Ricochet (11 page)

“Hey, Rach, I want—” Troy started.

“You always want something, Troy.” She’d seen him darken her doorway but was trying her damnedest to stay busy and keep her mind off conflict. And Troy was the biggest conflict creator of all the Renegades. “Did you fill out a timecard this week? If you didn’t, do it now. I’m not stopping everything to input your hours at the last minute so you can get a check again.”

“You said you were doing payroll tomorrow,” he complained.

“I’d rather not work on Saturday if I don’t have to. And your lazy ass is not keeping me here. You should have had it in last week, and you’ve been here goddamned long enough to know it. I don’t know why Jax let you slide for so long. Or why I let you slide either.”

“Because you love me?” he asked with that little-boy hope in his voice.

“
Pfffft
. Right. I’m officially initiating tough love on your fine ass, Jacobs.”

Besides, she wanted to tear down the plaster covering her brick fireplace in the house she was renovating this weekend to keep her mind off Nathan. Off the most memorable, most pleasurable, most sexually liberating night of her life. Off the fact that she’d turned down his request for her number, and his attempt to give her his own, before she left the hotel room. Sitting in this steaming trailer paying bills would not help keep her mind off anything pleasurable.

“Did you ever hear from that Ryker guy? What the hell happened to him?” she asked, pulling the last of the time cards from the pile. “After I finish payroll, I’m going to start on the risk assessment—”

“I
did
hear from Ryker,” Troy said, his voice low with exaggerated patience. “He missed you at the airport and couldn’t get ahold of me or Jax because of the lousy reception in these mountains, so he stayed with another friend.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed with disinterest.

“And that’s why I’m here,” Troy continued. “Rachel this is Ryker. Ryker, Rachel.”

Rachel’s head popped up in surprise, and her gaze landed on a man standing in the doorway. In a mostly subconscious effort to beat the heat, she’d left the lights off in the trailer, and in the dusky, sunlit interior, she couldn’t make out details. Only saw he was big. But not just big; he was muscled. Muscled in a way that told her he was fit, not just built. Over the last six months working with actors and stuntmen, she’d learned the difference.

And her mind darted to the man she’d been trying to forget all morning: Nathan. Nathan and that to-die-for muscle-bound body she’d made sure to taste every inch of before she’d left the hotel. Because, well, chances of experiencing a body like that again were slim to none in her world.

“Oh, sorry about that,” she said, “I didn’t know—”

He shifted, only a little, but the sun hit him at a different angle, one that showed the outline of shaggy, chocolate-colored hair falling over his forehead and the tops of his ears. Showed the angle of his cheekbone and the square edge to his stubbled jaw.

Her gut tightened. Her mind hit a wall.

No. Not the same man.

But her gaze rolled over him again. He had Nathan’s height. Nathan’s build. Nathan’s lazy stance.

“Come in here, bro,” Troy said, gesturing to Ryker. “The sun’s at your back.”

He dropped his arms, stuffed his hands into his front pockets, and took a few steps forward.

And she knew. Knew by the way he moved even before his handsome face came into view. And when it did, she was looking at Nathan. Again.

Her heart jumped and pounded in her throat. Her mind scrambled.
How? Why?
She thought back to their conversation the night before…

He’d
known
. Known who she was well before they’d gone to the hotel. Known she’d been there for him, yet hadn’t said anything. Then taken her back to the hotel—his own damn hotel room—and fucked her blind?

She darted a look at Troy, searching for knowledge of her night with Nath—Ryker; that was going to be hard to get used to—in his eyes. But he only gave her a perplexed what’s-your-deal expression.

That was when she realized her mouth had fallen open and purposely closed it. Anger, embarrassment, shame, fear, they tangled at the base of her throat. She dragged herself together, looked at Troy, and straightened from her desk. “Excuse me?”

“My buddy,” he said with that hello-is-anybody-home? tone, “Ryker. You know, the one I told you about? The one you talked to over the phone last week about the explosion project?”

“Ryker,” she clarified, looking directly into his eyes. God, she hated that name for him.

A combination of guilt and indifference played on his face as he obviously straddled an uncomfortable fence. “Nathan Ryker.”

Apology filled his tone but didn’t begin to touch Rachel’s fury.

Troy gave him a strange look and added, “But everyone’s called him Ryker since he was a kid. We grew up together.”

Holy. Fuck.

This is not happening.

But staring right at the man made it impossible to hold on to that little fantasy for even a second. She crossed her arms and clenched her fists. With him standing in her office, knowing how close he was with Troy, a sense of vulnerability tore at her chest. She felt so utterly exposed in the place most important to her.

“Rach,” Troy said, “I’ve got to finish this scene. Can you get Ry to sign some basic paperwork? A release form, that kind of thing?”

A new level of alarm snaked in. “Why does he need a release form?”

“So he can come out and climb with us later.” Troy’s tone questioned her challenge. “And so he can consult on this bridge gig without any complications.”

The floor seemed to roll beneath her feet like an earthquake. “Wait, wait, wait.” She held up a hand and paused to gather a sliver more composure, but only because Nathan’s eyes were on her. “You told me he was coming as a favor to you. You told me you two were going to bullshit about the project. You
told me
it was going to be a casual back-and-forth, nothing formal. Consulting is
formal
. So which is it?”

Please say he’s only here to talk.

The thought of having Nathan around every day reminding her of what they’d done or, holy shit, worse, if he said anything to the guys… Panic welled. Warmth travelled up her neck and into her face.

“Um,” Nathan started, hesitantly, “Hold on. Troy…?”

“Troy,” someone yelled into the trailer, “better get over there, man. We’re running late, and we’ve already had enough problems for one day.”

“Tell them I’ll be right there.” Troy turned back to Rachel. “Look, just take care of Ry for me until I get back, okay. And be nice, Rach. Jax got a call from Townsend while he was on the rock. I have a feeling we’re going to need this guy”—he slapped Nathan’s arm—“more than we thought.”

Rachel’s mouth opened, but nothing came out, there was nothing to say. Her head was spinning, her heart folded into an origami turkey. Troy jogged down the trailer’s steps, leaving behind a shake and rattle in his wake.

Fuck, fuck,
fuck
.

She couldn’t
believe
this was happening. Shame crawled through every cell in her body. The whole reason she’d chosen a
stranger
to fuck with abandon was so she wouldn’t have to see him again. Wouldn’t have to face the reality of all the nasty things she’d done to him, with him, let him do to her. Wouldn’t be tempted to do it all again. Wouldn’t develop a desire for even more.

Because she wasn’t doing more, dammit.

She rounded her desk and stalked for the door.

“Rachel—” Nathan started, his voice filled with apology and a let’s-work-this-out tone.

She sliced him a glare and held up a hand to silence him. After slamming the trailer door, she closed all three windows—heat be damned—and turned on Nathan. She pulled off her glasses and tossed them on her desk. “What in the
fuck
?”

“You look…” His voice was smooth and deep and as dreamy as she remembered…
dammit
. His gaze slid over her, appreciative, hungry. “Beautiful.”

Her chest constricted. “Nathan…” She couldn’t keep the whine from her voice. “This is my
work
. These people are like
family
to me.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, as calm as she was frantic. “I thought you’d work at some central office downtown. I didn’t expect to see you on a stunt set.”

“That is so beside the fucking point.” And her thoughts were so jumbled,
she
couldn’t even identify the point. All she knew was she’d been ambushed. And this was a real problem. And she was so
pissed
.

“You might want to move the strap on your right shoulder a little farther in,” he said, gesturing on his own body. “Looks like I left a bite mark—”

“You knew who I was,” she blurted out, to both shut him up and soothe the tingle of awareness with the reminder of how and when and why he’d given her that bite mark. “You
heard
my phone call to Troy.”

“I did.” His gaze kept skimming her body. “God, that dress—”

“You
knew
I was there to pick you up.”

“I did. But I forgot to tell you before you left this morning, that last night you
earned
the right to wear those boots, baby.”

“Oh my God.” She burned with the memory of riding him, forward, backward, hard and fast, slow and deep. “Why?” she cried, throwing her arms out to the side. “
Why
didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have asked me back to the hotel if you’d known?”

“No, but
you
didn’t know that.”

A lopsided smile curved his lips. “I had a damned good idea. And I
really
wanted you.”

Rachel covered her face with both hands, rubbed at the tension, then let them drop in futility.

“I want to remind you,” he added, his tone conciliatory, “that I tried to tell you. Twice.”

“God.” She drove her hands into her hair . “Please tell me Troy doesn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t tell Troy.” He sauntered toward her, and his scent wrapped around her, touched her nose, made her ache. “Why is that so important to you? Do you have a thing for him?”

“
What?
No.” Okay, that had come out wrong. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I told you, he’s like my brother. Besides it wouldn’t matter if I did. I meant what I said last night. No complications. And if the people here found out, it would be a
big
complication for me.”

“I hear you,” he said, voice reassuring. “We’re on the same page, Rachel.”

“No. You’re here. That is the epitome of complication.”

He tipped his head and narrowed his eyes. “What kind of complication?”

Unease fluttered in her stomach. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it would cause problems.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I don’t think so. I think you might not want anyone close to see your naughty sex-kitten side.”

“Don’t go there,” she warned.

“I think—”

“I don’t care what you think.”

“That you’ve got this sweet thing”—he gestured to her head to toe—“all dialed in. The guys here see you the way Troy sees you—as a little sister. And that keeps you safe. Because if they knew what a nuclear bomb you were in bed, you’d never have any peace. Your life would be nothing but complication after complication. Isn’t that right?”

She crossed her arms. “Don’t you dare analyze me after one night. You don’t know anything—”

“I know”—he lowered his voice and stepped closer, now only six inches away—“that any man who’d had you give his cock a chocolate massage, then watched you suck off every last trace of it like a lollipop, wouldn’t be able to think of anything else when they looked at you.”

Dread, shame, excitement, and lust collided and tangled. Just having him close, just hearing his voice made her full and achy.

“Don’t Nathan. I can’t…do this here.”

“Does remembering make you wet?” he asked in a whisper, like he was telling her a secret. “Because remembering the way you begged for more makes me hard.”

“This.” She pointed to the floor between them. “This right here. This is exactly the kind of complication I can’t have. This is why I chose someone I didn’t know to sleep with.”

“Baby, neither of us did any sleeping last night.”

Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Rachel startled and backed away from Nathan, turning toward her desk. Jesus, she
had
to pull herself together. She was fraying like a torn rope.

Rachel kept her back toward the trailer door as it opened, straightening a stack of papers on the shelves behind her desk. She took a slow deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled in a controlled stream.

I’m okay. I can handle this.

“Hey,” Wes said. The sound of his voice relaxed her shoulders. “Wes Lawson,” he introduced himself to Nathan, and they shook hands. “You must be Ryker.”

“That’s me. And you’re the engineer?”

Wes’s million-dollar smile lit up the trailer. “That’s me.”

“Good to meet you.” Wes released Ryker’s hand and lifted the tube he carried in the other. “You’re gonna like what I’ve got in here. Blueprints for that devil you’re going to help us take down. You’re coming to Jax’s house tonight with everyone, right? So we can talk everything over in detail?”

“Jax’s house?” Rachel asked, the previous night’s alcohol, sex, and lack of sleep finally catching up with her. “Who’s everyone?”

“You know,” Wes said, “everyone. We’re barbecuing. Talking business.”

Rachel’s temper snapped. “First you guys send me on a wild-goose chase at the airport, then you spring Na—Ryker on me without any notice, now there’s some working dinner at Jax’s I know nothing about. What the
hell
is going on around here?”

“That’s my fault.” Jax’s voice coincided with his heavy footsteps and the jangle and clank of gear as he entered the trailer. His dark hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and dirt streaked his face.

He introduced himself to Ryker, and the men shook hands.

“Bentley Chamberlin, right?” Nathan asked.

“Once upon a time,” Jax said with that smirk he got when someone brought up his past Oscar-winning success. “Just Jax now.”