Let It Ride (10 page)

He hoped McCabe's couch was comfortable.

 

J
ORDAN COULDN'T STOP
the tears. It was ridiculous, but as soon as the band had started playing “Pomp and Circumstance” the waterworks hit her and she'd had to blink furiously and clench her teeth. At this rate, she'd have no mascara left.

Maybe because she'd missed her high-school graduation ceremony when she ran off with Ian, the ritual today meant so much more. For the first time since she'd been hired, she'd taken a Friday night off from The Grand. And she'd bought a new dress. Yet, it was bittersweet.

She sat with the rest of her graduating class in rows of folding chairs on the convention-center floor, but she kept glancing up into the stands at Mrs. Simco and her mother. As far as Jordan could tell, Mom was doing really well. When they'd parted ways at the convention-center entrance, Tammy had had no idea why she was here, but she'd seemed content enough. And Mrs. Simco had assured Jordan she would take her home if she had any problems.

Since Jordan's last name started with a
B,
it wasn't long before her row stood up to accept their diplomas. Her stomach churned and her nails dug into her palms as she got closer to the stage. It wasn't that she was
nervous, it was just that it was a moment to be remembered and she yearned to have someone to share it with who truly understood.

In an instant her name was being called and she was walking across the stage and shaking the dean's hand. Moving her tassel from right to left, she glanced up to where her mother and Mrs. S were standing and caught a flash of something glinting off the dark blue suit of—

It wasn't a suit. It was a uniform. A dress uniform. The medals on his coat reflected the bright lights.

It was Cole.

Jordan's stomach somersaulted and a silly happiness bubbled up. The tears she'd successfully blinked away before were back.

Someone nudged her from behind and she jumped, then realized they were prodding her to get off the stage. Her face heating in embarrassment, she hurried down the steps and filed back into the row of seats. Once she sat down through, she looked into the stands.

He was still there. Not a mirage. Standing ramrod-straight next to her mother, still applauding. Even from such a distance, his stare burned through her. Then he lifted his right hand and saluted her before taking her mom's arm and helping her to sit down and sat beside her.

Jordan blinked away more ridiculous tears and forced herself to sit through the rest of the ceremony. But each time she glanced back, he was still there.

She hadn't expected her mother to last, though, and by the time the students whose last names started with
M
were filing on stage, Jordan saw Mrs. Simco and Cole helping her mom up the stairs to the exit. Gratitude was muddled with disappointment. Emotions welled in her throat as she watched them all disappear from the arena.

An hour later, it was finally over and, after ditching the rented gown, she made her way outside, preparing to hail a cab. But there he was. Waiting in the warm night beneath a street lamp across the road. So handsome in his sharply pressed uniform with medals and ribbons pinned down its front.

With the crowd swirling around her, she watched him unobserved for a moment. He'd cut his hair and the short cut combined with his stiff posture screamed
military officer
. So different from the scruffy, jeans-clad bad boy on a motorcycle she'd first met. But the unsmiling intensity of his dark gaze was the same as he scanned the throngs of people exiting the convention center.

She stepped off the curb and crossed the street. He caught sight of her and his eyes widened, then heated as they traveled down her body and back up again. Coming to a stop before him, she shifted her weight from one heel to the next and wiped her damp palms down the fabric of the tight black dress.

When their gazes met again, he smiled. In an instant his face transformed from starkly handsome to boyishly good-looking, and all Jordan could do was stare and try to catch the breath that had left her lungs.

“Hi,” he said.

“You came back.” What a stupid thing to say. Of course he was here. “Uh, I mean, I thought you were shipping out. Back to Iraq.”

He shook his head. “Went to visit my folks in Phoenix.”

“Oh.” Dozens of thoughts and questions spun around in her mind. Had he come back just for her? Or was he required to be here to await orders? Where was he staying? Was he only here for one night?

“Did you talk to Mrs. Simco? Is my mom okay?”

“I did.” He nodded. “And she is.” He clasped his hands before him and rocked on his heels.

Jordan found herself leaning forward in anticipation of his next words, but they never came. “So, what are you doing here?”

He shrugged and looked up at the convention center. “Just sightseeing.”

Jordan blinked up at him until a smile slowly spread across his face. “I'm here to take you out to dinner, egghead. To celebrate.”

“Oh.” Here she was, a college graduate, and “oh” seemed to be the sum total of her vocabulary. How embarrassing.

“So.” He extended his elbow. “Shall we go?”

There was nothing she wanted more. But first…She opened her purse and pulled her cell phone out.

“Mrs. S said to have a good time and don't come back too early.” He grinned, took her hand and curled it around his arm.

Jordan stared at his hand on hers, feeling the warm roughness of it, the promise in his touch, the anticipa
tion tingling from him into her. Then she looked up into his eyes and saw a truth reflected there. He'd come back to Vegas…for her.

O
BJECTIVITY
hit the proverbial fan when Cole saw Jordan again. Meeting her gaze, he felt a jolt shoot through him. Hell, it was as if she saw something in him no one else saw. She looked past the Air Force officer and saw something…more.

Pulling his keys from his pocket, he led her out to the parking lot, but Jordan hesitated beside his Harley, her adorable brows crinkled.

“Um…” She glanced down at her tight black dress and heels.

Cole could've kicked himself. He hadn't thought. Eight hours of planning every last detail for tonight, including enlisting Grady's help for special clearance at Nellis, and he hadn't thought to rent a car. “I'll get us a cab.” He turned to head for the street.

“No.” She grabbed his arm. “It'll be okay.”

“You sure?”

At her nod, he mounted the bike then held out his hand to her.

She hitched up her dress, took his hand, then stepped up on the footrest and swung her leg over.

He gulped. That glimpse of bare thigh beneath her dress turned him on more than the stockings and miniskirt of her casino uniform. It was going to be an uncomfortable ride.

She leaned close, her hands sliding to clasp around his chest, and nuzzled her nose into his spine.

Cole's insides shook. Having her pressed against him reduced him to a quivering mess. Clenching his fists, he started the engine and pulled out of the lot.

The eight miles from downtown out to the base seemed like eighty-eight with Jordan's hands on him. Thankfully, her fingers didn't stray below his belt. When he pulled up to Nellis's gate, the guard stepped out; Cole showed his ID and Jordan supplied her social security number, her expression doubtful. The guard opened the gate and waved Cole through with a salute.

If Jordan wondered where they were going, she kept it to herself as they circled around the squadron's hangars and headed out to a remote field. He came to a stop just outside the hangar that housed several retired Second World War aircraft, kicked the Harley's stand down, and held out his hand to help Jordan climb off.

She gave him a cautious look, and he couldn't help himself. He smiled, knowing what waited inside. The hangar was dark except for the streetlight at the barbed-wire-topped fence surrounding the base.

“Worried?”

“This isn't exactly what I had in mind when you said ‘out to dinner.'” She arched a brow, trying for nonchalance, he guessed, but then ruined the effect by grinning.

She'd pulled her hair up into some fancy style, but the ride had blown it into wild magnificence. She looked so beautiful, so soft and feminine he had to hold himself back not to pull her into his arms.

“Trust me?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, as if her simple
yes
held a deeper meaning.

Cole shoved down a lump of emotion and reached into his pants pocket and pressed the button on the garage door opener.

Rumbling and grinding, the hangar door lifted. Cole ducked under and strode in to light the candles and turn on the CD. Pure satisfaction filled him as he heard her soft gasp.

Delmonico's had provided the table setting, but Cole had arranged for a buffet cart to hold his ingredients and a couple of mini propane burners so he could sauté his own shrimp and cook the pasta. He'd hand-selected the prosciutto and asparagus that morning.

His breathing quickened as he returned to Jordan and led her inside the hangar.

“Oh, how beautiful.” Her eyes glowed with appreciation as her gaze roamed over the white cloth table set with china, silver, fresh flowers and candles. “Oh, Cole.”

So far, so good. She liked.

She cupped a rose from the vase, leaned down and inhaled. “They're gorgeous.”

“The lady at the florist's shop said the combination of red and yellow together meant Congratulations.”

“Wow.” She rounded the table, closed the distance
between them, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “You keep surprising me.” She held his gaze for a split second while he stood immobilized by the look in her eyes. The same look had been in his sister-in-law's eyes when Kenny had turned down a night of beer and pool. Before Cole could recover, Jordan turned and walked over to the nearest aircraft. “What kind of plane is this?”

“She's a B-24, a Liberator.” He followed her over to the plane, lifted his free hand and touched one of the four giant propellers. “Probably flew over most of German-occupied Europe. She had eleven machine guns, and carried an eight-thousand-pound bomb load. Winston Churchill had one of these babies customized for his personal transport.”

Her heels clicked on the cement as she walked around the bomber's nose. “Think of all the stories this plane could tell. How many men sacrificed their lives? How many did she bring safely home?” She was almost whispering, a hint of reverence in her voice. He turned and saw her staring up at the glass, front-mounted machine-gunner's cabin. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

“Yeah. I think about that, too. My dad used to tell us about his uncle Joe flying over the Pacific in the Second World War. But he never talks about 'Nam.”

She turned her big blue eyes on him. “No matter how worthy the cause is, I imagine war haunts you.”

Cole thought of his nightmares and the counselor who'd told him they were nothing to be ashamed of. Here, now, with Jordan, that didn't seem so ridiculous.

With a quick smile he gestured toward the elegant dining table. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes.”

She slipped her hand into his and let him lead her to the table. “So, you
are
going to feed me,” she said lightly, letting the subject of war go.

His fingers tightened around hers. “Did you ever doubt me?” He pulled out a chair for her.

A pause, then “Not lately.”

At her careful choice of words, he raised a brow. “Fair enough.”

She sat and snapped open her thick linen napkin, placing it over her lap, then smiled up at him. “I still can't believe you did all this.”

Cole shrugged, trying to ignore his pounding heart. “We're celebrating, right?” While soft jazz played, he poured champagne. Then he took off his uniform coat and tie, rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the meal.

She crossed her legs and took a sip of champagne. “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Believe it or not, in Alaska.” He explained about the summer he'd spent up there between his junior and senior years with the son of an Air Force buddy of his father's who'd bought a restaurant in Anchorage. Their fathers had flown together in 'Nam. Cole shrugged. “I ended up hanging out in the kitchen.”

“So your great-uncle, your father and you—all military pilots? Flying runs in your family?”

“Yep.”

“You must love being up there, speeding through the sky.”

Damn. His throat tightened. “Yeah.”

“Adrenaline junkie, right? Into extreme sports?”

Could he refuse to answer any more questions except his name, rank and serial number? He forced a smile. “You bet. Can't keep me away.”

“Being cooped up in the hospital must have been awful for you.”

“Oh, I don't know. All those sponge baths…” He wiggled his brows and gave her a pointed look as he glanced at her.

Something—disappointment?—flickered in her eyes before she covered it with a patently fake smile. “Oh, right.” She looked away and started swinging her crossed leg.

Mistake. Big mistake. Maybe he should tell her he'd never fly a jet again. Tell her the most exciting thing he'd be doing now was air traffic control. He'd been reduced to a freaking traffic cop.

But bringing up his new assignment might lead to more questions. Questions about their future that he had no answers for. He poured the pasta into the boiling water and turned the shrimp.

From the corner of his eye he could feel her gaze on him. The burners didn't produce as much heat as her stare. “I shouldn't have said that,” he said, backtracking. “You were being serious and I was—”

“No, it's fine.” Her face glowed softly in the candlelight, but she looked vulnerable now, closed off. Damn it.

Unease shot through his gut as he filled their plates and sat beside her. He lifted his champagne glass with another forced smile. “To an intelligent and beautiful lady,” he toasted her. “Congratulations.”

Her eyes softened and she picked up her glass and clinked it against his. “Thank you.” But she avoided his gaze while she sipped.

Without another word, she picked up her fork and started eating.

He took a bite of shrimp and swallowed. Another moment of awkward silence followed. Somehow he had to regain what had been lost.

“I hated every second in the hospital.”

At last, she looked at him. “You don't have to—”

“No, it's okay.” He cleared his throat. “I was in the hospital in Germany for about three weeks. Then another three weeks in the States. Followed by a couple of months in rehab.”

“But you're back in shape now? Ready for action?” Her mouth curved in a small smile.

Was that a double entendre? Could she be as innocent as her expression seemed? “Yes, ma'am. Ready and willing.”

Her eyes flared wide and her cheeks pinked. That started his engines. “How about you? Are you still going to work at The Grand?”

“I can't afford to quit until I have another job lined up.” Jordan's eyes lit up. “But I have two interviews next week.”

Unreasonable panic stabbed at him. If he'd been released from the hospital just a few weeks later, he might never have met Jordan. “Interviews with whom?”

“One is with a new research development corporation. I'd be a systems programmer. The other is with Nevada Power, supporting their internal e-mail systems.
That one sounds more likely since it's an entry-level position.” She pressed her palms to her stomach. “I'm so nervous. I've dreamed of this for so long.”

“You'll do great. You've worked hard. I know you'll get everything you wish for.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him and held his gaze for a long moment before picking up her fork and taking another bite.

“Where are you staying?”

“I'm crashing at McCabe's for now, the miserable SOB.”

“What do you mean? Why is he miserable?” She took a dainty bite, confusion in her big blue eyes.

Oh, hell, she hadn't known the details of the bet. “Never mind. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“No, tell me. You can't leave me hanging.”

Shaking his head, knowing he'd probably regret it, he explained the conditions of the bet, and how Hughes had used it to get back at McCabe last week.

“Captain Hughes? Get him back for what?”

“McCabe and Hughes have been pulling practical jokes on each other for years. It all started as a good deed by McCabe.”

“A good deed? Captain McCabe?” Her skeptical tone wasn't lost on Cole.

“You have to understand. When Hughes first joined our squadron, the guys treated her differently because she's female. So, naturally he had to do something awful to her, something he would've done to any new cadet, to prove that she was just one of the guys.”

“I never thought of it that way.” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “What'd he do?”

“He had her arrested for soliciting a prostitute.”

“Oh, no!” Jordan's eyes widened.

“The whole thing was staged. She was fine.” Leaning close, he added, “She paid him back a few months later.”

A wicked grin lit up her beautiful face. “What'd
she
do?”

“Uh, I'll let her tell you about that.”

Jordan groaned in frustration. “At least tell me what she did to him last week.”

Cole grinned at her enthusiasm. “She must've called every woman McCabe ever sl—dated and invited them all on base to torture him.”

Jordan's boisterous laugh was contagious. She brought her napkin up to her mouth, looked at him and broke into laughter again. “I should shake Captain Hughes's hand. See if she wants to have lunch sometime.”

“Oh, no, I have a feeling you two getting together might be hazardous to a guy's health. And I gotta live with said guy.”

Her smile soared across the table and hit him right in the gut. He watched her finish eating, mesmerized when her lips closed around her fork. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and he envisioned nibbling the tender spot behind her delicate silver earring. The movement also shifted the front of her dress. It came to a V between her breasts, and the rounded flesh peeking out moved with her every breath, enticing him, torturing him.

“So, how long before you have to leave?”