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 hour-long facial, she would not only look like Frankenstein, but all sexual urges would be diluted.
She’d only just traded her towel for her silver silk knee-length robe and started for the long hallway leading to the sunken living room, when a knock sounded on the door.
With a frown, she hesitated outside the red “good luck” door—as the real-estate agent had called it—certain that whoever was outside wasn’t going to agree it was lucky if he or she saw her in this mask.
Still, what real choice did she have? She called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s your jumpmaster, sweetheart,” came the deep, familiar voice she knew as that of temptation himself. “Open up.”
Sabrina’s heart skipped a beat. A rush of adrenaline ran through her veins.
“You owe me a date,” he said. “I came to collect.”
“You owe me an interview,” she called out. This couldn’t be happening. Not with mud on her face. “You can’t just show up here unannounced.”
“Not even if I tell you Marco is in the car waiting for us to drive him to the airport?”
Marco was here? Without thinking, she flung the door open. “He’s here? As in at my condo? You got me the interview?” She’d barely spat out the questions before she realized what she’d done. Big gorgeous Ryan loomed above her, his arm resting on the frame above his head, amusement in his eyes as he took in her silk robe and the mess on her face. She’d fantasized about losing control with Ryan, and now she had. In the most unsexy of ways.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she noticed his hat was gone, his mussed sandy-brown hair neat to the naked eye. “I’m going to close the door now, and please pretend this never happened.”
RYAN WASN’T ABOUT to forget one moment of Sabrina in a skimpy robe.
“Afraid I can’t do that,” Ryan answered, advancing on Sabrina with nothing short of a predatory stride. In a flash, he had maneuvered them through the doorway and inside the condo, the door kicked shut behind him. And because he was but a man, with only so much restraint, he tugged the silk of her robe over the swell of high, full breasts, barely concealed. “Not when you’re teasing me with so much skin. Your robe was gaping.”
She quickly reached for the opening, her hands colliding with his, her gaze lifting in a panicked flutter of dark lashes on pale skin. “I… This is so not going well.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” he said. “Though taking your clothes off would be a lot more enjoyable than putting them on. I won’t ask about the green stuff on your face as long as it won’t stop me from kissing you.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice raspy, breathless. “It’ll get it all over you. And what about Marco?”
“Marco
