High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)

by Brenna Aubrey

  “I’m sure Ty will come around, and you’ll see him as much as you always did. Time.”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m selfish. I want him now. I want him for my son. It’s like I lost both my husband and Ty.”

  I nodded. “Give him time.”

  When I went to step back, she reached out and grabbed my hand. “Thank you, Gray. Thank you.”

  Back in the restaurant and against my own better taste and judgment, I positioned myself at the corner of the bar, where it bent in an L-shape. It was the perfect vantage point from which to observe the astronaut hero who was already well on his way to getting hammered.

  He still hadn’t answered my text, but in addition to that one, I sent another. Please watch what you are doing before I sic Keely on you and have you dragged away from the bar.

  A minute later, he pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket, glanced at it then looked up, scanning the room as if looking for me. When we made eye contact, part of his mouth quirked up before he very deliberately shoved the phone back into his pocket without dignifying my message with a reply. Not even with the middle-finger emoji, which I was half expecting.

  I scanned the room to find out where Keely had vanished to. Both she and Kirill were conspicuously missing from the goings-on at the bar, and I began to suspect she’d already swooped in for the kill as she’d promised to do.

  Ryan continued to drink with a dozen of his best friends all around him, egging him on. As he pounded vodka shots, I was attempting to devise a plan. It would probably have to involve some Russian muscle if I could track Kirill down. Someone would have to drag him out of here soon, and I’d have to get strategic about his removal.

  Someone plopped into the seat next to me and leaned over.

  “Hi,” he shouted so I could hear above the general barroom din.

  “Hey there.” He looked like an average guy in his early forties, fit, with a face I vaguely recognized, as if I’d seen it before on the NASA website. Another astronaut, most likely.

  “I’m Strom Bogart.” He held out his hand for a shake. I hesitated then shook his hand. I definitely recognized the name, one of NASA’s thirty-nine active astronauts.

  He smiled and I leaned back. Was he hitting on me? I didn’t have a lot of experience in this area because I was seldom in situations where random unknown people—or anyone, really—hit on me. But if he was trying to pick me up, it seemed kind of a stiff and awkward approach.

  Although, who was I to judge awkward?

  “My name is Gray.” I left off my family name, blushing as I remembered Ryan’s accusation. Is that a thing? So people don’t figure out who Daddy is? I flicked a glance at the man of the hour. He was now sipping at a beer bottle—probably taking a breather in between more vodka shots—watching me talk to his former coworker. A cluster of women had now gathered around him.

  “I haven’t seen you around here,” he said. “But I recently got back from Russia myself. Star City. Been training on the backup crew for the ISS.”

  “Ah, you’re an astronaut,” I said, stating what I already knew. What the heck else was I going to say? It’s not like he asked any deep, probing questions or even tried to charm me. His sole approach, it seemed, was based on the fact that he was an astronaut. Admittedly, that did carry with it a certain wow factor.

  I imagined he rarely had to do much else in your average bar. Since the dawn of the program with the Mercury 7, astronauts were notorious for womanizing—even the ones with families.

  I picked up my phone and sent Kirill a quick text. You around? Ty is getting a little rambunctious. Hopefully, he understood what rambunctious meant. His English was good, but that was not a common word. I bit my lip. Maybe I should have used an easier word?

  Strom Bogart captured my phone hand in one of his. “What are you drinking, Gray? Let me pick it up for you.”

  “Uh…” I pointedly pulled my hand away from his startling grasp. Then I glanced at my phone. No answer.

  “They’ve got all kinds of fun cocktails here. Pink—like your pretty dress. How about a cosmo?”

  I blinked. If I let this guy buy me a drink, I’d be stuck here for far longer than I cared to be. I scooted off the barstool. “I think I’m going to—”

  “She’s not thirsty,” Ryan slurred from the other side of me. I jerked my head around. He’d appeared there like a stealthy ninja. Ninja astronaut hero. Wow, there was no end to this man’s talents.

  “Good to see you, Ty!” Strom stood and held his hand out for a shake.

  “Keep your hand to yourself, Bogart.”

  Strom dropped his hand, and the two exchanged a look that was chock-full of heated animosity. I had to wonder, if these two had a history, why was Strom even here tonight at a function obviously honoring Ryan?

  Ryan stood at my side, his shoulders stiff, a hand clenched. And he was quite obviously not sober. Ryan towered over the shorter man who did not seem to want to back down.

  Instead, Strom turned back to me. “So, I was saying. Something pink?” He turned to the bartender. “A cosmo for the lady, please. And whatever’s on tap for me.”

  “Does your wife know you’re here buying drinks for other women?” Ryan asked. How the hell had he gotten so far gone in the half hour since I’d been in the bathroom talking to Karen Freed?

  Strom threw Ryan a disgusted look. “Don’t be a prick. You know I got divorced. Or maybe you don’t since you were too busy living in your own little world.”

  “Nobody cares,” Ryan answered. The bartender placed the martini in front of me, and Ryan pushed it over toward Bogart. “She’s not drinking your fucking pink drink.”

  When his hand drew back, it clenched into a fist, the veins in his forearms bulging. Uh oh. I clamped my hand around his wrist. “Ryan.”

  “Jesus, Tyler. Calm the fuck down. Didn’t you come in here with that actress? Who is this? Your sister? Or maybe the third in your ménage?”

  I scooted away from my barstool at the same time Ryan leaped forward and grabbed Strom’s shirt.

  But I was there, pushing between them. I looked up into Ryan’s irate face. This was all we needed, another violent incident for the tabloids. “Ryan. Back off.”

  He ignored me, tightening his hand in the other man’s shirt. Strom reached up and shoved Ryan’s shoulder. “Back the fuck off. Let the woman decide if she’d rather hang out with a real astronaut or a has-been who will never fly again.”

  I put my hands on Ryan’s solid pecs as his face clouded. Everyone at the other end of the bar froze, watching. But no one stepped in to offer help. They might as well have been eating popcorn.

  I shoved Ryan as hard as I could. It didn’t get me very far. “Ryan! I’m not going to step away, and you’ll have to go through me if you want to hurt him.”

  He looked at me finally. “Move, Gray.”

  I shook my head fiercely. “Nope. If you go after him, you have to take me too.” He opened his mouth to reply hotly when I added. “Or…I can take you back to the hotel.”

  He hesitated but didn’t move. Finally, Strom succeeded in freeing his shirt from Ryan’s grasp while Ryan stared him down. The other man backed off. “You’ve lost your mind, Tyler,” he muttered as he disappeared with a dismissive gesture.

  Did I imagine it or did a few of the spectators at the other end of the bar exchange money? Shit, they were betting on the outcome? When the phones started coming out to take pictures and video, I gently turned him away from them.

  He was still stiff and solid as a brick wall. I had to think fast. Maybe playing the damsel in distress would help.

  “Ryan? That, um, that was stressful for me. Can we… Can you take me back to the hotel?”

  He turned back to look at me, frowning as if confused. He was clearly tanked. I scanned the bar again for Kirill and found nothing. Putting my hand on Ryan’s thick biceps, I nudged to guide him away from the bar. “Can you please get me back to the hotel? I need your help.”

  He blinked. �
�Yeah.”

  “Let’s go. Come on. Help me to the car?”

  As soon as we were out of sight of the bar, I steered us toward the front doors. “Gray…” he breathed.

  I glanced up through the glass doors that led to the parking lot. Some people loitered there—one of them with a ginormous camera around his neck. “Reporters,” he slurred. “That’s Jack.” He nodded to the man standing next to the photographer. “He stalks me everywhere in Houston. Someone must have told him I was in town.”

  “Crap, we can’t go out that way. Stand here.” I patted the wall, coaxing him to stay put. Then I texted the driver to meet us around the back.

  Despite the recent almost-altercation with Strom Bogart, he watched me with a doting smile. “You’re really cute when you’re bossy.”

  I waved over the hostess at the stand, asking her for a discreet way to get us out the back while avoiding the bar.

  After a long, appreciative look at Ryan, she nodded and led us through the kitchen. I looped my arm around his to keep him from bolting or straying in case he decided to get mischievous. He still had a goofy smile on his face.

  Of course, members of the kitchen staff, under the bright lights, called out to Ryan, “Commander Ty! Hey Ty, how’s it going?” We dodged shiny metal bowls and large wire racks on wheels, making it through the small storage area and into the alley where the SUV was waiting for us.

  Thank God.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” I muttered, reaching out to open the door, but he pushed my hand away.

  “Let me.” He fumbled with it a few times, but I waited patiently. As long as he thought he was helping me out, he’d be much more malleable and much less resistant to the idea of going home.

  I jumped into the back seat of the car and held out my hand for him. “Come on.”

  He shook his head. “No. I need to stay and drink some more.”

  Oh no. “Ryan, I need your help. I’m upset.” It leaped out of my mouth out of sheer desperation. “Don’t make me go back to the hotel by myself.”

  He blinked, wavered, but, miraculously, entered the car and sat down beside me. I told the driver to take us to the hotel. As I was going to sit back, Ryan put an arm around my shoulders and looked into my face. “Are you okay? I will kill that fucker with my bare hands if he touched you.”

  “I’m okay, thank you. He didn’t touch me.”

  “Only because he didn’t have time to. That bastard is a pushy creep with women.”

  “Thanks for looking out for me, then. And for making sure I get to the hotel okay.” And to punctuate my diatribe lest he be onto me, I rested my head on his shoulder.

  He was tense—as stiff and as hard as that brick wall I’d compared him to earlier. He turned his head and very obviously inhaled the scent of my hair. His body relaxed against mine, and he fell back into his seat while muttering under his breath, “Mmm. Strawberries.”

  With everything in me, I tried not to think of the tingles that ran down my spine, my arm, everywhere that his body pressed against mine.

  And God, I really didn’t want him to puke on me.

  Thankfully, there were no reporters waiting in the hotel parking lot a few short miles away. We made our way to his room, which was down the hallway from mine, a fair distance from the elevator. I’d make sure he got in okay before leaving him to sleep it off.

  That was the plan, at least.

  “I need something else to drink. Does this hotel have a bar?” he muttered as we stepped out of the elevator.

  “You’ve had enough to drink, Ryan. You’re going to be sick as a dog tomorrow.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t get hungover. It’s my superpower. Strong Ukrainian genes.”

  “I don’t think it works like that.” My mouth thinned. “And that’s not the greatest superpower a person could have.”

  “It’s great if you want to drink.”

  He fumbled with his keycard, waving it the wrong side against the keypad. I held out my hand. “Want me to do it?”

  He pulled away from me. “I think I’m going to go down to the bar.”

  “It’s closed,” I lied, snatching the card from his hand and opening the door with it. “Come on. Let’s sit in your room and talk.”

  That seemed to appease him. We entered the room, which looked like a smaller version of Keely’s suite. But unlike her rooms, these were completely spotless. Housekeeping had been in for the evening turn-down service, complete with a foil-wrapped chocolate on the white counterpane. But otherwise, there were no personal effects anywhere to be seen. The room was pristine and untouched.

  Before I even realized what he was doing, Ryan was unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Holy cripes!

  Oh—undershirt. White undershirt. Thank God he was still covered. And I tore my eyes away once they caught glimpse of how the sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, how the torso molded to his very well-developed physique.

  Look away, Gray. He’s not for you. Not for you.

  But damn did I ever hate that voice of reason inside my head right now, because I wanted to look. He was beautiful beyond words.

  “You like chocolate?” he asked, plucking the candy off the bed and seeming more sober than he had been.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  He shrugged, plunking it down on the nightstand. “I don’t.”

  I snorted. “You going to tell me you prefer freeze-dried astronaut ice cream?”

  He laughed, sinking down to sit on the bed. “That’s not a thing. We don’t eat that shit. And no, we don’t drink Tang either.”

  I smiled. I knew all that, but hey, it was something light-hearted to break the tension.

  “There’s a minibar in here somewhere, right? They’ve at least got those little tiny bottles of cheap vodka.” His blue eyes scanned the room, but he didn’t move.

  “Hmm. I think coffee would be better for you right now. How about something to eat?” I went over to the dresser and picked up the menu. “I can order something from room service. Did you even eat before you pounded all those shots down?”

  He rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger in tiny circles directly above his eyes. “You never eat after the first toast. It’s custom.”

  “Hmm, sounds like a quick way to get hammered.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  I put down the menu, noticing the slight slump in his shoulders. Carefully, I came around the edge of the bed and sat beside him.

  “You were particularly motivated to get wasted tonight.”

  He shrugged and didn’t look at me.

  “More so after your talk with Karen Freed.”

  That got his attention. He turned and peered at me through narrowed eyes. “I have you to thank for that.”

  My hands fidgeted, smoothing a slight wrinkle in the bedspread. “You mean to tell me you would have blown her off and turned your back on her? The only thing I did was offer you two some privacy from all the prying eyes.”

  He glared at me but didn’t argue. That was it. No word, no change of expression in his face, nothing. That narrow-eyed gaze made my internal organs twerk.

  “You’re obviously in a lot of pain after your chat with her. Probably why you were seeking alcohol.”

  His eyes fluttered closed briefly, then open again.

  Then, without warning, he was in my face, the smell of vodka imbuing my perception of everything around me. “You are violating my rules,” he said with only the slightest slur to his words. “I specifically said no shrink talk.”

  His face was inches from mine, and he didn’t back off after saying what he had to say. I pulled my head back but stopped, coming up against an unexpected barrier—his hand. He’d raised it to cup around the back of my neck, preventing me from pulling away. His gorgeous face was as close as ever. Those blue, blue eyes starting to cast a spell.

  My innards went from twerk mode to melt mode in ten seconds flat, my throat so tight I couldn’t even swallow. Underneath that vodka smell, I co
uld catch hints of the seashells and salt, a faint breath of sage from his aftershave. The room around us jerked and then jolted to a stop.

  My eyes fluttered closed. “I-I was making conversation,” I said faintly, though any idiot could hear the lie on my lips, the tremble in my voice.

  There was a shift in weight on the bed. Why had I sat here instead of on a nearby chair? Why had I gravitated to his side like this? And now, why was I letting him move closer, so that our faces were an inch apart? His hot breath caressed my mouth and my breathing seized—as if willing him to breathe for the both of us. So close now, I could feel his body warmth on my skin.

  So close I couldn’t even think of a reply. He’d caught me red-handed.

  “I’m willing to forgive that violation of the rules, provided…”

  My eyes cracked open. Oh God, his blue eyes stared down into mine. “Provided?”

  “I’ll answer those questions, Gray. But I get something in return for each and every one of them.”

  Clouds and fog and…I could barely hear him over the thready beating of my heart. Click, click, clickety, click.

  He heard it too, the corner of that sexy mouth tugging up into a knowing smile. Confirmation of what he was doing to me with hardly any touch besides the one holding my head in place. Just his proximity. Just his words.

  He knew. And what he knew pleased him so much that there was a very satisfied smile on his mouth when he proclaimed, “For every answer I give you, I get a kiss.”

  Oh God. Oh God. I knew I shouldn’t be this weak. But I was.

  My eyelids fell to half-mast, burdened under their own weight, too exhausted to fight the tension between us, too thrilled to acknowledge all the improprieties involved. For the thousandth time, I reminded myself that he was not my patient. And I was not his therapist.

  Good thing, because he kissed like a god. And the twinge in my lips told me I wanted more of what he’d given me last week.

  Against the voices screaming in my head to say no. To put a stop to this. Instead, very slightly, I nodded.

  “Say yes, Gray.”

  My eyes flew open and locked on his. He didn’t blink, didn’t look away. Those eyes were laser-focused on mine.