Free High Octane by Lisa Renée Jones

accused, “You really say whatever comes to mind, don’t you?”
    He pressed his hands on the counter behind him. “Would you rather I play political word games?”
    â€œNo,” she said quickly. “No political games, please. Most definitely not.” Her hands went to her sides for emphasis. “Stay as you are.”
    Her answer pleased him, though he doubted she knew how poisonous those political games she’d come to despise could really be, or the blood they could spill. He did, though. He did and he’d left it behind.
    â€œThen we agree,” he said approvingly. “We shoot straight with each other. That leaves only having one last thing to address.”
    â€œDo I dare ask?” she teased, obviously relaxing a bit now. She laughed, a soft musical sound he felt like a punch in the gut. His groin tightened, zipper expanded. What the hell was he thinking, promising to keep his hands off her?
    â€œYou should always dare, darlin’,” he told her, hoping she’d dare sometime soon. He snagged his wallet from his pocket, retrieving a business card. “We have to secure that interview of yours so I can secure my official date night.” He was already punching a number into his cell.
    â€œI’m supposed to call Calista Monday,” she said and frowned. “Who are you calling?”
    â€œHey, Calista,” Ryan said, noting with amusement the surprised, appalled look on Sabrina’s face. “I have Sabrina here with me.” He pressed his hand over the receiver and eyed Sabrina. “Can you talk to her now?”
    â€œI can’t believe you did this!” she whispered sharply. “I’m not prepared.”
    â€œSaying no doesn’t require preparation,” he said, and offered her the phone.
    She pursed her lips and took the phone, covering the receiver. “I’m going to get you for putting me on the spot.”
    â€œSounds fun,” he teased.
    Glowering, she promptly gave him her back, and then spoke into the phone. “Hi, yes. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Yes. I… What time? Okay. Yes. I can find it. Sure. See you then.”
    She whirled on Ryan. “I have to go meet her for brunch at the Barton Creek Country Club.”
    â€œNo, you don’t,” he said. “The deal was you talk to her, and you get your interview. You just talked to her.”
    â€œTalking to her means hearing her out, Ryan,” she said. “I have to go.”
    â€œYou don’t.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œI’ll call Marco.”
    â€œNo,” she said, setting his phone on the granite counter. “I don’t want to mess up in case he won’t give me my interview. I need to go change. I have to meet her in an hour.”
    â€œNo,” he said, snagging her fingers in his before she got away. “You aren’t changing for Calista. And there is no if. You don’t want to do this, then don’t do it.”
    â€œIt’s a pretty ritzy country club. I have to change. It’s part of the requirements for a place like that.”
    â€œScrew the requirements,” he said. “We’ll pop by the country club. You tell her no to whatever it is she maybe wants you to do. Then I’ll call Marco and confirm your interview.”
    â€œYou don’t have to go with me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “I can take care of myself.”
    He tugged her into his arms. “Of that, I have no doubt. But I got you into this. I owe it to you to make sure you get out of it. And call me self-serving, but I don’t want you in the spotlight either. You’ll never let yourself have any fun then.” He grabbed the cell phone on the counter and eyed the time. “But you might have to help me look at a couple of houses. I stood the realestate agent up yesterday. I don’t want to do it again today. He says there are a couple of