High Octane (Texas Hotzone 2)

“Messages?” she asked, feigning innocence.

He set the pizza in the center of the dark walnut table. “You were going to check your messages and then call your parents.”

“Oh, right.” She set the glasses down. “Messages. My parents called. Surprise.”

“Did you talk to your parents?”

She claimed the seat at the corner. “My boss called and wouldn’t let me off the phone. And then I had to make the pizza.”

“You had to make the pizza,” he repeated, sitting at the end of the table, his scrutiny a bit too earnest for comfort.

“Yes,” she said. “And you should eat rather than question me. I slaved in the kitchen.”

He studied her a minute more and chuckled. “Slaved, did you? To warm the pizza.”

“Are you downplaying my efforts?”

“No. I can’t wait to taste your magnificent cooking.” He reached for the pizza. “Let’s eat.” He filled his plate and she did the same.

They’d eaten together, slept together, showered together. And they were going to do it all over again. The idea warmed her and softened the blow of Frank’s bullying. And of the phone call she couldn’t avoid forever. Oh, yeah. And the potential stalker she hoped was no stalker at all.

After a few minutes of debate over the best way to handle her car Monday morning, Ryan reminded her about the front door. “The new key is on the table by the entrance.”

“Thank you so much for doing that for me,” she said. “I owe you in all kinds of ways.”

“You can pay me back by skydiving with me,” he suggested playfully.

“Let me think about that,” she said, and then immediately followed up with “No.”

“One day you’ll jump with me,” he promised.

“There you go, assuming again,” she rebutted.

“Like with the condoms,” he said keenly. “The ones we didn’t use. I’ve never been with anyone without using one. I know I said that before, but I want to reiterate that you are safe with me.”

Safe. Ryan made her feel safe in ways no other man ever had, yet at the same time, he made her feel as if she were hanging off a ledge by her fingertips—which had nothing to do with condoms. “Me either,” she said and then added a reminder, “Though I’m on the pill.” She hesitated. “I take it because… It doesn’t matter why. You were my first without a condom.”

Sexual tension spiked in the air. Something flickered in his face. Satisfaction. Awareness. She felt it, too. They weren’t talking about condoms. They were talking about the potential of commitment.

“I like being the first,” he said softly and reached for another slice of pizza, breaking the crackling sexual tension down to a mere hum.

They ate and talked, and she couldn’t help but catch tiny glimpses of him. He was far more scrumptious than any pizza would ever be. His hair was mussed up, as if he’d run his fingers through it contemplating his task. The day-old beard darkening his jaw, combined with his worn jeans and boots, gave him an appealing, rugged look so much more masculine than the clean-shaven stuffed-shirt types she was used to.

He finished eating and leaned back in his chair, sighing with satisfaction. “Not the best pizza I ever had, but it did the job.”

“Hey, now. That’s my cooking you’re talking about.”

“If that’s all you can cook, we’ll be getting lots of takeout.”

Her stomach fluttered at the implication that they’d be spending time together. “That’s generally what I do anyway,” she conceded.

He turned serious, shifted the conversation. “So, when are you going to call your parents?”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Today’s handed me more than enough trouble as it is.”

“Why not get it all over with,” he suggested. “Let tomorrow be a new day.”

“Maybe. But you heard the message. I’m not sure I’m up to the pressure tonight. They have every intention of coercing me back into politics.”

“Which you love,” he pointed out, shifting his chair away from the table toward her.

Boots previously disposed of, Sabrina pulled her feet to the chair and angled her body toward him. “I hate politics,” she corrected. “I loved exposing corruption and the back-door deals. There’s a difference. I convinced myself if I got a big enough audience, I could rally people to stand up for their rights. That’s why I encourage voting. We have to speak out in volume. Too many people complain privately, but don’t do what they can to speak out.”

“And yet you want to walk away?”

She rested her chin on her knees. “I just can’t be that person in the middle of all of that conflict anymore,” she said. “I can’t do any good that way. And I need to feel like I make a difference. Interviewing Marco isn’t the way, obviously, but something is out there for me, and it’s a stepping stone.” She hesitated, wondering about Ryan. “You speak with such pride about the Army,” she said. “What happened to make you leave? Because something had to have happened.”