High Octane

“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.”