Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (35 page)

She shrugged into her flight jacket, as if unconsciously reinforcing Mike’s realization. Pilot. Colleague.

Boredom was making them both fools.

“Leah?”

Pausing, her hands wrapped around her helmet, she tossed loose hair over her shoulder. God, she’d do that if she were riding him—that sharp flick. He swallowed back a groan.

“What?” she asked. “Chickening out? That doesn’t bode well for your future as an Aggressor.”

He grinned at that. She had no idea.

Screw it. Tuesday was a long-ass ways away.

Jacket on, helmet on, he gunned the throttle. One of the valets gave him a thumbs-up, which made him grin all over again. He angled his bike around the semicircular driveway. Leah’s squealing engine revved in reply, right on his tail.

The Strip was almost painfully bright, all neon and shimmer. Leah rode beside him. Her posture was taut and low as if she’d been the professional motocross racer, not her dad. Did she take nothing by half measures?

For the sake of their evening together, Mike hoped not.

The traffic thinned as they continued back toward base, giving him time enough to wonder if he’d read her wrong. Maybe his hard-up arousal had been feeding him signs that weren’t there. She was just fucking with him. It wasn’t like she had any idea what really awaited her at his place.

No whips, unless you counted the corded tassels on his flogger.

No chains, unless you counted the locks on his wrist restraints.

And none of that was meant for her.

If a woman didn’t go for power, the whole prospect might seem damn strange, or even a turn-off. He hadn’t made that mistake since meeting Georgia, but he didn’t like the idea of misreading Leah so badly. The evening wouldn’t be a complete loss, no matter what happened, but the hard ache in his chest and the itch under his skin wanted more than a passable hump.

If for no other reason, he wanted her to know how much he’d changed. He knew they could be amazing together.

The pink terror of a bike zipped past him. Leah flipped him off then gunned it again. Mike laughed. He couldn’t hear it and could barely feel it, but his laugh was deep and rich. Doubt fizzled to nothing. If ever there were a woman who liked being in charge, it was Princess Leah.

He leaned low over his BMW and let the engine get its growl on. Easily he pulled alongside her and even edged ahead before backing off. The power was there. The sheer blunt muscle. He didn’t need to blow her out of the water to make the point.

A minute later they hauled ass out of the city. The environs just outside Nellis were the type preferred by military the world over, tidy and small. Mike turned on to a side street, amused when Leah had to double back to follow. A few wan streetlights seemed like caveman times compared to the glare of Las Vegas Boulevard.

He steered into his driveway. Leah killed her engine almost in tandem, leaving the night air of that tiny neighborhood suddenly quiet. Her laugh followed as she stripped off her helmet. “Shit, that was fun.”

Mike banked the hard shudder brought on by her satisfied words. “Keep it down, will ya?”

“Says the man on the Harley.” She eyed the little single-car garage as if she’d never seen one before. “Really? Like, a real house?”

“Why not?”

“Your secret isn’t whips and chains, Michael. It’s a wife and three kids.”

“You keep hedging like this and I’ll assume I was right.”

She went toe-to-toe with him, chin up. Although she wasn’t a short woman, she barely came up to his collarbones—more to do with his height rather than her lack of stature. “Right about what?”

“About you being scared.”

Daring her was like cutting a line for an addict. She seemed unable to resist. Her baby-doll eyes took on that heavy-lidded condescension, telling him he wasn’t worth noticing. He stifled the urge to back down and apologize. After all, he stood a better chance of getting what he wanted if she were slightly…pissed off.

Just a little.

“I don’t get scared, Templeton. You should know that about me.”

“Everyone has limits. Secrets. Dark places.”

“Well, that is why we’re here, isn’t it? C’mon then, dungeon master.”

She led the way up to his front door.
She
led
him
. Mike hid a grin behind his fist.

He flipped on the overhead light in the entryway, groping around in the unfamiliar space.

“So why the full-on house? Most single guys go for the bachelor pad deluxe.”

“Complete with locker-room-stank smell? Not my style.” He hung his helmet and jacket on a couple of pegs and nodded for Leah to do the same. “You want something to drink?”

This was a test, even if she didn’t know it. If Leah ordered a double Jack and Coke, he’d give up on the idea of anything too elaborate. Rules were important. Rules like no drinking. Both parties needed to know the boundaries and when to stop. He wouldn’t hand his keys to a girl drenched in alcohol, and he wouldn’t hand over his body either.

Leah slipped out of her flight jacket with a shrug. The scent of warm leather clung to her. “Just a soda. Whatever.”

“Cool,” he said on an exhalation. “Come on in.”

She followed him through the near-empty rooms, looking everything over. He didn’t have curtains yet. No blinds. The best he’d managed in the bedroom was a heavy blanket over the curtain rod. Their footsteps echoed on the hardwood. The nearly empty house was fit for ghosts to haunt.

Mike grabbed two cans of Coke Zero out of the fridge, which didn’t contain much else. Half-and-half for his morning coffee. A jug of milk for cereal. Lunch meat and condiments. His cabinets didn’t look much better. “I’d offer you a glass but I can’t remember where I put them.”

“No problem.”

She tabbed it open and took a swallow. Mike found himself staring at the flex of muscles along her throat. He wanted his mouth right there, sucking.

“But no, seriously,” she said. “Why a house?”

He leaned against the countertop, stretching his legs. “Maybe how I was brought up. You know, the rhythm of seasonal chores.”

“No mowing here.”

“You have no imagination. I bet I can get some grass going.” He swigged a few gulps of Coke, glad for a moment to regain his composure. If he could breathe, he could do this right. “Owning is out of the question, obviously, but I like something that sort of pretends to be normal.”

“A man’s bungalow is his castle?”

“Sure. Why not.”

And he waited. No way was the first move going to be his. Her frustration and slight edge of confusion showed in her nervous energy. She was an active, buzzing sort of woman anyway, but without purpose she turned downright fidgety. “So?”

“So?” he echoed.

“You got me here.”

“True.”

She took a deep breath that showed off her rack. Nipples still tight. Goddamn.

“So why haven’t you tried to kiss me yet?”

Mike pinched his fingers around the lip of the countertop. “Because you haven’t told me I could.”

The hauteur was gone. So was any obvious frustration. She narrowed her eyes, using her gaze as a pickax to dig into his brain. He opened up to her inspection. He had nothing to hide. Not anymore.

“What is this about?” she asked carefully. The tone of her voice was soft, slightly awed, as if she perched on the edge of understanding.

Mike’s throbbing dick was begging for her to make that leap.

“Come on. Let me show you something.” He pushed away from the counter and walked with stiff legs to his bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he forced his body to unclench.
Breathe.

She stood in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame. But she teased the ends of her hair—a nervous tell. “Mike, talk to me.”

He resisted her command, instead nodding to his bedside table. When he’d unpacked his gear that morning, he certainly hadn’t thought he would be using it so soon. “Open it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she sauntered forward. “Ah. Your proof, I suppose?”

“Sure.”

Leah slid open the drawer. Her mouth opened on a quiet noise. Eyes wide, she flashed him a questioning glance. He only shrugged.

She reached in, hands unsteady, and removed a length of leather studded with decorative rivets. A tiny padlock dangled from one end.

His wrist restraints.

Mike swallowed. Hard. He could barely hear past the rushing whirl of blood in his ears. That pulse matched the throb in his cock. For what he hoped would be the last time that night, he took the lead. When Leah turned to him once more, her expression a mess of questions, he lifted his arms and presented her with his wrists.

The key to sun, sand, and sin is total surrender…

Key West

© 2011 Lacey Alexander

Hot in the City, Book 3

Carrie Marsh is on her Key West honeymoon—alone. After discovering her fiancé fooling around with a bridesmaid on her wedding day, she figures the trip will help her clear her head and move on. But she doesn’t expect inspiration to appear in the form of a tan, sexy boat captain ready to introduce her to the island’s legendary, free-spirited debauchery.

Carrie isn’t the first beach bunny that hard-working, harder-playing Chris McCann has partied with, but peeling away her innocence to find her inner bad girl affects him like no one has before. Her sexual awakening burns hotter than the Key West sun, melting his resistance and incinerating any hope he has of keeping their relationship casual.

All too soon, Carrie’s return to reality is a plane ride away and neither of them is ready for the fantasy to end. But Carrie has a business to return to, and Chris’s livelihood is on the island. And besides, Carrie is just beginning to recover from the wedding that wasn’t, and Chris isn’t a settling-down kind of guy. So it only makes sense to leave the sun, sand, and sensuality of the island behind. But can she walk away from her hedonistic week with Chris without looking back?

Warning: Contains a ticket to a party cruise where anything goes—the rum punch is flowing, inhibitions (and clothes) disappear, and the captain (and his crew) are ready to cater to every erotic desire. Come as you are…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Key West:

Upon their arrival, Chris had pointed out to everyone the area in the turquoise blue waters that appeared slightly darker, more shadowy, indicating it was the reef. Carrie swam toward it, following the other snorkelers—but she hadn’t traveled twenty feet when a warm hand closed around her ankle. “Wait up, angel.”

Looking back, she blinked behind her mask, surprised Chris was already in the water. “How’d you get here so fast?”

“Secret maneuver.” He grinned. “I jumped off the side.”

She smiled in reply. “Well, where are those great fish spots you bragged about?”

“Follow me.”

He was a good, swift swimmer, and Carrie had trouble keeping up with him until she grabbed onto the bottom hem of his dark green trunks and let him pull her along. When they reached the reef, she followed his lead, putting her snorkeling tube in her mouth and immersing her face in the water. The simple act opened a whole new underwater world as her eyes fell on mounds of brown and golden coral growing up from the ocean floor. Fish of all sizes swam beneath them, some darting about haphazardly, others looking as if they were out for a leisurely journey, and with the help of Chris’s pointing finger, she saw countless tropical fish over the next hour. She spotted a number of beautiful fish in iridescent rainbow colors—schools of yellow and black fish swam just beneath them repeatedly, followed by a large green one that ducked in and out of coral arches in search of smaller fish to eat. Her favorite find was a lobster crawling across the ocean floor, which she’d never have noticed without Chris’s help.

Of course, just feeling his presence next to her in the water kept her sexual nerves on edge, and the instances when they bumped together in the waves were like wonderful little teases, tastes of what might be to come. Even as she enjoyed the snorkeling, she found herself thinking of later, wondering what would happen—if anything. But given all the attention he was paying her—not to mention his sensual application of sunscreen—she had a feeling something more
would
definitely occur, and this time she’d welcome it without worry.

Still peering down into the gnarled coral, she followed Chris’s pointing finger to something that looked like…a shark. She grabbed his muscled arm, hard, and he looked up.

“
Was that a shark?
”

He nodded—and she panicked, her every nerve going spastic as she threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his torso, as if she could somehow climb up his body to safety.

His arms closed warm around her waist beneath the water, but he didn’t even look worried. “Just a nurse shark, angel. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“What do you mean, nothing to be alarmed about?” she spat, still clinging to him.

“Look at me. Do I look worried? Do you see me screaming ‘Shark! Shark!’ to the other snorkelers? Everything’s fine. That little shark won’t hurt anybody—we see them all the time.”

Pulling her even closer now, though, he seemed to realize just how intimately embraced they’d become. “Not that I mind you climbing all over me. In fact, I like it.” He flashed the seductive grin she was getting used to and she realized his cock was growing hard against her pussy, which somehow felt supercharged as he rubbed against her beneath the water.

She forgot all about the shark when he began caressing her hips, his hands soon kneading her ass. Instinctively, she raked her breasts over his chest just beneath the ocean’s clear surface—then glanced down to see her nipples, hard and grazing his skin, the water seeming to cocoon them now. Everywhere the water touched her felt like a small, light caress—it felt more as if they were wrapped in velvet than H
₂
O.

She wished like hell she wasn’t wearing her silly flippers or mask. Reaching up, she yanked the mask off her face, looping it around her wrist, then did the same for him. Ah yes, so much nicer to look into those blue eyes without anything in the way.