Ricochet (Renegades #3)(24)
Author: Skye Jordan

Jax gripped her upper arms firmly and met her gaze. “Sweetheart, relax. It’s going to be fine. Josh was the only guy available for our timeframe.”

She was overreacting. She knew that—logically. But emotionally, walls started to close in on her chest, making it tight. And, yes, looking into those steady, confident eyes of his helped her breathe a little easier.

But it didn’t solve any problems.

She exhaled, dropped her head, and closed her eyes. “Fuck me.”

Nathan attempted to cover a surprised burst of laughter, but failed.

She lifted her head, glare ready.

He held up a hand. “Sorry.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and planted her hands at her hips. “Huddle.” When she opened her eyes, no one had moved, and her frustration flared back with a surge. “Like…now.”

Wes cut a sidelong glance at Ryker. “Take a seat, man. When she’s unhappy, we’re all unhappy. Know what I mean?”

Rachel opened the refrigerator and pulled out an armful of water bottles and another armful of Rockstars. Starting around the circle, the guys obediently took one of each. She’d learned within the first week of working with these men that if she didn’t keep them hydrated and caffeinated, they got as tired and cranky as she was now. They ended up bickering, making mistakes, and generally driving each other—and most importantly, her—crazy.

When she reached Ryker, she pushed the last of the drinks into his hands with a scowl. When he took the can of Rockstar, he covered her fingers with his, holding tight. And—bam—his gaze hit her, sharp and hot, and led her thoughts directly to skin and sweat, passion and pleasure.

Hell. She should have left the idea of one-night stands to the experts.

7

Ryker sipped his Rockstar, trying like hell to keep his mind in the moment. Seeing her again made his thoughts travel backward to relive their night together moment by luscious, mind-blowing moment.

His gaze roamed over her again, over the simple white dress that framed her her narrow waist and the curve of her breasts. As a whole package, she was country-girl fresh and apple-pie sweet with a streak of Tonka-truck tough. Underneath, she hid a siren, a temptress, a woman who liked things edgy.

She fascinated him.

But he already missed the intimacy they’d developed last night. The easy way they’d talked and laughed together. The comfort of lying quietly while they caught their breath.

Yeah, he’d really fucked up good.

She returned to her desk, slid her glasses back on, and plucked a pencil from a Renegades coffee mug. Dragging a legal pad from beneath a stack of papers, she started writing. “Are you sure there’s no one but Josh?”

“I’m sure,” Jax said. “We could try another company, but I want to get Ryker past Precision. Cinematic prefers Precision.”

Rachel put two fingers against her temple with a sigh. “Everything needs to be seamless to make this work.”

Ryker’s brain slowly returned from a fantasy of Rachel on her knees, those librarian glasses still perched on her nose while she took his cock deep into her mouth. “Look, I’ll talk to you guys about anything you want. I’ll give advice. I’ll even hang around and watch, make sure everything is safe and kosher, but you sound like you’re—”

“Hear us out,” Troy said, annoyance clear in his voice. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if there wasn’t something in it for you.”

Reflexively, Ryker’s gaze darted back to Rachel. If she was the prize, he might reconsider…

“Not her.” Troy slapped Ryker on the back of the head. “Use that flabby muscle between your ears for a change.”

Ryker gritted his teeth and braced his forearms on his knees, glaring at Troy over his shoulder. “Do that again, and the gloves come off. And the brain is not a muscle, idiot. It’s an organ.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.”

“You should have told me what this was really about.”

“Gee,” Rachel said, “sounds like we’ve got a theme going.”

“Listen,” Jax said. “I’ll give you the scoop, you tell me if you’re interested. No pressure.”

“Criminy,” Rachel muttered, covering her eyes. “No. No pressure.”

Ryker didn’t understand where her pressure was coming from, but 50 percent of his was sitting beside him on the couch. Another 50 percent came from his desire to get closer to Rachel.

Okay, more like 10-90.

“Go,” he said, inviting Jax to talk with an open gesture.

“We’re finishing up the next Bond film, and the last scene—” Jax started.

“Bond?” he said. “As in—”

“James Bond,” everyone in the room said in unison. The question had obviously been asked before.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “Go on.”

“The last scene with big stunt work is the climax,” Jax said. “The script calls for a car racing across a bridge with Apache choppers in chase, Hellfire missiles raining down. Normally, we’d do all the explosives with computer graphics, but we’re under a really tight budget, and, I know it sounds crazy, but blowing up a real bridge is way less expensive.”

At some point during that explanation, Ryker’s jaw unhinged and his mouth hung open, his mind trying—and failing—to envision how anyone could possibly pull off the stunt they’d described.

“What we need is an explosives expert who can take down the bridge in the most cinematically dramatic way possible, while maintaining a safe environment for crew and location.”

“Wait…” Ryker glanced at each face and found Rachel tracing the eraser of her pencil over the wood-grain pattern on her desk. Then he met Jax’s gaze again. “This doesn’t sound like consulting.”

“It was when Troy first called you, but as I told Rachel, we lost our blaster. We’d like you to take the lead on this. So.” Jax stretched out his legs and dropped one ankle over the other, kicking back as if what he’d proposed was as simple as the rock climbing he’d been doing earlier. “What do you think?”

An absurd scrap of laughter huffed out of his mouth. “I think you’re all certifiably in-fucking-sane.”

“We figured that out years ago.” Troy leaned forward to match Ryker’s posture. “This isn’t any different from those munitions buildings you blow in Afghanistan. In fact, it’s way easier.”