Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (17 page)

Jon cupped her ass. “Feet up. Hold on. Don’t scream, Heather love.”

She did as he commanded, even finding the presence of mind to laugh against his cheek. “So that’s your angle. Me being quiet?”

He kissed her, swift, smiling. “Dare you.”

The weight of her head became too much to bear. She leaned back against the wall. Jon had her. His strong arms wrapped tighter under her ass and thighs. Again he ducked his mouth to her breasts. No slow, seductive tease. Animalistic. Just claiming what he could reach. His true energy was focused on each pulsing drive into her slick cunt.

“Knew you couldn’t,” she breathed against his ear.

“Fuck no, I couldn’t.”

After so many fake smiles, his harsh-edged admission sent Heather over the edge. She clung to him, ground her hips, buried her mouth against the shoulder of his suit coat. Tensed. Shrieked into warm wool that smelled of him.

“Head up. Let me see you.”

Heather barely had the strength to comply as his thrusts drew out the pleasure. More gathered, threatening her again.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you?”

She nodded weakly. So dazed. So damn good.

“Keep your head right there.” He smacked and surged into her pussy. As relentless as a jackhammer. “Don’t fucking move. I want to see it on your face.”

Heather stared into his eyes. Her mouth opened on a silent scream as another orgasm set her body on fire. Jon grunted. Another three hard strokes and he shuddered on a long, low exhalation. His head thunked against the wall next to her neck.

“Just…fuck.”

“Yes,” she said on a smile. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Jon lifted his face. He matched her smile. “I knew it from day one. You’re wicked.”

“Yay for you. Called it right.”

But as she tugged at her dress—with Jon’s assistance this time—she wondered just where this gamble would end. Power and seduction. Risk and reward. The unreal feeling that each encounter was digging a deeper tunnel, straight toward her heart.

Jon took her hand and led her out of the ballroom as if nothing had happened, as if their clothes weren’t rumpled and his teeth marks didn’t adorn the upper swells of her breasts. He led her out of the ballroom as if none of it mattered.

That was what scared her.

Chapter Twenty

Jon parked as close to the flight line as he could get, then powered down the top of his convertible. He propped his head on the windowsill, looking up. The sky had taken on the peculiar white of the desert before the sun revealed the full colors of sunset. Even that rich sight would be hard to compete with the view of Vegas on the other side of the flight line.

He considered ignoring the phone when it rang. “Hot for Teacher” meant Ryan, but Friday evening wasn’t a guarantee of happy tidings. Ryan was just as likely to call with a question about next week’s training exercise as an invitation to grab a beer.

Jon answered anyway. He owed his friend that much consideration. “I kind of thought having a girlfriend meant you’d actually spend weeknights doing fun shit.”

Ryan’s laugh was familiar. “Your jealousy is coming through loud and clear. Give me five minutes and I’ll give you a million reasons why me and Cass are awesome.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world. Throw ’em at me.”

Jon could all but picture the man’s serious look. Brow furrowed and mouth flat. “Why all the time?”

He almost lied, mostly because he knew what would happen. Sometimes a guy really did need some quiet. But he’d never lied to the people who mattered. Every time he tried, he heard his dad promising to be there for Jon’s chess match. Or first solo flight. Or Air Force award ceremony. “I’m on the flight line.”

“Gimme ten minutes.”

Exactly what he’d expected. Like code talk, he and Ryan only had to admit they were sitting on the Nellis flight line for the other to come running.

He could always depend on his friends. Precisely what he needed that evening.

Sure enough, Ryan’s giant truck pulled up just under ten minutes later. Jon slipped out of his DBS before the tire dust settled. Their manly heart-to-hearts didn’t work in the low-slung sports car. Too much like lying down, and adding
talking
on top of it. Forget it.

Ryan met him at the back of his truck where they let down the tailgate and hopped up.

Jon squinted at the distant skyline. The sun was going. The lights never turned off in Vegas—the real city that never slept.

“So tell me, Fang. Doesn’t Cass object to you jetting out on her?”

He shrugged those wide, corn-fed shoulders, even as his smile turned sheepish. “She’s at the gallery.”

“So
that’s
why you can drop everything and come running.”

“That and the way you light the dark parts in my soul.”

Jon snickered. “Cass is going to be heartbroken when you leave her for me. Especially with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell gone.”

“Actually…” Ryan’s grin turned megawatt. “Gotta say, I don’t ever see leaving her. Things are damn good.”

“Lucky man.” Acid burned through Jon’s guts. Jealousy? He’d never found that connection with any woman. The way things were going with Heather, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to find it with her.

“What about your reason for being too busy to pick up Leah last month? Skipping this month’s poker?” Ryan hitched an arm over the side of the truck bed and eyed Jon. “How are things with the mystery woman?”

“I don’t know.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, the sex is amazing.”

“Definitely a bonus.”

Jon flipped Ryan off. Just a quick one, for good measure. “There was this shit with my parents, and an event I had to go to last weekend. I unloaded on her. Wasn’t pretty.”

“Did she stick around after?”

“More or less.” Long enough for them to go at it hard and fast in that coat closet. So hell yes, she’d stuck around in the best kind of way. They’d even managed a meet-and-fuck on Wednesday. Same rules—her place in the dark—but great for taking off the edge after a hard day. But he hadn’t asked to stay and she hadn’t offered. Whatever. He didn’t mind “closed off” from the chick he was banging. Long-term didn’t figure into any picture of their future.

He should be enjoying the fucking ride.

“Couldn’t have been too bad, then.”

“Not at all.”

“You know, I once got a piece of excellent advice.” Ryan looked toward the sky with a smug smile. “I was told I think too much, and that the cure to that was to fuck too much instead. I wonder who might have said that…?”

Jon’s laughter felt good. Better laughter than other emotions. His mom had sent Sara’s books. The deal was done. No point in wallowing. “Me, numb nuts. When I was being my most brilliant.”

“I don’t know about brilliant. Sometimes you’re dumb as a rock. Only, on occasion, you accidentally say smart things.”

“Good to know.” Jon pushed off the end of the truck. “Want to go to a scotch bar?”

“You know, most men say ‘get a beer’.”

“Most men are Philistines. You’re lucky to know me.”

Ryan smacked him across the back. Hard. “If your existential crisis is over, I’m gonna ditch out. Pick up Cassandra at work. See if she’ll set aside new exhibit plans long enough to have dinner with me.”

“You’re putting poon over bros. I see how it is.” But he knew Ryan wouldn’t take him seriously.

“If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll do the same thing.”

Maybe he would. The time in the coat closet with Heather, the way she’d done exactly what he ordered—while challenging him in return… He was torn between knowing he could show her a better time and feeling faintly smug about how hard he’d made her come. Twice.

So, even as he watched Ryan’s taillights fade into the distance, Jon pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Captain Carlisle,” Heather answered, her voice full of spice. “I laid a bet with myself regarding whether I’d hear from you tonight.”

“Did you win or lose?”

“Let’s just say I enjoyed the surprise.”

“Then meet me. If you thought the wine bar was remarkable, I’ve got the perfect place to show you. The Lux is new downtown. Three hundred different kinds of scotch and two levels of dance floors.”

“That sounds like your type of joint, not mine,” she said on another laugh. “Besides, I’ve got plans already.”

“Do I know his name?”

“Aren’t you amusing, flyboy. But no.
Her
name is Jenn. We’re going to the movies, eat chocolate and popcorn, and talk about boys. Your name may or may not be mentioned.”

He considered apologizing. Maybe not for their time in the coat closet, and certainly not for the hours after he’d taken her home. They’d stolen through her darkened house and headed straight for bed. But maybe he should apologize for earlier that evening. He’d let his mother’s standoffishness ride him as if it were new, as if he were still a vulnerable fourteen-year-old kid.

He’d learned to create an impenetrable shield of attitude and insouciance, but he also knew what kind of frozen wasteland that left behind. No middle ground. He’d been a user for a long time.

It felt a lot like this. Only, at that moment, it didn’t fit his skin.

“Hey, about the other night. You didn’t deserve my shit.”

A long pause faintly filled the line with static. “I’m not sure what to do with that.”

“Neither do I.”

“Well, then. Apology accepted. Don’t you dare do it again.” Her husky, teasing laugh unwound the tension he hadn’t realized was so strong in his muscles. He especially enjoyed when her laughter was real, like right then. Warm. Inviting.

The more astounding realization was that he could apologize. Huh. Who knew?

He rubbed his head as the colorful Vegas lights brightened. Memories of every previous encounter colored his voice with a taste of excitement. “I’ll make it worth your while some other time. Enjoy your night out.”

“Two moments of generosity in a row, flyboy. Are you running a fever?”

“You keep teasing and I’ll be as selfish as I threatened in that coat closet.”

“You never could and you know it. Part of the fun. How about tomorrow night? Bring takeout.”

He wasn’t about to revisit
where
they hooked up. The fact he would have her again—have her in ways that remained unknown but promised exquisite pleasure—made him smile. “Tomorrow then.”

With that, they signed off. But Jon’s restlessness wouldn’t abate.

He sank into the front seat of his car. If Heather wasn’t going to play out, he’d find another option. It used to be easy. His buddies. Their haunts. She was beginning to dominate his thoughts and wants way too much. Time for a reminder that a relationship based on sex was just that. He wouldn’t consider Heather a friend. An undeniable temptation, yes. After the recent reminders of his family, his old life, his youth—he needed the snarky ease of hanging out with his squad mates. Uncomplicated and mindless.

With a few quick phone calls, he scrounged up a decadent plan worthy of his tastes and reputation. High-end luxury wrapped around a smorgasbord of booze and music. A few hours later, he smiled as Leah, totally dolled up for clubbing, slipped into his DBS. She wore a skintight pair of jeans topped with a low-cut, dark pink halter-top.

After darting across the city, they rolled up to the valet stand at The Lux.

“Hey, there’s Dash. Did you call him too? Cool!” Leah waved madly. “Dash!”

The woman had no restraint. Not like Heather, whose elegance was enough to believe she’d been raised among the elite and powerful. Sure he’d apologized—which was only right, after he’d behaved like such an ass—but perhaps her reserve reminded him too much of his world. She would never be an easy woman to open up to.

Now opening
her
up? That remained his prime directive in their relationship. She hid too many secrets for him to walk away. The challenge remained. The thrill of the hunt.

Liam “Dash” Christiansen strolled toward them, his hands in the pockets of slim-cut black trousers. He flashed his shark-wide smile. “I didn’t dare brave approaching the entrance without you, Tin Tin. The line is as long as a runway, and the bouncer looks like The Hulk. Minus the green. I’m not above admitting this place is way out of my league. I’d need a personality transplant and a guest spot on
What Not to Wear
before making the attempt.”

“Shit, you talk a lot,” Leah said with a grin. “A personality transplant would be welcome.”

Jon shook his head. “Besides, where the hell does a proper fighter pilot learn anything about
What Not to Wear
?”

“Sunny, dude. She loves that show.”

Leah coughed around a word that sounded suspiciously like
whipped
.

Dash returned the coughed insults. Something like
ball-buster.

She laughed. “You know it. But seriously. That line is intimidating as hell. I’d be waiting for hours.”

“No way,” Jon said. “Maybe Dash and his dorky loafers, but you’d be just fine. A bouncer would lose his job for keeping you out.”

Dash looked down at shoes worthy of an aging high school economics teacher. “Come on, now. We know Princess would get in. She’s bangable enough.”

“You got that right,” she piped up.

“But my shoes are just fine.”

“They’re not,” Jon said shaking his head. “Honestly.”

“JCPenney special.”

“It’s a damn good thing you’re married, man.”

Dash conjured one of his wide, wide grins—a deliberate jest. “They were
on sale
, even. Unbeatable deal.”

Jon lifted an eyebrow. “What is this ‘on sale’ you speak of?”

“You dorks gonna stand here all day? If I have to listen to this crap all night, I’ll need margaritas.”

“You always need margaritas,” Dash said.

Jon led them toward the club and gave his name to the concierge girl, who ushered them to the VIP area.

Massive crowds and sweaty bodies already crammed the club. Dim lights, of course, but the place was industrial chic. Iron gangways overhead were the best touch, where scantily clad girls did their best impressions of go-go dancers. As he strolled beneath their gyrating asses, Jon wondered if they were wearing panties. He couldn’t catch a glimpse, which only made him more curious.