Let It Ride (5 page)

Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled. “You're your own worst enemy, Mitch.”

“The hell I am.” McCabe spun on his stool and poked a finger in Hughes's chest. “I just lost a bet because of you.”

“What are you talking about? You mean that Keno girl actually slept with Jackson?”

“Don't act so innocent,” cajoled McCabe. “The only way Ms. Crash-and-Burn would have slept with Cole after only knowing him three days—” McCabe slowly stood “—is if you told her about the bet and then y'all cooked up a scheme for her to do him. Jus' because I fluhted with her a little, she had to get revenge? Well, what'd I evah do to you, huh?” By the end of his tirade he was swaying and several people were staring. Hughes looked about ready to break a glass over his head.

“I had nothing to do with you losing a bet, you jackass,” she ground out between her teeth. “But I almost wish I had.”

“I thought you were different, Hughes.” McCabe's tone changed. “I thought you were one of us.”

“Yeah, well, that's your mistake, McCabe.” Hughes poked him in the chest. “Thinking I'm not a woman.”

McCabe pushed her finger away. “You're not,” he mumbled.

Hughes's eyes narrowed into furious slits. “What did you say?”

McCabe tipped sideways. Though he was twice her size, Hughes caught him. Deep concern crossed her features before she flattened her expression again.

What had that look been about? If Cole didn't know better…He stood and placed his hand on McCabe's back. “Hey, buddy. Let's see if we can catch a game on TV in the bar.”

McCabe swung around to him, his eyes wide and unfocused. “I thought she was one of us, Jackson.”

“I'll take him home,” Hughes volunteered. She glanced at Cole, her arms still holding McCabe up. “Grab his keys, would you? He can't drive like this.”

“I can take him.” Cole reached into McCabe's jacket pocket.

Hughes shook her head. “You stay. I'm ready to get out of here. He can catch a ride back into town tomorrow and retrieve his car.” She looked up at McCabe. “Mitch, I'm taking you home, buddy.”

“Okay.” He threw his arm over her shoulders, his accusations evidently forgotten. “Won't be the first time, eh, Hughes?” He shot her an evil grin.

Cole handed Hughes McCabe's keys. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Hughes nodded and headed for the exit with McCabe leaning heavily on her.

Cole glanced at his watch. About time for shift change.

He scooped up his pack of chips and stood, scanning the room for—yeah, okay, so he was looking for her.
Who said it had to be a different woman every night? That was McCabe's rule, right? Just because he'd been hurt by his ex. So what if Cole wanted to hook up with the same woman more than once? The conditions would still apply. No strings. Just a good time.

A hell of a good time.

He just hadn't gotten enough of her yet, that's all. It'd happened so fast. This time they'd go up to his room, have space to move around. Take it slow and easy on a soft bed, and maybe he'd order some wine and a midnight dinner and they'd slip into the bathtub after, and then they'd do it all over again.

He was hard just thinking about the things he wanted to do to her.

Carrying his chips under his arm, he made his way around the perimeter of the casino looking for Jordan, and the more ground he covered without seeing her, the more his stomach knotted.

A siren of ringing bells and flashing lights signaled someone had hit the jackpot at the slots. The noise irritated him, drowned out any other sound, and he recognized he'd have to get used to loud noises making him virtually deaf.

Like a starving desert coyote on the hunt for elusive prey, he checked the Keno betting booths, wandered to the chips counter and cashed in, and then strolled over to the employees' entrance. Every time he spotted a waitress in a red uniform he'd do a double take, but it was never Jordan. Annoyance scratched along his nerves as he paced back to the roulette wheel. Still no sign of her.

A fever burned inside him. Where was she? The longer he stalked her, the more his heart pounded, the more his blood rushed through his veins and a sweat broke out on his upper lip. To hell with this. She had to be here. He felt like a desperate man, betting everything he owns on one last role of the dice, as he grabbed a chair, stepped up onto it and scanned the room.

 

“U
M
…J
ORDAN
.”
Sherri tapped her shoulder. “Look.”

Something in Sherri's tone set the fine hairs on the back of Jordan's neck tingling. Sherri sounded half excited, half frightened. Jordan gave the lady from Texas her Keno cards and change, accepting a generous tip, and then slowly turned.

Her breathing hitched, and then failed altogether. The noise of the casino retreated, her surroundings faded. She swallowed as she stared across the room. Cole.

His intense gaze might as well have been armor-piercing. His dark eyes sent an unspoken message: I want you. And now she knew the power in that body, barely restrained, that lay beneath his leather jacket. The passion waiting to be unleashed in those strong arms. The expertise of his mouth. As she stood there he disappeared from sight, and she knew he was coming for her.

Her mind screamed,
Run. Escape.
Now, while she could. But her legs wouldn't move. Her feet had become lead weights anchored to the carpet. She looked to Sherri for support, but her supposed friend had deserted her, strolling off into the crowd to sell Keno cards. Traitor.

When Jordan turned back Cole was standing before
her. She gasped a giant breath of air into her deprived lungs and her senses filled with the height and width of him. The musk of his aftershave, the starch of his shirt, the roughness of his jaw. And his eyes a pure, rich brown.

“I still want you,” he rasped, then winced, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just admitted.

“I—I'm working.” She was hot, restless.

“After your shift.”

She glanced down, saw his fists clench and unclench. Saw the ridge behind his zipper. She closed her eyes to block the intense feelings.

One more for the road. Should she? Could she handle the aftermath?

He reached up and fingered a curly lock of hair just below her shoulder. “I'm in Tower One. Sixteen-oh-two.” His knuckles grazed the skin above her breast.

She shivered.

“Will you come up?” He twined the curl around his index finger and stared at the ringlet as if it was water and he'd been dying of thirst.

Yes
was on the tip of her tongue. She knew how good it would be between them, rolling around on a bed, skin to skin everywhere this time. His touch would scorch. His kiss would incinerate. She sensed there were currents of emotion he kept under tight control. He might leave her burned, but he'd never leave her cold and indifferent.

Yet she couldn't afford to be burned again. Wanting someone this badly couldn't be good. This kind of craving led to obsession, to disastrous decisions.

Come on, Jordan. Use your intellect. What were the
odds that this guy had the potential to completely devastate what was left of her common sense? Too high. She was smarter than that, wasn't she?

He ran the back of his fingers softly across her collarbone, moving lower.

Her skin prickled with awareness. One more night.

“Your skin is so soft.” He looked up, his brows drawn tightly together. “And you smell so good.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she was about to give in. She still wanted him, too.

“Hughes told ya 'bout the bet, din' she?” Captain McCabe stumbled against Jordan.

She blinked and looked at him. “Bet?”

“McCabe.” Cole inserted himself between them. “Shut. Up.” He ground the words between his teeth.

The captain tapped his temple with his index finger and winked. “She convinced ya ta sleep with Jackson so I'd lose, right?”

A sharp pain stabbed Jordan in the chest. “What?” Her eyes stung. Cole had only seduced her to win a bet…

“Mitch.” A petite female soldier in shapeless camos stalked up and gripped the captain's shoulder. “Come on, Mitch. You're wasted, buddy.”

“I just want the truth!” Captain McCabe said loudly.

Heads turned. Jordan backed away. Humiliation blazed in her face and gut.

“Jordan.” Cole grabbed her arm. “Let me explain.”

She jerked out of his grasp.

He reached for her again but the woman soldier, a captain also by her insignia, grabbed his wrist. “Let her
be, Jackson. Why don't you take McCabe home? He won't listen to me.”

Thankful for the woman's interference, Jordan drew in a deep breath and glanced at her floor supervisor, who was edging closer toward Captain McCabe. She couldn't afford for her boss to witness another scene. Even worse, she couldn't face Cole. Couldn't think. She should have trusted her instincts, known there was more to his intense seduction.

“You really didn't know about the bet?” Captain McCabe murmured as he swayed to one side and Cole caught him.

“Not until just now, you ass,” the female captain snapped at him.

Her nails digging into her palms, Jordan avoided looking at Cole as she took another step back. “I have to work.” She turned and made a hasty escape into the protective shroud of the casino.

Footsteps sounded behind her, solid footsteps, but lighter than the major's heavy trod. Jordan turned to see the woman captain following. “I'm really sorry about all that.”

“No problem.” Jordan only wanted to forget the whole thing. Weaving in between slot machines, she increased her stride, making her way to the Keno lounge.

But the woman kept pace with her. “Major Jackson's a good man, Ms. Brenner.”

Without pausing, Jordan glanced at the female captain. “Right. 'Cause only good men have sex with a woman on a bet.”

“Not worthy of an airman, I agree. But his recent injuries have changed him.”

Jordan stopped. “What do you mean? How?”

The woman stuck out her right hand. “I'm Captain Hughes,” she said, then shrugged. “Alexandria.”

Feeling as if she'd stepped into a bizarre reality show, Jordan shook her hand. “Jordan. So, how have Cole's injuries changed him?”

Captain Hughes—Alexandria—narrowed one eye and drew in a deep breath, then clasped her hands behind her back. “I think that's something Jackson would need to tell you himself.”

A
S SHE SAT IN HER OFFICE
on base the next morning, Captain Alexandria Hughes practically rubbed her hands together in glee. Mitch McCabe, the ladies' man of Las Vegas, had finally, incredibly, got what was coming to him. A month of forced celibacy.

And just to make sure Mitch's thirty days without a woman wasn't wasted, Alex was going to take advantage of his predicament and use it for a little payback.

Last month McCabe had sent a strip-o-gram to her office on her thirtieth birthday. That was only the most recent in a series of devious plots and outrageous pranks that had been going on for twelve years.

They'd been springing practical jokes on each other since they were cadets at the academy. One of the worst was when McCabe got her arrested in Guam for solicitation of a male prostitute. She'd sweated it out in that holding cell for more than three hours before McCabe showed up with a shit-eating grin and let her know the MPs were in on the prank.

But she'd had her revenge. One night a few months later she'd spiked his beer and he'd woken up hand
cuffed to his bed, wearing women's lingerie. His hair had been dyed hot pink and his nails—fingers and toes—painted to match. McCabe had refused to drink anything she handed him for years after that.

Now, Mitch's cell phone—with all those women's numbers he kept in there—called to her from her desk drawer, begging her to use it. In the struggle to help him to her car last night she'd snatched it from his pocket and he hadn't even noticed.

Oh, she knew about the stored phone numbers. Even before his marriage he'd been a ladies' man, handsome and charming. And women would leave their numbers on whatever available surface they could find. But, he'd been different back then. He'd always been mischievous, but he'd never been malicious. It wasn't until after his divorce that he'd turned into this new, callous Mitch. The player, the serial dater trying to screw everything in a skirt to get even for the way he'd been screwed.

Only Alex knew everything Luanne had done to him. What the ugly divorce had cost Mitch.

But enough was enough. It was time for him to get over it. And him losing this bet afforded her the perfect opportunity to give Captain Mitchell Lee McCabe a taste of his own medicine.

Alex grabbed his cell phone out of her drawer, snapped it open, and began working her way through his phone book.

 

M
ORE NERVOUS
than he cared to admit, Cole strode up the walkway to Jordan's apartment.

He had to apologize. And, yeah, maybe he just didn't like to admit defeat, but he hadn't given up on the whole dinner-and-bath-in-his-hotel-room idea. Luckily, she was off today. Maybe seeing him away from the casino would help.

He raised a fist and knocked on her door.

It opened too fast for her to have checked the peephole and he made a mental note to caution her about opening the door without looking to see who it was first. This rundown apartment complex wasn't in the best neighborhood.

The shocked expression on her face wasn't exactly encouraging.

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm sorry. The bet was…juvenile.”

She glanced nervously into the apartment, then stepped outside and closed the door, gripping the doorknob.

Did she have a guy in there? Had she brought someone home with her last night? It was a crazy thought, but it made his hands itch to reach around her and shove open the door.

She looked up at him, squinting into the noon sun, and he studied her more closely. Her face was free of makeup and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore an oversize T-shirt and cut-off shorts.

“Captain McCabe was right. I knew all about your bet and—” she faltered exactly the way she had the night she'd tried to convince him she had five kids, and then she recovered, raising her chin defiantly “—decided to
teach him a lesson. Anyway—” she drew in a deep breath “—you can leave with a clear conscience.” She stepped back inside and tried to shut the door.

He planted a hand on the door above her head and leaned close. “Jordan. Believe me. My wanting you had nothing to do with a bet.” Staring into her violet eyes, he shook his head. “I still want you.”

Just before her expression hardened, he thought he caught a flash of pain in her eyes.

“Help!”

Jordan flinched at the female screech from inside the apartment. “You need to leave,” Jordan insisted, shoving the door closed in his face.

“Help me!” The screamer sounded terrified. Whatever was going on, he wasn't leaving until he knew Jordan was safe. He pushed the door open, prepared to fight.

Jordan swung around and gaped at him, but the stunned look morphed into a furious glare. She had her arm around a crying older woman. “It's okay, Mom. I'm here.”

Jordan's mother?

She was beautiful. An older version of Jordan. Her hair was disheveled and she clutched a ratty robe to her throat. She looked scared. Fragile. “Who are you?” she asked Jordan. “Why are you keeping me here?” She pulled away from her daughter and her bottom lip trembled.

“I'm Jordie, Mom. Remember? You live here. I was just—Someone was at the door.”

For the first time, the woman looked up at Cole, fear in her eyes.

Cole smiled and extended his right hand. “I'm Cole, a friend of your daughter's. Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

The woman shrank from his hand and whimpered.

Jordan shot him an irritated scowl. “Cole was just leaving.” She raised her brows and glanced pointedly at the door.

Instead of leaving, Cole scanned the tiny apartment. It was spotlessly clean, but contained only a minimum of furniture. The living-room furnishings consisted of an old sofa with a neatly folded blanket and pillow at one end, and a small TV with a scarred coffee table as a stand. Under the front window sat a little dining table and two chairs marking the entrance to a miniscule galley kitchen. Textbooks and notebooks lay scattered on the table. Jordan's university books.

Beyond the front room a short hallway led to two doors. He guessed a bedroom and a bathroom. Did Jordan sleep on the couch? “Actually,” he improvised, “I came to ask you two beautiful women to lunch.” He smiled at Jordan's mother. “Ma'am?”

“Oh.” The woman smiled.

“No.” Jordan spoke firmly. “We're not dressed. Besides. I don't think we'd all fit on your bike.”

Damn. He hadn't thought of that.

“But I can get dressed.” Her mother began finger-combing her hair. “I'd like to go out. It's been a long time since a man asked me out.” Her voice trailed off and her face took on a faraway expression.

Jordan left her side and began pushing Cole toward the door. “My mom doesn't do well in public,” she said quietly. “And I have to study for finals this week. Now, please. Go.”

Cole glanced back at Jordan's beautiful, ill mother and something inside him shifted. His throat constricted and he let himself be shoved over the threshold. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Jordan's eyes sparked with anger. “I don't need your pity. I just need you to leave me alone.” Then she slammed the door in his face.

 

U
NBELIEVABLE
.
Some guys just didn't know when to quit.

He thought he could just come over here and stare at her with those deep-brown eyes, smelling all manly, and tell her he still wanted her and expect her to fall into his arms?

Jordan spent a half hour soothing her mother's tantrum and finally got her settled on the sofa watching
All My Children
.

This wasn't the first time her mom had forgotten her. But every time Mom looked at her as if she was a stranger, Jordan felt as if she'd lost a piece of who she was. Her usual pragmatism had seen her through a lot the past few years. But it ripped out a chunk of her soul to think about the future.

She stared at a can of chicken soup in one hand and a can of tuna in the other. But she had no appetite, and her mother had refused to eat.

Replacing both cans in the cabinet, she dropped into
a kitchen chair, opened her notebook, and tried to concentrate. But the words blurred, and she closed her stinging eyes.

She'd lain awake a long time last night trying to persuade herself there was no reason to feel humiliated. After all, it had been her choice to go with him on his bike. Her decision to have sex. And she'd gone into it knowing it would be a one-night stand. So what if he'd only pursued her because of a bet? For a few hours she'd been carefree and irresponsible. And the sex had sizzled.

But deep down was a pinprick of pain she couldn't reason away. She'd been seduced—literally—by the fantasy. Again. Somehow, her twisted psyche had believed Cole had wanted the real Jordan. Not just the leggy blonde with C cups, but the person on the inside. Her pencil snapped in her hands. All those sincere lines about wanting to get to know her. Hah! She'd been suckered into feeling a connection with the guy. And she only had herself to blame.

She jumped when the doorbell rang. What now? She'd never get any studying done at this rate.

As she swung open the door, her breath caught.

Cole gripped three bulging plastic grocery bags in each hand. His mouth was set in a determined line. “If I can't take you to lunch, I'll bring lunch to you.” He pushed past her without an invitation.

“Cole.” She followed him into the kitchen where he began unpacking the bags. Deli meats and cheeses, whole wheat bread, lettuce, tomatoes, fresh fruit…Her stomach
rumbled so loudly even the TV couldn't drown out the sound. “I really can't accept—Is that pasta salad?”

He grinned as he glanced at the clear plastic container. “You like?” He bent to search through her cabinets and drawers, pulling out plates and silverware, and a chopping board. “Do you have a—ah, perfect!” He held up a large kitchen knife.

Her pulse sped up at his warm smile.

Ooh, that was exactly how she'd weakened the last time. She had to stay strong. Unmoved.

But his eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked at her, and a lock of dark brown hair fell over his forehead as he shrugged out of his jacket. Beneath was another perfectly starched button-down shirt, a deep blue this time. It was tucked neatly into low-riding jeans that hugged his butt and long legs.

But she wasn't falling for that devilish smile and perfect butt. She wasn't.

“You don't have to do this. I don't need your charity—”

“Jordan.” Her name sounded so sexy as it rumbled in his deep voice. He shifted his weight and folded his arms. And he looked at her. His gaze didn't drift once to her breasts, but stared solemnly into her eyes, as if he really saw her. “They're only sandwiches.”

Yeah, he'd said the same thing about the ice cream and look where that had gotten her.

She was too aware of his large frame moving around, overwhelming the space, overwhelming her senses. She continued to stand there as he unbuttoned his sleeves,
rolled them up and washed his hands at the sink. She remembered the feel of them on her breasts and caressing her back, clutching her hips…She swallowed.

Oh, she was doing it again. She should throw him out. He was only trying to relieve his own guilt. And she didn't want some pity-lunch.

Her mother breezed into the kitchen, grinning as if Cole was a regular visitor in their home. While he sliced the tomato, she poured him a glass of iced tea and—there was no other word for it—she flirted. Like a young girl with a teenage crush.

Jordan watched in utter fascination. She'd never known her dad. He'd left before she was even born. But she suddenly saw her mom as she must have been before she'd been burdened with an unwanted pregnancy and a paycheck-to-paycheck life as a single mother.

Tammy Lynn Brenner was lovely. Moving in sync with Cole as they put sandwiches together, she dimpled and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Not overtly sexual, but simply…sensual, yet without guile.

Jordan found herself sitting at the kitchen table while Mom served her tea and a sandwich as if she were waiting on customers back at the diner in Iowa. Maybe she shouldn't have moved her mom out here when she got sick. Maybe Jordan should have tried to find a job in Cedar Falls.

Cole set the bowls of fruit and pasta salad in the center of the table, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Let's eat.” He pulled the other chair out for her mother, and then hopped up on the counter with his plate.

Jordan bit into her sandwich and closed her eyes as her mouth watered. She'd been starving.

“So, you have finals this week?” Cole asked.

“Yes. Tomorrow and Thursday.” And, she hoped, by Friday she'd know how she'd done.

“What's your major?”

“Computer Science. I hope to find something in programming or IT support.”