Ryan frowned and finished off his muffin. “That soldier didn’t have post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked, perking up with interest.
“I know,” Ryan said.
Excitement started to form. “Are you saying you served with this man, Ryan? You knew him?”
“No,” he said, quickly leaning forward to point out the newspaper.
There was a photo of the soldier, right before a sharpshooter killed him.
“See his wrist, right above the cuff? The symbol tattooed on his arm.” Sabrina nodded and he showed her his own wrist. “That soldier was Special Ops. Unbreakable. He wasn’t a trauma case. Ask yourself what was the bigger picture here.”
There was an innuendo to those words that said he understood the soldier a bit more than he wished he did, and it made her curious. Why had he gotten out when he seemed so dedicated to being a soldier?
He slapped his legs. “Listen, your coffee has to be cold and my cup is empty.” He headed to the kitchen, both their cups in hand. Surprised, Sabrina followed his path with her hungry stare. He was so, well, manly. A soldier, honorable. A gentleman, filling her cup, not because it was expected, but because it was second nature. She could see that in his casual demeanor, his comfort in his own skin. Ryan seemed to just be Ryan. What you see is what you get, though the missions he’d run, the things he’d seen, said that might not be true. He confused her, he interested her. Too much. For the first time in a long time, she realized she might be able to fall for a guy. And get hurt. It was a frightening feeling. She had to rein this back in, get a grip, get some control. Starting now.
“How do you take your coffee?” he asked, rounding the end of the counter.
“Oh,” she said, hopping to her feet in delayed reaction and rushing to the kitchen. “I was thinking I should have come to make it myself.” In her haste, she’d put herself in her rather compact kitchen, with only inches separating her and Ryan.
They simply stood there, staring at each other, sexual tension snaking between them, sensuous in demand. Ryan took a step forward, and she stepped back. “Wait. Ryan. About last night.” Okay. That wasn’t exactly what she’d planned. “It was…”
He arched a brow. “It was…?”
Exciting. Scary. Perfect. Wrong. “A mistake.”
One she would remember for the rest of her life.
8
“WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT…” Ryan began, backing Sabrina against the counter and framing her legs with his own, the soft clean scent of her firing up his senses, “was hot. You were hot. We were hot. Everything about it was hot.”
Her hands went to his shoulders, rejection in her soft features. “We almost had sex in the stairwell and that, by the way, is probably illegal.”
“Did I mention it was hot?” he asked.
She blasted him with a look meant to ice the fire burning between them. It only stoked him further. Everything about her lit him up. “You’re very sexy when you’re mad.”
Disbelief flickered in her face. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?” she demanded, and then cut her gaze, shoving at his chest. “Let me by. I can’t do this, Ryan. That’s not who I am.”
Ryan held his steely position, gently capturing her wrists. “You think this is all about sex?”
Her eyes flashed with challenge, her cute pointed chin tilting upward. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “Or yes. I have no idea. How can I? How can you? We just met. But whether it turns out we’re both living out some fantasy about a politician’s daughter and a cowboy, or maybe something deeper, the only mistake is calling this a mistake before we find out.”
Her lips parted. “A fantasy about a politician’s daughter and a cowboy?”
“I’m teasing you,” he said, running his hands up and down her slender waist. “Well, mostly teasing. Sabrina. Seriously. You just left New York. I just left the military. Let’s explore together and see where it goes. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’m the guy you can do it with, and it stays with me. Hell, I know government secrets that could get me killed.”
“Killed?” she asked. “Who would kill you?”
He shook his head. “My point is that anything you want to explore with me is just with me. Between us. And if that is sex, or if it’s a movie, or a place you want to go, or whatever, that’s cool. Let’s just have some fun and see where it goes. You’re safe with me. In fact—” he released her and stepped back “—we won’t have sex until you say we have sex. I won’t pressure you. I won’t even make a move. I’ll want to and it’ll be torture, but—” he held his hands up “—I’ll wait until you say you’re ready. Which, by the way, won’t be easy, but I’m committed to the cause.”
“I decide?” she asked, incredulously. “I can’t decide.”
“Why not?”
“That’s too much pressure.”
He wiggled an eyebrow. “We could spend the day making love and put the anticipation and nerves behind us. Certainly won’t hear any complaints from me.” Especially after he’d spent the entire night thinking about just that, something no other woman had ever done to him.
With a look of amazement, she accused, “You really say whatever comes to mind, don’t you?”
He pressed his hands on the counter behind him. “Would you rather I play political word games?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No political games, please. Most definitely not.” Her hands went to her sides for emphasis. “Stay as you are.”
Her answer pleased him, though he doubted she knew how poisonous those political games she’d come to despise could really be, or the blood they could spill. He did, though. He did and he’d left it behind.
“Then we agree,” he said approvingly. “We shoot straight with each other. That leaves only having one last thing to address.”
“Do I dare ask?” she teased, obviously relaxing a bit now. She laughed, a soft musical sound he felt like a punch in the gut. His groin tightened, zipper expanded. What the hell was he thinking, promising to keep his hands off her?
“You should always dare, darlin’,” he told her, hoping she’d dare sometime soon. He snagged his wallet from his pocket, retrieving a business card. “We have to secure that interview of yours so I can secure my official date night.” He was already punching a number into his cell.
“I’m supposed to call Calista Monday,” she said and frowned. “Who are you calling?”
“Hey, Calista,” Ryan said, noting with amusement the surprised, appalled look on Sabrina’s face. “I have Sabrina here with me.” He pressed his hand over the receiver and eyed Sabrina. “Can you talk to her now?”
“I can’t believe you did this!” she whispered sharply. “I’m not prepared.”
“Saying no doesn’t require preparation,” he said, and offered her the phone.
She pursed her lips and took the phone, covering the receiver. “I’m going to get you for putting me on the spot.”
“Sounds fun,” he teased.
Glowering, she promptly gave him her back, and then spoke into the phone. “Hi, yes. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Yes. I… What time? Okay. Yes. I can find it. Sure. See you then.”
She whirled on Ryan. “I have to go meet her for brunch at the Barton Creek Country Club.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “The deal was you talk to her, and you get your interview. You just talked to her.”
“Talking to her means hearing her out, Ryan,” she said. “I have to go.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“I’ll call Marco.”
“No,” she said, setting his phone on the granite counter. “I don’t want to mess up in case he won’t give me my interview. I need to go change. I have to meet her in an hour.”
“No,” he said, snagging her fingers in his before she got away. “You aren’t changing for Calista. And there is no if. You don’t want to do this, then don’t d
o it.”
“It’s a pretty ritzy country club. I have to change. It’s part of the requirements for a place like that.”
“Screw the requirements,” he said. “We’ll pop by the country club. You tell her no to whatever it is she maybe wants you to do. Then I’ll call Marco and confirm your interview.”
“You don’t have to go with me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I can take care of myself.”
He tugged her into his arms. “Of that, I have no doubt. But I got you into this. I owe it to you to make sure you get out of it. And call me self-serving, but I don’t want you in the spotlight either. You’ll never let yourself have any fun then.” He grabbed the cell phone on the counter and eyed the time. “But you might have to help me look at a couple of houses. I stood the realestate agent up yesterday. I don’t want to do it again today. He says there are a couple of foreclosures that will go fast.”
“You’re buying a house?” she said, hands on her slender hips, where he’d like to put his.
He laughed. “That’s right, I’m never going to convince Bobby and Caleb I’m here to stay if I don’t put down some roots.” He motioned with his chin. “What about you? This is a great place. Did you buy it?”
“Renting with the option to buy,” she said, shoving her hands in her back pockets and looking a bit uncomfortable. “I need to be sure I can carve out a readership for my new pen name minus the political connections.” She leaned a hip on the counter. “If I end up penning the same political stories I did back home, then ultimately that will expose my identity, and this has all been for naught.”
“And you think Marco can help you carve out that readership?”
“I have an idea I think could really be great,” she said. “Different. Something that will make me stand out.”
“Tell me about this idea you have for Marco’s interview on the drive to the country club,” he suggested.
Ryan had a feeling no matter how much she stood out, she wouldn’t be staying. Her father was headed for a run to the White House, and she’d go with him. This visit to Texas was a last chance to find herself before the microscope of her father’s career honed in on her life. And Ryan was all about helping her do a little selfdiscovery and then letting her go. He was, after all, a master of short-term relationships, his life having allowed for nothing more. He’d honed the skill of saying goodbye with one foster family after another, and then one mission, one woman, one undercover identity at a time. This time would be no different…no matter how many nights Sabrina kept him awake dreaming about her.
RYAN MADE HER reach beyond her comfort zone, and that both scared and excited her. Walking into a ritzy country club in jeans and a Harley T-shirt, with a Harley-worthy man on her arm, was definitely outside of her comfort zone. It was something she never would have done back in New York. But entering the elegant restaurant inside the club, where elaborate flower arrangements hung from ceiling rafters and orchestra music drifted through the air, she was surprised to get not so much as a blink from the young hostess dressed in a cream-colored suit. And to her further surprise, a scattering of jeans-clad customers dotted the room.
“Welcome to Texas,” Ryan whispered by her side, his hand touching her elbow as he guided her through the clusters of elegant white-and-cream decorated tables, in pursuit of the hostess. The touch shimmered up her arm, and spread warmth across her chest.
“I think I could get used to this,” she said, the intimacy of his understanding her private insecurities and what she was thinking not escaping her.
The hostess waved them forward, her gaze slipping appreciatively over Ryan as she departed; if he noticed he didn’t react. Ryan and Sabrina were greeted by an attractive thirty something blonde who quickly stood, displaying a slim figure dressed in a silk blouse and black jeans.
“Ryan, hi,” she said. “Glad you came along.” And though the words rang genuine, she quickly turned to Sabrina. “Sabrina.” She extended her hand. “So very nice to meet you. I’m Calista Montey. And a fan. A huge fan.”
“Thank you,” Sabrina said, shaking Calista’s hand across the table. “I’m always honored to hear someone has enjoyed my work.” Which was true. Her column had been her pride and joy, and it had been hard to walk away from it. The fights with her father were another story—a thought that coiled tension in her stomach.
“You clearly stand up for what you believe in,” Calista said. “I admire that. I wish more people were like you.” She motioned to the chairs. “Please. You two sit down.”
Ryan held out Sabrina’s chair, a perfect gentleman, something she would expect from a military man. But it was the soft touch of his hand on her back, just so, the silent comfort it offered, followed by a for-her-eyes-only look that said “say no, it’s okay,” that she found remarkable. As was the invisible blanket of awareness between them she’d never felt in quite this way.
He claimed his chair, and she settled her napkin in her lap. A waiter quickly appeared, and both Sabrina and Ryan ordered coffee, declining food. He was apparently as much of a coffee addict as she was, which she probably found far too appealing for such a little thing.
“We ate right before we talked to you on the phone,” Ryan explained to Calista, sticking to the story they’d decided on in the car. They’d eat later, when this was over.
“I’m just glad you were able to join me,” Calista chimed quickly. She glanced at Sabrina. “I really appreciate you taking the time to chat with me.”
“Chatting is great,” Ryan interjected. “But we need some clarification up front. Sabrina left the Prime and politics back in New York. She doesn’t want where she’s living to get spread all over the media. We need your word right here and now that her identity and location stays at this table unless she agrees otherwise.”
Sabrina’s stomach fluttered at the unfamiliarity of Ryan’s protectiveness. It felt nice having someone else stand up for her. And to think she’d believed he might have a political agenda.
Calista’s gaze settled heavily on Sabrina. “You…” She looked dumbstruck. “…you left the Prime? I mean I knew you’d been gone a few weeks, but I assumed it was vacation. When Ryan said you wanted to interview my brother, I, in turn, assumed you were visiting, that you happened to cross his path and conjured up some political twist to a sports theme.”
“No,” Sabrina said. “No political twist. My idea for your brother is all about that wildly popular sport of his.”
“So you’re really gone from the Prime? No more politics?”
Sabrina nodded tersely and Calista asked, “Wasn’t your column extremely popular?”
“I was blessed with a loyal following, yes,” she conceded.
“Then why leave?”
“It’s complicated,” Sabrina said awkwardly, thankful the coffee attendant appeared just then, disrupting Calista’s scrutinizing stare.
Ryan reached under the table and squeezed Sabrina’s hand, silencing her. “We need that promise, Calista. Nothing goes beyond this table.”
Calista cut Ryan a short look. “Yes, okay. I promise.” Her gaze quickly flickered back to Sabrina. “This is about the rumors that your father is going to bid on the presidency, isn’t it? He can’t have his daughter writing open editorials destroying the policies he stands behind. If his own daughter doesn’t believe in him, who will?”
“Like I said,” Sabrina repeated, “it’s complicated.”
Ryan handed her the sugar, which she gladly accepted. Somehow, caffeine and sugar seemed appropriate right now.
“Did your father force you out of the spotlight?”
“No,” Sabrina said, quick to purge that idea, irritated to have to battle such speculation, and wondering how many other people would make the same assumption. “I made the decision for myself.” And she meant that. Mostly.
Calista looked as if she might question further but changed her mind. “Your column was brave,” she said, her voice filled with obvious admiration. “It inspired peo
ple to listen to an agenda that isn’t politically driven, but people-driven. You spoke your mind no matter who—your father included—might disagree. That’s what change is really all about.”
“Change will require a complete overhaul of our system,” Sabrina said. “My input was a bleep on the neverending screen of the political dysfunction embraced by some of those working inside it.”
“Unless your father is running for President.”
Discomfort twitched through Sabrina, partially because of the truth in Calista’s statement. Her mind chased a memory: she’d been at a party with her parents, talking to her father. A staunch supporter of her father’s had waited until she was alone and then proceeded to tell her she was ruining her father’s career. He’d insisted that unless she stepped down from her position at the Prime—something her parents, despite frequent conflicting opinions, would never ask her to do—her father would not get the nomination for his party.
“You know, Calista,” Ryan said dryly, his voice snap ping Sabrina out of the past and back to the present as he continued. “Probing Sabrina about things she doesn’t want to talk about isn’t exactly the way to convince her to…”
“Speak of this event we’re having. Sorry, Sabrina,” Calista said, having the good grace to be apologetic. “I shouldn’t have pushed. Please know it’s because I’m a fan, and letting go of your column must have been painful. I was certain your interest in my brother had some political angle.”
“Just pure racing bliss for the fans, I hope,” Sabrina clarified.
“Why don’t you explain to Sabrina what it is you want her to do, Calista,” Ryan suggested, ever the one to get right to the point. A quality Sabrina decided could grow on her quite rapidly.
“Right,” Calista said. “The city council is organizing a political-ideas discussion, all parties, commentators, journalists will be invited. And I’d be honored if you would consider speaking.”