High Octane

by Lisa Renee Jones

  For a flash of a moment, she considered Frank’s call. His order that she dig deeper into the story of the soldier and the mayor, and she wondered how Ryan would respond to her doing so. He’d already said he’d like her to stay out of this. All the more reason she had to find a new path for herself. She shook off the thought. Refocused on what felt important to her. Ryan.

  “But the Army lost a good soldier fighting for the right values, I don’t see how that can be the best outcome.”

  “Staying wasn’t an option,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

  Her heart squeezed with his words. Ryan was a hero. The kind of man who really did make a difference. The more she learned about him, the more she wanted to know him. The more she thought this man was the man. “Could you have transferred?”

  “You don’t transfer out of a unit like mine without really good cause. I would have had to explain.”

  He reached for her and pulled her into his lap. “You trying to get rid of me?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, her hand settling on his jaw. He smelled so good she wanted to gobble him up. She turned and straddled him, the armless chair giving her plenty of freedom. She twined her fingers around his neck. “In fact, I plan to hold you hostage tonight. In my bedroom.”

  His hands slid up her back. “Are there any restraints involved?”

  She arched over his hips, feeling the thickness of his growing arousal, the heat simmering between them. “I have silk panty hose that might do the job.”

  “I like silk panty hose,” he said. “I think you should go put them on. I’ll take them off.”

  “Why do I get the impression I’m going to be the one ending up in those restraints?”

  He nipped her lip. “Because you secretly like giving me control. Admit it.”

  Her breath lodged in her throat and feathered from her lips. “I’ll never admit any such thing.” She tried to sound playful, tried to tease him back. But her throat was raspy. Her emotions fluttered in her chest. It was true. She liked giving him control. When she was with Ryan, she liked not having to worry, not having to prove anything to anyone. Ryan made her feel those things. He made her happy.

  “I bet I can get you to say it,” Ryan vowed. He began to stand, taking her with him.

  “Wait,” she said, cupping his cheeks. “Are you happy?”

  His forehead fell to hers. “I’m about to go make love to you, Sabrina. Of course I’m happy.”

  It wasn’t a real answer. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. But he kissed her, a deep, probing kiss that danced along her nerve endings and promised that tonight would, indeed, be happy.

  17

  SUNDAY MORNING RYAN WOKE to the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the soft warmth of Sabrina’s naked body next to his. Beat the hell out of a musty hotel room. Oh, yeah. He could get used to this, and it scared the hell out of him. Nothing in his life was permanent. Sabrina had family and roots, he didn’t. He had to keep this real, to remember this was a journey, not a destination.

  “Morning,” Sabrina murmured, stretching and then rolling to rest her chin on his chest.

  “You’re awake early,” he commented. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

  “If I am, you are, too,” she pointed out.

  “I’m fresh out of the Army,” he said. “I’m used to early mornings.”

  “I’ll have to break you of that habit.”

  “You intend to wake up with me often enough to do that, do you?”

  She nodded. “I’ve decided this whole stolen-purse thing has worked in my favor. You look good in my bed.”

  He chuckled. “I think the guy is supposed to say that.”

  “Say it, then,” she urged.

  “It’s not my bed,” he said, though he’d like it to be right about now. “But you look good in any bed with me.”

  She grinned a sleepy grin. “You’re such a sweet-talker. How long will I be needing this bodyguard service of yours?”

  He rolled her over, slid between her legs. “We’ll have to evaluate as we go.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Ryan arched a brow. “Get many 6:00 a.m. visitors?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s just odd.” Alarm slid across her face. “What if something’s happened to someone? I should get the door.”

  Ryan rolled off her and found his pants. “I’ll go check it out, so you don’t have to get dressed.”

  She was already getting up, snatching up his shirt. Together they made a complete outfit. “Where’s my phone?” She searched the dresser. “Oh. The kitchen.”

  As Ryan started down the hallway, Sabrina trailed on his heels. “I should have listened to my cell-phone messages,” she said. “And I should have called my parents back. What if something is wrong?”

  Ryan turned and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Sweetheart. Stop making yourself crazy here. Whatever is at that door, be it a paperboy or bad news, we’ll get through it. And they haven’t knocked again. It might have been someone at the wrong door.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Or my mother. She said she’d come here if I didn’t call.”

  “Let’s get the door,” he said. “Would you like to give me my shirt first?”

  She shook her head. “Just open the door! I need to know.”

  Shirtless didn’t seem the way to meet Sabrina’s mother, but whatever she wanted. Ryan opened the door. A large envelope fell forward.

  “What in the world?” Sabrina asked in astonishment. “Who left me an envelope at six in the morning?”

  “I’d wager it’s the same person who left your purse.”

  “Is it safe to open?”

  “I guess I’ll find out,” he said. A few minutes later he had the contents spread out on the dining-room table. Several pictures of a family. One large one of a soldier in full-dress uniform.

  “That’s the soldier I wrote about,” Sabrina said. “Mike Patterson. The one who robbed that bank. How would anyone know to send this to me? I wrote that story under a pen name.”

  “Obviously someone knows who you are,” he said. Sabrina picked up a picture of a little girl and a boy, elementary-school age. “He had kids. That just breaks my heart.” She glanced at Ryan. “Do you think this is the wife?”

  “I wouldn’t assume anything,” he said. “You went to that news conference. Like Marco’s sister Calista, there must have been other people who’d recognize you. My issue here is that this person knows where you live. And it’s too much of a coincidence that your purse was stolen. I don’t like this one bit.”

  She hugged herself. “I think I need coffee. Or maybe another margarita.”

  “What you need is to stay out of this,” he said. “Convince whoever this is that you aren’t the person to help them.”

  “Convincing this person might be easier than convincing my boss,” she said. “He all but threatened my job last night if I didn’t find out why the wife of this soldier visited the mayor a week before he died.”

  “This could be dangerous territory,” Ryan told her.

  “What about the kids, Ryan,” she argued, holding up the photo. “What if their father wasn’t really a criminal? They shouldn’t have to grow up believing he was.”

  He took the picture from her. “Could he have been undercover?” Ryan wondered. “If this soldier was and you expose him as one of the good guys, you may put others in danger. You can’t do that. And who knows what the mayor’s involvement is, or the wife’s. You have to let it go. And if this is the wife, she needs to do the same. She’s going to bring attention to herself that she won’t like. Just like you will. The truth will eventually come out. You have to figure out a way to make your boss just drop it. This could be a whole different ball-game than what you’ve dealt with in the past. In fact, we need to think about your safety until this passes.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” she fretted. “It’s those kids. I feel bad for them.”

  “Then make an anonymous donation to them,” he said. “I can get
you the information to do it. We can organize something for them through the Hotzone, even. Being soldiers ourselves, it would be natural to care for the children of our fallen brothers.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Hell, yeah, I’d do it, and so would Bobby and Caleb.” He drew her hand into his and kissed it. “Come back to bed with me for a while. And I have a good mind to cancel the Realtor today to allow you more time to say thank you.”

  Back in the bedroom, Ryan sat down on the bed and pulled Sabrina to him, eager to feel her soft skin next to his.

  Her hands settled on his shoulders. “House-hunting should be fun,” she said. “Why aren’t you excited about it?”

  “Buying a house is a long-term commitment,” he said. “After a lifetime of temporary, I want to get it right. And nothing has felt right.”

  “What about your family?” she asked. “Where are they?”

  “At the Hotzone,” he said. “Bobby and Caleb.”

  “Your real family,” she said. “Mother and father.”

  He’d known this question was coming. Known it and dreaded it. “No family.” He wanted to leave it there, but he knew her well enough to know she’d press him, so he added, “My mother dropped me off at a church when I was eight. Said she’d be back, but never returned. I was at an age that adoption was unlikely, so I was moved around from foster home to foster home until I joined the Army.”

  “So a hotel room, or Army quarters, really is what you see as home,” she said, almost to herself.

  No. You are, he thought. “It’s what I know.”

  Tenderness filled her eyes and her palm gently caressed his jaw. To his surprise, she offered none of the sympathy he disliked from others. Nor did she immediately speak. She simply stared at him with so much understanding that he could almost have believed that she, too, had no family of her own.

  Finally, her lips brushed his, velvety smooth with some unspoken promise, before she stepped back and pulled the shirt over her head. “Cancel the Realtor,” she said and slid her arms around his neck. “Stay here with me.”

  ALMOST A WEEK LATER, on Thursday morning, Ryan pulled into the garage of Sabrina’s office building to drop her off at work. Somehow, her car had managed to get front-end damage at the storage facility. A fight with the tow yard had ensued with the yard claiming the car had been damaged before they picked it up. In the end, her car was being repaired and was supposed to be ready that morning. They’d left Sabrina’s place, where he’d stayed all week, living a little piece of heaven every morning as he woke by her side at the crack of dawn. But the car wasn’t ready, and she’d already turned in her rental car.

  “You don’t have to wait with me, Ryan,” she said. “It’ll be an hour until the rental place has a car for me, and it’s only a few blocks away.”

  “But they can’t deliver on such short notice,” he said. “And I don’t want you walking alone.”

  “You’re being paranoid,” she said. “I’ve had a few pictures left at my door. Nothing more.”

  “Sunday, Monday and Tuesday morning—three packages, left at the door, three days in a row,” he corrected.

  “But nothing for a couple of days.”

  “Which means nothing,” he argued. “Until we know who is leaving the packages and their intentions, we have to be careful. We assume it’s Mike Patterson’s wife seeking vindication for her husband. We don’t know for sure. Either way, I’m working on the charity foundation for the kids, and we’ll take care of them. What their father did or did not become is not their fault. Once the charity is a complete go—which will be in the next day or two—we’ll pay their mother a visit. Until then, humor me. I’m having one of those male tough-guy mornings, so go with it.”

  “You’re always having one of those male tough-guy mornings from what I can tell,” she commented.

  “You’ll have to keep me around awhile to make that kind of statement stick.”

  She cast him a sly look. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

  Man, she knew how to light him up. “Maybe, huh?” he asked and started to reach for her. She opened the door and slid out of reach.

  “Running again?” he challenged.

  She peeked in through the door and pursed her lips. “I don’t run,” she said. “You’ll mess up my makeup.”

  “Sounds fun,” he said, thinking of all kinds of wicked ways to achieve that goal.

  “Not now, it doesn’t,” she said. “Not before work. There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away. Let’s go get a caffeine fix.”

  He climbed out of the truck and met her at the tailgate. In her light blue suit with a slim-cut shirt and tapered-waist jacket, Sabrina was a better jolt awake than a whole pot of coffee. “Let’s skip the coffee and mess up your makeup.”

  She shoved him playfully. “Behave.”

  He pulled her close before she could stop him. “You’d rather I didn’t.”

  Glowing, she grabbed his hand and tugged him for ward. “Come on. I’m taking you to a public place where I can actually control you.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Damn, her backside looked perky and cute in that skirt.

  A few minutes later, they sat at a small corner table, nice and close.

  “I’ll get a rental car, so you don’t have to pick me up tonight,” she offered, and sipped her caramel macchiato. “I’m meeting Calista for lunch today, too.”

  “Ah,” he said, surprised at this new information. “Politics just keeps calling. Before you know it, you’ll be back in New York, writing for the Prime.”

  Surprise flickered in her face. “You think I’m going back to New York?” She narrowed her gaze on him and seemed to get that he did. “Ryan. I’m not. I like Calista. She called me yesterday and invited me, and I’m glad. I think she and I can be friends. That’s part of building a life here. I didn’t make the decision to pick up and move here lightly.”

  “You know she’ll try and talk you into speaking at that event again,” he warned.

  “Because she’s passionate about what she does. But that’s part of what I like about her.” Sabrina’s expression darkened, and he could feel her emotionally withdrawing; it was as if the air was being sucked out of the room. Her legs slid away from his.

  He reached for her, trying to lean in close. “Whoa. What just happened? Why’d you pull away?”

  “Is this… Are you with me because you think I won’t be around long? Because I’m temporary? Because, I thought I could do that, I thought I could be that girl, that maybe I wanted to be that girl, but now—” She shook her head. “No, I can’t.” Resolve thickened her words. “I need to know if you think I’m that girl. If she’s who you’re after. Because if it is, we need to end this right now.”

  He’d said to hell with discretion when he’d kissed her on the dance floor, and now he was saying to hell with holding back. He’d never held back in his life. He went for what he wanted. And what he wanted was Sabrina. “The only way this is temporary is if you make it temporary.”

  The air thickened with awareness, with emotion. “You scare me, Ryan,” she said, her hand covering his.

  “You scare me, too, sweetheart,” he admitted.

  “You think that’s normal?”

  “Nothing about us is normal,” he said. “But maybe that’s why it’s so good.”

  “I’m not leaving,” she said. “I like it here. But you…you’re in that hotel, and it feels like you’re one step from rejoining the Army any day.”

  “Not a chance,” he said. “I’m a Hotzone Ace now.”

  “Then why won’t you buy a house?” she said. “And don’t tell me you aren’t resisting. I’ve been house-hunting with you.”

  Ryan had already put himself out there. He was on a roll, and he wasn’t going to stop now. “I keep waiting for that feeling of being home I’ve always imagined I’d feel. And you know the only time I feel it?” His fingers caressed her jaw. “When I’m with you, Sabrina.”

  She sucked in a brea
th, her teeth scraping her lip. “You’re going to be staying with me the next few days, right?”

  “Am I?”

  “A good bodyguard would stay with me,” she said, “until he was sure the danger had passed.”

  The danger she didn’t think existed. “I believe you make a valid point,” he agreed. “I should keep you close. Very close.”

  “Since we don’t know how long this danger might last,” she continued, “it would make sense that you let your hotel go. Save a few dollars while you’re staying at my place.” She paused and added pointedly, “Until the danger is over.”

  For just a moment, Ryan went completely, utterly still. Something raw and tender, yet darkly turbulent, spread its fingers inside him. Old memories of the foster home that would be home, but wasn’t.

  “I need you to call your parents,” he said. Her phone sat on the table, next to her purse, and Ryan reached for it.

  The tiny smile playing on her lips faded into confusion. “What? Why?”

  He settled his head against hers. He’d come this far, he wasn’t pulling back. “You say you know what you want,” he explained. “Yet you won’t talk to your parents, no matter how worried they are. You sent your mother an email. There’s something making you avoid them. Something you think they’ll trigger. Whatever that may be—if it’s going to pull you away from me—as you said, I want to know now.”

  18

  SABRINA STARED AT THE PHONE, before picking it up from the coffee shop’s table and slipping it into her purse. “I emailed,” she said, making a case to bypass the call. He sat there, his expression indiscernible, and she added, “I’ll call. Later.” He continued to stare at her, and she continued her excuses. “The car-rental place is about to open. I have to get to work.”

  Still he said nothing, those somber brown eyes simply assessing her, and she was certain she didn’t like the conclusion she felt in them. “You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with fear they’ll talk me into coming back, or even ‘guilt me’ into aiding my father’s career goals, no matter how grand. I just don’t want to listen to them tell me why all my decisions are wrong. I’m free of that. I’m finally doing what I want to do. I’m going after what I want.”