High Risk (Point of No Return Book 1)

by Brenna Aubrey

  One beat, two. Click, click. And then a breathy, “Yes.” But when his face pressed closer, I turned to the side, narrowly escaping him. “But answers first.”

  More hot breath against my face. A sigh. Then his hand dropped from around my neck. “Fine. Yes, I deliberately got drunk as a result of talking to Karen.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s another question. And I want that kiss now.”

  Damn it. I was so close to getting him to open up. So close to—

  His hand was at the back of my head again, pressing me toward him, and his mouth sank to mine, firmly but tentatively. He let his warm lips linger there, but he did not open his mouth or attempt to open mine. My lips tingled under the pressure from his, though, and my spine felt like it was losing all structure, slowly liquifying as hot desire zinged from my lips down through my inner core.

  It was embarrassing how quickly I was breathing when he pulled back from that simple kiss—nothing nearly as passionate as what we’d shared the week before. But that was because I suspected he knew—he knew there were more to come.

  He knew that my intellectual curiosity saw this as a rare opportunity learning what made him tick. And my indisputable attraction to him—that didn’t hurt, either.

  He was scrutinizing my face again. From the way my skin burned, I was sure he noticed the deep flush in my cheeks.

  “Your next question? And fair warning, I’m not going to make these come cheap. The more it costs me to answer your questions, the more it will cost you…in kisses.”

  I swallowed, attempting futilely to work moisture into my dry throat. Then I gave a slight nod. “Okay, then tell me…” My voice faltered and I took a deep breath, tried to calm the dizzying turn in my head. “Tell me why talking to Karen upset you so much that you had to go drink in order to numb yourself.”

  “Because I’m a hero and he is dead,” he said in a voice as lifeless and as dry as moon dust.

  “Because you survived—”

  His eyes flicked away. “Yeah. I survived the only spacewalk to result in an astronaut or cosmonaut dying. Ever.” He was wrapped up in his own world for a long moment. He shook his head. “Xander is the hero. I’m a failure. The man who failed to save his best friend’s life. And yet, they all want to call me a hero. Ask me for interviews, autographs.”

  “And talking to Karen reminded you of that.”

  He grimaced. “I need no reminder of that. I know it. Every single goddamn day.”

  My heart twisted to think about the irony of his conundrum and how such a thing could play with his mind. Failure is not an option, the famous saying went. Work the problem. And yet, he hadn’t been given the chance to do either of those.

  He’d been ordered to return to the airlock so NASA wouldn’t lose two astronauts instead of just the one.

  I blinked back a sudden pang of sympathetic pain for him, but I tried very hard to keep the pity out of my face. Instead, I clasped his very solid arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  The arm beneath my hand tensed, and he pushed off the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

  He went into the bathroom and shut the door. When he emerged a minute later, he washed his hands at the sink in the vanity area, splashing some water on his face before patting both his hands and his face dry with a white hotel towel.

  My eyes ran down his tall form. He was looking more and more sober with each passing minute, but he still had a restless energy about him. When he emerged, his eyes gravitated toward the fridge across the room where the minibar was located. I should leave. I knew I should leave.

  But if I left now, I was certain he’d start drinking again and make things worse. And how could I possibly leave this conversation when he was finally opening up to me?

  I pushed my glasses up my nose. “How about room service?”

  His eyes jerked back to me. “I’m not hungry.” Then he approached the bed again, sinking to his previous spot beside me. “But I do believe we have some unfinished business.”

  He turned to me and reached up to gently remove my glasses, setting them on the nightstand next to the piece of chocolate. I blinked. Since my prescription was not a strong one, I was able to see fairly well without them. Nevertheless, it was always an adjustment when I took them off.

  Then slowly, so slowly, he brought his hand to my chin, tilting my face up so he could get a closer look at me. He glanced from one of my eyes to the other, and I swallowed, holding my breath so that it was tight, almost painful in my chest. “You have beautiful green eyes.”

  I bet he said that to all the girls.

  And that thought made me close them with a disheartened flutter. His thumb came up to run along my chin until I opened them again to see that his mouth was inches from mine—again.

  “Gray.”

  “What?”

  His mouth sank to meet mine, and just before, he whispered, “Don’t panic.”

  This time was as sweet and thrilling as the first time we’d kissed in his front room the previous week. He tasted of vodka, of course, but also fresh and soapy—presumably from his aftershave. Cold and heat swirled together in my insides, jumbling every feeling and sensation.

  But unlike last time, this one had something more—an added hint of…desperation? A hook of white-hot desire impaled me, searing me down to my core.

  His free hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me against him. And when his tongue entered my mouth, it claimed me. That was the only word I could use to describe it. He unleashed that tongue like an intrepid explorer who wasn’t looking back, plunging forward into new territory. Planting boots on the ground and staking an unequivocal claim.

  I swallowed, stiffening at that realization, and he must have perceived it as hesitation because his hold on me tightened. He added the hand that had been holding my face into the mix, wrapping it around my shoulders, pressing our chests together.

  It felt like nothing I could compare it to, like being pressed up against a warm, solid wall. A wall that also happened to smell very sexy.

  His bottom lip aligned on mine, sealing my mouth to his. Our breath was coming quickly now. And things were escalating faster than I ever could have suspected. I gasped for air against his mouth, my heart rushing as I was lost and losing myself. Wandering a strange planet alone with no guidance, no knowledge of where I was going.

  Just trusting Ryan to lead us there, and yet…

  If I continued this, I’d be taking advantage of his drunkenness.

  Because he probably would not have initiated his little game if he were sober. Not with me anyway. Who knew. When he woke up in the morning, perhaps he’d be cursing his beer goggles.

  At that thought, I pulled away from him. Our heads separated, slowly, so slowly. I watched first his nose, then the fringe of his dark lashes. Pulling away gradually, both he and I, his handsome face took focus. Those blue, blue, wickedly blue eyes.

  This man was pure sin and danger. And he knew it. And he’d known it the moment he had proposed the kiss. He was mocking me.

  Unless…unless Keely was right about his interest in me. But the odds of that were much lower than the odds that he saw me as an easy bed partner to distract himself from his pain. That could be the only explanation as to why he was actively trying to seduce me.

  But how to explain my becoming easy prey to his seduction?

  Easy prey, indeed. I turned to him, inevitable given the way his eyes weighted me down. Our gazes clashed, and though I saw no mockery, no calculation, I knew it had to be there.

  He shifted his head as if studying me from a different angle. “You know what is the sexiest thing about you?”

  I tried to disguise my shock. It was like he’d been reading my mind. I snort-laughed. “That is the last word that should ever be used to describe me. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about me—”

  He cut me off with a fierce shake of his head. “You’re wrong. So very wrong and that is the sexiest thing about you. That you don’t know
how sexy you are. You stand around and hope people won’t notice you.” He reached out and twirled a strand of my hair around his finger. “But I notice you, Gray. You’re the first person I look for in the room.”

  I laughed as if I was finally on to him. But in reality, I didn’t want to question why his words were making my heart soar. “Proof you really are drunk.”

  He moved in as if approaching me for another kiss, invading my space. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to tell me what I find irresistibly attractive and what I don’t. You of all people should know that, Ms. Shrink.”

  I drew back and licked my lips but didn’t reply, my eyes drifting away. His finger flicked forward, coming under my chin to redirect my gaze. “That scares you, doesn’t it? To be noticed. It’s safer when you’re invisible.” He said the word like it left a weird taste in his mouth.

  I swallowed. “Maybe.”

  “And the questions…you like asking these questions because then nobody’s asking you questions about yourself. When you’re the one asking, it keeps you safe. Protected.”

  My eyes fluttered as I considered that. I’d never thought about it that way before, but he might have had a point there. I frowned—there was definitely some self-evaluation in my near future.

  His face inched closer. “Does it scare you?” He repeated the question. “When I tell you that I see you—that I think you’re sexy and worth noticing?”

  Our eyes locked and my mouth opened, but the tightness in my throat prevented speech—seemed to prevent breathing for that matter. And the clicking. The endless clicking. It was so quiet in here that the only thing to disturb it was my rushed breath and my heartbeat.

  Ryan tilted his head as he moved closer, his eyelids drooping. He was going to kiss me again.

  I pulled back at the very last minute—though it took a ridiculous amount of willpower. “Don’t I get a question and an answer first?”

  His jaw tightened—almost in irritation—as if he’d hoped I’d forget about that little game. But I could not. Yes, I was enjoying his kisses, and it was a good thing to keep him distracted from the liquor cabinet. But getting him to open up was too valuable to me. And I wasn’t going to back down while that rarely opened door was still ajar.

  He sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay.” But there was caged impatience in his voice. He was humoring me. Until—until the next time.

  That next kiss would be a costly one. I could see the tension building in his eyes. They were like mirrors—like shielding, reflecting only my own perceptions back at me. I looked deeply into them, trapped as if in a gravity well.

  “Does the hero-worship make you hate yourself?”

  He blinked, eyes listing to the side as if considering my words. That took all of two seconds. Then. “No.”

  His hands—both of them—were in my hair, my head being steered toward his. “Wait—”

  But he didn’t wait. Now he was more insistent about getting what he wanted. And apparently what he wanted was deep in the back of my mouth because he went there with insistence, persistence. Unmitigated confidence.

  His mouth fastened onto mine, and he drew a deep inhalation through his nose, one hand knotting in my hair and the other on my back. But I couldn’t tell whether he was holding me to him or holding on to me for support.

  It didn’t matter. The tone of this kiss changed into something rawer. More desperate. More hungry.

  I pushed back, and his mouth left mine. I couldn’t stop staring at the rise and fall of his chest, for he was clearly as turned on as I was.

  “All that and all I get is a no?” I finally said after waiting for my own breath to calm down enough to keep me from embarrassing myself.

  His blue eyes were cold and aflame at once. Ignited ice. As if the only thing he’d let me see was how much he wanted me, how much he wanted another kiss. “What more is there to say? I have scars. You don’t live as long as I do—or how I do—without them.”

  I nodded. “Physical scars, yes, that’s true. But also, emotional ones. The ones you won’t acknowledge.”

  He tilted his head toward me slowly and curled his mouth seductively. He raised a finger and pointed to the middle of my chest. “I’m not the only one here who hides scars.”

  I shivered when his hand moved to the first button of my shirt. He eased it through the buttonhole, then watched me carefully as if waiting for me to stop him.

  Instead, shivering inside, I nodded, giving him permission to proceed. He wanted to prove his point using my scar? Fine. Let him.

  He had no idea that I was planning to flip that back on him in a way he wouldn’t see coming.

  With my shirt unbuttoned, my scar was now in full view under the revealing, low-cut neckline of Keely’s maxi dress. An angry dark red slice into the pale skin of my chest.

  “Do you-do you know about the parable of Kintsugi?” I asked.

  He flicked a cautious gaze into my face and then stretched out onto the bed, leaning his head on his hand to prop it up. He looked up at me where I hadn’t moved. “No. It sounds like a Japanese word, though.”

  I nodded. “It is. It’s—” He patted the bed in front of him as if inviting me to lie down beside him and talk. With only a second’s hesitation, I concluded this might be a less threatening way for us to have this discussion. There was a reason most psychologists’ offices were decorated with the ubiquitous couch.

  I faced him a little less than two feet away, mirroring his body language by propping my head on my arm. “Anyway, the parable talks about the maki-e technique in Japanese art. Broken ceramics or porcelain pieces are repaired by filling the cracks with pure gold dust mixed with lacquer. Instead of trying to hide the cracks, the art glorifies them as part of the item’s history and richness.”

  A brow quirked. “Hmm. Interesting. You think I’m hiding my brokenness?”

  I knew he was, but in spite of my previous bold honesty, I refrained from saying it outright. I chose a more indirect path instead. “I think your profession has encouraged that sort of behavior.”

  His face was curiously blank when he replied. “Why don’t you live by that philosophy, then?” he asked, reaching out a long, thick finger to gently stroke my scar from where it appeared at my neckline up to the notch at my collarbone where it ended. Hot desire streaked through me even from that simple, light touch. My nipples tightened into painful, erect buds. “Why don’t you think this makes you more beautiful?”

  I tilted my head toward him, acknowledging his point. “I never said I was perfect, Ryan. We do, after all, live in a world that judges women by their physical perfections—or imperfections.” I shrugged a shoulder. “We all have our issues.”

  His gaze narrowed as if to a sharpened point. “Some of us have more issues than others.”

  I never let my eyes leave his—even when it would have felt more comfortable to do so. “Some of us have been through a whole lot more than others.”

  “But this right here says you are a fighter. A survivor. That your heart is in the right place.” His fingers lingered there again, this time not as accurate in his slow tracing. His knuckles grazed the side of my breast, and I caught my breath. That twinkle in his eyes told me it had been deliberate. His cocky smile said it all.

  And those words…you are a fighter, a survivor. That same brief glint of admiration in his eyes from before. And when he’d told Francisco about his friend, he’d meant me. He’d said that going through everything proved I was strong—and a fighter. And now, as he said this, I realized he was serious. And he was so much more than all that pretty packaging I’d tried to warn myself off of. So much more.

  I bit my bottom lip, thinking, and he smoothed it with his thumb again, smiling. “That lip is way too delicious for you to bite like that.”

  I swallowed, and he tilted his head as if to look at me from another angle. “Any more questions for me? I’m surprised you’ve given up so easily.”

  I laughed. “I haven’t given
up. I have a ton more questions for you.”

  And I wouldn’t say it to his face, but I was damn near craving his next kiss. Like a dieter trying to justify that luscious dessert on a plate that was currently tempting them, I began to tell myself similar thoughts.

  Instead of, If I eat this, I’ll work out a little longer or harder today. In my case, it was, Just a little kiss. But it’s doing so much good. He’s opening up to you. And on it went, justifying caloric intake, the “just one hit” theory, and every other addict’s nightmare.

  But I was in no danger of growing addicted to his kisses, was I?

  No. Definitely not.

  I was strong, like steel. I was ice. Solid ice. I was compacted water molecules with virtually no vibration. I was solid and cold and…and… I looked away from that penetrating gaze. Oh yes, Commander Tyler, you are a dangerous substance indeed and you could grow addictive.

  “I never ever thought I’d say this, but please, ask away, Dr. Gray.”

  I blinked, suddenly shy. This was getting real, and I had better make the questions worth it. Worth it. I almost laughed at myself. Like I was making some huge sacrifice here, to be kissed by a gorgeous, intense, hero of a man who was wanted by thousands.

  But again, the door was open, and his offer had a very clear expiration date on it.

  “Why did you get so angry when that guy at the bar said you’d never fly again? Especially when we both know he’s wrong?”

  He broke gazes with me and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he slowly drew his lips into his mouth, as if wetting them. “Because he knows about the promise. It was spoken over the comm system—supposedly privately, but I have reason to believe it has since leaked out, at least internally at NASA.”

  I almost asked, What promise? But that was another question, and he’d call me on it. And I’d lose this opportunity to continue the conversation. So I did like any good therapist and I nodded and made a conciliatory noise, to indicate I was listening with great interest—which I was. And a nice big juicy prompt. “So he was taunting you.”