High Octane

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Pancakes,” he said, turning the pan off. “I figured they’d be easier on your stomach than eggs or bacon.” He set two plates on the bar dividing the tiny kitchen from the rest of the room. A stool sat on either side. “You up to joining me or you want me to bring it to you?”

  “I can come there,” she said, embarrassed at how he’d been waiting on her. “You’ve done enough.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and hesitated. “Oh, man. It tastes like something died in my mouth. Yuk. I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”

  “You’re in luck,” he said. “Bought a new one I haven’t opened. Under the bathroom sink.”

  “Oh, good,” she said, tiptoeing toward the bathroom, ever aware she wore only his shirt. “Thank you.”

  She quickly disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. The instant she saw herself in the mirror, she about died. Her face was pale, except for the beautiful dark smudges of mascara under her eyes. Her hair was a wild nest that looked like a bird might hatch from the top. She remembered now that she’d washed her hair and not dried it. Note to self—bad idea.

  She opened the cabinet and found the toothbrush. Then, a hairbrush. She sudsed up her face with some men’s brand of face soap and used moisturizer. It smelled liked Ryan, woodsy and masculine. The shirt didn’t. Next time, she wanted to wear one he’d worn first. Next time. Next time?

  She grabbed the door and pulled it open, unable to bear the idea of not knowing what had happened between them. Ryan paused, about to fill two glasses with orange juice, giving her that silent, arched-brow look she’d become accustomed to.

  “I don’t remember going to bed,” she said, her voice lifting more than she meant it to. “Did we…you know…sleep together?”

  Leaning on the counter, he studied her. “Yes. We slept together.”

  Her heart jumped wildly in her chest. They’d slept together, and she didn’t remember. How could this be? How could she forget having sex with Ryan?!

  “As in, slept, Sabrina,” Ryan said, chuckling. “Just sleep. Nothing else.”

  Relief washed over her before his little trick hit home. She admonished. “That was just plain evil. You know what you made me think.”

  His gaze swept her body, appreciation in his eyes. “Evil is you in that shirt and me having to go to work. Come eat. Your food is getting cold. Caleb’s picking me up in half an hour. I’ll leave you my truck and my phone. Use my truck for whatever.”

  She hurried to the bar stool and sat down across from him. “I can’t take your truck,” she said. “Or your phone. What if you need them? And what if I get stopped? I have no license.”

  “Police report is in the truck,” he said. “That and a smile should keep you out of trouble. I’ll be working anyway. You might as well put them to use.” He claimed the seat across from her and filled the two coffee cups. “And I don’t want you to go back to your place until I can change the locks. You’ll need to get another key from whomever you rent from, though. If you can pick me up at work, we can go by and pick up your car—the dealership can get you a key—and then head to your place to change the locks.”

  “Ryan,” she argued. “I can’t ask you to do all of this.”

  “You don’t have to ask,” he said. “That’s what friends are for.”

  “Friends,” she said uncomfortably. Had last night scared him away from more? “Is that what we are?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “We’re friends.” He gave her a crooked smiled. “Friends with benefits. And don’t you forget it.”

  “I won’t forget, if you don’t,” she said tentatively, thinking of the turbulence between them yet to be fully resolved.

  His eyes twinkled. “You can remind me tonight.”

  Tonight. She smiled at that; the idea of actually sleeping with Ryan and remembering it was a good one. They ate then, the news playing in the background. Sabrina shocked herself by putting down four pancakes, orange juice and coffee. Ryan managed double that and said he was still hungry.

  They were almost finished when a news story caught her ear. Sabrina grabbed the remote sitting on the bar between them and turned up the volume as the newscaster reported, “Sources near the mayor say the wife of the deceased soldier visited his office after hours, a week before the soldier died. The mayor calls the claim absolutely false, and meant to stir headlines.”

  She should have known the story would get out before she had time to finish investigating. Frank was going to be furious. “That’s the soldier I wrote that article about,” she told Ryan, “the one I thought might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder—”

  “Wait,” Ryan said. “You wrote that article?”

  “Oh, ah, yeah,” she said. “My boss forced me to cover the story, and I agreed as long as no one, not even the staff at the paper, knew who’d penned it. He had a tip that there was a cover-up going on, but I haven’t found anything to support that. But this…this is big. Why would that soldier’s wife visit the mayor?”

  “What happened to wanting out of politics? Starting a new life?”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Absolutely right. I guess car-racing just isn’t overly exciting. I need to find something that is. Not that I’m complaining. It’s a doorway to the next venue, when I figure out what that is, and I am so very grateful for that.” The subject of her past jogged her memory, reminding her about what Ryan had said in the bar. “Ryan. About that night at my apartment…”

  “It’s the past,” he said quickly, too quickly, but gently. Without any hint of tension. “Leave it there. Isn’t that what we were just talking about? Moving on?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “But I need you to know I wanted you because of you. Because of what you make me feel.”

  His eyes glinted with interest. “Which is what?”

  She thought about the stairwell, the mud mask, him holding her hair while she threw up. “Like I can be me and you won’t judge me. I worry enough about things like last night getting into the news. Or used against my father. But you, Ryan…you just let me be me, even when that me isn’t so spectacular.”

  Seconds ticked by, his expression indecipherable, before he said, “I’m glad.” He eyed the watch on his arm, a Swiss Army brand which looked masculine and right on him. He picked up the plates and turned to the sink. “Caleb’s going to be here in ten minutes. I need to get moving.”

  Sabrina stared at his back, trying to figure out what she’d said wrong, because it was obvious she had.

  She scooted off the chair and walked to the tiny kitchen to stand next to him. “I’ll wash the dishes,” she offered. “You cooked.”

  He turned to her and neither of them spoke, a hint of tension crackling around them. “Sabrina,” he said.

  “Yes?” she asked, hanging on his words, hoping to understand what had shifted his mood.

  But he said nothing, seeming to change his mind. He reached for her. The kiss that followed was a silky caress of tongue against tongue, full of dark emotion and hunger. She raised up on her toes, arched into him. When finally it was over, she panted with need. His hands rested on her waist, teasing her with where else they might go.

  “Thank you on the dishes,” he said.

  “If that kiss was my thank-you,” she whispered, “I’ll make a habit of doing your dishes.”

  “I can think of better things than dishes to barter with,” he assured her. “I’ll demonstrate tonight.” He released her, and she ached to pull him back to her.

  “Here are my keys,” he said, fishing them from his pocket. “And my cell.” He opened a drawer and scribbled a number. “That’s the Hotzone. Call me there if you need me. I’m off at four.”

  After he was gone, she sat on the end of his bed eyeing the tiny hotel room. Wondering why he had chosen to stay here instead of renting an apartment for six months to a year. She vowed to help him find his perfect home, the way he was helping her find herself.

  Inhaling, she drew in the delicious scent of his cologne
and fell back on his bed. He was nothing like the men of her past. Change was good. It was really good.

  “SINCE I ALMOST got my ass beat for dancing with this chick,” Caleb said, on the drive from the hotel to the Hotzone, “I’m assuming it’s pretty serious.”

  Ryan scowled at Caleb from the passenger’s seat. “I didn’t almost beat your ass.”

  “You acted like you were about to rip my head off my shoulders,” he said. “And you know, it’s cool an’ all. You didn’t, which, in the end, is what counts. So what’s the story?”

  “It’s a good time,” Ryan said. “Nothing more.”

  “Not buying that one. You gave her your truck, your cell phone and you left her alone in your house.”

  “It’s a hotel room,” Ryan stated. “I hardly think that means anything.”

  Caleb pulled to a stop at a red light and gave Ryan a keen inspection. “Ryan, after the way you behaved last night, you really expect me to believe this chick is riding around in your truck while you’re just taking her for a ride?”

  Ryan clamped a hand over his jaw a moment, and considered denial, which turned into a confession. “It’s more like she’s taking me for a ride.”

  “She seems pretty into you, man,” Caleb observed.

  “Of course she is,” Ryan said. “She ran to Texas to find herself an adventure, and she’s decided that’s me. I’m the guy who helps her find herself, so someone else gets the prize.”

  “Not a bad thing,” Caleb said. “Unless you want the prize. Then it sucks.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan agreed. “Then it sucks.”

  15

  STILL AT RYAN’S HOTEL, Sabrina had completed her calls, her arrangements made—but she had one major problem. With no clothes, no makeup, no money and no identification to prove she was who she said she was, she had no choice but to swing by her place. She was nervous about an intruder, but the property manager, a sweet woman in her fifties named Nelda, met Sabrina at the door.

  “I can’t believe your purse was stolen,” Nelda exclaimed. “My goodness, honey, you look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Were you mugged?”

  Nelda—who Sabrina knew to be one of the top Realtors in the city—was dressed in jeans and Western shirt. Casual, kind and concerned.

  “No, no,” she said. “I was silly enough to leave my purse unattended. I know better. Thankfully, a friend let me stay the night, but I am so looking forward to my own clothes.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re safe,” Nelda said, touching Sabrina’s arm. “And, honey, we all make mistakes. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  The sincerity in the woman amazed Sabrina. The New York version of Nelda would have worn a classic Ann Taylor pantsuit, her idea of casual Saturday, and she would have given Sabrina a scornful eye for Ryan’s T-shirt tied at her waist, yesterday’s well-worn jeans, and her hair puffed up like a poodle.

  “I’ll wait out here while you get your things,” Nelda said. “It’s terrifying to think of someone with your ID and address having your keys. Are you sure you don’t want me to change the locks for you? I can get a locksmith in. Of course, it’s very expensive on the weekend. I’d hate for you to incur that cost.”

  “I have a friend who said he can handle it for me tonight,” she assured Nelda. Plus it’s a good way to ensure Ryan comes over tonight, she added silently. “I’ll give you the new key on Monday.” Sabrina grabbed the doorknob. “Okay, so if I scream, call the police.”

  “Oh, don’t say things like that,” Nelda admonished. “Maybe we should have someone check out the place first.”

  “No,” Sabrina said. “It’s fine. I’ll be in and out in a snap.”

  Despite her bravado, Sabrina rushed into her apartment, her heart thundering in her chest. She darted down the hall, and quickly searched under her bed and in the closets. The idea of changing here as she’d planned suddenly seemed scary, and she didn’t want Nelda to have to wait. She grabbed a bag and started tossing things inside, including her passport for ID, and her computer. Then she rushed down the hall, said her quick goodbyes to Nelda, and headed to the parking lot. She’d swing by the hotel and change, and then get moving on her errands.

  As soon as she arrived back at the hotel, she rushed into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing, eager to change and get to the bank before they closed. She had no credit card, no ATM card, no cash, no way to pay for the new key at the car dealership, and tomorrow was Sunday—no banks would be open. But dang it, she was going to see Ryan in a few hours. She needed to wash her hair and look presentable. She peeked out of the bathroom and eyed the clock. Noon. She still had time.

  Ten minutes later, with a tiny towel wrapped around her, she applied makeup and turned on the dryer attached to the wall. The minute it turned off, she heard the cell phone on the last ring of a call. It had to be for Ryan. It was his phone, and he would be the only one who might call her, but he was probably jumping out of a plane right now. Sabrina smoothed her hair, satisfied she was all set. Feeling better, she headed to the main room to get dressed.

  She’d just dropped her towel when a knock sounded on the door. “Sabrina, it’s Ryan.”

  She reached for the towel, wrapped it around herself. “I thought you were working.”

  “A large group cancelled,” he said. “I took a cab. I tried to call. Are you going to let me in?”

  Frantically she dug in her bag for clothes, frustrated when she couldn’t get to them. “Ah, Sabrina?” Ryan said. “Any time now.”

  She looked down at her towel. Considered her options. He’d turned her down once. Did she dare risk that again? Well. If he did, at least she wouldn’t have any regrets, beyond her own embarrassment. She was done with regrets.

  Sabrina walked over to the door and flipped the latch, then popped the handle. She stayed behind the door and let him enter the room. When the door shut behind him, she was exposed.

  She stepped forward and did something she’d never done with another man—took a huge risk, exposing herself fully both emotionally and, yes, physically.

  Sabrina dropped her towel. “Welcome home, honey.”

  RYAN FROZE, AFRAID IF HE MOVED he’d wake up, be cause he must be dreaming. Sabrina, gloriously naked, greeting him at the door. It was too good to be true. If this wasn’t something that could make anyplace home, he didn’t know what would. Hunger clawed at him, instant and demanding, his gaze sweeping over Sabrina’s amazing, sexy body, her dark hair caressing creamy shoulders, hair he fully intended to see on his stomach, his chest. And her breasts—high, full, with plump, pink nipples that he wanted in his mouth.

  “Ryan,” Sabrina pleaded. “Please say or do something or I am going to die of mortification.”

  His gaze jerked to hers. “Mortification?” He closed the distance between them and pulled her to the bed where he sat down, holding her between his legs. “Sweetheart.” His hand flattened on her belly. “You are absolutely beautiful. I was just trying to figure out if this is a dream.” His hands traveled up her waist, over her breasts. He pressed them together and thumbed her nipples, then licked. One nipple, then the other. “And enjoying the view.”

  “Last time—”

  He took her down on the mattress, on her back, him beside her, on his side. His hand settling again on her stomach—there was something so damn sexy about her stomach. “Last time I was so worried about taking advantage of you being upset, I didn’t see the big picture. That you were reaching out to me in a moment of need. I’m sorry.”

  She rolled to her side, her hand to his cheek, and kissed him. “I wanted you, Ryan. All my father’s note did was remind me I’d given up too much of my life, that I’d missed out on things I didn’t want to miss. Like you. You are, without exception, the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time.”

  Ryan inhaled those words as a dying man would his last breath, his lips lingering over hers, their breaths weaving together as one. Once again he found himself frozen, afraid to move for fear
this would be a dream. He was falling for this woman, probably already had. Falling in love, and he could do nothing in that moment but embrace the absoluteness as it came to him. She didn’t want to miss out on him. Well, he didn’t want to miss out on her either. And for now, in this room, she was his. And he wanted everything, all of her. Every last moan, every bit of emotion and passion.

  “Ryan,” she said, pulling back, apparently mistaking his silence as negative. “I didn’t mean to say the wrong thing. I mean, I know I’m probably not the type of woman you—”

  He rolled her to her back, slid between her legs. “The only type I have is you. You totally do it for me, Sabrina. In every possible way.”

  “I do?”

  “Oh, yeah, sweetheart,” he promised. “You do. And I’m going to show you just how much.”

  SABRINA’S INSECURITY, her fear, was gone. Everything about Ryan’s reaction, his words, the hunger radiating from him, filled her with confidence, ignited her need for him.

  Ryan brushed his lips over hers, as if to seal his promise, a soft whisper brushed with such intense sensuality that goose bumps slid along her skin. “No barriers this time,” he vowed.

  She had no idea what that meant, but it sounded good, sounded really good. That was, until he pulled back. She reached for him, desperate to bring him back, to feel his weight on her, to feel him touch her and kiss her.

  But he was standing at the end of the bed, undressing, yanking his shirt over his head. Sabrina lifted herself to her elbows, forgetting any nerves over her own nudity. It was midday, and sunlight beamed through the thin hotel curtains, highlighting Ryan’s full form, leaving nothing to her imagination. And he was perfect. The width of his shoulders, the exact right amount of light-brown hair sprinkled across his impressive chest. Dark, flat nipples. She swallowed hard as she discovered a thin line of hair that trailed down his spectacular abdominals and disappeared beneath his jeans. Which he unsnapped.