High Octane (Texas Hotzone 2)

She curled her legs to her chest, the silky strands of her hair draped over her slender shoulders. Her ears strained toward the George Straight song “Amarillo by Morning.” “This song isn’t so bad,” she said. “Country music is just such sad music.”

“If a song makes you sad, then it’s talking to you,” he said. “That’s what country music is all about. It’s thinking music. Well, and drinking and dancing.”

“You had me at thinking and drinking,” she said. “Lost me at dancing.” She grabbed the bag of trash and stood up, doing a catlike stretch that Ryan gave considerable male regard.

On his feet now, he captured her hand in his, using the other to set the food bag on the table. “I think we’ll be better off skipping the thinking and drinking,” he said, “and getting right to the dancing.”

Her eyes went wide. “What?” She shook her head. “No. Ryan. I don’t dance.”

He led her to the open area in between the television and the couch. “Good thing I do, then,” he murmured, sliding his hand to her waist. “Just follow my lead.”

“I’ll step on your feet,” she insisted, a lift to her voice that bordered on genuine concern.

He slid his hands to her cheeks and kissed her. “That’s why they make boots.” Leaning back, he glanced down at her dainty feet before giving her a grin. “And don’t worry. I won’t step on your pretty pink toes.” A Kenny Chesney song had begun playing, a fast-paced, fun dance tune. Ryan eased her into motion, ignoring her objections. “Here we go. Step. Step. Good. One, two, three. Just follow me, and keep your spine stiff. Step. Step. One, two, three.” His hand slid to her backside. “Don’t shake that cute little butt of yours. Not for the two-step. Better. Good.”

“I am so not good at this.”

“You are doing great.”

“Because you are really, really good at this,” she said. “You’re doing it for me.”

“Had a lot of years of practice,” he said, gently guiding her.

“In the jungles or the deserts?”

“You’d be surprised at where a little piece of Texas shows up,” he said.

The music shifted to a slow Keith Urban song. The mood shifted with it, the air suddenly thicker, charged with an expanding awareness. Ryan closed the small space between them, let his hips guide her movements. His chest was tight, his groin with it. He had no doubt she could feel the hard press of his arousal.

She was petite and soft, and he wanted nothing more than to strip away the barriers and hold her in his arms. To feel her on every possible intimate level. But he’d given Sabrina the power to control when, how, and if they were ever to make love. Nothing about what had transpired between them today changed that decision. No matter how much he might want it to.

“Maybe this dancing thing isn’t so bad, after all,” she murmured.

“That a girl,” he offered approvingly. “Before you know it, I’ll have you jumping out of a plane.”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “That idea was a momentary bleep of insanity that I won’t be having again anytime soon.”

They’d shifted into a slow sway, barely a dance. “Something made you think you wanted to skydive.”

Her lashes lowered, her answer coming slowly. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah,” he said. “Complicated. That’s what you said to Calista. In other words…you don’t want to talk about it.”

She stopped moving, her expression animated, distressed. The lights were dim, but he could see the flush across her cheeks. “No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant, Ryan. I don’t mind talking to you. In fact, you’re easy to talk to. The truth is…I thought I was a control freak. I thought jumping out of a plane would teach me to let go, to just live a bit. Or Jennifer thought it would.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind?” he asked, his hand covering hers where it rested on his chest.

“Yes,” she said. “Or no. I don’t know. It’s confusing. I think…” She paused, her delicate brow dipping in consideration, before she continued, “I think I just need to feel like my decisions are my own. That the control I have is not conceived from a need to stay within certain boundaries. I wish I could be more like you. Without boundaries, without fear of what might go wrong.” Her fingers curled on his chest, her chin lifting as she stared up at him, vulnerability and insecurity in her eyes, but her voice didn’t falter. “I want you to show me what it feels like to let go, Ryan. I want you to…” A knock sounded on the door. Loudly. Over and over.

Silently Ryan cursed, hanging on her words. She wanted him to what? Another knock. Damn it.

“That would be the kid next door who always knocks as though there is a fire or something,” she explained, the moment lost as her tone turned matter-of-fact. Gone was the soft, wistful tone of seconds before. She grimaced. “I don’t know how I thought he was you when you were you.”