Ryan’s hand slid to the back of her head, threaded through her silky hair and pulled her mouth fully to his. Tasted her. Drank her. Hungered for more, for all of her. Soft moans slid from her mouth, feeding that need. He touched her. Exploded. Her shirt came off, and she tossed it aside. Somehow, in the act, the book fell to the floor. The thud wasn’t loud, but it rumbled through Ryan with an impact.
Sabrina reached for the front clasp of her bra, and Ryan pulled her to him, hugging her, inhaling her scent and drinking in a hard dose of sanity. The book. The damn book that had started this. The book, symbolic of how different her world was from his. How he and Sabrina, somehow together now, in a moment in time, were just that—a moment in time.
He was, like the Mexican food, a walk in the unusual for her. An adventure. A memory she may or may not even claim. And for reasons Ryan couldn’t explain, that idea dug at his consciousness. Gnawing away at him inside and out. He told himself to use her. That she was using him as so many before her had done, while he was here today. He might be gone tomorrow. But Sabrina wasn’t like the others, and why that was, he didn’t know, nor did it matter because this was going nowhere. Because she was acting out of character, and she would hate him for doing this tomorrow. And she’d hate him now for stopping her, but nevertheless, he had to end this.
With almighty will, Ryan set her away from him. “No,” he said. She gasped, her breath coming out in hard blasts. He pushed to his feet, ran a hand over his face and then over his neck. “Not like this. You want me because I’m some sort of statement. Some sort of payback. Which is exactly why I should take you up on your offer and enjoy myself and not look back.” He snatched her shirt and tossed it to her. “But I won’t do that.”
She looked down, inching her arms into her shirt, unwilling to make eye contact. No denial. No vow she wanted him. Not so much as a word. Her silence was the final dig with that ice pick. Ryan ran his hand over his face again and headed to the door, no saunter in sight. His step was fast, as was his exit, sealed with a promise of goodbye.
11
“YOU ARE THE MOST amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
It was Friday morning, almost a week after her disastrous attempt to play seductress with Ryan. Sabrina looked up to find her boss Frank standing in her doorway. Seeing him but not really seeing him. Frank was Frank. New version of the same white shirt and black tie, with a smug expression plastered on his well-lined face.
Sabrina, however, had gone for a celebratory outfit today that she’d hoped would be lucky. A red-and-black leather racing jacket and black jeans—the jacket a gift from Calista, probably to shmooze her into a speech—but still appropriate for this day, considering the occasion.
On Sabrina’s desk lay the paper featuring her first interview in the six-part series called “An Intimate Ride in Marco Montey’s Backseat.” Apparently, Frank was pleased with the results. At least she could please someone. It sure wasn’t Ryan. In fact, he’d been quite obviously displeased when she’d gone from prim senator’s daughter to seductress. She’d dared to reach beyond her comfort zone, and he’d been all about “regrets” and “can’t do that,” etc. Then he’d run. Exactly why she’d refused his calls—her mother’s and father’s, too, for that matter, but that was another story—and had worked late every night. Of course, if he’d really wanted to see her, he’d have found a way.
“Jerk,” she mumbled.
“Easy now,” Frank said dryly, snapping her back to the present. “I’ve been called a jerk by pretty women plenty of times, but not usually after I tell one she’s wonderful.”
“Amazing,” Sabrina corrected, setting the stage for what she wanted. “You called me amazing.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’re wonderful and amazing. This is where you say ‘thank you, Frank.’ Or even ‘I know.’ Or ‘told you so.’ Not where you call me a jerk.”
“Does this mean you’ll stop bugging me about attending political functions?”
“If you really want me to,” he said. “But check your email. I sent you some interesting tidbits on the soldier-turned-bank robber. Then get to work on part two of the Marco spread. You gave us the Can Cola and Red Rock conflict in story one. Give me something good week two. I expect the phones and email to light up next week, like they are today.” He disappeared down the hall.
Frank was elated, and hadn’t said a word to her about politics, except for the MIA wife, all week long. She should be elated, excited, thrilled to the bone. She was on her way to a new career, a new life. That made it a good day. Good. Day.