High Octane (Texas Hotzone 2)

Ryan joined her but said nothing, watching her thumb through stories. She laughed at one and showed him the photo of a man with a pie in his face. “I got in a lot of trouble for this one.”

“You threw the pie?” he teased, hoping to coax a smile. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

She granted him the smile he’d hoped for. “No. I didn’t throw the pie. But I did suggest that anyone who voted for a certain bill—I won’t bore you with its content—had pie in their face and would feel the effects at the voting booths. My father showed up at the newspaper the morning it ran.”

Realization hit Ryan. “He voted for the bill.”

She nodded and he asked, “And you knew?”

Her smile faded. “I knew. He had his reasons. We disagreed on those reasons being valid. He had a problem with me voicing that disagreement. Said it was a personal attack when it wasn’t. The fight that ensued was hurtful and got as much attention as the article itself.”

Ryan studied her carefully. “So why exactly did your father send you a copy of that particular column?”

She grabbed the note lying on the couch and read, “Together we can show the world the beauty of disagreeing. We can cross party lines and change the world. Come home. You are missed and needed.” She dropped the card. “He changed his vote after all was said and done.”

“Because of you?”

“Because of public opinion,” she said. “Which I helped rally, but that’s not the point. The point now is someone on his campaign team has decided I can somehow help him win the election rather than the opposite. Or perhaps that my silence can be used for ammunition as easily as my speaking out. That’s the only way to explain the sudden support.”

“He could really miss you,” he said.

She looked at the front and back of the note. “Don’t see that anywhere on the paper. Not from my father or my mother, who was quick to approve of me leaving the Prime.”

Ryan questioned her a little about her mother, learning about her job as a professor, her support of her husband’s White House vision, before she added. “Don’t get me wrong. My parents love me. I know that. It’s just…the White House comes first. It’s bigger than me.” She shut the book. “This package is about strategy.” She set the book on the table and turned to him. “I’m so glad to be away from that world.” Her hand slid to his leg. “I really need to be away from it. I need to forget it.”

Her hand inched up his leg. Turbulent emotions splintered off her like shattered glass, spreading through the room with prickly warning. Anything she did right now was born of that emotion, not of sound judgment.

Ryan stared at her as she inched closer, her hand creeping farther up his leg, the floral scent of woman and desire threading his nostrils. He wanted her. He wanted her in a bad way. This was a woman he could fall for. It was a hard realization, as was the fact that she wanted an escape, not him. Points near impossible to absorb beyond pure lust as she pressed herself close to his side, her lip brushing his jaw. Her hand farther up his thigh. She wasn’t running from him this time. She was running from her past.

Ryan knew what that meant…it meant regret. And that wasn’t what he wanted from Sabrina. Normally, he’d say “Hell, yeah” to such an arrangement. Hell, yeah to a voluptuous, sexy woman who would be happy with a fast goodbye. But there was nothing normal about the way Sabrina had climbed inside him and taken hold. And just then, climb she did, shocking him as she slid across his lap to straddle him.

His hands went to her slender waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck. The V of her body hugged his rock-hard erection, and desire ripped through his body. She leaned forward to kiss him, her breasts high and close, begging for his hands.

Somehow, Ryan pulled back. Somehow, he reminded himself she wasn’t thinking straight. “What are you doing, Sabrina?”

“I don’t want to wait, Ryan,” she purred. “I want you. I want you now.” Her mouth had somehow moved closer again. Her breath warm.

“What happened to all that reserve you were showing?” he asked, his voice rougher than intended, laden with burning need.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” she purred, ignoring the question. “I thought you wanted me.” The witch shifted slightly over his hips, rubbing herself against his erection. He wanted her moving like that with nothing between them. He wanted to feel her wet and hot, wrapped around him. Riding him.

Her mouth pressed to his, soft and full of promise. Ryan felt the touch in every inch of his body, told himself to stop. Told himself just one more second. And another. Her tongue was what did him in. It flickered against his lips and sent a surge of need through him.