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

“Nice one.”

“It is, isn’t it? But quid pro quo. Your turn.” His voice was surprisingly low for someone so young, a soft rumble that tickled under her skin.

“It’s Morris.”

“And the damsel is saved,” he said with a grin.

“You approve?” Heather almost frowned. Where the hell had that breathy question come from?

“Very much.” Jon Carlisle picked her hand off the table and kissed her knuckles. For the briefest moment, she’d been sure he would bite instead of kiss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Morris.”

Chapter Two

Jon Carlisle knew women. Most of all, he
liked
women. Each possessed something unique and appreciable. Whether the curve of an elegant neck or the perfect symmetry of graceful collarbones, he had long ago made it his duty to find the special facets in each woman he met.

Heather Crystal Morris, despite her rather dated name, was the type to be savored. Rich dark hair had been barely swept away from her face and knotted at the nape of her neck, leaving her classical features prominent. Her eyes were pale blue, like the sky at high altitude, and she had a sultry way of looking at him from under the dark slashes of her eyebrows—as if she were challenging him.

Jon hadn’t found enough challenges lately.

He carefully placed her hand back on the table, trailing his fingertips over her knuckles. “How is a woman like you alone tonight with a spare bracelet?”

“A woman like me? Do I want to know what you mean by that?”

“Perhaps.”

She tilted her head as she rested her chin on her fist. “I have no doubt you’d answer if I asked.” Dark lashes shielded her eyes. The contrast with the pale blue was rather remarkable. “So I don’t think I will.”

“Scared?”

Her laugh was sexy. No other word for it. Just husky enough, it evoked feelings of being wrapped in the dark with her. That would be a memorable time. He’d ensure it. “Not in the least.”

The waitress appeared and presented two glasses of deep red wine. The venom-infused pinot noir.

Heather peered at the plastic cup and lifted it toward a light. “Looks rather normal, doesn’t it? Like any other glass of wine?”

After a quick swirl to watch the liquid climb the sides of the glass, Jon took a deep swallow. “It tastes like any other pinot noir too. Maybe a hint of blackberry.”

She set hers down. “I’ll take your word on it.”

A single drop of the rich liquid lingered on his bottom lip. He licked it off, not missing how Heather’s gaze tracked the small movement. Again. “Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out.”

Her spine went slightly stiff. The move pushed her glorious chest toward him. The straight slashes of her brows lowered. “It has python venom in it. Choosing not to drink it is the prudent choice.”

Jon couldn’t help but lean forward. Suddenly he knew her type. Quiet. Cautious. Restrained. Not quite the challenge he’d been hoping for, but he would persevere. “Do you always make the prudent choice? Even
saying
that feels like too much effort.”

“I like my life orderly.” She said it as if she’d needed to make the same defense time and again.

Before Jon could poke further, pull back more of her layers, the waitress in the too-tight dress bumped the back of Heather’s chair. A plastic sample cup bobbled and tipped.

Heather jerked forward, but it was too late. Dark red wine spilled down the back of her jacket. “Blast,” she hissed.

“Oh!” the waitress squealed. “I’m so sorry. Let me get you something to wipe that up.” But the tray wiggled again when she reached for napkins.

“Forget it.” Heather waved her away then yanked off the jacket. “Damn, it’s cashmere.”

“Here.” Jon grabbed a few cocktail napkins from a stack beside a bowl of palate-cleansing cracker crisps. Even as he handed them over, his mind surged to Mach two.

Perhaps he didn’t have Heather Crystal Morris figured out after all.

In taking off the dark blue blazer, she’d revealed the pale white camisole underneath. A deep border of lace dipped over the swells of her cleavage. Her breasts were beautiful, with a nice heft that would feel marvelous in his palms. He’d already expected that. He was something of a master at peering beneath the layers women wore. Practice made perfect.

No, the surprise was Heather’s nipple ring.

His body tightened. He became a predator scenting a vulnerable rabbit.

The barest hint of metal was visible under layers of silk and a thin bra. A perfect out-of-place circle—something to swirl with his tongue while he buried his face between those beautiful breasts. Something to tug with his teeth as she rode him, her lush body working his cock.

That nipple ring was a hint of wickedness waiting to be unleashed.

Jon was just the man to unleash it.

He pushed away a genuine smile that threatened. No sense in revealing his true desires so soon. “Is it ruined?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a sigh. “But whether it is or not, it’s the perfect end to an awful evening.”

“That’s unkind.”

She glared as she tapped at the stain with a napkin. “Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘present company excluded’?”

“It would be appreciated.”

“Sorry. I’m not in the mood for placating anyone.” She hung the jacket on the back of her seat. “My friend Jenn and I were supposed to have a girls’ night out. We even had reservations at La Rocca, but she had babysitter issues.”

“Nice place.” Jon had dined there a week after it opened. His mother and father would weep themselves to the grave if he didn’t occasionally use the pull of their family name and fortune. His need for novelty had propelled him, not his parents’ expectations. “I’m not convinced it lives up to the hype.”

Dark brows lifted, and a disbelieving smile curved her lush mouth. “Oh, you’ve been, have you?”

He made a sound of agreement, low enough that Heather leaned forward to catch it. As she did, she provided a flawless view down the shadowy valley of her cleavage. Jon was swept over with the image of pushing his cock between those full tits while she darted her tongue to lick his head. The thought began to cultivate the first stirring of a hard-on.

He pushed her glass of pinot noir closer. “Here. Try it. If you do, this will be the night you drank snake-venom wine rather than the night your jacket was stained.”

“That’s the best argument I’ve ever heard for drinking animal toxins.” She circled the lip of the plastic cup with her forefinger. After a nod, she picked it up and drank. Her throat worked over a swallow. “Not bad.”

He liked women who gave hesitation the middle finger. He liked them very much. “I won’t be gauche enough to tell you I told you so.”

“It would be appreciated,” she said, echoing his words from only a moment ago.

“How much?”

She licked a drop of wine off her bottom lip—again, it seemed an intentional echo. Was she teasing him? He enjoyed that idea, almost as much as he enjoyed imagining what she could do with that mouth. Dirty things. Delicious things.

Her fingers brushed the line of her collarbone. “What do you mean?”

“Do you appreciate it enough to let me go with you to La Rocca?”

She shook her head on another husky laugh. “I don’t think so.”

The waitress dropped off another round, these containing a nearly colorless white wine. A whisper of condensation clung to them. Cool and dry, it carried the cold kiss of Antarctica, where it had been pressed.

Heather’s quiet moan upon finishing her sample sent a shock point-blank to Jon’s dick. “Oh, that one’s good.” She scribbled something in her little notebook. “Maybe not ‘a year’s mortgage payments’ good, but definitely my favorite.”

He watched her over the rim of his glass. “Invite me to dinner with you.”

Pale eyes flashed. “Why in the world do you think I should do that?”

Taking her hand once again, he traced the inside of her wrist. Her mouth made pretty protests, but her frantic pulse said otherwise. He drew his touch over the fleshy base of her thumb, down into the soft valley of her palm. If he’d known her even a little bit better, he would have used his nail to scrape a pale red line over her soft skin.

“Because you want to,” he said quietly. “You’ve been good for a very long time, haven’t you?”

She nodded silently. Her neck moved so jerkily that she seemed to be agreeing despite good intentions.

Kink that he was, he liked that. He relished helping a woman find her boundaries—just before blasting through them. “Then invite me because you deserve a night of being bad.”

Her breath had gone shallow. Full breasts rose and fell. “You’re supposed to be my reward?”

“I could be.”

The crowded wine bar disappeared. Voices fluxed around them but only as background noise. Jon kept his gaze on hers, willing her to agree. There was something about this woman in particular…

He rather thought she’d be a novelty.

Her lips parted on a soft breath. She nodded. Swallowed visibly. “Let’s go.”

Jon escorted her to the parking lot in no time, their wine-tasting bracelets abandoned on the table for any lucky patron to find. Sweltering air slicked his neck. He rubbed his nearly bare head. Wearing a suit in the late July heat of Las Vegas took dedication, but again, he had standards.

His pace slightly faster than usual, he didn’t want to risk that Heather would back off. Back down. Despite a streak of wildness, she obviously tried to bury it deeply. He wondered how deeply she’d be able to hide it if he got her on her hands and knees, that curvy ass in the air. The treasure would be dipping his fingers into her pussy to discover just how wet she was. For him.

Her steps slowed. “Jenn and I didn’t drive. We planned to take a taxi all night.”

“I brought my car.” He slung his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks. She would agree or she wouldn’t.

Heather studied him from head to toe. “Do you promise you’re not some freaky serial killer?”

His laugh was abrupt and real. Another novelty. “I’ve been called a freak a time or two, but I swear I’d never intentionally hurt a woman. Unless she asked for it.”

That line probably wouldn’t put him in safe company with puppies and kittens and guys who waited for an invitation. But he wanted to see her reaction. A quiet inhalation was his reward. Her tempting nipple ring pressed against the thin restraint of silk.

She nibbled her bottom lip. Goddamn, but he’d like to put those teeth to work nibbling him. Wherever she wanted.

After digging a BlackBerry out of her purse, she pointed it at him, then clicked away. “All right. Let’s go.”

“What did you do?”

“I sent myself an email with a picture and description of you. Just in case.”

Placing a hand at the small of her back, he escorted her toward his car. Soft muscles jumped. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I’m really not. I’ve got very little to hide.”

He bent low over her ear. She smelled of expensive perfume and the berry kiss of fine wine. “Then we’ll have to make sure you develop some secrets.”

He thumbed his key fob. The lights of his Aston Martin flashed. In the dusky light of evening, the DBS was a deep, dark beast. All power and growling strength. The car was worth every cent he’d paid. The only machine he loved more was his F-16, but that was property of the US government.

Heather’s high heels clicked to an abrupt stop on the asphalt. “Did you borrow it from Daddy?”

“No. Daddy drives a Bentley.”

She looked from him, to the convertible, then back again. “Just who are you, Jon Carlisle?”

His smile built slowly from somewhere deep inside. Pure enjoyment of the moment. The gathering excitement of night. A beautiful woman on his arm. A sinfully fast car waiting to whisk them toward the unknown.

“I’m a fighter pilot.”

Chapter Three

“Bullshit.”

The profanity leapt out of her mouth before she could stop it. She hardly ever cursed, especially not at the office where decorum and steadfast dedication would earn her a promotion to full director. Someday soon.

But his outrageous claim was just too much.

“It’s true.” With a casual shrug, he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “I fly an F-16 with the 64
^th
Aggressor Squadron out of Nellis.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His implacable expression was one of the best poker faces she’d ever seen. “We should establish this up front, Ms. Morris. I never lie.” Blankness gave way to a boyish grin. “Well, not to real people. Sometimes it makes life easier to tell COs what they want to hear.”

Heather refused to be charmed. Her dad’s twenty years in the Army meant she’d grown up knowing military men of all kinds, learning how they acted, how they thought. Eventually she’d learned to avoid them as she would an oncoming freight train.

Jon Carlisle wasn’t one of them.

She leaned against the passenger-side door. A gleaming finish suggested it had been recently waxed. “That’s the second unbelievable claim you’ve made tonight, the first being the size of your prick. This one, at least, you can substantiate in a public parking lot.”

“I wouldn’t impose such limits on either of us.”

“Proof, please.”

She knew it was the truth even before he pulled out his wallet because he didn’t hesitate.

She examined his Air Force-issued ID, particularly his photo. A different version of Captain Jonathan Carlisle stared back at her. No sarcasm or teasing there—only the proud, solemn expression of a serviceman in full dress. To know he was capable of both personas messed with her ability to breathe.

“Satisfied?”

She offered the barest smile as she returned the ID. “Not yet.”

“The night’s still young. Get in.”

Heather slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind her, which enveloped her in luxury. The Aston was
gorgeous
. She’d been in her share of expensive cars, but they were vehicles of understated elegance. BMWs and Mercedes. The tools businessmen used to impress their colleagues. This sleek, expensive convertible was a rich boy’s toy.

Jon slipped behind the wheel and fired it up. A sound unlike any she’d ever heard purred from the engine, powerful yet restrained. A perfect fit for its owner. The slow, tedious flow of Friday-night traffic as they edged down the Strip was downright cruel. She wondered what the car and the man could do if allowed to go flat out.