Lisa Jones: High Octane

From what she’d seen of Ryan, Sabrina was pretty certain he was the man she was pretty certain he was the man she wanted.

But she also had a feeling this “wild ride” equaled a plate of poison food to a starving man—pleasure with a lethal endgame. Jumping out of a plane was enough of a dare, thank you very much. She didn’t need to add a hot cowboy with a rock-hard body and sultry brown, bedroom eyes. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was champing at the bit to skydive anyway.

“I can wait for the other instructor,” she said. “No rush, really. I’ll comeback next weekend, or maybe the one after that.”

A slow smile charged Ryan’s too-handsome face. “I’ll be easy with you, darlin’. I promise.”

He promises. Said the cat to the mouse, she thought cynically, but that didn’t stop her imagination from conjuring an image of her strapped to a parachute, with him attached to her…er…backside. Uh-huh, he would be dangerous in all kinds of ways.

Dear Reader,

The sun isn’t all that sizzles in Texas since three ex-Army Special Forces buddies, once members of the elite “Crazy Aces” team, opened the skydiving operation, The Texas Hotzone. In Jump Start, you met Bobby Evans, who was determined to seduce the love of his life back into his bed, where he planned to win her heart. Now, it’s time to get High Octane, with Ryan “Cowboy” Walker, a man with nothing to lose. And one of the things I absolutely loved about writing Ryan’s story is that he never, ever, backs down from a dare.

So when Ryan meets Sabrina Cameron, the prim and proper journalist who needs a little fun and excitement in her life but isn’t sure she dares, Ryan is all about making sure she does—with him. Only, before Ryan knows what hits him, Sabrina turns the tables, and Ryan isn’t sure who’s challenging whom. With each hot little encounter he shares with her, Sabrina leads Ryan to the one ultimate dare he swore he would never take—the one called love.

So read onward for a wild and wicked High Octane ride—I dare you. And so does Ryan!

Lisa Renee Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Lisa spends her days writing the dreams playing in her head. Before becoming a writer, Lisa lived the life of a corporate executive, often taking the red-eye flight out of town and flying home for the excitement of a Little League baseball game. Visit Lisa at www.lisareneejones.com.

To my home state of Texas, where the Margaritas are chilled, the fajitas are sizzling, and the cowboys are just plain hot. And to all my friends and family in Austin—Hook ’em Horns. I love ya’ll.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

“SABRINA! WHERE IS SABRINA?”

With disbelief, Sabrina Cameron stepped out of the ladies’ room of the Austin Herald to hear her name shouted in the distinctive gravelly tones of new editor-in-chief, Frank Roberts.

Only a month before, she’d said goodbye to New York City, and her U.S. Senator father, along with a highprofile political column at a renowned newspaper. So much for thinking she’d left behind the hectic life where being hunted down in the restroom was the norm.

“Sabrina!” came another shout, as Frank barreled around the corner and into the hallway, his tall, lanky frame in pursuit of his target—her. The man was highstrung, with a penchant for long hours filled with hectic demands, usually made by him of everyone else.

His hard, gray eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. Surprise flickered in his keen stare as he noted her long, brunette hair, worn loose now for the first time since her arrival, and then her unusually casual attire: a pale-blue Western shirt tucked into her black jeans.

Lips thinning disapprovingly, he demanded, “Why are you dressed like that? Where’s the suit you had on this morning?”

“I’m reporting from the Kyle Strawberry Festival this afternoon,” she said, looking forward to a fun night without the pressure of having anyone analyzing her political views versus those of her father. Oh, and the cowboys. She was really liking the combo of tight Wranglers with scuffed boots that the men wore like business suits here in Texas. You never knew what was under those Wranglers—a millionaire or a ranch hand—and no one seemed to care. It was refreshing. And sexy.

“Put the other outfit back on,” Frank ordered brusquely, snapping her out of her momentary Wrangler fixation. “You’re going downtown for a press conference with the mayor.”

“Oh, no,” Sabrina insisted, “that’s not my area. I don’t do politics. Not anymore.” Nor did she want anyone to know she ever had. So much so that she’d taken a pseudonym to ensure no one would connect her with her past. She needed her own life, her own identity, an ability to make decisions without becoming manipulated by how they might impact her father’s career.

“I need you on this,” he said, his arms folding in front of him. “You’re going.”

“No politics,” she repeated, shoving her fists to her hips. “That was a condition of my employment.”

“I’ve given you a fifth-grade ‘Dare’ graduation, a 5k run, and now apparently a silly strawberry festival,” he bellowed. “Now you’re giving me this. You need to get your backside to that press conference and not in those jeans.”

“You gave me those stories because that’s what we agreed I’d do the first six months,” she said, her voice low as she quickly made sure no one else was around be fore continuing. “Fluff stories that establish me as some one other than who I was back in New York. Stories that keep me off the radar. I moved across country to make a new life for myself. A press conference with the mayor is not a good enough reason for me to risk jeopardizing that.”

“Then I guess you didn’t hear that an American soldier, one of our own, robbed a bank last night, and he was connected to a drug cartel. That’s big news. The right take on the story could get you a television mention, or maybe even an interview.”

“I heard,” she said. “People do stupid stuff every day. It’s sad but it doesn’t require me to report on it person ally. And you aren’t going to use me to get your own press. The last thing I want is a television mention that will destroy the entire reason I’m here—to get away from the pressure of the spotlight.”

“You know that world,” he said. “You can find out what I want to know.”

“‘That world’?” she said. “You mean politics? Yes. I do. And I wish I didn’t. Exactly why I came here and took a job with specific duties that do not include ‘that world.’” She was thirty-two, long past having every breath she took approved by her father.

“What if I told you I have a person on the mayor’s staff who says the mayor not only knows this soldier, but he’s trying to bury this story.”

“Why would he do that?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

“Maybe the mayor is dirty and I know how you hate a dirty politician,” he said. “Maybe he’s even involved with the drug cartel. The possibilities are endless. That’s why I need an expert on this story. Do I have your attention now?”