High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)

by Brenna Aubrey

  I said none of that. “It’s going fine. He’s being a good boy.”

  Keely’s perfectly penciled brows jumped in her smooth forehead. “But we don’t want him to be a good boy, Gray. That’s the point. We want him to play The Astronaut and the Lonely Martian Girl, rated X version.”

  I shushed her as the two men emerged from the garage prattling away to each other in Russian. Ryan carried a big toolbox, and Kirill had rolled up the sleeves on his button-down dress shirt. Kirill, apparently, was poking fun at him for not using the right words in Russian for the tools, and Ryan said some things that I think would have been full of symbols had they been translated with subtitles.

  Keely and I soon found a shady spot—some decorative boulders across the driveway from where they were working. And almost as if on cue, Ryan pulled off his shirt and wiped his sweaty face with it. “Now, we’re talking,” Keely murmured to me. “Let’s hope the Russian follows suit. You would not believe the body underneath all that eastern European formality. He’s so pretty, Gray.”

  Kirill was, indeed, a handsome man—tall, dark blond, very muscular, with perfect bone structure. But Ryan…Ryan. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way his back muscles rippled as he worked, especially when the sweat caused his skin to glisten in the sun.

  Oh Lordy.

  I slept with that precise amount of perfect male under my fingertips every night.

  And he didn’t touch me.

  And though—as I’d told him—I’d gone years without indulging in those very natural needs, it seemed as if my body had very recently awakened. My romantic side would have preferred to compare the awakening to that of Sleeping Beauty. But with the ravenous hunger I was now encountering, the analogy worked so much better to equate with Smaug, the Dragon of the Lonely Mountain. Dying to breathe fire. Dying to roar. Dying to devour scorched man flesh—

  I shook myself from my daydream.

  “Girlfriend, you need you some hot man injection, stat.”

  In spite of my own dirty thoughts, my face burned hotter than the afternoon sun, if that was possible.

  “You brought a swimsuit, yes?”

  I nodded. I’d brought one. Reluctantly.

  “Did you wax in all the right places?”

  I winced. “Wax? No. Shaved? Yes.”

  She blinked. “One-piece or bikini?”

  “One-piece.”

  “Wrong. Bikini. I brought four with me. One of them will fit you, I’m certain of it.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. You have a nice body. Flaunt it.”

  I looked down at my chest reflexively, and she put a hand over mine. “Stop fretting about the scar. It’s not that bad.”

  I darted a look at her, suddenly remembering that she’d seen the scar when I’d borrowed her dress in Houston.

  “We’re going swimming after this. Ty and I have to do a bunch of silly selfie poses for me to post over the next couple weeks on my social media. We’ll have to do a few wardrobe changes and slight scenery changes. After that, we’re definitely all going swimming, having dinner and then who knows?”

  I arched my brows. The way she was checking out Kirill’s butt, she definitely knew.

  We proceeded to watch the men work for another half an hour or so while Keely told me about the new movie she was going to be working on in the fall. I couldn’t take my eyes off Ryan’s perfect body—his strong shoulders, his sculpted arms, the dimples in his back above the waistband of his jeans.

  I didn’t know whether to cheer or boo when they declared themselves finished. Ryan had started up the car and gotten it nice and refrigerated inside. “We were lucky. You didn’t need any replacement parts.”

  “Thank you. I was lucky.” In more ways than one. My eyes tried not to slide over his bare chest and all those many, many delicious abs. And on top of it, he could sew up wounds and fix anything mechanical too. And he had those eyes.

  I blinked. Careful, I warned myself, lest I get the idea that he was the perfect man, I forced myself to remember he was damaged goods and had a past. But since I’d started spending time with him, it seemed like he was getting better. It hadn’t been very long, but things looked promising.

  Hopefully, it would last.

  After that, Ryan showered, cleaned up for Keely’s selfie photos, and they cuddled up for cute poses around the flower planters in the front yard, in the living room. And finally, by the pool.

  Keely’s bikinis were not as ridiculous as I’d envisioned them to be. One, however, was only held together by strings, so I handed it quickly over to her. There was one that fit reasonably well. It was striped in several shades of blue. A little tight in the butt area and definitely loose in the cups of the top. But we made it work.

  I came out and jumped into the pool as quickly as I could, against Keely’s protests. The men had gone to grab drinks and, thus, had not been able to appreciate our bodies—and my distinct lack of tan.

  Minutes later, the guys came out with a cooler full of beverages. Ryan gallantly offered me a Dr. Pepper without even asking. I thanked him, opened it, and took a sip. He slid into the water without getting himself a drink. But not before I’d noticed how amazing he looked in his short trunks.

  The guys got wet immediately. Ryan swam a few laps and then headed straight for me. I’d been sitting on the ledge in the deep end, watching him. He flicked the water out of his hair and grinned when his gaze met mine. Keely and Kirill sat in the shallow end, talking and laughing in low voices.

  Ryan treaded water, of course. He was such a natural in the water. Like he was born to it. I didn’t miss how his eyes lowered to look at my swimsuit, and I fought the strong urge to want to cover up. His mouth curved into an appreciative smile before he lifted his eyes to meet my gaze again.

  And I was flushed and hot all over despite being in the cool water.

  “You left work early today,” he said. “I saw you head to the parking lot after lunch.”

  “I always leave early compared to you.”

  He nodded, plunged himself into the water, pushed off the bottom of the pool, and then shot up again, breaking the surface with a big grin. “Wanna race?”

  I laughed. “Not even if you were swimming one-armed without using your legs.”

  He grinned. “Smart girl. So where did you go this afternoon? Obviously, you weren’t getting your AC fixed.”

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling, amused by his curiosity. Maybe even a little flattered by it too. “I had a date.”

  That seemed to throw him. He blinked and hesitated, bobbing where he treaded water. His face was unreadable when he asked, “A date? Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Some old guy I’ve known my whole life.” I grinned and splashed him.

  He laughed, splashing me back. “Do you get together with your dad often?”

  I nodded, remembering some of the things he’d said about Conrad Barrett when Ryan hadn’t known he was my dad. It hadn’t bothered me at the time. You didn’t get to a place of such prominence like Dad did without having a lot of people not like you.

  “We’re close. I have no siblings, and my mom lives far away. My dad is always there for me.”

  He nodded, a somber look on his face. After that declaration, I hardly imagined he’d be repeating the same things he’d said about my dad before. Given the fact that Dad had been such a jerk to him during that meeting all those weeks ago, I had to admire his restraint.

  “Is he still feeling good about his investment in the XPAC?”

  I shrugged, opting not to go into detail about his hedging today at lunch. No need to cause alarm over something that was probably nothing.

  “He’s very cautious about his investments. It’s not about the actual dollar amount for him. It’s about the win. He loves the thrill of the hustle, and so it will never be about his net worth or how much he can afford to lose. He doesn’t like to lose. At all.”

  Ryan nodded. “I know the type.”

  “You are the
type,” I replied with a laugh. He returned my laugh and—there it was—that haunted look at the back of those deep blue eyes. Something I’d said had reminded him of his innermost wounds.

  He was the type to always win. Except when he’d lost. And when he’d lost, he’d lost big.

  Whenever he got that look, I wanted to launch myself into his arms, hold him close, press my cheek to his chest, and tell him it would be all right. That he could heal from this. That there was hope.

  But telling him that meant nothing. A man like Ryan needed proof, action, not words.

  We stayed in the pool, eventually joining the others in the shallow end. There we hung out and chatted as the sky turned to gold, then lavender, and the first stars—barely noticeable out here because of light pollution—came out.

  Kirill pointed out some of the summer sights in the sky, identifying Venus and Mars, which had risen beside the Moon.

  “Can you see the Space Station from the ground?” Keely asked.

  “Yes. It’s second brightest object in night sky,” answered Kirill.

  She frowned. “What’s the brightest?”

  “The Moon,” Kirill said without missing a beat.

  “Oh! Duh,” Keely laughed. “Sometimes I wish I was blond so I could claim to be a dumb blonde.”

  “You’re not dumb, and I love your red hair.” Kirill flashed her a smile, and she grinned slyly back at him.

  “The blonde over here is mildly offended.” I raised my hand jokingly.

  “And most certainly not dumb,” agreed Ryan.

  Soon after, we all decided we were hungry. Ryan pushed himself out of the pool, and I appreciated every rivulet-covered muscle in his back as they rippled and coiled to make that action possible. Then he bent over the pool, extending a strong arm toward me.

  I reached up, and with one arm, he lifted me out like I weighed nothing.

  We ordered takeout from a fantastic gourmet Chinese restaurant that delivered. And then we chowed down at the table, poolside.

  Ryan and Keely started to take some more pictures now that the light had changed. While they did that, Kirill and I took care of the cleanup.

  In the kitchen, after having loaded the dishwasher, Kirill replaced the liner in the garbage can and chatted with me.

  “How is your work going, Gray? Good?”

  “Yes. Between XVenture and hanging out here, it’s almost like I have two jobs.”

  He seemed to consider that and looked like he wanted to ask me something, but he remained silent.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Ya ochen krasivaya.”

  His eyebrows twitched upward in surprise. “Eh…ya soglasen.”

  I didn’t understand that either. “What did I say?”

  He grinned almost from ear to ear. “You told me ‘I am very beautiful.’ And I said that I agree.”

  I blinked. “Uh…oh.” Then my faced flamed hot. “Wow, I sound conceited in Russian.”

  He smiled. “Ty taught you that?”

  “I thought he was teaching me a swear word.”

  Kirill nodded, laughing. “He knows lots of those too. If you were listening today when he fixed your car, you heard them.”

  The other two came into the kitchen right at that moment, Keely shivering under her towel and jumping into Kirill’s arms. “It’s so cold in here!”

  I turned to look at Ryan. I couldn’t help but think back to the night he’d taught me that phrase when we’d sat by the pool over our pizza. The way he’d pulled that phrase out of the air the moment I’d asked him to teach me something in Russian. The way he’d smiled to himself and shook his head like a shy boy when I’d asked him what it meant. But when I’d repeated it, he’d told me, Da, ochen verno. Very true.

  So seriously.

  He’d seriously told me he thought I was very beautiful and then reaffirmed it when I’d said it.

  Did that mean—did it mean he truly thought I was beautiful? And how was that even possible? I glanced at Keely, lithe and gorgeous even now, with pool-damp hair and no makeup on. He’d never shown anything close to romantic interest in her.

  While Ryan put soap in the dishwasher and started it up, I stuck containers of leftovers in the fridge and threw out what was empty. By that time, Keely and Kirill had disappeared into the other room.

  “So I found out what it means,” I said.

  “What’s that?” he asked, straightening and turning to me.

  “Ya ochen krasivaya. Kirill told me what it meant.”

  With no embarrassment this time, Ryan only smiled. And then me, my big mouth, and my skeptical self blew it and wiped that smile right off his face when I laughed. “You sure know how to bullshit, even in Russian.”

  The smile melted into an offended scowl in less than a microsecond. “It wasn’t bullshit.”

  I blinked. “Oh.”

  He tensed, his eyes narrowing, and a brief scowl twisted his features before he turned away, wiping a dish towel over the damp counter with short, agitated strokes.

  I reached out and put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He straightened and looked at me. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  I blinked at the way his voice was so serious—almost angry. “Do what?”

  “Tell me I’m lying because I say you’re beautiful. You don’t believe my opinion? Fuck that.”

  Then he reached out, hooked his hands around my upper arms, and pulled me to him. His kiss landed hard on my mouth without giving me a chance to so much as catch my breath. With one of his favorite maneuvers, he rested his hand against the back of my head, holding it fast to his.

  His tongue was in my mouth a second later, and I was melting against him while it worked its devious chemistry, stirring things inside me—feelings, sensations, dizzying thoughts. His lips moved over mine with certainty, possession. When he pulled away, we were both breathing heavily.

  “Did that kiss lie?” he asked, his mouth inches from mine.

  I shook my head. The vocal answer was stuck in my throat. I couldn’t speak, the breath, the feeling too overwhelming. I’d been wanting him to kiss me again for days, and yet, I’d been the one who had asked him not to kiss me again.

  Because…because I knew exactly what it would do to me. This.

  Good lord.

  The world whirled around us for an instant and righted itself again. I felt the need to grasp the edge of the kitchen counter anyway. Very audibly, I gulped, and at that moment, Kirill and Keely walked back into the kitchen holding hands.

  “We, uh, we’re going to run along now. Let you two get on with your night,” Keely said while making meaningful googly eyes at me. I looked away, pretending not to notice.

  But Kirill was watching Ty and didn’t say anything for a long time before turning to me. “Good night, Gray. Later, Ty.”

  They left out the back door to grab their bags on the pool deck and go. And we were left staring at each other semi-awkwardly in the kitchen. How much of the kiss had they seen, if anything?

  Ty didn’t say anything about Kirill’s look, and it reminded me of that conversation I’d had with Pari a few days before about the astronauts and their relationships to each other. Ty and Noah had something weird going on, and I’d forgotten to ask Kirill about it.

  I doubted the tight-lipped Russian would have told me anything useful anyway.

  “We should get out of our damp suits,” he finally said.

  “Good idea. I’m exhausted.”

  I was dying to get the salty pool water out of my hair and off my skin. I turned to go toward my guest bathroom and the bedroom I hadn’t slept in for almost two weeks.

  After a hot, relaxing shower which only served to make me even sleepier, I pulled his bathrobe off the hook on the wall. I’d borrowed it because I kept forgetting my own, and it was at least two sizes too big for me. The belt wrapped around my waist twice before I’d half knotted it. I stumbled back into my room to find my pajamas and ended up curling up on the bed and dozing instead.
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  He found me there a while later.

  “Hey.” He sat on the bed. “You okay? I was waiting for you to show up, and you never came. Would you rather sleep in here tonight?”

  I blinked up at him and shook my head. “I was super tired.”

  “Here, I got you.” And he bent and scooped me off the bed, carrying me down the hall, through the house, and into his master bedroom. And I very much enjoyed the ride. He was dressed for bed, but I pressed my cheek to his soft T-shirt that covered that hard wall of muscle, his strong arms holding me to his wide chest.

  It felt divine, and my heart was clickety-clicking away with excitement.

  And I was no longer sleepy by the time we reached his bedroom.

  He lay me down on my side of the bed, and I looked up at him. “I didn’t grab my pajamas.”

  He shrugged. “Just sleep in that.”

  I thought about it for a moment. “I can’t go to sleep now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we were going to work on something tonight.”

  He sat down beside me on the bed, staring. “We were going to what?”

  I blinked, suddenly alert, heart beating fast. Crap. Had I made it sound too much like these times sharing a bed were therapy sessions? Because they weren’t. They so weren’t.

  “I thought maybe we could try turning off the lights.”

  He recoiled slightly. “No.”

  “I’d still be here. Right beside you.”

  He shook his head slightly, that strange, distant look coming into his eyes. What did they call it? The thousand-yard stare?

  “How about we try it for five minutes? Then the lights go back on.”

  He blinked but didn’t move.

  I slowly sat up. “Just five, Ryan. You can do that, right?”

  His eyes dropped to the coverlet on the bed. But no protest.

  I scooted off the bed and proceeded to turn off the extra lights—the one in the hallway to the bathroom, the overhead light, and lastly, I sat on his normal spot on the bed before slowly reaching over to put my hand on the lamp switch. “I can count down to turning it off. So you can prepare—”