High Octane (Texas Hotzone 2)

Satisfaction slid across Ryan’s face. “I’ve got your paperwork and contact information,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.” He pushed to his feet.

“What?” she asked, suddenly uncertain about what had just happened. “How? When do I get my interview?”

Ryan snatched up the paperwork with all of her contact information. “When I come to collect my date.” And then he sauntered toward the door.

“Wait,” 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.