in deserts and jungles for so many years, the hotel I’m in feels more like home than this. Though I like your place.” His eyes took on familiar mischief. “But then it might have been the mud mask that turned me on to it.”

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Can we vow to replace that memory with one that is mud-free?”

  “Oh, no,” he said, a teasing, erotic hitch to his voice. “That is a memory I will cling to with immense pleasure, for quite possibly the rest of my life.”

  She might have ignored the bold comment, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ryan wasn’t himself right now. Not that she knew him well enough to say that, but yet… He joked. He teased. And still he was more withdrawn than normal.

  Sabrina eased in front of him and let her body rest against his. Instantly, his eyes darkened, turned an amber-brown. The heat of his body radiated into hers like the soft glow of a newly lit furnace.

  Blinking up at him, she wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the newness of their relationship held her back. And so she decided perhaps she should simply give him something else to think about. An escape, pleasure.

  “This house might not be home,” she offered, her hand sliding across his chest and down his side, “but it’s a good place for a memory. And if I remember a certain stairwell properly, I do owe you a memory.” Her hand slid over his belt, down the front of his jeans.

  His face hardened with desire, and that wasn’t the only thing hard. He covered her hand where it rested on his zipper. “You’re tempting the beast,” he teased, though his voice was taut, his cock hard against her palm.

  She surprised herself by laughing. “The one in your pants or out?” she joked playfully, remarkably relaxed with Ryan, even when pushing her own boundaries. And she was very much about to push her boundaries.

  “Both,” he said. “Man and beast want you way too badly to be teased.”

  “No teasing,” she said, mercilessly stroking him through his jeans. “We’ve already established I owe you a memory. I intend to pay up.” She reached for the snap on his jeans.

  Again he stilled her hand, his expression serious, his voice, as well. “You don’t owe me anything but a date,” he said.

  His words stilled her for a moment. She owed him nothing. “Then this is for me,” she said. “A memory I want very much.” And she did. More than she’d ever imagined possible. She wanted to pleasure this man as she had never wanted to pleasure another. Wanted to forget the world around her. Forget prim and proper. Wanted just to enjoy him here and now.

  For several seconds, he held on to her hand, studying her, probing her expression. “I want this,” she whispered, using her free hand to shove his shirt upward, to press her fingers against the warm flesh beneath the shirt, to absorb rippling muscles with wonder and delight.

  His hand eased from hers, and she unzipped his pants, her fingers quickly finding the hard length of him beneath. She wasn’t sure who inhaled the sharpest when she pressed beneath his underwear and grazed his cock with her fingers. Her gaze jerked to his, the connection scorching, intimate, erotic. As was the moment she freed him, closing her palm around his hot pulsing flesh and then stroking slowly up his length, spreading the dampness there, the sign of just how ready he was for what came next.

  He moaned, and desire burned wild inside her. Without any hesitation, any fear of being caught, she slid to her knees, arms wrapped around Ryan’s legs as she settled beneath his jutted cock and touched it lightly with her tongue. Teasing. Yes. Now she was teasing. Him and herself.

  “Sabrina,” he whispered.

  She smiled as her hand slid around the base of his erection. As her eyes met his, she drew him into her mouth, suckled the head of his erection and then slowly slid downward, inch by inch. And then she started the slide, up and down. Until his hand settled on her head, guiding her, telling her how urgent he was. Until she couldn’t get enough, until her hand curved his amazing backside, and she suckled him harder and deeper.

  He moaned her name, his breathing heavy, labored. Aroused.

  Sabrina had never wanted a man to submit his pleasure to her as she did this one. Never hungered for more of him. But she did now. Her tongue, lips and hands explored, pumped, drove him to the edge. She ached with want, with need, her womb contracting, begging to be filled. Later, she told herself. Later, when she could have all of him without restriction, without limitations. Always there were limitations. She wanted them gone, wanted to find out what that meant with this man. What making love really could be. How erotic. How intense. How daring.

  Suddenly, the muscles in Ryan’s legs stiffened, and his body shuddered. “Stop,” Ryan said, trying to pull back, to pull away from her.

  Sabrina refused, tightening her grip around him and sucking him deeper, harder. She stole his resistance, his resolve, until his hand slid back to her head, holding her, begging her not to stop. Until finally he exploded, finally he gave himself to her.

  Afterward, she slid up his body, helping him dress as he had done with her. And then she settled against him again, a smile tugging at her lips. Gone was the darkness she’d seen edging his face, replaced with a sense of awe and satisfaction that she was responsible for. She loved that she’d done that for him. And for her. She wasn’t thinking about who was watching, or who was judging, or what she’d left behind in New York. She was t
hinking about the moment and, most definitely, about the man.

  She reached up and fingered the straight hair touching his brow. She liked that it was longer than a typical army buzz cut. Her hand slid over his strong jaw, the spiky stubble rough against her soft palm. “Now,” she prodded, “what do you think about the house?”

  His arms held her at the waist. “All I’m thinking about right now is you.” The loud growl of her stomach interrupted, and he chuckled, “And you’re thinking about food. Not sure how I feel about that.”

  “A few bites of a muffin doesn’t go very far,” she said.

  “We should go eat, then.” His hand slid around her neck, his lips hovering above hers. “I wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied.”

  She smiled, again amazed at how comfortable Ryan made her feel. “I’m counting on it.”

  10

  NOT LONG AFTER TURNING the house for sale into the house he’d never forget, Ryan and Sabrina had swung through the Taco Cabana drive-through for takeout. Feeling at ease with Sabrina beyond what he’d expect considering the length of time they’d known one another—like a close friend with the perk of finding her smoking-hot, of course—Ryan now lounged on her living-room floor with her by his side. The final bits of their dinner sprawled across her coffee table, the radio emitted a low hum of country music at Ryan’s insistence—Mexican food required proper atmosphere.

  Sabrina fanned her mouth and reached for her large diet soda. “I thought you said this was mild,” she complained, hitting the icy bottom of her drink and grabbing his to take a long gulp. She set it down with a hard thud. “Good grief. This food is not even close to mild.”

  Ryan chuckled, finding her inability to tolerate even the mildest spice adorable and appalling. “You will never make it in Texas if you don’t learn to spice things up.”

  “If spicing up my life includes setting my mouth on fire,” she rebutted, and drew another long drink of his soda, “I’m going to reconsider.”