Let It Ride (4 page)

His cock twitching, he cupped her breasts and squeezed them, lifting one to his mouth. Her skin tasted sweet and salty and spicy all at once. Her nipples were perfect, large and dusky. He suckled and licked and buried his nose between the heavy mounds as he kissed their silken flesh.

He might never get enough of them. She was the ultimate high. One taste and he'd become a Jordan junkie.

As soon as the thought hit, his cock jumped and ached. He trailed kisses down to her quivering stomach, biting lightly, nibbling into her belly button and farther down to the edge of her panties. He wanted to be inside her now. “Take them off.” With both hands, he gripped her waist and lifted her while she reached beneath her skirt and peeled them off, one long leg at a time. “Grip the bars behind you, and put your feet on my thighs.” He cupped her butt and raised her warm pussy to his lips.

She was wet, so wet for him. He lapped at her sweet juice and licked her swollen clit, teasing it with gentle bites. He didn't know how much longer he'd last.

As he plunged his tongue in and played with her soft folds, she made little moaning sounds and called out.
He looked up to see her silhouetted against the light, her chest rising and falling, her hair blowing in the sandy breeze. Her eyes were squeezed closed, and the expression on her face as she opened them pierced him. He'd never had a woman come so fast.

He slid one hand up her damp back and she let go of the handlebars and wrapped her arms around his neck. Somehow he managed to slip the condom on before she slowly lowered herself onto his cock and he lost all reasonable thought.

She circled her legs around his hips and settled over him, wiggling into place.

“Don't move!” He gripped her hips, unsure how long he'd last in her tight warmth. His boot heels dug into the gravel. In this position he was buried to the hilt, yet he couldn't push up into her, couldn't pump into her the way his body screamed for him to.

With a mischievous smile, she pressed her lips to his neck and trailed kisses up behind his ear, down his jaw and finally covered his mouth.

She made him frantic, mad for release. He lost control. He gripped her butt and raised and lowered her. Soon she caught the rhythm and braced her arms on his shoulders to rock her hips.

Indescribable pleasure washed over him, building stronger, faster, hitting him harder. He held on tight, and a strangled cry escaped as he shot deep into her core. Hits of ecstasy bombarded his groin and spread up his entire body.

Her fingers clenched on his scalp and scraped down
his back as he tried to regain his breath. Echoes of the thrill still tingled and stung. He looked up and found Venus on the western horizon and Mars hanging just above the crescent moon. He picked out the Pleiades, Canis Captain and Orion. Anything to take his mind off the fact that he was squeezing Jordan to him as if his life depended on her and his eyes had come damn close to watering until he'd blinked a couple times.

Anything to forget that he didn't want to let go.

T
HREE HOURS
later Cole pulled his Harley into a parking space next to McCabe's Jeep at Red Rocks National Conservation Area. The sun was inching its way over the canyons to the east, and Cole sat staring at the orange and purple streaks coloring the clouds.

He wished he was up there, above the stratosphere. He wished he'd never come to Vegas. After the hospital, he should have gone straight to Phoenix to visit his folks.

Why the hell did he feel as if he'd lost the bet instead of won it? He was supposed to relish the look on McCabe's face when Cole told him he'd gotten lucky with the Keno girl.

But she wasn't just a Keno girl. She was a woman. A woman who'd been upset enough to ride off with him on his bike and do something she'd told him only a few hours earlier that she couldn't do. And he hadn't even found out why. He'd just taken what she offered.

McCabe climbed out of his Jeep, sipping steaming coffee from a cup. “Why aren't you dressed? You can't wear—Wait a minute. Isn't that the same shirt you had on last night?”

Cole glanced at his shirt. “So it is.” Swinging a leg off the bike, he ignored McCabe's searching gaze, reached into the back of the Jeep and pulled out harnesses and ropes.

“You been out all night? Tell me you didn't…”

Cole suppressed a smug grin. “All right. I didn't.” He grabbed the backpack full of their climbing shoes and gloves from the Jeep and nodded to Grady, who'd just pulled up in his truck.

“Well, I'll be. Grady, he did it! He nailed Ms. Crash-and-Burn.”

“Don't call her that.”

McCabe grinned. “Guess we can't anymore. From now on, we'll have to call her Ms. For-a-Good-Ti—”

Cole jerked him up by his T-shirt. “Shut up.”

McCabe stared at him with a puzzled expression. “Okay, Jackson. One good screw and she's got you pussy-whipped? Didn't you learn anything from my mistake?”

“Just because you married a whore—”

McCabe broke Cole's hold and slammed a fist into his jaw.

Cole stumbled back against his bike and pushed off again, fist swinging.

Grady stepped between them, caught Cole's knuckles in his palm, and shoved the two buddies apart. “You want to fight, take it somewhere else.” He looked pointedly at the family scrambling out of a minivan with backpacks and hiking boots. “I'll be on the western cliff.” He picked up his harness and rope and strode away.

Cole let his breathing slow, rubbing a hand over his stinging jaw.

“I got an extra pair of shorts in the Jeep,” McCabe mumbled.

Cole nodded. “Thanks.”

Turning to pull another backpack from the vehicle, McCabe shook his head. “What can I say? I'm an ass.” He grinned. “I was just pissed you made it with a woman who turned me down flat.”

A slow grin spread across Cole's face as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. “No. You're pissed because now you have to be a monk for the next thirty days.”

McCabe groaned and cursed under his breath.

 

“I
NEED A
sit-rep, Jackson,” Grady called down to Cole.

Cole used his T-shirt-covered shoulder to soak up the sweat dripping off his forehead. He was clinging to a measly grade-two slope, shaking so hard he could barely hold on to the rock face. If it weren't for the harness, he'd have already fallen the thirty feet he'd managed to climb. And Grady wanted a situation report? Hell, couldn't he see for himself?

“Hey, Jackson.” McCabe lowered himself back down to Cole's side. “It's no big deal. Let's head down for a beer.”

“No. I'm fine.” This wasn't over. Cole set his jaw and raised his foot to the next crevice.

Ignore the vertigo, Jackson. Push past the dizziness and nausea.

How many times had he and his buddies climbed
these canyons? And he'd always been the first one to the top. Once there, he'd lie on his back and stare at the vivid blue sky, feel the sun dry his drenched shirt, and give the rest of the guys hell for being so slow.

And now look at him.

It was the ear injury that screwed up his equilibrium. Same reason the flight surgeon had permanently revoked his flying privileges.

“Jackson, you got nothing to prove here, buddy.”

“I'm not quitting.” He glanced up to find his next handhold and the world started spinning again as if he was in a centrifuge chair. The next thing to come into focus was McCabe's face. He had an arm around Cole's back, keeping him upright and he looked…concerned.

Goddammit.

“You can stay on the side of this mountain if you want.” McCabe let go of him, began releasing the tension in his rope. “But I only have four more days of leave.” He rappeled down a couple of feet. “I don't know why I let you talk me into this much work. Time for some fun.” He looked at Cole. “How about we watch Grady pay off his part of the bet? I can't wait to see him in a mud mask and cucumber slices.” He grinned.

As distractions went, the image had a certain appeal. But Cole burned with frustration. McCabe was only trying to save his pride.

Too late for that.

Something inside him shriveled as he made the decision to loosen his rope and follow McCabe down the mountain.

What was he supposed to do with the rest of his life? He probably couldn't shoot the Colorado rapids, either. Or hang glide over the Hoover. What was left for him? Some vanilla desk-jockey job? He'd go insane.

And he'd never forget the expression on his dad's face at the hospital when he'd heard the news. Though he'd tried to take his son's grounding in stride, General James Jackson, retired Air Force, had seemed…shaken.

Maybe Cole should have just stayed in that Iraqi desert and let the buzzards take him. At least then he might have died a hero, instead of ending up some paunchy, pasty, paper-pusher.

That was crazy thinking. Self-pity was for cowards. And so was giving up. He'd almost reached the ground and jumped the last few feet, landing with a thud that sounded a death knell to his climbing days. He shook off the thought and started gathering up his rope, winding it into a neat loop around his hand and elbow. He'd served his country. He'd thrived on the challenges of combat. And he'd known the risks. He should be thankful. He was damned lucky to be alive.

And life was for living to the fullest. There were other challenges for him. He still had his bike and he still had—

The memory of Jordan naked in the dark desert washed over him like a cool cleansing waterfall. The feel of her gorgeous breasts pushed against his chest, and his hands clasping her butt as she rode him as if he was a bronc at the championship rodeo. He shivered, although the temperature must have been ninety-plus degrees.

Women. That was one adventure still left to him.
Wouldn't it kill McCabe to see Cole take a beautiful woman to his room, knowing he couldn't have one for another month?

He went and stood next to McCabe. “Hell, maybe I'll open that whiskey after all.”

 

M
ONDAY AFTERNOON
Jordan dragged herself into work at The Grand thankful that she was off tomorrow. As she entered the females' dressing room she caught Sherri bent over, adjusting her cleavage for maximum effect.

Jordan told her, “I'm never taking your advice again.”

Sherri glanced up at Jordan's words, and then did a double take. “Oh. My. Gawd. You got laid!”

Jordan's face flamed as she dropped her backpack on a bench. “And yet.” She glared at her misguided friend. “I still might not pass differential equations.”

“Oh, hon, what happened?” Sherri grabbed her arms for a quick hug. “Was it that gorgeous scarred major?”

Jordan blinked. “Focus, Sherri. My finals? You said sex would relax me so I could study. But now I can't concentrate at all. And I can't sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you really have to worry, Ms. Brainiac.” Sherri sat on the bench and crossed her arms and legs. “Now tell me all about Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Mm-mm-mm. He was asking about you, you know.”

“What? When?”

Sherri raised her brows and gave a smug smile. “Saturday. Wanted to know all about how long you'd worked here and what you did for fun. And Kayla told me that last night she saw the guy with his tongue
down your throat right outside these doors. And then you left early…”

Good grief, Sherri should start her own detective agency. “I—I don't know what I was thinking. I just lost it.” Jordan sat down and pulled off her sneakers.

Sherri squealed and clasped her hands to her chest. “Tell. Tell!”

Jordan shook her head. No way would she share the experience. It was beyond description. She'd never been so sexually aggressive. And on a motorcycle? A sweet, aching throb hit her core as she remembered.

The wild ride with the engine vibrating between her legs, and the major's hardening erection in her palm. The feel of his large hands cupping her breasts, his lips tugging at her nipples. And—oh—his mouth on her clit. She didn't want to think about how he'd gained the experience to be so good. She'd just appreciate being the recipient of such talent. Even if the after-sex part had been rather awkward.

“Sweet heavenly choir, Jordan! You should see your face. Must have been one hell of a night,” Sherri exclaimed.

With a cleansing intake of breath, Jordan returned to the present. “Let's call it temporary insanity and leave it at that.” She glanced at the time clock and started changing into her uniform.

“You're not going to see him again? Why not?”

“Sherri, you're the one who said I didn't have to have a commitment to ‘get me some.'”

“Commitment schmitment.” Sherri pursed her lips
and waved a hand. “I'm guessing he's only got a week's leave.” She shrugged. “So, you have one more for the road, where's the harm?” She stood and moved to the mirror to touch up her lipstick. “You got the next two days off, don't you?”

As Jordan finished getting into her uniform, she tried to pinpoint the reason for her second thoughts after she'd gotten home last night. Where was the harm? Didn't sex so amazing warrant a second go around?

No, no. She had finals to study for. And even if she didn't, once, she could chalk up to an impulsive, hormonal indulgence. Blowing off some steam. But, seeing him again? She'd never forget his final shudder in her arms as they both slowly recovered from their shattering orgasms. Her hand in his hair, his nose touching her neck. She'd felt so close to him. As if he'd shown her a side of himself no one else saw. But that was ridiculous. Except….

Neither of them had spoken as he disposed of the condom and adjusted his jeans. Nor as he'd helped her find her uniform top and bra while she stepped into her panties. Except for giving him directions to her apartment, nothing else had been said between them.

No, “See ya later.” No, “I'll call you.” No goodbye kiss.

Just an odd expression crossing his face as she handed him his jacket after she got off his bike in the apartment complex. The look in his dark eyes had been almost…regretful. But that didn't make sense. He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? He'd said no strings. And she wasn't complaining. Those rules suited her fine. She hadn't
been angling for anything more. Just a good, honest, mutually satisfying night of incredible sex.

Then why, as she headed for the casino, did she feel so unsatisfied?

 

“H
OW ABOUT
the babe at eleven o'clock?” McCabe asked, nodding toward a lustrous brunette at the roulette wheel.

Cole gestured for the Blackjack dealer to hit him one more time and then checked her out. Nice curves. Sultry eyes. Winked at him.

“Nah. Too easy.”

“What the—Ah you kiddin'?” McCabe's Southern drawl deepened in direct proportion to how much booze he'd tossed back. He gestured to the dealer for another card and busted. Grumbling a slurred curse, he finished his tumbler of vodka and threw in his cards. “Too short. Too tall. Too thin. Too fat. Now, too easy? You're killing me, man.”

“What's it to you, Mon Man?” Cole shot back. He lifted the corners of his cards again. Even twenty. He held his palm up, signaling the dealer he had enough.

“First the voodoo lady's shop is closed on Mondays, so Grady can't get his massage, and now you've suddenly turned into Mistah Picky.” McCabe quipped and turned to order another drink from a passing waitress.

Hughes appeared and intercepted the waitress, who nodded and walked off.

“Hey,” McCabe complained. “I wanted anothah drink.”

“You've had enough. I ordered you coffee.” Hughes crossed her arms over her chest.

“You did what? Aw, come on. I thought you were my friend.”

Cole gestured to the empty stool next to him, but Hughes shook her head, maintaining her defensive stance between them.