Let It Ride (11 page)

Cole shifted his gaze to her face and blinked. He had to bring his mind back from the brink of his sex-on-the-table fantasy and think about what she'd just asked. “I have to be in San Antonio on Monday.”

“This Monday?” She sounded shaken. He'd wanted to do something special for her graduation and see her one more time before heading to Texas. Though he hadn't thought how she might interpret this dinner.

He avoided looking at her as he got to his feet and started clearing dishes. “I should get you home.”

“Yeah.” Jordan stood, too, grabbing the champagne glasses.

“You don't need to do that, I have a cleaning crew coming in.” He took the crystal from her and their hands brushed. Just that small contact made him feel as if the room had become a vacuum and he was without his oxygen. When he looked at her, her lips were parted. Her eyes had darkened to a stormy ocean blue.

Incapable of stopping himself, he leaned in and kissed her, just a feather touch, barely brushing across her mouth. Then he pulled back. He hadn't meant to assume anything tonight. Every muscle tensed, he stood there.

She reached up and ran her hand down his temple and jaw. Her touch left a trail of fire along his skin. Then her hold pulled him toward her and she pressed her lips to his. Soft, open-mouthed, deep.

Cole groaned, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him. He wished they could stay here, in their own little world where no one could intrude. In
her arms he was sure of himself. He felt as if his life had purpose. Her hands ran under the collar of his shirt, and her stomach pushed against his rock-hard erection. His body screamed for more.

He cupped her bottom and lifted her to the table, shoving silverware and napkins aside as he stepped between her knees. His lips traveled down her soft neck to the hollow of her throat, and farther down, nuzzling as far as the dress would allow, tasting her supple flesh.

“Cole,” she moaned his name, and it enflamed his already desperate need. He slid a hand under the hem of her dress, savoring the creamy skin of her thigh.

Without warning she grabbed his hand and pushed him away. “I can't.”

His breathing ragged, Cole closed his eyes. His blood pounded. His cock ached. “I didn't expect you—” he gestured to the table behind her “—this, tonight.”

“It's not that I don't want to.” She slowly slid off the table, adjusting her dress, fidgeting with her hair. Then she drew a deep breath and let it out as if coming to a momentous decision.

Not good.

“It's just better for me if I don't get any more involved.” Finally her eyes lifted to meet his gaze. “It'd be more than just a fling then and I can't—”

“I get it.” He didn't want that, either. Her life was here, with her mother. His was in Texas. Or wherever the Air Force sent him. He shouldn't have come back here.

But he hadn't been able
not
to come back, to her.

“I loved the dinner.” She turned, picked up her
purse and scooted her chair in, then smiled at him again. “You be careful out there, okay?” Her smile was tinged with sadness and something broke inside Cole. This couldn't be the end. A week ago he'd told himself it was over between them. But he'd been fooling himself. Maybe there was a way to work something out. He couldn't think how, still, did that matter right now?

“Can I see you again tomorrow night? We'll walk the strip and see all the stuff tourists come for. I've never done that.” He left unspoken,
And I want to see it all with you.

“I work tomorrow night. All the touristy stuff stops at midnight.”

“It doesn't matter. We can get something to eat, walk around, see the hotels. One more night.”

It was as if she held his future in her hands. He watched with a plunging gut as she dropped her gaze to the table. She pulled a rose from the vase and began playing with the petals. She was quiet so long he thought maybe he'd missed something she said because of his deaf ear.

Eventually, she lifted her head and pierced him with a determined look. “One more night.”

 

A
FTER
Cole dropped her off at her apartment, Jordan woke up Mrs. S and made sure she got back to her place, and then checked on her mom before heading into the bathroom for a shower.

It'd been a long day. An exciting day. A completely incredible day.

Cole had come back. And for a little while in that
hangar, she'd thought it might be possible to be completely head over heels, happy, sappy, in love.

Which only confirmed her long-held belief that she was an idiot. When would she get it through her thick skull? Brenner women never attracted the commitment type of guy.

He's leaving for Texas on Monday.

Wanting Cole felt like an obsession. And she'd watched enough addicts gamble away their life savings to know any kind of dependence was a bad thing. She wished he hadn't told her about the hospital. Why had she even asked? Why couldn't she have just enjoyed the meal and kept things light and fun? Or better yet, why couldn't she have had wild abandoned sex on that table in that hangar and let that be all there was to it? Did she need love and commitment to have great sex? No.

So, she'd have wild abandoned sex tomorrow night. Enjoy one last time with Cole before he left. All she had to do was remember they were two people who found each other mutually attractive, and that she'd made a rational decision to enjoy some damn fine sex.

As long as she refused to allow herself to feel anything more for him, she'd be okay.

Because she didn't want to open herself up to the pain of loving him.

Although, she was afraid it might be too late.

M
ITCH PUNCHED
the mute button on his remote when he heard the apartment door open and slam closed. “Hey, how'd the dinner go?”

“Great.” Jackson's keys landed with a clink in the mosaic bowl on the entry table. A moment later he flopped down on the other end of the sofa and propped his dress shoes on the coffee table. “Who's winning?”

“You're home kind of early for ‘great.'” Mitch stabbed at his Chinese take-out with cheap wooden chopsticks.

“Well, we can't all be Casanovas like you—Oh wait.
You
aren't getting any, either.”

“I got a week and a half left, Jackson. Then we'll see who's getting some.” Twelve more rotten days.

Not that he minded Jackson bunking with him. He couldn't bring a woman back to his apartment right now anyway. And having Jackson around kept Mitch's mind off what he couldn't have.

Except tonight. Jackson had gone to that Keno girl's graduation.

“So, she wasn't impressed with your cooking, huh?”

“Turn the sound up, will ya?” Jackson got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“You know, I would've left the apartment if you'd called.”

Jackson chugged his beer and pinned him with a look. “You must be going postal without a woman for the past three weeks.”

“Eighteen days. But who's counting?” Eighteen days without a woman's soft skin and plump breasts, and inane chatter. His life had been reduced to pool and TiVo. It was TiVo on a hi-def, fifty-two-inch, flat-screen TV. But still.

And what was worse, after that first agonizing week, he'd admitted that what he missed most was the distraction a woman gave him from the tedium of his existence. Every damn day, he wished his request for combat duty hadn't been denied.

It wasn't that he didn't like instructing. He spent his days teaching a couple of aerodynamics classes and taking his Raptor up to illustrate various combat maneuvers. At the end of the day what did he have to show for it?

“Eighteen days.” Jackson whistled through his teeth. “Must be some sort of record for you.” He shot Mitch a wicked grin. “Are women still showing up at your office?”

Mitch grunted, suppressing a grin. “I'll get Hughes back.”

Her prank had actually been the most excitement he'd had in a long time. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed razzing Hughes until she'd transferred here from D.C. And though he acted pissed about losing the bet, getting Hughes riled up had actually turned out to be kind of fun.

“So, are you seeing the Keno girl again?”

“What's with you and women's names?”

“It's rule number one. Always give them a nickname. That way they feel special and I don't call one by the wrong name in an unguarded moment.”

Jackson shook his head. “You and your rules.”

“Hey, don't knock what you haven't tried.” Ever since his divorce, Mitch had established his “rules” for dating. Rules were crucial for making sure a woman knew up front what was on the menu.

“You're not seeing her tomorrow night, are you?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but yes.”

“No, no, Jackson. That's a big mistake. Remember rule number three.”

Rule number two was a given: no overnights. But rule number three was crucial also: no more than three dates. There was something about that fourth date that gave a woman the idea that he was serious about her. He'd learned that the hard way.

“I'm picking her up after her shift.”

Mitch shook his head. Poor sap. But Jackson hadn't been out of the hospital all that long. Mitch could be magnanimous. “I'll see if I can vacate the premises tomorrow night.”

“It's not that kind of—Oh, hell, McCabe you've got a one-track mind.”

“And since when have you not? Don't tell me you might have—” he swallowed “—
feelings
for this girl.”

Jackson gestured toward the TV. “Un-mute it. I want to catch the score.”

“Jackson, I'm serious. That's a road that can only lead to FUBAR, man.”

Jackson just stared at his beer can. “Not for everyone.”

“But for guys like you and me, hell, yeah, it is.”

Jackson shot off the sofa, his features contorted. “Well, maybe I'm not like you.”

Mitch thunked his take-out carton on the coffee table and stood to face him. “Come on, man. You aren't the marrying kind. You ever get married, I'll go another month!”

“Hell, who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh, man.” Mitch grabbed his chest. “You really had me going for a minute. Gave me a freakin' heart attack.”

Jackson plopped back onto the sofa. “Would you really go another month without a woman if I married her?”

“I might have to swear off women all together if you did something so stupid.”

Jackson mumbled into his folded arms, “Stupid is right.”

 

G
RABBING
Cole's jacket from her locker, Jordan raced out of the dressing room at The Grand to the parking garage.

Cole was waiting beside his bike, wearing jeans and a dark brown button-down shirt. Her stomach flipped, her heart pounded, and she closed her eyes. She needed a moment to resist the urge to run into his arms, press her cheek to his chest, and squeeze him tightly. Why did the mere sight of him have to affect her this way? “I brought your jacket back.” With one last longing glance, she held it out to him.

But he didn't take it.

When she looked into his eyes, blatant appreciation in his perusal warmed her from the inside out. “Keep it. I like picturing you wearing it.”

Oh, no. Knowing she couldn't, Jordan took a deep breath then dropped her arm to her side.

“Hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Well, hop on.” He swung his leg over the bike and then helped her climb on. She secured her backpack over both shoulders and tucked his jacket in one of the saddle bags, intending to “forget” it there later.

As he pulled the bike into traffic, she hugged his waist and enjoyed the play of his chest muscles beneath her palms. The body-warmed cotton of his shirt held the musky scent that was all Cole. Oh, she could
so
get used to this. Yet that was not on the agenda.

All too soon he parked in the garage at the Venetian and they were strolling inside. He'd taken her hand to help her off the bike and hadn't let go, and the contact sent heat sizzling all over her body.

Then they stepped inside the lobby and Jordan's gaze was drawn up. Straight above her. The ceilings were painted in the style of the Old Masters. Sublime cherubs and angels seemed to look down and ridicule her meager attempts to remain unmoved tonight. Gleaming marble floors, elaborate sculptures and Grecian columns completed the awe-inspiring grandeur and elegance that was the Venetian Hotel. “Wow.”

“You've never been here before?”

“Not in all my spare time. Can you imagine?” Sarcasm was her only defense.

He grinned as they turned a corner and he ushered her into the Grand Lux Café. The meal was beautifully prepared. Exquisite cuisine considering it was after two in the morning, but it might as well have been cheap burgers for all Jordan tasted of it.

After dinner, they made their way through the hotel to the front doors. The gondolas that glided down the Grand Canal sat empty and idle. Another mocking reminder that this romantic evening wasn't going anywhere. They had no future. Men like Cole, and his buddy McCabe, would never be tied down to one woman.

The strip never closed, but the pirates of Treasure Island across the boulevard had long since gone to bed, and the Dancing Waters of the Bellagio were still, the music silent. Jordan stood on the sidewalk, holding in a crushing sense of loss that threatened to overwhelm her.

Cole took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back. “Come on.” He tugged her north, away from the taunting tourist attractions.

But Jordan dug in her heels. “Even the Stratosphere Tower is closed this late.”

He gazed down at her. “It doesn't matter. We can just walk.” The way he looked at her, and the tone of his voice told her he meant it. That tonight, he just wanted to be with her.

And even though she'd promised herself she wouldn't, even though she'd given herself a stern talking-to earlier this evening, she fell.

It was just the stupidest thing she could've done. She'd fallen in love with another player. But it felt wonderful. Freeing. She wanted to throw her arms in the air and spin around, and shout it to the world. Her joy was back.

After Ian had left her stranded and penniless, happiness and fun had been replaced by bitterness and fear that she'd labeled common sense and prudence. She forgot that protecting oneself against pain also meant giving up the pleasures of being in love.

“Jordan?” He fingered a curl hanging down over her eye.

She'd never be sure if it was the light brush of his finger against her temple or the way he said her name that made her breath catch. But something passed between them. Something unspoken, and very real.

He lowered his head and kissed her gently, his mouth exploring hers with leisure. Jordan was in no mood for caution. Her hands locked around his waist and she poured all her passion and emotion into returning his kiss.

With a groan, he tore his mouth from hers and held her. “What am I going to do about you?”

Jordan blinked back stinging tears. “There's nothing for you
to
do. I'm living the life I want to live. And so are you.”

“Maybe.” He took her hand and led her up Las Vegas Boulevard.

Silence fell between them as they traveled past the ringing slots of casinos, the real world in Sin City. What did he mean by “maybe”? He certainly wasn't going to
quit the Air Force and stay in Vegas with her. She wouldn't want him to. And she wasn't going to give up her independence for a man again.

At least she had the maturity to recognize the hopelessness of this situation and the strength to keep her feelings to herself.

After a few blocks they came to the seedier part of the Strip; Cole's grip on her hand tightened and his eyes searched their surroundings for danger. Ever the warrior. His sharp-eyed gaze reminded her of a hawk—she froze in her tracks.

“Cole. I know something we can do.” In that instant it seemed to her the entire evening had been leading up to this. “Come with me.” She grinned and began jogging farther north, tugging him along with her.

 

“W
HERE
are you taking me, woman? You're not trying to hustle me, are you?” Cole teased as he loped along behind her. He returned her playful grin. The evening had seemed melancholic, but now the sparkle had returned to her eyes.

“You'll see,” she answered. “Just another half a block.” She stopped abruptly, gesturing to a storefront with a flourish of her arms. “Ta-da!”

Cole read the flashing neon sign. 24-Hour Tattoos.

“You want to get your new hawk done?” she asked.

His throat closed up. This was the perfect time. The perfect night. The perfect city. And the perfect person to be with to have it done. He grinned and nodded. “Why not?”

The tattoo artist was an older Asian man, with a long gray beard. He wore a ripped leather vest and had no visible patch of skin uninked. He said his name was Snake in a deep voice with an all-American accent.

While Cole selected a hawk, Jordan noted the walls covered with drawings to choose from.

“What about you?” He came up behind her. “Want to get one?”

She was staring at a drawing and biting her thumbnail. “I've always wanted one. But—”

“A spider?”

She shrugged. “I've loved spiders ever since I read
Charlotte's Web
in second grade. They're so dedicated. Working tirelessly all night to build a new web, making such a difference in so many lives, never giving up.”

“Cool,” he replied. “Get one…” He raised a finger. “Right…” Not quite touching her, his finger moved from the top of her breast over her shoulder and down to the small of her back.

Her gaze followed his finger until it disappeared behind her shoulder, and she stiffened when he touched the indention just above her heart-shaped buttocks. “There.”

“Oh.” Seemingly enticed by the idea, she stared at him. Her mouth was only an inch away. Her lips parted and he would have kissed her, but she pulled back and shook her head. “No.”

“No kiss?”

“No, I don't think I'll get the tattoo tonight.”

“Why not?” He grinned and nudged her elbow with his. “Too wild for you?”