Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (20 page)

“Hit anyone?”

“No. We run a better place than this.”

Jon peeled off a small stack of bills from his wallet and shoved them in her hand. “I’ll get her out of here.”

“Make sure she doesn’t come back.”

Leah had stripped the band from her ponytail. A dark mass of hair spread over her shoulders. “Hi, Jon.” She beamed. “Hear that song? This is
my
damn song. I think they played it for me.”

“Why don’t you come off there?”

“Don’t wanna.”

Heather laughed. “Come down or I’ll tell Jon he can spank your ass.”

“Crap. Can’t have that.” Even as Leah slurred the words, she scrambled down.

Dash took the shirt from the waitress and held it out to Leah. “Time to cover up. Save all the pretty for Han Solo.”

“God I wanna smack you tonight.”

“Don’t talk dirty to me. Sunny would have your head.”

Leah stuck out her tongue and flipped the shirt over her shoulder. She led the parade out of the joint. At least she was mobile this time.

She frowned when they made it to the valet. “I need a cab.”

“No, you don’t,” Jon said. “I’ll drive you home.”

“C’mon, in the Aston?” Dash shoved his hands in his pockets and laughed. “You’re out of your mind. She’s gonna puke all over your upholstery. Do you know how much it takes to get a car detailed? No wait, don’t answer that. Far too practical for a platinum-card guy.”

Leah wandered off, chatting up a knot of guys. One of them put a hand on her bare waist. Was that a
cigarette
in her hand?

“Whatever happens, it needs to be quick,” Jon said. “I’ve done it before. Besides, putting her in your little zipper of an Evo isn’t any better.”

“My car has four doors.”

“And an engine that belongs in a Ferrari. You take one turn too fast, and she’ll toss her cookies all over
your
upholstery. Explain that to Sunny.”

“Too true. Night, all.”

Heather angled closer to Jon. Most of the curl had dropped out of her hair. Damp tendrils stuck to her forehead. She looked gorgeous, as if freshly fucked. “I brought my car. Four-door sedan. No scary fast engine. Just give me her address and I’ll drop her off.”

Jon watched her for a moment, then helped secure Leah into the passenger seat. Only after discharging that duty did he catch Heather’s wrist and pull her close. “You know our night’s not over.”

“I’d be disappointed if it were.”

“Can’t have that. I’ll lead.”

“Driving, or with something else in mind?”

“Try me, Heather love.” He strode back to his Aston, once again riding high on anticipation.

Chapter Twenty-Three

As she drove, Heather kept glancing at Leah. The woman was hot. Shorter, fitter, with an effervescence that probably explained why her male friends put up with her antics. But then, Heather could relate too. She saw her old self in Leah’s behavior, so much so that she almost didn’t want to get involved. Almost. The stricken look on Jon’s face had convinced her. She’d never imagined he could look helpless.

The urge to take that burden from his shoulders had overpowered her fears about looking her past in the face. Only Leah’s face was elfin. Her baby-doll eyes listed to half-mast just before she popped the window and hugged it with the devotion of a lover.

“Oh, crap. Worse off than I thought.”

Heather nodded. “Always is.”

“You don’t seem the type.”

“Everyone says that. But everyone has a past too.”

Leah swept damp hair from her eyes and tossed a half-grin over her shoulder. “Ain’t that the truth. Only mine seems to be happening now.”

“Future regrets?”

“Something like that.” The woman covered her mouth with the back of her hand, swallowed a few times and closed her eyes.

Heather stopped at a red light, with Jon’s panther of a car right in front of her. She could imagine his anxiety from even that distance.

What was it about him that compelled such loyalty? And what would it be like to be on the receiving end of that same loyalty? Almost too bright to look at fully. She might want it too much when their relationship meant it was way out of reach.

She remembered what Jenn had said about taking the risk. Not yet. She just couldn’t. The thrill hadn’t worn off. Jon still scared the shit out of her. She couldn’t possibly open herself to a man that powerful. The hurt it caused when it fell through was something she never wanted to endure again.

“You two having fun?” Leah asked. “And don’t play dumb. Last thing you are is dumb.”

“Yes, we’re having fun.”

“He’s kinda known for that, but choosey with his chicks. You seem different, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“He hasn’t moved on yet. Makes sense to me. You’re a cool character.”

“Um…thanks?”

“Yup, meant as a compliment.” A giggle came out of nowhere, then disappeared on a flash of puke face. She hugged the open window once again.

“You need me to pull over?”

Several deep breaths later, Leah mumbled a negative. She slumped back in her seat. “He’s a good guy under all the bullshit. Would lie down in front of a truck for his friends.” She waved a hand toward her disheveled appearance. “As you might have noticed.”

“Any clue why?” God, she hated pumping an insensate woman for information, but it was a lot safer than playing head games with Jon to get the same answers. Ugh. She hadn’t thought herself quite that much a shrinking violet.

“His sister, I think. His parents. When folks leave, it’s hard not to cling hard to the ones who stay.” She seemed to warm to the topic, mostly sitting up. A relatively cool breeze added white noise to the inside of Heather’s Camry. It seemed almost private, as if that was the perfect place to divulge secrets—even if it still edged uncomfortably close to prying. “He comes across all playboy and shit, but he’s a fucking genius and a softy to boot.”

“A softy? That I don’t get.”

“You know what he does with his salary? The whole thing? Sixty-some grand a year goes straight to Operation Homefront. Supports hard-luck military families.”

Heather blinked. She could see it. Know it. When had that become possible? The suave stranger at the wine tasting didn’t give to home-front charities. But Jon Carlisle did.

“Did he actually tell you that?”

“Nah. Saw the envelope on his desk during one of our poker games with Ryan. We grilled him until he fessed up. Stubborn butthole.” Leah groaned and held her stomach. “Not much farther, by the way. Up here on the left.”

“Thank God.”

“Bitch,” she said with a grin. “I don’t tease him about it much ’cause he gets so damn prickly. Trash talking is easier, you know? He likes to keep it quiet. Not show off.”

Heather kept her eyes on the DBS’s lights just ahead. “That’s a switch.”

“You know fronting, right? You seem the type.” She grinned again. “One bitch to another.”

“Sure.” Heather kept her voice even. Noncommittal.

“Yeah, that’s him. Two years, and it’s a fucking miracle I know this much. You strong enough to dig past?”

Heather kept her attention trained carefully on the apartment numbers, away from answering the question. “Here we are, yes?”

Leah waggled her finger. “I saw that.”

“You’re awful insightful for being so drunk.”

“It’s a gift.”

Heather turned into the parking lot of a halfway-decent apartment complex. The stucco could use touching up, and the roof had seen better days, but the lot was amply lit and the walkways had recently been redone.

Maybe it was the sudden shift from forward motion to park that sparked Leah’s renewed nausea. She popped the passenger door open and swung her head outside. Heather didn’t need to look to know what came next. Listening was way plenty.

Jon gracefully unfurled from his sports car. He appeared to stroll as casually as always, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks, but he wore a tension across his shoulders that was easier to identify now.

“So you made it, Princess Leah.”

Heather shut her door and came around to the passenger side in time to see Leah’s thumbs-up. “No problem, Rin Tin Tin. Got it covered.”

“Well, your
shoes
are covered.”

“Dammit. I like these heels. But leather washes off as easy as rubber sheets, right?”

“Wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’m a Garnier Thiebaut man myself.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Means freaking expensive, yeah?”

“You could say that.” He held Heather’s hand and spoke near enough for privacy. “Well worth checking out, Ms. Morris. Decadent stuff.”

Was the look he slid Heather another dare? She knew he wanted her to see his place. Again came that shiver of intimacy she feared. Jerks didn’t want girls to come by and take a look at the ranch. Maybe playboy trust-fund boys did—showing off what they could offer beyond a slammin’ good time.

That just didn’t seem to be Jon anymore, especially after Leah’s slurred revelations left Heather more confused than ever.

Fielding his silent expectations was freaking her out. The urge to call it off battled right alongside the need to grab on and not let go.

He was too
good
to let go. So why were her hands shaking at the thought? Why did she want to jump in her car and run right back to her safe, placid, well-earned life?

She smacked into that word
coward
again.

Leah wiped her mouth with her wrist. “Ugh.”

“Classy, Princess. Up you go.” He used those strong, lean arms to haul the increasingly dazed woman to her feet. “Where are your keys?”

“Ass pocket.”

“Then you fish them out.”

“Aw, Dimples, don’t want your girlfriend to watch you feel me up?”

Jon scowled. “First off, you smell like a tequila factory with a side of vomit. Second, I’m pretty sure feeling up a fellow officer is frowned upon.” He put her arm around his neck. “Hold on, dumbass. I’m not carrying you again.”

Heather grabbed both purses and locked up, following the pair toward a first-level apartment. Leah managed to fish her key out from skintight jeans, but Jon unlocked the door. Lights on. In they went.

To say Leah’s apartment was a shock would’ve been an understatement. Everything was tidy. Spotless. Not a book or throw pillow or piece of hanging copper cookware out of place. The contrast was astonishing, considering her current state.

“Couch, bed or bathroom?” Jon asked.

“Bathroom, bed.”

“A fair improvement from last time. Kitchen floor wasn’t your best choice.”

“Neither was red wine with Jack and Coke.”

“Wine before whiskey, mighty risky.”

“How terribly folksy, rich boy.”

Jon snorted. “At least I took it to heart…about ten years ago. Get with it, Princess.”

That last line was sharp enough to jerk Heather’s attention away from an alphabetized Blu-ray rack. Although he continued his snide jokes, Jon revealed his fatigue in tight lines around his eyes and in the way his mouth never quirked. The rapport held the same bitter twinge as when he’d leveled country-club prigs with quietly sarcastic comments.

“Anything I can do?” she asked.

Jon looked back over his shoulder. His expression was nearly apologetic. “Take what you want from the kitchen. This’ll only take a minute.”

“Always with the chatter like I’m not here,” Leah said on a laugh. She surged out of Jon’s arms and flew toward what must’ve been the bathroom.

Jon’s shoulders slumped. Drawn to him, Heather crossed Leah’s immaculately vacuumed carpet—the lines from each pass still made a sunburst pattern in the pile. She exhaled then draped herself along his back, arms around his tense middle.

“You okay?”

Only a shrug, but eventually he relaxed. It took time, as if he was certain she’d pull away, that the comfort she offered was only temporary. He smelled good. A combination of light aftershave and sweat from when they’d danced in the club. Sex standing up. The thrill of when he’d watched her dance with that pretty blonde seemed very long ago.

“Let me get her into bed and we’ll get out of here,” he said. “She’ll sleep it off just fine.”

“No problem.”

He turned, his expression coming to life. “How was your girls’ night?”

“Fun. Really nice, actually. Jenn got bombed too.”

A ghost of a grin tipped one corner of his mouth. He rested his hands at her waist. No passion there, just what felt like a man holding on, needing something steady. Heather only wished she could offer that.

“So we’ve both been tending lushes all night?”

“Seems like.”

He kissed her forehead. “Glad you showed up. They were boring-ass company tonight.”

“Can’t have that.”

A steady, salacious look down her V-cut top tempted her playful Jon back to life.

Her Jon?

Get it together.

“I do like this one.” He skimmed his hands up her body until he cupped her breasts. One thumb toyed with her nipple ring through the sheer black fabric. “But then, you’re wearing it. Adds an undeniable appeal.”

“Flirt.”

“Unapologetically so.”

So, she couldn’t offer to see his place. Not yet. But maybe there was a safer middle ground to take that possibility off the table. A distraction.

She curled her fingers under his lapels. They stood nearly eye-to-eye. “On my birthday, I mentioned seeing your plane someday. Is that still a possibility?”

His brows lifted. “On your birthday, hm? Was that before or after you’d awoken every innocent creature in the desert?”

“Before.” She toyed with the lapels of his suit then began unbuttoning his coat. “I’ve heard you’re a fighter pilot. Need to see it for myself.”

“Because fighter pilots are fucking studs.”

The vest beneath was hot with the pulse of his body. “Oh, yes.”

“A week from Thursday.” It wasn’t a question, which she liked more than she could understand. Her idea, but his commitment to it. “Maintenance day. Boring-as-hell classes, but no flights. We’ll have pretty easy access after, say, four.”

Heather did a mental check of her calendar and nodded. “I’ll clear what I need to.”

Frank satisfaction shaped his mouth. A flash of dimples. “Cool.”