Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (30 page)

“No way. Not until we see how this stays down.”

“I’m fine, I’m sure of it.” She accepted the plate and glass.

Jon lay down on the bed and laced his fingers behind his neck. He stared up at the plain white ceiling. The only sound was the crunch of toast and an occasional clink of ice against the side of the glass.

“Do you want to come out with me and my friends on Wednesday night?”

Goddamn it.
He hadn’t exactly meant to go there. Not yet. But the words had popped out of his mouth. They’d only just hauled one another back from the brink of a kiss-off that would’ve ended the whole affair. He should take it slow if he wanted more. Which he did.

Inviting her out was different now. She’d already met everyone. But this request held so much importance. It would mean risking even more.

“If you’re feeling up to it,” he added.

She set her cup on the bedside table. “Where are you guys going?”

“Karaoke.”

“You sing karaoke?”

He laughed to cover his awkwardness. “Yeah. And I’m damn good at it.”

She set the plate aside as well. Then she folded her hands over his chest and leaned her chin on them. Her body stretched fully along his. Only when she smiled, another mix of shy and playful, did Jon get a clue as to her answer.

“I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

Jon hadn’t been able to see Heather after leaving her bungalow on Sunday afternoon. She’d stayed home from work a day and a half, so he didn’t press for a renewed invitation to stop over. By Wednesday she swore she was well enough for a simple night out.

Everyone arrived at Paulie’s, the tiny bar just off post. The place was truly dive-bar-esque, its walls lined with certificates and plaques from various Nellis units. But they had one hell of a karaoke setup, including a stage and lights.

Ryan and Cass sat along one side of their usual table. The major looped his arm around her seat as his fingers trailed down her arm. Leah sat at the head of the table where she said she had the best view of the stage. Jon figured it was more about ease of access to the bar.

Leah was the driving force behind their frequent trips to Paulie’s, the one off-duty place where she stayed relatively sober. She claimed boozing it up impaired her ability to remember lyrics, although she usually still had a beer or three.

Wonder of wonders, she’d ordered a Dr. Pepper.

Upon catching sight of Jon’s raised eyebrow, she scowled. “So help me, Tin Tin, if you say a word, my first priority tomorrow morning will be shooting you out of the sky.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, though inside he felt genuine relief.
Maybe
. Maybe she could do it.

The night only got better as he discovered a surprising bonus. Heather wasn’t only game to sing, she did it well.

Onstage the cool white light clung to her features, just as Jon had imagined. She’d chosen a Billie Holiday song, which perfectly suited her husky voice. Hearing her sing a lament about not having a ghost of a chance with a man sent chills down his back.

Cass scooted into the seat next to him. “She’s lovely, you know.”

“She’s beautiful, yeah.”

Leaning her chin on a fist, she skewered him with a reproachful glance. “Don’t be dense.”

He’d known what she meant. After the surprising way Heather had opened up about her past, he’d discovered a spot inside him that was still too raw to probe, much less talk about. He’d never been one to trust happiness.

Cass snagged her glass of lemonade. “You should see the way she watches you.”

At that he had to laugh. “I know
exactly
how she watches me.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Her expression turned contemplative, with her mouth twisted at one side. Jon caught the direction of her glance—across the table, where Ryan and Leah were laughing. “It’s like she’s not sure if she can risk it.”

Jon coughed and faced the stage. The conversation verged on territory best kept between her and Ryan. He focused instead on Heather, who looked sexy as hell in a slim, hip-hugging pair of jeans and a dark red blouse.

“I’m no risk,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Had he ever been able to say that about any lover—and mean it in every sense? No. He sipped his scotch, heart lurching.

Cass patted his hand. “Sometimes the risk doesn’t have anything to do with you.” She grinned. “And believe me, it sucks fish fins to wait for the stupid to wear off.”

With that she crossed behind empty chairs and reclaimed her place on Ryan’s lap. The pixie and the All-American. Jon shook his head, took another sip and returned his attention to Heather.

She finished her song to a healthy smattering of applause. She seemed to wake from a daze. A pink blush stained her high cheekbones, but then she gave a laughing bow.

Everyone at the table cheered as she made her way back. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “No autographs, please.”

Jon laced his fingers through hers when she returned to her chair. “Not bad for a newbie.”

“In elementary school I was in the church choir.”

Not for high school, though. He finally knew what she’d spent those teenage years doing. But she wasn’t poor, lost Heather anymore. She’d recreated herself into someone completely independent. Why couldn’t she see that?

“Hey, Tin Tin,” Leah called. “Don’t think we’ve missed that it’s your turn.”

“Really.” Heather’s smile was a teasing curve. “It’s not fair to make me go when I haven’t watched you.”

He leaned close enough to whisper in her ear. Silky hair brushed his cheek. “What are you willing to do for me if I do?”

She drew back. They looked one another in the eye. “This time?” Her throat worked over a swallow. “Nothing.”

He traced the delicate skin of her jaw. No dares? He hardly knew what to make of that. Was she finally inviting him in?

“No kissy-face,” Leah said with a groan. “You guys promised. If I came out as the fifth wheel, there would be no kissy-face allowed.”

The half-kidding, half-serious quip was enough to dissolve the thick tension between him and Heather. He leaned away from Heather, hooking his elbow over the back of his chair. “I know for a damned fact that I did not say kissy-face. I can’t remember those words coming out of my mouth. Ever.”

“You just did, Dimples.” Ryan tucked his chin over Cass’s shoulder. “I heard it.”

Jon mock saluted with his tumbler. “I’ll remember that one, Fang. Don’t think I won’t.”

Leah knocked on the table. “I call this meeting of the flying jackass society to order. First order of business is Tin Tin singing.”

“I second the motion.” Heather’s pale eyes glittered with mirth.

Gathering a semblance of dignity, Leah nodded solemnly. “First motion passes. Second is his song.”

“Hey, now,” Jon said. “No one voted.”

Ryan laughed. “Trust me, you singing is a given.”

Jon flipped him off, but there was no menace behind it. Just long years of camaraderie and taking care of each other.

“I say INXS,” Cass said. “Vintage eighties cheese.”

“No way.” Jon had been up there before, plenty of times.
Tons
. But he’d never let anyone pick the song for him. “Not even close.”

“Yes,” Heather agreed with laughter in her voice. “Maybe ‘Need You Tonight’? For me? That’s something I’d pay good money to see.”

Aw, hell. Like he could get out of that one.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Before he headed up to plug in the song, he caressed the back of Heather’s neck. The kiss he stole was long and slow. Passing between their lips was a measure of tenderness he hadn’t felt before. With any woman.

Drawing back, he fashioned one of his most dedicated smiles—the one he wore when he thought about her taste. “Sit back, Ms. Morris. You’re going to love this.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jon took to the small stage with his trademark slow-burn cool. Dressed almost as plainly as he had at the diner, he wore classic-fit jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a pair of Doc Marten boots. Everything about him, from his casual posture to his smug grin, said this was no big deal. She knew better. For every measured move, he concealed a hundred genuine impulses.

Nervousness twined with anticipation. She didn’t just want him to sing; she wanted him to be fantastic.

A thumping chant of “Tin Tin” swelled from all around. Ryan, Cass, Leah, and a dozen other patrons, possibly more off-duty airmen, whistled and shouted along. Heather only clasped her hands around her knees to stop their jitters.

The instrumental track started up, and so did her pulse. That distinctive guitar riff ripped out from the speakers as Jon nodded in time. His wide grin reached out from the stage to find her.

Striking a pose, he started into the slinky, soulful lyrics. He didn’t have the best voice on the planet, but he was by no means horrible. A wink here, a point there, he played to a crowd that obviously expected him to take the whole thing as a joke.

Heather laughed along, as everyone did, knowing what a good sport he was being. Only twenty-six years old, he’d probably been in diapers when the song debuted, which just made her head hurt.

Somewhere after the first chorus, he changed. Subtly. Gracefully. Heather couldn’t name the moment when he began taking it seriously. She only felt it on her skin, heard it as the bar noise calmed. Hoots and shouts went silent, as did the drunken sing-alongs. Jon’s playful gestures fell away, revealing a performance as earnest and sexy as the song.

After he’d claimed everyone’s attention, he found Heather in the crowd. His eyes flashed mischievous heat. Every word seeped into her skin. Raw. Sweat. Need. Then even that awareness slid away as Jon closed his eyes. He gave himself over to the experience.

And owned every minute of it.

The bar shouted and applauded at the song’s end. Jon made peace signs with his fingers and kissed them, but the return of his devil-may-care persona was a deliberate ruse.
Nothing to see here, people.
Don’t look at how much he’d given, how much he wanted to be appreciated as the best.

Heather saw it all. His performance left her flushed and quaking with the crazy energy of a deep, delicious secret.

“Ryan,” she said, tapping the officer’s shoulder. “Is he always like that?”

“Every time, the foul-minded cherub.”

“You’re just jealous, Fang,” Jon said, jogging the few steps down from the stage. “Admit it. My karaoke brings the chicks to the yard.”

Leah laughed. “Watch it, dork, or ‘Milkshake’ will be your next assignment.”

“Bring it on.”

He flopped into his chair. Sweaty, a little breathless, he slid Heather a look. She caught it—the expectation. Her opinion mattered to him. In this, apparently, he was not one hundred percent sure of himself, unlike flying and sex.

She closed the distance between them. With one hand high on his inner thigh, she kissed his temple. “You turn me on when you mean it.”

Jon blinked twice before blanking his surprise. “Glad you enjoyed it, Ms. Morris.”

She didn’t know whether to be thankful or disappointed when Cass broke the mood. “You’re next, Ryan,” she said. “Get your fine butt up there.”

“Oh, c’mon. You know I suck.”

“TMI,” Leah said. “Please respect my delicate sensibilities.”

Ryan laughed. “I would if you had any.”

Heather observed the exchanges with a sense of longing that no longer surprised her. Their history was fascinating, just as she wondered if she could ever fit in so well. They held nothing back from one another—the insults, the laughter, the camaraderie. Such openness was as enticing as it was risky.

She glanced toward her flyboy, who was busy flicking mini pretzels, one at a time, at the back of Ryan’s head. Jon laughed, full and deep, as if showing off his dimples on purpose. His smile held no pretense, and even his crafted calm slipped to reveal the young man inside.

“Come off it, Fang.” Jon flicked another pretzel, completely unaware of how hard he was flipping her world. “You’re not getting out of singing again. You’re no better than the rest of us.”

“Says the captain to the major.”

“Bite me, Major Haverty, sir.”

Leah finished the last of her soda and crunched an ice cube. “If you make me convene another jackass meeting, I’ll find a gavel and bring the pain.”

“Princess, I never knew you went for the rough stuff,” Jon said.

She flipped him off.

“Come on, Ryan.” Cass stood from his lap and tugged his hand. “For me? Please? I’ll be your groupie.”

Jon choked on a hard laugh. Leah only shook her head, eyes rolling to the ceiling. But Ryan took to the stage with unexpected resolve. His version of Springsteen’s “Born to Run” was terrible—just
terrible
. Their table cheered anyway, like children on the last day of school.

An hour later, Heather’s ears were ringing as they left Paulie’s. She desperately wanted to be alone with Jon, if only to see which of her pinging emotions became reality.

Cass nodded toward the hot pink motorcycle Leah climbed onto. “Is that new?”

Leah grimaced as she fastened a matching helmet. “Nah. It’s just hard to ride with your head between your knees. Nighty-night, kissy-faces.”

With that she gunned the bike. Parking lot gravel sprayed out from the rear wheel as she sped onto the road. The men shouted their approval like a rallying war cry. After a few more goodbyes, Ryan and Cass hurried off to their truck, laughing, their hands clasped.

Heather came up behind Jon and folded her arms around his lean middle. “A good night,” she said against his shoulder.

“Yeah, a really good night.” He glanced back. “You were great onstage. The old blues tunes fit your voice.”

“My voice?”

He turned, his hands low on her hips. “Very Lauren Bacall, all low and sexy. But I don’t think you even realize it, do you?”

“Never thought about it.”

God, he still terrified her—his keen mind and uncanny ability to dissect every detail. She’d enjoyed Jon being sincere onstage because that had been about looking into
him
. To have that same sincerity turned full-force on her was something she’d never be able to stand.