She knotted the towel firmly around her chest and padded across the thick teal-blue bathroom rug to the mirror above the stainless-steel sink, where she glanced at her hair piled atop her head in disarray. She looked like a wreck, felt like a wreck. Not one bit sexy, despite the sex on her mind.
She pursed her lips. “You aren’t having sex with Ryan ‘Cowboy’ Walker, nor are you ever going to,” she murmured in denial of her yearning for this man. With a regretful sigh, she opened the mahogany cabinet, snatching the new mud mask that the mall clerk had convinced her was the ticket to radiance.
“No sex with Ryan,” she told her image in the mirror, “so stop thinking about it.”
With determination to do just that, she spread the green goop all over her face. Task complete, she was satisfied that for the duration of her hour-long facial, she would not only look like Frankenstein, but all sexual urges would be diluted.
She’d only just traded her towel for her silver silk knee-length robe and started for the long hallway leading to the sunken living room, when a knock sounded on the door.
With a frown, she hesitated outside the red “good luck” door—as the real-estate agent had called it—certain that whoever was outside wasn’t going to agree it was lucky if he or she saw her in this mask.
Still, what real choice did she have? She called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s your jumpmaster, sweetheart,” came the deep, familiar voice she knew as that of temptation himself. “Open up.”
Sabrina’s heart skipped a beat. A rush of adrenaline ran through her veins.
“You owe me a date,” he said. “I came to collect.”
“You owe me an interview,” she called out. This couldn’t be happening. Not with mud on her face. “You can’t just show up here unannounced.”
“Not even if I tell you Marco is in the car waiting for us to drive him to the airport?”
Marco was here? Without thinking, she flung the door open. “He’s here? As in at my condo? You got me the interview?” She’d barely spat out the questions before she realized what she’d done. Big gorgeous Ryan loomed above her, his arm resting on the frame above his head, amusement in his eyes as he took in her silk robe and the mess on her face. She’d fantasized about losing control with Ryan, and now she had. In the most unsexy of ways.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before she noticed his hat was gone, his mussed sandy-brown hair neat to the naked eye. “I’m going to close the door now, and please pretend this never happened.”
***
RYAN WASN’T ABOUT to forget one moment of Sabrina in a skimpy robe.
“Afraid I can’t do that,” Ryan answered, advancing on Sabrina with nothing short of a predatory stride. In a flash, he had maneuvered them through the doorway and inside the condo, the door kicked shut behind him. And because he was but a man, with only so much restraint, he tugged the silk of her robe over the swell of high, full breasts, barely concealed. “Not when you’re teasing me with so much skin. Your robe was gaping.”
She quickly reached for the opening, her hands colliding with his, her gaze lifting in a panicked flutter of dark lashes on pale skin. “I… This is so not going well.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” he said. “Though taking your clothes off would be a lot more enjoyable than putting them on. I won’t ask about the green stuff on your face as long as it won’t stop me from kissing you.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice raspy, breathless. “It’ll get it all over you. And what about Marco?”
“Marco knew he had to wait,” he said. He could almost taste her. He wanted to taste her. To hell with the damn mask. “And I’m a soldier, sweetheart. I like getting dirty.” His hand wrapped the back of her neck, drawing her closer, his lips lingering above hers. “And unless you tell me not to and fast, I’ll demonstrate.”
“Ryan—” The one word was a whisper, an invitation, a yes in his book. He took it, swallowed it, angling his lips over hers. She was sweet and delicious, and everything he’d imagined for the hours since meeting her…and so much more.
Her mouth was soft and alluring, her tongue tentatively responding to his demands. She tasted both exotic and sweet, bold and tentative. A woman who had so much to offer but was afraid to give or take. It was the fear in her that kept his hands from traveling her body, that told him to go slow, to give her time. That she would be worth it. But she moaned, the sound driving him wild, urging him to touch, to take. And her hands—caressing a reserved path up his chest and around his neck—they were the ingredient that nearly set him on edge, them and her touch—knowing that only a tiny piece of silk separated him from her, from the pale ivory skin he’d already admired. Everything male in him screamed to repair that fact, to rip away the robe, to fill his hands with her breasts. He imagined the moment in his mind, damn near tasted how sweet it would be. And then his cell phone rang a rude awakening.