High Stakes by Kathryn Shay Page A

Dad?”
    “The fairer sex. And yes, I do say that. Ms. Scott, wanna ride with us?”
    She had no choice but to accept. Damn it to hell!
    oOo
    Dylan pulled up to Rachel’s condo building and felt a thud in his heart as he remembered the other time he’d been here. For the entire drive, Rachel had entertained Hogan with tales of famous people she’d met and he’d responded with a zillion questions about his favorite stars. So Dylan had a lot of time to think about that night with her, to let her perfume surround him, to let himself be lulled by the sultry sway of her voice.
    Maybe that was why, after he dropped Hogan off for a sleepover with Cleary and pulled in front of her condo, he shut off the engine. She didn’t get out right away. “Thanks for the ride, even if you didn’t want to give it to me.”
    “That’s not true,” he lied. “I meant what I said to my son about respecting women. Taking care of them.”
    “Dylan.” Her voice was a purr off her lips. “You didn’t want to give me a ride any more than I wanted to take one.”
    Facing her in the small front seat of his Fiat, he watched her, backlit by streetlights. “What do you mean?”
    With a disgusted look on her face, she shook her head and reached for the door handle. He clicked the security locks. When she turned back around, her eyes flashed with anger…or was that excitement? The kind he’d seen when he was at her house before.
    “Tell me why.” His words were a coaxing whisper. And the air got heavy in the car.
    “It’s hell sitting next to you, being so close, when I can’t touch you.”
    Defenses lowered by her honesty, he gripped the steering wheel. “It’s the same for me.”
    She waited a long time. Then asked, “What are we going to do about it? I’m not sure I can be with you for as long as this takes without wanting you.”
    Jesus Christ, just mentioning that she wanted him made him hard in seconds. “I don’t know. I guess we could call the whole thing off. Forget about each other and the second column.”
    “You know my boss won’t give me the foreign reporter’s job while the entire O’Neil family’s against me.”
    He could say he didn’t give a shit. He could say that was her problem, not his, but instead, he lifted his arm, slid it across the back of her seat and snagged a lock of her hair. A curl wound around his finger. Wrong move! All over again, he felt the heavy mass spread across his stomach, like it had been their one night together. “So soft,” he murmured. “So thick and lovely.”
    “Oh, God, Dylan. Don’t.” She breathed out words he could tell she didn’t mean.
    He tightened his hold on her hair and tugged, causing her to lean in closer. “What are you doing?” she asked hoarsely.
    “Damned if I know. Maybe one taste will put the fire out.”
    She stared hard at his lips. “One taste could never be enough. I need to leave.”
    Tug, tug. Closer, closer until her breath was a whisper-soft touch on his face. They were surrounded by a dusky cocoon. Making their encounter more romantic. Sexier.
    “You don’t want this, Dylan.”
    He swallowed hard. “Do you?”
    “Of course I do. I was honest about why I slept with you.”
    “Take what you want, darlin’.”
    They both froze. Then, slowly, her hand slid to the lapel of his jacket, up to his jaw, around to his nape, which was sweaty.
    He was going to let her lead if it killed him. She did some tugging of her own and brought his mouth to hers. Their lips touched and heat flared. They melded together, wanting, taking. He opened her mouth with his tongue. Probed the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, ever wanted to taste. Her long fingernails scraped his neck and he bucked toward her.
    She re-angled her head.
    He re-angled his.
    His heart beat a quick tattoo and he put his hand on her heart, too, to see if it was keeping time with his, pleased that it was.
    She moved closer in the seat; so did he. The hard planes of his chest plastered