High Octane. Lisa Renee Jones
Читать онлайн книгу.
“Or rather interview him?” Pushing past the ingrained need for privacy despite Ryan’s presence, she turned an appeal on Jennifer, “I follow racing so I can hold my own with him. I won’t embarrass you. And Montey is notorious for joking around with the press and telling them absolutely nothing about his life, or his future career plans. And right now, he’s in a dispute with his sponsor, Can Cola, for drinking Red Rock Cola on camera. If I can get the scoop on that and more, this will be my opportunity to prove to Frank I can deliver compelling stories that have nothing to do with my father’s politics. I know you know what that means to me. Please.” She glanced between the two of them. “I really need this interview.”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer said tentatively. “Ryan? Can she interview Montey? Can you get him to talk—as in really talk to her? Not brush her off.”
Sabrina fixed on Ryan sitting next to her, unaware of just how close they were until her knees brushed his. Heat darted up her thighs and thrummed through her core. “I…ah…” She stepped back a bit. “Sorry.”
Eyes twinkling with mischief, he teased, “Running away when you want something from me isn’t the best strategy, you know.”
“Ryan!” Jennifer chided. “Will you behave?”
“Behaving is overrated,” he said, his attention never leaving Sabrina, his eyes hot with challenge. “I’ll make you a deal. If I can score you an interview, you go out with me.”
Her stomach fluttered. An interview with Montey and a date with this wild cowboy. Montey was a building block of the new life she wanted. But at Ryan’s bidding? An image of herself, strapped to a bed, Ryan naked and teasing her, had her all but visibly shaking herself to clear her head. Where the heck had that come from, and why did it arouse her so intensely?
Desperately, Sabrina focused her mind on the goal of a career-solidifying interview. “Does this date include jumping out of a plane?”
“Oh, good grief, Sabrina, you can’t be considering this,” Jennifer said, setting the paperwork on the desk. “I’ll let you two work this out. And I’ll be up front when you do.”
Neither of them acknowledged Jennifer, either before or after her departure. “Only if you want it to,” Ryan replied to Sabrina’s question, as if Jennifer had never spoken. Then he leaned toward her. “And for the record, I prefer you associate our first date with pleasure, not fear.” He eased back, the scent of him, spicy and male, lingering in her senses, as he said, “Do we have a deal?”
Making a deal with this man wasn’t safe. It wasn’t something she would normally do.
“A date in exchange for an interview,” she agreed, her resolve forming. “Yes. All right. We have a deal.”
She wanted this interview. She wanted Ryan. And for once in her life, she wasn’t denying herself just so she could be safe. She was embracing the thrill, the danger…and, yes, the deal.
Satisfaction slid across Ryan’s face. “I’ve got your paperwork and contact information,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.” He pushed to his feet.
“What?” she asked, suddenly uncertain about what had just happened. “How? When do I get my interview?”
Ryan snatched up the paperwork with all of her contact information. “When I come to collect my date.” And then he sauntered toward the door.
“Wait,” she said, following him. “Or rather. Should I wait here? Now?”
He paused in the doorway. “No need.” He waved her papers at her. “I know how to find you and I will.” He winked. “And that, sweetheart, is a promise you can label absolute.” He disappeared into the hallway. Sabrina swayed, her fists balled by her sides, as she fought the urge to go after him. Resisted the urge to try and control what she couldn’t control. And she was pretty darn sure she could no more control Ryan Walker than she could repress that burn inside her to give it her best try.
4
SHE NEEDED THIS INTERVIEW with Marco to solidify her new life in Texas. And not just a standard interview like the one the Mayor gave at his press conference about supporting the troops, and how this soldier turned bank robber had a stress disorder brought on by combat, which so many ex-military have, as well. In this case, she wasn’t sure that was the real story. Especially since she’d gotten home to an email from Frank, with a snapshot of the soldier and his family, a wife and two kids, who looked very happy together. The email had read “My contact says wife has visited the Mayor’s office after hours and her name was erased from the visitation log.”
It wasn’t in her nature to not fight for people who needed help. The idea that the wife might need hers, well, it was getting to her a little. She’d dig around some but she wasn’t telling Frank she was doing it. And in the meantime, she wanted that interview with Marco Montey—an interview she’d make into something that spoke to race-car lovers and managed to show off her talents as a journalist. Not sure how she would do that, but she’d figure it out.
Exactly why Sabrina’s cell phone sat on the edge of her new, fancy marble tub. The tub had tempted her into renting a condo with an option to buy, but she wouldn’t be able to afford it if she didn’t get her career on track. Thus why, in the far-too-many hours that had passed since her “deal” with Ryan, she’d done plenty of that worrying she’d sworn was a good thing; the knots in her stomach begged to differ. Plain and simple, she was fretting herself sick that she’d soon be leaving her high ceilings and shiny wooden floors for a cramped New York apartment with only a shower once again. Because that was exactly what was going to happen if she were going to report on politics, as Frank would have it. She’d get paid a whole lot more for it in New York where she had a reputation. Remaining here wouldn’t serve any purpose, no matter how tempted she was to stay the course.
And it seemed temptation had led her to all kinds of places lately. To this condo, and now straight into the path of Ryan, who she couldn’t get out of her head. Or her bath, she realized guiltily. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined him here, naked—water dripping off sleek muscles that she would lick dry. Grrrrr. There she went again!
Anxious to put an end to the unbearable waiting, Sabrina glanced at the lit-up face of her cell phone. Nine o’clock. The chances of good news at this late hour were slim, and she resisted the urge to be pushy and dial Jennifer. The truth was, the disappointment sprang from more than the interview. It was about Ryan and his “deal.” About the excuse that deal gave her to go where she didn’t belong with the man. It was Ryan who could give her Marco. Ryan who could give her…
“More than you can handle,” she murmured, rising to her feet in a splash of bath water, and reaching for a fluffy white towel she’d bought at a Macy’s summer blow-out sale at about half the price of a New York summer blow-out sale. She could get used to these prices for sure. Even her morning Starbucks was cheaper, which helped justify the price of her condo. She liked this city. Austin had an artsy, contemporary feel, the music and movie scene, without the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Maybe she didn’t have to go home to be home, and maybe she’d even be okay writing about the political scene here, with distance from her father. Her chest tightened. Or maybe not.
She knotted the towel firmly around her chest and padded across the thick teal-blue bathroom rug to the mirror above the stainless-steel sink, where she glanced at her hair piled atop her head in disarray. She looked like a wreck, felt like a wreck. Not one bit sexy, despite the sex on her mind.
She pursed her lips. “You aren’t having sex with Ryan ‘Cowboy’ Walker, nor are you ever going to,” she murmured in denial of her yearning for this man. With a regretful sigh, she opened the mahogany cabinet, snatching the new mud mask that the mall clerk had convinced her was the ticket to radiance.
“No sex with Ryan,” she told her image in the mirror, “so stop thinking about it.”
With determination to do just that, she spread the green goop all over her face. Task complete, she was satisfied that for the duration of her