Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (26 page)

Jon only shrugged, his smile gently teasing.

“Right,” came a woman’s upbeat voice. “So where’s the party?”

“You don’t have a built-in GPS for that, Princess?” Ryan’s expression was mock innocent. She tossed him an “eat me” look.

“And you remember Leah,” Jon added. “Always doing her best to make the rest of us look like schmucks.”

The woman shrugged. “It’s not hard.”

With his thumb grazing her tattoo, Jon said, “Ryan, Cass, this is Heather Morris.”

Heather smiled her way through the introductions, a little lost amid the dizzying flurry of insults, in-jokes and nicknames. The three officers were tight; that much was obvious. Cass held her own too, but as they walked deeper into the Bellagio, she hung back a bit.

“They can spin your head when they launch into full trash-talk mode,” she said to Heather. “I still have to ask what most of the acronyms mean.”

“My dad was in the Army for ages, but each branch is so different.”

“God, I’m nervous.”

Heather cast a quick glance toward the shorter woman. “Really? You don’t look it.”

“Petrified. Ryan and I have only been together since April. This is the first big Air Force thingy we’ve attended. I don’t want to screw up. So how do you know Tin Tin?”

“Who?”

“Jon. Captain Jon ‘Tin Tin’ Carlisle.” She nudged her chin toward where he walked ahead. His fellow officers flanked him as closely as prison guards. “That’s his call sign. Ryan’s is Fang. And then there’s Princess Leah.”

Heather couldn’t help a chuckle.

“Yeah, don’t let her hear you laugh,” Cass said. “So, what were you saying? About meeting Jon?”

Smiling indulgently, Heather knew she hadn’t yet been saying anything…and Cass knew it too. The woman’s mischievous air was hard to resist. “We, ah…we met at a wine bar in late July.”

“They’re pumping him for information, just so you know.”

“Were you sent to try another angle?”

Cass grinned. “Nothing so devious. If I’m curious about you, I’ll ask you myself.”

“Thanks.”

Jon dropped back as they entered a massive ballroom. “Excuse us, Cass.”

“No problem. Ryan darling, don’t lose me. I’ll never find you in all these blue penguin suits.” Only as she walked away did Heather notice how Cass’s hem nearly obscured a fantastic pair of Cuban-heel seamed stockings.

The ballroom was a tidal wave of noise—conversations, clinking glasses, laughter. Heather estimated about a thousand people. Air Force blue was everywhere. She reflexively gripped Jon’s arm.

“Can you give me a hint?” he asked, his voice silken.

“Hint?”

“Of what we’re playing for? I thought the application of some sexual creativity might take the edge off your panic.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“Of course not.”

She wove around to join the others at their designated table. Another round of introductions. She kept hold of Jon’s hand, even as they sat.

“Why Tin Tin?” she asked quietly. With the example of Princess Leah to draw from, she assumed it must be derogatory. Something for poking fun at one’s fighting brothers and sisters. “Is it like Rin Tin Tin, the dog?”

“That’s right.” Jon kept his eyes averted, his tone casual, but he appeared surprisingly uncomfortable. “For my unerring loyalty.”

Heather laughed. At first. His seriousness didn’t relent, nor did the strange feeling that she’d caught him doing something wrong.

No, not wrong. Just…out of character. He’d have loved a nickname like “Playboy”—grinning and licking his lower lip, enjoying the compliment. But friendship? Loyalty? That made him squirm. His call sign was a daily reminder that he wasn’t all he pretended to be.

That her observation rang true scared her just as much as one simple realization. She wanted him now more than ever.

Chapter Thirty

Jon shifted, running his thumb along his empty bread plate as he endured Heather’s scrutiny. Amusement had slid off her face, replaced by a look of confusion? Surprise?

The collar of his dress shirt was uncomfortably tight. He tilted his neck to the side, looking away from her.

He could believe loyalty wasn’t easy for Heather to imagine of him. He played the role of the dirty fuck, and she was content to leave it at that. Except it…unsettled him. Jon didn’t appreciate being unsettled. An off taste gathered in the back of his mouth, one that cheap wine wouldn’t be able to wash away.

“So how did that happen? Why did Tin Tin stick?”

He leaned back, determined to keep this discussion casual. “The very first morning I was supposed to report to my very first duty station, I was late.”

“I bet you were in some seriously hot water.”

“Absolutely. The commander spent a good twenty minutes dressing me down, until a friend knocked on the office door.” People still milled around their tables, chatting and hunting down the bars at each side of the ballroom. “Billy told the CO I was late because I’d been at his house until two in the morning. I’d been coaching him through a sticky situation with his ex-wife.”

Pale blue eyes glimmered with compassion. But she shook it off almost intentionally.

Leah plunked down in her seat at Heather’s far side. “Score.” She displayed a bright yellow band around her wrist.

“It doesn’t match the uniform, Princess,” he said.

She pulled a face. “It’s the drink band. Forty bucks up front and it’s practically an open bar.”

Jon and Ryan exchanged a look over Cass’s head. Hopefully Leah would keep her shit together, but it wasn’t likely. The woman seemed bored with life. Alcohol was her fastest route to not-as-bored.

And shit, it was Jon’s turn to bail her out. By far. Dash was seated two tables over with his wife, Sunny—and with Eric Donaghue. So Dash was out too. Ryan had covered the last two midnight phone calls since Jon had been too wrapped up in Heather.

She was still doing it, turning him inside out. The temptation of her side bet had him on pins and needles. He knew she was perfectly capable of fingering herself under the table. The question was whether she actually would. Anticipation was a keen, welcome distraction.

Jon had never particularly liked military balls. They reminded him too much of the formal events his parents often held in the guise of charity financing. None had been more painful than the event they’d hosted only seven weeks after Sara’s car wreck. Rubbing elbows to keep the beaches of Hyannis pristine. He’d still held out hope that their family would huddle together, grieving in private.

It hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d sat at the back of the ballroom with his grandfather, watching the spectacle with matching disdain.

Having a keyed-up, obviously excited Heather sitting next to him made the night entirely different. No simpler. A split second after the waiter removed the salad plates, she brushed her lips over his ear. One fingertip circled the sensitive divot at the base of his skull.

“Do you remember my birthday?”

Her husky voice was going to have him doing something stupid. Damn soon.

He schooled his face into a subtle, smiling leer as he eyed the shadowy valley of her cleavage. Things ran more smoothly between them when he was being overtly sexual. Safer for him, as well.

“Clearly.”

“Then you have a good idea of what I’m not wearing under this gown.”

“Very little?”

She nuzzled the crook of his neck. “You’re a brilliant man.”

Jon glanced around the table to see who’d noticed. Absolutely no one, thank God. After all the shit Ryan had taken, particularly when he first hooked up with Cass, he would revel in the chance to turn it around on Jon.

Heather’s bare toes wiggled under the hem of his slacks, emphasizing her lack of undergarments. As if he’d needed any further images in his head. The sultry way the deep red dress clung to her curves was already enough.

He traced the top inches of her tattoo, exposed by a dip of scarlet fabric. Usually she dressed so conservatively that he’d only seen her ink bared during sex. Eroticism charged every line and flower. The ends of her silky hair barely grazed the top-most bud.

“You’re a very bad girl,” he said quietly.

“We seem to be learning that.”

Somewhere around the third speech, Jon was ridiculously wound up. Heather kept up their game. Every few minutes she’d whisper something raunchy in his ear. Something wickedly dirty. He’d harden all over again, despite trying to keep his attention on the other people at the table. Following the stream of conversation took every ounce of ingrained training.

Heather scooped some of the chocolate pudding that was supposed to be mousse, then dipped it into her mouth. The spoon slid out between her lips as she watched him.

She licked at her lower lip. “I think I’ve decided what I want. As my reward for behaving.”

He brushed the heavy drape of hair back from her face. Her features were classically beautiful, such a nerve-racking contrast to her decadent thoughts. “And what’s that, Ms. Morris?”

“Playing with your ass that time got me thinking. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop imagining switching places.” She lowered her lashes. “I want anal sex.”

Jon choked. On absolutely nothing. Air turned to oil in his lungs. His cock reared up under his dress trousers, ready to obey. Instantly.

Wearing a lovely smirk, Heather patted him on the back as he reached for his water glass.

Two seats down, Ryan quirked his brows. “Problem, Tin Tin?”

Jon coughed another time or two. He wanted nothing more than to haul Heather out of there. Now. Do not pass go.

“No problem,” he answered tightly.

“Really? Because for a second there, it looked like I was going to have to whip out the Heimlich.” He widened his eyes and rested his chin on folded hands. “But wait. You weren’t eating anything. Care to explain?”

“Would you please shut the hell up?” he hissed, quietly enough that only his friends could hear. At least Leah was off at the bar,
again
, or she’d likely blow it to the rest of the table.

Cass giggled. “Gee, that sounds awfully familiar.”

Jon didn’t want to glare at Cass. She was too damn nice. So he aimed his ire back at Ryan.

“What’s wrong, flyboy?” Heather whispered. “The idea of stroking your cock in my ass gets you that hot?”

Under the long tablecloth, he gripped her thigh. Satin slid beneath his palm. “I don’t think I’d be the only one,” he said with every last dredge of silky charisma. Cultivated smoothness was all he had left.

The dangerous Ms. Morris wanted to play up-the-ante. Bring it. He could meet her every move. It’d be a hell of a lot more fun than trying to make sense of them. They didn’t need to make sense when their bodies took charge.

Jon edged up her thigh until her skirt bunched around his wrist. He brushed her mound, just enough to hear the small hitch in her breathing.

He bent so that his mouth grazed ruby earrings that matched the dress. “When I’ve got you on your hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow? And you screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors? And my cock pounding your sweet, tight ass? Then we’ll see who’s hot and bothered.”

Red lips parted on a silent gasp, even as the rest of the table stood to applaud the keynote speaker. With a hand around Heather’s elbow, Jon levered her to stand. He joined the applause as if nothing else occupied his mind. She followed suit, her eyes gratifyingly hazy.

When the music started, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Her long, graceful throat worked over a swallow. “Since you actually asked this time.”

On the parquet floor, Heather melted into his arms. He pressed his cheek against the dark, silken fall of her hair and breathed deeply. He fought to keep the mood light, but sex and tenderness made that nearly impossible.

She pressed her mouth against his neck then licked the hollow behind his jaw. He only restrained a shiver by locking his arms across her back.

“We need to leave,” he growled.

She shook her head, but he felt her smile blossom against his skin. She was enjoying herself. So much. Truth be told, so was he.

“I want to dance for a little while.”

“You mean you want to torture me.”

She snuggled in closer. Her breasts pushed across his dress shirt. “That too.”

Jon ran his fingers down the visible section of her tattoo, then continued down her back and across her waist. He knew its path by heart. “There’s a corridor approximately two hundred feet away, at the other end of the ballroom. If you don’t agree to leave right now, I’m hauling you in there and fucking you up against the wall. And you won’t get my cock in your ass like you want.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No?”

Her tongue slicked across her bottom lip. “No. You enjoy novelty too much. That scenario sounds entirely too much like our evening at the country club.”

“Fuck,” he said on a grin. “You’re right. Now behave.”

He nodded to where Ryan and Cass swayed alongside them.

“Princess is up to no good.” Ryan’s normally open features were drawn tight with worry. “Behind you, ten o’clock.”

“Fucking Christ,” Jon spat. “Isn’t that Mr. Preston?”

Leah wasn’t quite sitting in the man’s lap, but goddamn she was close. She’d tucked her chair directly next to his. Their heads tipped together as if no one else occupied the cavernous ballroom. A glass of something frothy and blue dangled from her fingers. Her bun had come loose at the edges, with a strand of brown hair curling around her jaw.

“Sure is,” Ryan said. “We have to get her out of here.”

Cass tightened her hold on Ryan’s biceps. “I don’t understand.”

“Me either,” Heather added. “He looks like a perfectly nice guy.”

Ryan shook his head. “He’s married to the executive officer of 505
^th
Operations Group. This is a hot mess waiting to happen. Two minutes more and she’ll sure as shit catch wind of this.”

“I’ve got her,” Jon said automatically. “I’ll take her home.”

Cass’s mouth fell open. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll take her. More room in Ryan’s truck, anyway.”

They didn’t have time to go rounds over who’d take her home. Immediate extraction was necessary. He agreed.