High Octane (12 page)

She did; she knew. That was what made it so easy to be free with him. “Then
do
what I say.”

He nipped her bottom lip and smiled. “I thought you weren't a control freak?”

“Sometimes control has its perks.”

His hand slid into her hair. “Sometimes giving away control has its perks.” He dragged her mouth to his, a bit rough, a lot wild. His tongue pressed into her mouth, a deep, drugging invasion that Sabrina felt in every nerve ending of her body. Her thighs hugged his waist, wet heat draped across his lower stomach. It would be so easy to lift her body and take him inside her. So good to take him inside her. She fought the urge. There was so much she wanted to do to him first. So much.

He broke the kiss long enough to nip and nibble her lip, his hand at the back of her neck, holding her captive until he claimed another drugging kiss, taking her further into an alternate reality where only pleasure existed. He reached between them, tugging at her nipples, tweaking with enough pressure that it hurt, but, oh, so good.

He turned his face to her hair and then nuzzled her cheek. “You smell gorgeous. Like honeysuckle.” His hands covered her breasts, held them, caressed them.

“My shampoo,” she whispered absently, the press of his shaft against her back reminding her of her agenda. How she wanted to slide down his body and take his cock in her mouth. To show him the kind of pleasure he had shown her.

Desperate to make it happen, she pressed away from him, sitting up. “And stop it. Control is not yours right now.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low, rough. “I couldn't agree more. I am totally at your mercy, unable to stop touching you.” He reached for her.

She captured his hands with hers, twined her fingers with his. “Behave, Ryan Walker.”

His gaze brushed her nipples. “Let me lick one.”

“I said behave.”

“Let me lick one and I will.”

“Stop,” she ordered.

An evil smile touched those equally evil lips capable of amazing things. “You know you want me to.”

“No,” she lied. “I don't.” Yes. She did. Her nipples were perhaps the most erogenous places on her body. Along with the back of her neck, which he'd effortlessly located quite effectively.

“Let me lick one and I'll behave.”

Tempting. “You promise?”

“You have my word.”

His word. She believed him more the last time he'd offered it. He was in naughty mode. Wickedly naughty and she loved it. “Fine.” Holding on to his hands, she leaned forward, dangling her nipple excruciatingly close to his mouth before saying, “Remember your promise.”

Hunger flitted across his face. “I remember.”

She leaned into him, and he did more than lick. He suckled her nipple into his mouth. Sabrina moaned with the sensation, waves of it washing over her and into her. Her back arched into him, thrusting her breasts higher. Her grip on his hand weakened, forgotten. He licked and
suckled and nipped. His teeth rough, his tongue gentle. Her hips were moving; she couldn't help it. She needed him. She needed and needed.

“It's time to let me inside, Sabrina,” he said, his hand twining into her hair and dragging her mouth to his. Masterfully, he both kissed her and lifted her hips, shifting her body until he pressed the head of his shaft past her swollen, aching flesh.

Sabrina held her breath as he slipped all the way inside her. “Oh,” she moaned as she felt him fill her, expand within her.

His fingers brushed through her hair. “
Oh
is right,” he breathed into her mouth, briefly tasting her.

“You're very…hard,” she whispered. And big.

He laughed. “That's the idea, isn't it?”

Smiling, she said, “Yeah, but you are exceptionally—” He thrust into her, pressing her hips against his.

“Hard,” he said, finishing her sentence.

“Yes.”

“That's because you really turn me on, Sabrina,” he said, his hands going to her face, bringing her gaze to his. “You…like no other woman.”

It was a confession that took her by surprise. Shook her to the core. Excited her. Frightened her. This man was inside her in more ways than the physical. She opened her mouth to confess as much, but her throat constricted. He was so much more than sex. He could hurt her. What if he hurt her?

“Prove it,” she finally said. “Prove it now.”

For just an instant a shadow flickered across his face. Disappointment perhaps. Or not. Perhaps she'd imagined it because almost instantly a primal look full of pure male intent filled his expression.

He took her mouth then, took it with a savageness she'd not felt from him until now. His shaft seemed to thicken further, pulsing inside her. She'd called him wild, but now she, too, was wild. They began to move together, hips pumping and grinding. Bodies pressed close, as if that would take him deeper. As if that would tear down what little separated them. Until the rage of need slowed to a sultry, sensual dance. Until the wild tasting of tongues became a soft musical caress. Until their eyes met and spoke for them.

There was something happening between them, something neither controlled any more than they did their burn to get closer. One last wild rush overcame them, a frenzied thrusting and pumping, that took Sabrina to the edge of shattering where she clung for dear life, wanting this to last, wanting…wanting. Until she shattered, burying her head in his neck, and gasping a moment before the spasms clamped down on his shaft, her body taking what it had wanted from the moment she first met him. He tumbled right after her, shuddered with a hard lift of his hips as he cupped her backside and buried himself far and deep.

 

S
ABRINA LAY ON TOP
of Ryan, a limp noodle of satisfaction, when suddenly it hit her. “The bank!” she yelped, scrambling to the edge of the bed. “I have to
get to the bank.” She eyed the clock. “Thirty minutes. I'm never going to make it! I have no ID, no money, no way to pay for my car keys.” She scrambled for her bag and clothes.

“I thought you went earlier,” Ryan said, already standing and putting on his pants.

“No, I—” Something scraped her back, and she reached over her shoulder. “Ouch! What is that.”

Ryan snatched whatever it was off her back and held it up. The condoms. “I think I'm the one who is supposed to wear them, not you.”

The condoms they hadn't used were not her biggest problem right now. It was money. “Hurry,” she ordered. “Get dressed.”

His gaze caught on the jeans she pulled from her bag. “Where did that come from? Wait. Your shampoo. Your hair smelled like honeysuckle. You went to your apartment. Sabrina, damn it, what were you thinking?”

“That I had to have my passport to prove to the bank I'm me.” Damn. Her shirt must be in the bathroom. She turned toward it.

Ryan shackled her arm, halting her movement. “Are you nuts? What if someone was watching you at the club? What if they had targeted you?”

“The property manager came with me,” she said. “Or rather she waited in the hall ready to call for help.”

“Oh, that was safe,” he chided shortly. “Damn it. You should have called me.”

“Don't curse at me, Ryan Walker.”

“Don't put yourself in danger, and I won't.”

“You aren't my protector.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should be.”

She gaped. “What the heck does that mean?”

“It means I care about you. And if you stand there naked much longer, yelling at me, I'm going to throw you on the bed and show you how much.”

Sabrina snatched the towel from the floor and wrapped it around herself. Though the idea that he couldn't resist her wore away at her frustration.

Ryan sat down on the edge of the bed. “Look. Sabrina. I'm sorry. Whatever this is that's going on between us, it makes me protective. I've seen some nasty things. Imagining the motives behind stealing your purse isn't hard for me.”

Sabrina blinked at both the content of his confession and the delivery, glimpsing the tiniest bit of vulnerability and uncertainty behind his words. As if he wasn't sure how she would respond. He touched her, this big, confident, sexy man with a softer side that even an argument couldn't hide.

Closing the distance between them, she stopped in front of him, and gently touched his cheek. “No one has ever protected me before. Not me. Just my reputation. I like it.”

Surprise flickered in his face. “You do?”

She nodded. “Yes. Very much.” A slow smile slid to her lips. “But you think you can tame just a little bit of the tough-guy, demanding thing?”

He drew her hand to his mouth. “Depends. Can I still be tough-guy and demanding in bed?”

Instant sexual energy charged the room. “Sometimes,” she negotiated.

“Now?”

She glanced at the clock. No way was she making it to the bank. And she wasn't sure she'd care if she could. “Now,” she agreed and dropped her towel in the name of seduction for the second time in one day.

D
ESPITE A WHIRLWIND
of errands, and more than their share of challenges along the way, Ryan had enjoyed the hell out of spending the rest of Saturday with Sabrina. It was near eight that night when they finally stepped into the elevator of her building, several bags in hand, including a lock kit, a gourmet heat-and-eat pizza—since they hadn't had time to eat—and her new cell phone in need of charging.

“I still can't believe my car was impounded,” Sabrina murmured, shaking her head. Her car had been one of their more complicated challenges. “The manager at the bar promised us that wouldn't happen when my purse was stolen. I even called this morning, and they said it was there.” Animated, she turned to him. “And after you paid for my key. I feel horrible about that.”

“You still need the key,” he reminded her. “And I can drive you out to the lot to get your car Monday morning when the tow company reopens,” he offered.

“I don't want you to miss more work than you have,” she argued. “You missed today.”

“Business was slow,” Ryan said. “Besides, I worked seven days a week for over a month getting ready for the Hotzones first Army training camp. I'm due a few hours here or there.”

The elevator dinged and opened on her floor. “You're sure?”

“Positive,” he said as they exited into her hallway. “And for selfish reasons. I'd like to take you out dancing again sometime. That means erasing the bad memories as soon as possible.”

“I don't even want to think about how I was carrying on at that bar,” she grimaced. “If I'd been in New York, someone would have snapped a picture and held it for ransom for sure.”

He snagged her hand and pulled her close. “But you're not in New York. You're in Texas. With me.”

She smiled. “And I'm liking being in Texas.” She kissed him. “With you. But please. Stop me at one margarita next time.”

“You have my word.”

Her smile widened to a grin. “Yes. I have your word.” She started to turn.

He didn't let her get away, tugging on her hand. “And that makes you smile, why?”

She glanced over her shoulder, pulling him forward. “Because you always say that, and I know you mean it. I like it.” She stopped abruptly, and Ryan almost ran into her.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he warned and then frowned, noting the box in front of her door.

“Your father again?” he asked, feeling his gut tighten.

“I don't know,” she said. “I haven't been taking his calls. Or my mother's, for that matter. So maybe. Every time I talk to them they tell me all the reasons why I should go back to New York. Our conversations always end badly.” She approached the door and Ryan followed, taking the bag she had in her hand and shuffling it to the hand where he held the other two.

He watched her bend down and study the package, his nerves prickling with discomfort. Today, he'd actually begun to think Sabrina might really want to stay here, to make a life here. Maybe with him. But there was one man Ryan knew he couldn't compete with—her father.

“Weird,” she said. “There isn't a return address or any postage.”

“Put it down,” Ryan ordered with such force that Sabrina dropped the box immediately.

“Why? What?” She held her hand to her chest. “You scared the heck out of me.”

Ryan set the bags down. “Back away and let me check it out.” He waited for her compliance and then squatted by the box. Bent his head and listened for any odd sound and then did a visual inspection.

Standing up, he turned to Sabrina. “Hand me your keys.”

“Ryan, what is going on?” she asked.

His fingers brushed her jaw. “I'm having one of those protective moments that you both love and hate. Your purse was stolen. We have to be cautious. Stay out here. I'll open the package.”

“Why?” she asked, alarm flushing her cheeks. “Do you think it's going to blow up or there's a dead animal inside, or something creepy like that?”

Ryan settled his hands on her face. “Sabrina, sweetheart. Just trust me, okay? Let me do this, and then we can make our pizza and enjoy it.” He brushed his lips over hers. “And each other.”

She hesitated but nodded. “Okay.” He started to pull away, and she grabbed one of his hands. “Should we call the police?”

“I have far more training than anyone who would show up, I swear.”

“Oh, right,” she said. “But still…”

“I'll be careful,” he promised. She was worried. About a box hurting him. How would she have been if she'd known him when he was gone for months, completely out of touch? “Stay right there until I call you.”

Ryan had already assessed the telltale signs of an amateur at work: the way the box was taped. And it was a recycled box from a local food manufacturer, which meant the person wasn't worried about being traced. It also meant this package wasn't from Sabrina's parents.

First, Ryan unlocked her door and then cautiously picked up the package. “Be careful,” Sabrina called.

Despite the disconcerting circumstances, Ryan smiled
as he entered the apartment and shut the door. He didn't stop until he reached Sabrina's kitchen, the opposite side of the living room, away from the windows and enclosed to absorb any blast, although he wasn't expecting one. The kitchen also put him a good distance from the door, this allowed him to respond to whatever was inside if necessary, without endangering Sabrina.

He set the box down, pulled out a chair and set his cell on it. Then he grabbed a knife from the kitchen block. He sliced the box open and backed up, then waited. Nothing. Next he flipped the lid open. Waited again. Nothing. Finally, he knocked it to its side. Sabrina's purse tumbled out. What the heck?

Using the knife, he investigated the easy-to-access items lying on the table. No note. Nothing but the purse. Nothing that he could see. For further investigation, Ryan grabbed a towel from the kitchen to avoid touching anything, dumped the contents of the purse on the table, and went through it. Lipstick, powder, keys. Wallet. He struggled with the towel, but managed to open the wallet and review the contents. Everything seemed to be inside. Driver's license. Credit cards. Even forty dollars in cash.

Ryan didn't like it one bit. Someone was messing with her. A stalker maybe? They should file a police report as soon as possible.

Hating that he had to scare Sabrina, Ryan did a quick check of the condo, and then headed to the hallway.

“Well?” Sabrina asked anxiously.

He grabbed their shopping bags from the ground and motioned her inside. “Let's go inside and talk.”

The color drained from her face. “What does that mean?”

“Inside,” he said again.

Ryan disposed of the bags by the door and led Sabrina to the table. “My purse!” she exclaimed excitedly and reached for it.

“Don't touch it,” Ryan warned, “we need to have it fingerprinted.”

“What? Why?”

“No note and everything is intact. Even the forty bucks in your wallet. I assume that's what you had in it?”

“Yes,” she said. “Couldn't this be a nice person who didn't want a reward?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I just don't like the way this feels, Sabrina. Better safe than sorry. Let's call the police and let them do a report. That way if this person who dropped it off becomes a problem, you have a record.”

“Now you're really starting to freak me out,” she said.

He wrapped her in his arms. “I don't mean to. But don't count on getting rid of me tonight. I'm not leaving you alone until we're sure about this.”

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “One perk to being a damsel in distress,” she said. “Having you around as my personal bodyguard.”

Over an hour later, the police officer, a twentysomething kid still wet behind the ears, wrapped up his
questions. “Is there anything else I should know? You're sure there have been no other indicators of threats?”

Ryan remembered Sabrina's answering machine in the kitchen. “You should check your messages before he leaves.”

“No,” Sabrina said quickly, running her hands down her hips and regrouping. “I mean, I cleared them while you guys were talking. There's nothing of concern there.”

Even the young buck of a cop wasn't convinced. “You sure, ma'am?”

“Yes,” she said. “Very sure. Thank you so much for coming out. I'm hoping this is a false alarm.”

When the cop exited, Sabrina shut the door, locked it and turned to Ryan. He stood, arms crossed, waiting for her. “What was that about?”

“I just wanted him gone,” she said. “I wanted this over with.”

“What aren't you telling me, Sabrina?”

“Any messages are most likely from my parents. I'm really liking my private sanctuary called Texas. And though I cling to the hope my father won't run for the White House, albeit I'd never tell him that, I don't want to lose my privacy because this latest crazy installment of my life might make the news. It's sad, but true.”

He understood. He understood, and he hated the truth of her words. She couldn't escape that part of her life, and he couldn't protect her from it, no matter how much he might try. He could only help her deal with it.

“We should listen to the messages,” he said. “Or I
can give you some privacy to listen to them. Both home and cell phone.”

A defeated sigh followed. “You might as well listen with me,” she said, motioning him toward the kitchen. “If you're going to be in my life, you need to know what that means, good and bad. There's no better way than a good dose of my parents to give you the full picture.”

There were ten messages. Ryan thought for sure they couldn't all be from her parents. They were. The final one played.

“Sabrina, this is your mother. I know you're alive and well because I read your feature on that car driver, which surprised me, of course, but that's another subject. You should be doing what you do well. Politics.”

“Now that it serves Daddy's campaign,” Sabrina mumbled.

The message continued, “We're worried. Please call us. Or I'm going to get on a plane and come there.”

“Oh, crap,” Sabrina said, leaning her elbows on the counter and dropping her head. “She means it. I have to call. I should check my cell phone and make sure her threats haven't become more urgent. I might have to make that call to her tonight.”

“I'll change the locks while you check your cell,” he suggested. “That pizza would taste really good right about now, as well.”

“I'll pop it in,” she agreed.

Ryan headed to the door, wondering what was really keeping Sabrina from calling her parents. Ten calls were a lot of calls. And sure, Ryan understood she was
avoiding their nudge back into politics, but he had to wonder if there was more to her avoidance. Perhaps she knew that this nudge was all it would take to talk her into returning to New York.

 

S
ABRINA SAT DOWN
at the dining-room table and stared at the mess that was her purse. While preferring to believe a good Samaritan had returned it, there was no question she was shaken. The idea of a stranger digging through her personal items, knowing her address—it was hard not to be unsettled. Having Ryan change her locks and stay close was comforting. And having him close, well… She was falling for him. She
had
fallen for him. For the first time in her life, she was pretty sure she was feeling love for this man. It was early in the relationship, she knew, but she'd dated men casually for months and never once had she even begun to think such a thing.

All the more reason why she didn't want to call home. Home. Was New York home? She stared out the window, at the Austin view she'd come to love. The city life emulating a small-town feel, with its casual attire, a downtown you could stroll without being mauled and such friendly people. And Ryan. Ryan was here.

Tension radiated up her spine as she grabbed her cell phone. It was dead. She snatched the bag by her chair, pulled out the charger she'd bought for the new phone she no longer needed, and plugged it into the wall. The instant the phone lit up, it rang. Frank. At least it wasn't her father.

Sabrina hit the answer button and was immediately greeted with, “What's going on, Cameron?”

Last-name usage. Never a good sign. She opened her mouth to speak.

He cut her off. “You don't know how to answer your phone or what? You're too good to work on the weekends? You're no diva here in Texas. You answer your phone.”

Sabrina smiled. She couldn't help it. “This diva,” she replied, “had her purse, car keys and cell phone stolen. Would you like a copy of the police report? Or maybe I should write a story about it.”

“Actually—”

“No,” she said sharply. “It was a joke, Frank.”

“It would sell papers,” he countered. “Don't offer if you aren't willing to pay up.”

“I assume there was a reason I was scolded for not answering my phone?”

“You saw the story about that soldier,” he demanded, rather than asked.

“I saw it.”

“We should have had that story.”

Sabrina ground her teeth. “Why didn't your political team get it?”

“I gave you this story,” he quipped sharply. “
You,
Sabrina. And I sent you the names of people involved, details to follow up on, yet you let someone else get the real story. You gave me fluff.”

“And I told you, Frank,” she ground out, “I'm following up on some leads, but this isn't my story. I'm helping
out and I intend to keep helping out. But you are the one choosing what gets printed and what doesn't.”

“I waited to give you the chance to make a real splash with this story, to make it known that you've moved from New York to Texas—to our paper.”