Authors: Mina Carter and Chance Masters
Wildcard
Wildcard
Mina Carter and Chance Masters
Copyright Warning
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to file sharing sites, downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (
http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/
).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By:
Etopia Press
P.O. Box 66
Medford, OR 97501
Wildcard
Copyright © 2011 by Mina Carter and Chance Masters
ISBN: 978-1-936751-46-4
Edited by Georgia Woods
Cover by Mina Carter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: July 2011
~ Dedication ~
To those who support us, friends and family alike. Without you guys, none of this would be possible. Thank you.
His brains were going to dribble out of his ears. Michael scowled at the drink in his hand. He
loathed
country music. Loathed it with a passion matched only by the heat of a thousand fiery suns. What he’d done to deserve being trapped in a bar playing the damn stuff while the rest of his squad made friends with the locals, he didn’t know. Lifting his long island ice tea, he took a dragging sip of it. The taste of the mixed liquor hit his tongue sharp and slid down his throat with a bittersweet taste.
“Dude, Thrivener. C’mon man. Parra just scored a group of chicks, we need our marksman.”
Polanco, his battle buddy, appeared out of nowhere and slapped Michael’s shoulder. He sighed and put his drink down, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He was tired, grouchy, and it was hard to get into the mood in this dive. Especially when places like Cagney’s down the road were jumping on Thursdays. Ladies’ night was always a big hit there.
“Fine… But you owe me a shot.”
“OK. Name your poison, bro.”
Michael thought for a moment. Pursing his lips, he checked out the top shelf. “Get me a Four Horsemen.”
Polanco whistled lowly, then laughed and left for the bar. Easily locating the squad the other side of the bar, Michael made his way to Parra’s side. Nudging the Ecuadorian in the side, he nodded toward the group of women the gang was talking to.
“Who’re the ladies?” Michael pitched his voice just loud to carry over the Boot Scootin’ Boogie. Parra shrugged and flashed his trademark grin.
“Does it matter?”
“Nah, guess not. Another day, another chick.” Michael glanced down. His drink was dangerously low, but before he could say anything, Polanco arrived fresh from the bar with a round.
“Thanks.” Michael lifted the shot glass to his friends and downed it in one swallow. It hit the back of his throat like a fireball and burned all the way down. He sucked a quick breath in, his eyes threatening to water. Blinking quickly, he lowered the glass and swept an assessing glance over the group of women.
All chattering, vapid bimbos, they weren’t his type; they were all too damn skinny. He liked a little padding on his women. Proper curves rather than the half-starved boyish figure which had become fashionable recently. There was nothing exciting about cuddling up to a washboard.
Losing interest, he turned toward the bar. If he wasn’t out to pull tonight, then at least he could get rip-roaring drunk and forget the horror of the last two weeks that way instead of between the thighs of a hot and willing woman. He grimaced. Second best, but at the moment, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with a troll looking for an easy ride on a soldier’s benefits package.
Saddling up to the bar, he slid the empty glass across the counter and gave it a nod. The bartender gave it a look then glanced back to him. “Long island, right?”
Michael nodded and rubbed his ears with a groan. This music was just killing him. He was going to strangle whoever came up with the brilliant idea of showing up here tonight.
“Impossible…”
He bitched under his breath as he scanned the place again. How was he supposed to score in this place? He scoffed, took the now revitalized long island, and pounded half the glass. The mix poured over his tongue like a blitzkrieg of rampaging razor blades and lemon juice before it slid down his throat in one sour movement.
Putting the glass down on the table just this side of a slam, he wondered how many long islands he could manage before he either passed out, or more likely, drank the bar dry. Frustration simmered in his chest as he looked over his shoulder. The guys were busy working up to their “divide and conquer” routine. Tried and tested, it meant all of them would get laid tonight, and they were laying the charm on thick to make sure it happened.
Michael sighed and turned around to lean back against the bar. The movement pulled his faded t-shirt tight across his chest, which got the attention of the local trolls. He ignored them. They’d get excited if someone stuck a cardboard cutout of Eisenhower in here. All they were interested in was a military benefits package. As long as their prey was wearing a uniform, they didn’t really care.
Fortunately, they were easy to deal with. Standard operating procedure was to head off to a hotel room to “handle business,” give them the number to a pay-as-you-go cell, then spend the next morning bleeding the minutes dry texting your squad about the night prior. After a couple of years, he was pretty practiced at it. He just didn’t feel like dealing with it tonight.
Casually, his gaze rolled back to the boys. They were just ramping up to decide who got who. He sighed and gestured for a refill.
“Third one of the night. You’re on a roll,” the bartender said with a sassy grin.
“Darlin’, you ain’t seen anything yet.” He gave her a wink and took the full glass with him. Sliding in beside Rod and Parra, he gestured to his drink. “Sorry, had to burn a few off before I was good n’ ready. So…who are we?” he asked the ladies with a practiced smile and a shitload of false sincerity.
“I’m Diana…”
“Stephanie…”
By the third name, Michael had stopped listening and just smiled in the appropriate places. Already he could see the sparkle of calculation in their eyes as they tried to work out who was the highest ranked in the group and thus earned the most money.
“Oh, and Jasmine just went to
powder her nose
,” one of them announced, waving in the vague direction of the ladies’ room before she leaned forward and gave them all a good view of her cleavage. Like balloons stuck on a twig. Michael stuck his nose in his glass again.
He took a long, hard drag of his drink and suppressed the sigh that wanted to inflate his chest. He was starting to feel pretty buzzed and his apathy was in full gear. He leaned over to Parra and gave him a soft nudge of the elbow.
“They’re all yours. I’ll take the wildcard.”
Parra glanced at him like he was sick in the head. “You never take the wildcard.”
Michael shrugged. “Eh, just not feeling this bunch. You guys have your pick. I’ll take the leftovers.”
Parra didn’t argue. No one wanted to be saddled with the wildcard, the unknown in any bunch, much less asked for it. He took the busty one dead center, saddling up on the couch next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The rest descended like vultures on a fresh kill.
Without a lady to cozy up to, Michael sat in a tall chair just off the dance floor with his glass. Idly he scanned the female populace, just in case there was anyone who either caught his eye or who he felt the need to tear the clothes off for a night of hot and sweaty sex.
His gaze had just swept the dance floor and dismissed all possibilities when the door to the ladies’ room opened. The wildcard.
Michael looked up and the glass paused halfway to his lips.
It was the hair that drew him in at first. Dark as obsidian, it was soft and wavy, not fancy. Simple, and Michael was in the mood for simple. Just one look at her and his cock stirred with interest.
He wasn’t even past the hair when her dark eyes hit him. Exotic, they looked either Latin or Asian. Maybe a mix of both? He’d seen his fair share of Latin being around the guys. She could pass, but not entirely. It was a blend of drop-dead-sexy with slightly sophisticated, and a dash of innocence all tossed into one tightly sealed packaged he wanted to rip into.
The lips, oh God, were they full. He’d kissed a lot of women in his day, and those lips were the set he wanted now. Nice, full, and pert, like Angelina Jolie had just handed them out on loan. He’d have to write to Angie later and thank her for her generosity.
The wildcard was dressed in slacks and a simple blouse for going out. Black, nothing fancy or tacky like the rest of her group… Trolls, the lot of them. It showed off just enough of her breasts to make him want to reach out and cup them as he pulled her into him. The hourglass shape of her torso and her lean yet curvy frame…almost made him suspicious she was a soldier herself.
As soon as he thought it, Michael dismissed the idea. She wasn’t military. If there was a soldier on base that looked as hot as she did, he’d have heard about it before now. Hell, he’d have been camped out in the line that’d form outside her barracks.
She had a natural yet subdued beauty to her. Like dolling up wasn’t something she did often, or maybe just not tonight. Perhaps country music wasn’t high up on her list either? He smothered an amused chuckle. The wildcard was hot, rather than the dog they all assumed her to be. This was going to set Parra right off.
She walked his way and Michael shifted in his seat to get a better look at her. Black pants hugged a firm, shapely ass and a pair of legs he itched to peel the fabric from and run his hands over. His eyebrow lifted in approval. This was his catch for the night, no two ways about it he decided, and set his empty down on the table next to him.
He stood in one lithe movement, then like the predator he was, stalked her across the bar. Seeing someone walking down the narrow route between the two tables she was headed for, she altered her route through the crowded bar, skirting around a table to avoid him. Michael cursed under his breath and changed direction.
He finally caught up to her as she spied her girlfriends with the guys and stopped, a look of surprise on her face. Pulling to a halt next to her, he ventured a sideways look and a soft smile. It was a subtle movement, not too obvious, but it gave him all the visuals he needed to mentally strip the fabric from her body and imagine those curves under his hands as he pressed her against the wall.
“They mentioned one of their friends was in the restroom, so I figured I’d hang back and warn you. That, and I’m not much into honky-tonk either.” He paused a minute to let it digest, then like clockwork, followed up.
“Sorry, I’m Michael. Those are my friends Parra, Rodriguez, and Polanco. The big guy feeling up your friend over there is Saldana.”
He offered his hand to shake. It was all an elaborate dance. A mating ritual of sorts. He’d been through this so often he probably fucked strangers while sleepwalking. She nodded, still assessing the scene in front of her for a second, and then turned to him. Those dark eyes treated him to a head-to-toe sweep that left him tingling all over, as though she’d done more than just look at him. Calm, methodical. Used to crazy-ass schedules and last minute deployments with the bunch of testosterone-fueled adrenalin junkies that made up his squad, Michael liked calm and methodical. All the more fun to push her to the edge under him until she came, screaming his name.
“So I see.” Her lips compressed as she looked back at Saldana and his “date.”
Michael frowned, watching her closely. She was older than he’d thought, or than her smooth skin and youthful appearance hinted at. It was in her eyes, a world-weary expression that mirrored the woes deep in his soul.
“I’ll wager a guess you don’t come here often, do you? Not that I do either. This isn’t my scene and I kinda feel a fifth wheel in all this. Just glad I didn’t get stuck as the designated driver, because I wouldn’t be caught dead here without something to destroy some brain cells against this music. Care for something?”
He gestured to the bar, figuring something soft at first to loosen her up and part those legs a little bit, then he’d move in for the kill with the Thrivener charm.
It was such a careful art it should be illegal.
“I should really stay with my…” She trailed off midway through her argument when she realized her friends were all occupied, the men holding their attention easily and totally. Michael smothered a grin of pride. Watching the squad in action was like seeing poetry in motion.
He turned his attention back to her. She was different from her friends. They wore the clothes and played the part. This one though…something about her struck a chord deep within him. She seemed out of place and out of sorts in here. Like she could blend in if she wanted to, but didn’t really belong.
“C’mon then; they don’t look like they’re going anywhere for a bit.”
He took her hand in his. His thumb swept over the inside of her wrist, noting the delicate bones there and the small shiver of response. He bit back his smile. He’d barely touched her. Responsive was good, very good. He looped her arm through his as he escorted her to the bar. It was the work of a second to grab a barstool and help her up while he stood to the side, stopping his instinctive reaction to wedge his hips between her delicious thighs and kiss her until she was breathless.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked once he’d gotten her settled, using the crush of the bar to make sure he stood close. Close enough to feel the heat rising from her body and for the evocative scent of her perfume to wind around him.
That’s it, darlin’, not a lot of room here. Just give a guy a break and part those gorgeous legs a little.
She shifted and his breathing caught. Was she… But then she folded one leg over the other elegantly, making space for him to stand between her and the bar. Michael bit back a growl of frustration.
Her eyebrow lifted, and a hint of amusement colored her eyes. “You’re planning on letting me actually talk this time?”
The bartender caught his attention, so he ordered something light to start with. Always best to work from the bottom up. While they waited, he shrugged to her question and glanced into her dark eyes. It was like swimming in a pool of dark chocolate.