Hold 'Em: Vegas Top Guns, Book 3 (31 page)

No amount of wishing or waiting changed the fact that she hadn’t reached out.

He’d thought they were stronger than one mistake.

Tom and Shelly arrived home within five minutes of one another. The flourish of a family’s routine was disorienting. Mike nodded to both as they hustled in, carrying empty travel mugs, computer bags and stacks of mail. They greeted him in return as Olivia darted in between their bodies, chattering about her day at the go-kart track.

They did this every night? No, most nights would be even more hectic, with picking up Olivia from school.

Only, it wasn’t the one-sided relationship Mike had grown up watching, with his mom in the kitchen and his dad on the couch with a beer in hand. Instead, Tom retrieved defrosted hamburger patties from the fridge while Shelly switched out a load of laundry. They both worked their asses off. They were successful. From what Mike had seen after five days in their home, they were a unit. A true partnership.

And by that fifth day, he was damn envious.

After a dinner of burgers, chips and potato salad, Shelly went to give Olivia a bath.

“Beer?” Tom extended a longneck from where he stood by the fridge. He’d just finished loading the dishwasher.

“Yup.” Mike followed his younger brother to the back patio where the balmy heat of Florida in early May crawled into his lungs. “Damn, how can you stand it here in the summer?”

“How can you? Vegas? C’mon.”

They grinned and clinked beer bottles.

“You’ve really got something here, Tom. It’s amazing.”

“Don’t I know it,” his brother said with a grin. Looking at him when he smiled was like looking in a mirror—if that mirror were younger and thinner. Tom took a hefty swig. “Couldn’t do it without Shelly. You see that now, right?”

Mike found himself taking offense when he didn’t even know the reason. “See what?”

“How screwy Mom and Dad were.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Mike said, but the protest felt hollow. “I talk to Mom all the time. Her gardening and stuff.”

“Tinkering with a hobby because it’s all she has is a lot different than a life of her own. Shit, Mike, did you know that Shelly makes more than me? About twenty percent more. In what lifetime would Dad have been able to stomach that?”

“Never.”

“Do you remember how you used to argue with me? I was in college and you’d just got back from Iraq.”

“That first tour? Yeah.” He exhaled heavily. “Something about how you working the nightshift as a security guard was bullshit.”

“Because it helped Shelly’s real-estate startup. Yup.” He looked around his backyard, which was lush and trimmed with a redwood fence. “Think I regret any of that now?”

Mike took a long, slow swig. “No,” he said quietly. “I bet you don’t.”

Whereas thoughts of their parents only needled Mike with old anxieties. Dad griping about Mom’s cooking. Mom ignoring the criticism and offering some banality instead. The silent warfare of two unhappy people. Had their marriage always been that way? Had he been too self-absorbed and content with the status quo to notice the riffs and barbs? Maybe sampling a taste of something sweeter and more balanced had altered his perception.

Shelly popped her head through the patio door. “Hey, you two. It’s late. You coming to bed, Tom?”

“Sure.”

Watching his brother unfurl from his chair was like watching some fantasy made real. Tom held his near-empty bottle by the neck. His other hand interlaced with Shelly’s as they said their good nights.

Mike didn’t necessarily want kids and a mortgage. That was like speaking Martian. But that connection… That trust they shared… What would it be like to share that with Leah?

His brother was right. Misguided impressions about bygone gender roles were just that. Misguided. Even worse, if he dug a little deeper, he might find his own inadequacies. He’d given Leah a ration of crap during their early days because she was the one with ambition. All he’d had was a bad attitude and a dick to swing around.

Through her career, she’d needed to stand strong against a thousand similar attitudes. Every day was an achievement in the face of that much scrutiny. That she’d excelled was a testament to her determination. That she cracked under the pressure sometimes… Who wouldn’t?

He still missed her, and he hated wondering whether she had the guts to see this through.

He found himself rubbing his bare right wrist. “Fuck,” he whispered.

The phone vibrated. His heart lurched.

The ID wasn’t Leah’s.

Banking the flash flood of disappointment, he thumbed the call button. “Tin Tin? Man, what the hell?”

Jon Carlisle’s voice was as slinky smooth as always, with a hint of laughter that said he was up to no good. Mike had actually started to like the guy. “So is it true the humidity makes the heat worse?”

“You’ve never been to Florida?”

“Of course I have. Just making conversation. But now you need to blow that popsicle stand.”

“Why?”

“I got a call from our fearless leader. Fang’s getting hitched.”

“To Cass?”

“Course,” he said with a chuckle. “The boy’s got it bad. They’re doing the deed Saturday. Leave it to those two to agree on a quickie Vegas wedding.”

“Fang gonna wear mess dress?”

“Sure thing. It’s almost tacky enough to be awesome.”

The heavy, cloying heat sat on Mike’s chest like a nasty troll. He grimaced, even though Tin Tin’s news was good. It was
right
. Major Haverty never looked more content than when Cass, his gentle redheaded pixie, was there by his side.

“Thanks for letting me know, Tin Tin,” he said, his throat constricted. “I’ll be sure to congratulate him when I get back.”

“No way, man. Not good enough. He wants us there. Me and Heather, Leah, you—and as many from the squad as possible. I get the feeling he doesn’t want to be outdone by Cass’s relatives. Ryan doesn’t have much in the way of family, so we’re going to make sure his side of the church is filled.”

Mike considered his options. Telling Tom and Shelly that he had to duck out two days early wouldn’t be pleasant. But his conversation with his brother had shed new light on how he envisioned his future. He was antsy to get back to Vegas, to talk to Leah for real. No more dodging their issues.

Decision made.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Cool. You gonna phone Princess or should I?”

Thud
. Just like that. He hit rock-hard emotion again.

Jon had practically become a silent partner in helping Mike impress Leah, but the kid sure as hell wasn’t getting anything more than the bare facts.

“You call her, Tin Tin. I’ll see you in Vegas.”

Mike stood in the Best Little Wedding Chapel and adjusted his cummerbund. To say he was waiting for the ceremony to start would be a lie. He was really waiting for Leah. As soon as all this energetic, happy hoopla settled down, with Fang whisking his new bride away to a casino honeymoon suite, Mike would sit down with Leah.

So many times she had complimented him on the way he kept his body in check, never unleashing his strength until she needed it. She relished how he could hold back for her pleasure. Waiting. Giving over to her pace.

For his own sense of self-preservation, he needed that restraint now. A week had passed and she hadn’t called, which meant they were starting on different pages. To get what he wanted, he needed to chill out before he made a complete ass of himself.

Talking. Sharing. That was it.

He enjoyed begging for his mistress, but not for her affection.

Though relatively small, Cass’s family was a fun lot. Her older sister had just given birth, which meant a fussy newborn to contend with, but no one snapped. It was all laughter and good-natured teasing—a slightly cleaner version of the trash talk that permeated the squadron.

The chapel was awash with white, from the cinder-block walls to the hexagonal ceiling tiles. A blood-red velvet carpet runner marched between two banks of white wooden folding chairs. The contingent representing Fang on the groom’s side was made entirely of airmen, making Mike wonder about Tin Tin’s comments about the man’s lack of family.

The contrast between that tasteless little chapel and a dozen mess dress uniforms was almost funny, until he glanced toward where Fang stood waiting. The major bobbed his weight onto his heels. Then he checked his watch. Then he straightened his bow tie and the row of medals pinned precisely into place.

Mike followed the red velvet runner to the altar. Well, maybe altar was too impressive of a word. A white garden arch had been decorated with plastic climbing roses. Someone had added the 64
^th
’s unit flag to the vines.

“Hey, Strap,” Fang said, offering his hand. “Glad you could make it, man.”

“Me too. I’m happy for you, sir.”

“Don’t let Cassandra hear you call me that.”

“Not a problem. You look nervous as hell.”

Fang grimaced. “I thought a quickie wedding would make it less of a big deal.” He shrugged, as if that said it all.

It did, actually. No matter the location, Major Ryan Haverty was a man on the verge of making a lifelong commitment.

Mike couldn’t help but take that seriously.

“Fang, my man!”

Tin Tin strolled into the chapel. With one hand he carried two bottles of Cristal champagne by their necks. His other hand was wrapped around the waist of a stunning woman. Clad in an Air-Force-blue silk dress, with her hair done up like a ’40s starlet, she was a fantastic combination of sex and elegance—nearly as tall as Tin Tin and probably five years his senior.

“And Strap too,” Tin Tin said, catching sight of Mike at the altar. “Back from purgatory, I see. Did you bring me souvenirs?”

“You know, Tin Tin is too awesome of a dog, kid. How about we call you Toto instead?”

A sly, dirty smile crept across Jon’s mouth. “Call signs don’t matter, my friend. Only who wears a collar in real life. Now, say hello to Heather. Heather Morris, this is our new guy, Captain Mike Templeton.”

“Strap Happy, is it?” she asked as they shook hands.

“And here I was convinced you were a figment of Tin Tin’s imagination.”

“Not at all. Flesh and blood.” She said the words with a slanted glance at her partner.

“Quit flirting with me, Heather love, or we’ll be MIA for Fang’s big moment.” Handing the champagne to the major, he said, “Really, man, you didn’t need to
actually
get married to play bride and groom.”

“Shut up, Tin Tin, or so help me I’ll run you over with your own car.”

“Fine, fine,” he said with a negligent wave. “I’ll be good. I just had it waxed.”

Heather edged nearer to Mike. She smelled exotic, like a flower that couldn’t be touched without wilting. Only that wouldn’t be true if she was really Tin Tin’s girl.

“Where’s Leah?” she asked.

“Haven’t the foggiest.”

The dark-haired woman masked her briefly befuddled expression. “I just assumed she’d be here already.”

As if on cue, the chapel door banged open. Leah, as formal as the other airmen in her mess-dress uniform, stood in the doorway. Her hair was loosely bound and slightly disheveled around her doll-like features.

Mike clenched against the rush of seeing her again. Time had stretched and drawn, until
bang
. There they were. Back in the same room, breathing the same air. He did battle against the impulse to go to her.

He had no claim on her and vice versa.

“Yo, Fang,” Leah said, her words sloppy at the edges. “There’s an adorable redhead out here waiting to get hitched. You ready or what?”

The skin prickled along the back of Mike’s neck. Fang and Tin Tin exchanged grave expressions, mirroring a pinched coldness in his gut. If Leah weren’t already drunk, she was well on her way.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Leah hadn’t had any problem filling her days. Cleaning her house, dinner out with Jon and Heather. There had even been an oh-so-exciting library trip. She really knew how to live.

The whole time, her palms had itched with the need to sprawl all over Michael. Her good boy.

Despite being lost without him—or maybe because of it—she hadn’t called. At all. What should she have said?

Sorry I was such a clumsy noob last time? And gee, wasn’t it convenient timing that you flew to Florida right after I fucked up?

He’d said it was no big deal. Didn’t mean she believed him.

So yeah, she’d needed to take a cab to the wedding. Having two vodka tonics meant her bike was off limits.

When Leah walked in the double doors of the wedding chapel, he was the first person she saw. Michael. She stuck there for a long moment. Her insides tumbled even as her pussy pulsed.

God, he looked good. His hair had grown a bit shaggy again. The golden-brown curled along the top of his neck. He wore the same-ol’, same-ol’ Air Force dress uniform. After all her years in the service, she would’ve thought herself immune to it. She wasn’t, not when it was on Michael. He looked so slick and put together that he could almost be the groom.