Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (31 page)

Being with him had come to mean too much. Impulses ricocheted between her heart and her brain.

“Come on,” he said. “You look beat.”

The DBS waited like a panther in shadow. Jon clicked his key fob to open the locks, then ushered her in. They sat side by side, silent for a moment. Heather recalled the peace and warmth she’d enjoyed upon waking up in his arms. She wanted that again.

Even more, their last sexual encounter—after the Air Force ball—had become a dark space in her mind. They shouldn’t have ended it that way. After a shower and another quickie up against the bathroom wall, they’d called it a night. The bed, still perfectly made, had not even been touched. Memories of one of the best sexual encounters of her life now left her cold.

That evening contrasted so strongly with Friday, when he’d taken her to the clinic and made her drink Gatorade. From the start, his unexpected tenderness rubbed at all her insecurities. What did he want from her? What did she want from him, them, herself?

She wanted more.

The words flared bright in her brain, then filled her with a happy calm. “So, home then?”

“What are you asking, Heather love?” His face remained in profile, with his hand on the gearshift.

She laid hers over it. “Will you stay with me tonight? All night?”

After a tight nod and a slow exhalation, he gave her hand a squeeze. His side-eye grin made everything okay.

He revved that killer engine and powered the convertible top. The city sped by in a blur of neon and black. Heather settled into the sumptuous leather seat, her hand on Jon’s thigh. The moment was, as always, sexually charged, but something deeper had taken over. She’d seen behind his mask. He had permitted entrance to a very exclusive sanctuary. The urge to reciprocate loosened her limbs and eased her breathing.

Jon pulled into her driveway and met her at the passenger door. He gathered her into his embrace. They simply held one another in the quiet. Heather’s heart rushed and thumped.

“Thank you.” She looked into his eyes. “I can see why they mean so much to you.”

“They make it easy to care.”

He led her up to the porch of her house then followed her in the front door. The lights were out. She took his hand to guide him through the darkened rooms. The intimacy between them was thick and slow, all honey-sweet.

They undressed one another in her bedroom. The streetlamp shone silver on their skin as they revealed each bare inch. A power built between them unlike any they’d shared. She wanted to shy away with a sexy tease on her tongue. Jon never gave her the chance. He smoothed every shiver with his palms, caught every unformed protest with his warm lips.

Until she didn’t want to protest anymore. Only…be his.

The gentle pressure of his hands on her shoulders eased her onto the edge of the mattress. He knelt, his eyes lifted. Breathing became impossible as she realized the truth. Just like that moment onstage, he meant it this time. No dares. No masks and innuendo. Just Jon and how much he wanted her.

She was in love with him. So much.

With her heart beating furiously, and not knowing what else to do, she gave a little nod.

He spread her knees with infinite slowness and cupped his hands beneath her thighs. The hot brush of his breath touched her first, then the tender, delicious stroke of his tongue. The patient sweetness of his lips. The flexing caress of his trembling fingertips. Heather forced herself to be just as gentle as she petted the rasping hair along the back of his head.

Arousal built and built, with no end in sight. There was no hurry. No control to be wrested from one another. Jon leaned her back on the bed, and his kiss tasted of her own body. They learned one another by feel and sound. The smallest gasp became a guidepost—
more of that
—while each caress radiated between them like a shimmer of light.

Jon found a condom before levering above her. Classic missionary, just man over woman. Sharp shadows defined the muscles of his arms and chest. Heather slid her hands up, slowly up, to cup his shoulders. With his respiration labored, he pushed deep and filled her. Two low moans twined together.

No matter the almost reverent foreplay, their passion would not be polite. Jon’s lean hips surged. Her slick softness yielded to where he was so hard, so eager. She pulled him close, her fingers splayed down past those twin divots at his lower back. He braced his weight on his elbows. Sweat-slicked chests pressed flush. Every slow groaning thrust rubbed her nipples against his skin.

Heather let her eyes close, lost to him. She crisscrossed her ankles around his ass, feeling it clench with each forceful push. The rhythm of desire and emotion that had intensified all night became a beat in her blood.

“I need you, my lovely girl,” he whispered.

“I’m right here, Jon. Right here.”

His mouth found hers, as intimate as where their hips met. Tongues slipped and pressed. Tight breath burst against her cheeks. With his hand at her breast, he drove her higher. Faster now. Endless grinding pulses were theirs to share.

When release shimmered over Heather in a long, hot shudder, he was there at her mouth, kissing, drinking in her sounds. He tensed on one last deep thrust. His gasping exhalation was her gift to keep.

Long after Jon had sprawled across her belly, fast asleep, Heather stared at the patterns made by headlights across the ceiling.

I can do this.

She could give herself to this incredible man—the man she loved. But even as Heather languidly stroked his warm, muscular back, her restless mind repeated the phrase. Over and over. Keeping her awake.

I can do this.

Not once did she believe it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

By Friday afternoon, even six straight hours of maintenance checks couldn’t dim Jon’s mood. The flight crew was on the top of its game and had his plane running smoother than ever. When Ryan suggested they all go home early, Jon wasn’t about to say no. He left without even taking time to give his friends their daily ration of smartass comments.

The only thing better than an unexpected afternoon off was someone to share it with. He’d have to conjure some fast-talking to get Heather to leave early, but he had an inside track now. Something had shifted when she’d been sick. Or maybe afterward, at the karaoke bar and when she’d invited him to stay the night.

He made a swift stop by his condo to wash up and change out of his flight suit. Another stop at his favorite bistro meant lunch in hand. His Aston seemed to purr with anticipation as he drove toward Heather’s office. Takeout bags dangling from his fingers, Jon held open the plate-glass doors to her building and allowed an older woman to enter first.

The reception area was swanky. His mother and father would have been proud. A touch of Southwest was apparent in the pale wood with purple and blue paintings, but not enough to be tacky. A seating area to the right was situated under a large bank of windows with a primo view of the city. A blonde receptionist sat behind a large desk of highly polished driftwood topped by glass.

“Can I help you?”

Jon smiled. “I certainly hope so. I’m here to see Ms. Morris. My name’s Jon Carlisle.”

“Is she expecting you?”

His smile only widened. “No, she’s not.”

“I’ll see if she’s available.” Touching two fingers to the wireless headset tucked over her ear, she clicked numbers into a keypad. After a few quiet words, she returned his smile. “You can go right in. Top floor.”

As the elevator swept him up, Jon whistled under his breath. The shining brass walls reflected his image. Damn, his smile verged on sappy. It’d be embarrassing if he didn’t carry the memory of Wednesday night: the tremulous cast of Heather’s silver-shaded mouth when she told him she was there. Right there with him.

Her office was at the far end of the hallway. The door stood open. A gold-tone plaque affixed beside it read
Heather Morris, Assistant Director
. She must be proud of that title next to her name.
He
was damn proud of her. She was a smart woman who’d earned every inch of the respect she garnered.

Even seeing her sitting behind her large desk gave him a thrill. Her charcoal suit jacket was almost militaristic with its stand-up collar and silver button fobs. The office was also impressive. A large bank of shelves to one side had been filled with company and personal awards.

The dark wood desk would conceal any multitude of sins. If he knelt between her legs, he could lick her pussy until she came without anyone being the wiser. He craved her taste more than he wanted lunch.

She pressed her palms flat against the polished surface and stood. “Jon,” she said slowly. “What are you doing here?”

He quietly shut the door. The takeout plunked down on the corner of her desk, right next to a crystal award inscribed with her name. “I brought you Italian. Figured if I eat it too, you won’t think it’s laced with salmonella.”

“That’s sweet of you.” But her smile had gone wary. Again.

He’d assumed they were past that. Then again, he’d never been to her office, much less uninvited. He’d taken a risk. Regarding anything beyond her sex life, Heather didn’t take well to risks. He could sympathize, but he no longer wanted it to be an issue between them.

Easing around to her side, he tucked two fingers under the hem of her jacket. “Trust me, Ms. Morris. I had ulterior motives.”

“Oh, did you?”

He made a quiet sound of agreement as he tugged her near. She’d loosely wound her hair into a knot at the back of her head. It held the sweetly sultry scent he’d come to associate with her. He gently kissed her neck, gratified when she curved under the attention.

“Remember the first time you called me?”

She swallowed tightly. “Of course.”

“Do you know what I remember about that call?” He trailed a soft touch along the front placket of her jacket, circling each silver button clasp. His fingertips swept down and under her breasts.

Her shoulders tensed. “I bet I do.”

He smiled as if putting on a mask. Something was off about her today. “I remember the quiet, breathy sounds of you coming in my ear.”

A shudder took her over. She slanted her gaze toward him. A lick along her bottom lip left a glaze of saliva over her so-proper lipstick.

He caught the hem of her tailored skirt. “Want to try for a replay?”

“I…” Her voice had gone husky and breathy at the same time. “Jon, this is my office…”

A sweet flush of coffee sugared her lips. He kissed it away, delving deep with his tongue. Her fingers clenched his button-down shirt. He nestled his growing hard-on against the tops of her thighs.

She pulled back and shook her head so hard that a dark lock of hair slid free. “I shouldn’t. Not…now.”

Deep down, a twinge of frustration lurked in his gut. “Then we’ll eat as I try to talk you into playing hooky.”

She laughed, still sounding fairly tense. “I don’t think I can do that, either. The quarterly reports for the Wynn are due in two days and I took that time off when I was sick.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can talk you into, Ms. Morris.” He slanted her an impish smile as he laid out the cartons, flicked off the covers and stacked them neatly back in the plastic bag.

Heather eased into her seat. “Plastic silverware? You’re slumming it a bit, aren’t you?”

“One makes do how one must.” He drew the visitor’s chair up to the other side of the desk and sat down. “There’s an exhibit at the Hungerford Gallery that’s quite remarkable. Where Cass works.”

“What?” She paused in swirling up a forkful of pasta.

“When I get you to leave.” He hitched one foot up on his knee, takeout carton in his hand. “In about a half hour, I think. We’ll go to the gallery, and then back to your place. Once there, I plan on licking you from head to toe until you’ve come. Two or three times.”

Her fork clattered quietly against the tinfoil box. She leaned forward, sucking her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “Is that gallery open late?”

“Until seven.”

“So we could go later? Afterward?”

This time his smile came from somewhere deep inside. For a minute there, he’d been worried.

“We certainly could.”

The door swung open before they could pack up the food. An older guy with salt-and-pepper hair stuck his head through. He smiled genially. “Oh, sorry, Heather. I didn’t realize you had anyone in here. Am I interrupting?”

Jon waited four heartbeats for her to introduce him. Maybe not as her boyfriend. They weren’t so much that type of people, but as something. A friend. Hell, even his name would do.

She only shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Are you going to be at Mr. Quinn’s tomorrow night?”

She’d straightened her shoulders—drawn back until she was a stiff board against her big leather chair. She threw out a smile that seemed like a picture of a picture of a real one—grainy, now, and overly shiny. “Of course, Grant.”

“Stupid question, yeah?” Grant laughed. Lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and scored around his mouth. “Who wouldn’t be going to the company’s anniversary party?”

She dug the end of the plastic fork under her thumbnail. “No one I know.”

Except Jon.

Because she hadn’t mentioned it.

His muscles turned to rock under cold skin. Since his stomach had crunched down into a tiny pebble, he tossed his pancetta onto her desk. Her gaze flew to him, begging him for something. He couldn’t begin to guess what.

Grant edged farther into the room. “Rumor has it Mr. Quinn will make his announcement about who’s getting the promotion to director. You’ve got it in the bag, Heather.”

“You’ll jinx me.”

“Do you have a ride yet? Because I could pick you up. I’d love to, actually.”

Jon lifted an eyebrow, expecting Heather to turn the offer down flat. Instead she looked at her food. She pushed it away.

Shit.

He’d sworn he would never be here again, begging for attention from someone who didn’t have it to give. He’d been a kid then. Defenseless. Now it was different. He retreated deep inside himself, sliding back along years of training—years of not giving a damn. The smile he aimed at Heather felt wolfish.