Skintight (21 page)

She realized just how much of her small-town upbringing still lingered in her, but then again she was pretty sure the blonde's boldness had been over the top even for Las Vegas. “Well.” She cleared her throat. “That was…interesting. Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”

“I've been offered a couple of room keys before,” he admitted, his expression noncommittal. “But I've never run across anyone quite as blatant as she was.” Hugging her to his side, he smoothed his free thumb over a wrinkle still lingering between her brows. “I'm sorry.”

It might not be fair, but a tiny part of her did hold him accountable. Still, making a face, she conceded, “It's not as if you asked her to come over. I've just never experienced anything quite like that before.” She studied him. “It makes me look at you in a whole new light.”

It was his turn to grimace. “Swell.”

For no reason she could think of, other than the fact that Jax's groupie had all but presented herself to him on a silver platter, Treena's thoughts segued to something he'd said earlier while they were making love. “So, you have a birthday coming up, huh?”

He stared down at her as if she'd suddenly spoken in Swahili. “How do you jump from room-key-offering women to my birthday?”

“It's not that big a leap, Romeo. She all but wrapped herself in a big gold ribbon for you, and that reminds me of presents, which reminds me you said you have a birthday coming.”

“You are one scary woman, Treena Sarkilahti.”

“McCall,” she corrected him. Then she grinned. “But thank you. So when did you say it was?”

“I didn't.”

“Then this is your golden opportunity to do so, pal. Give me a date and I'll throw you a party.”

“God, no.” He shuddered, looking legitimately horrified. “I'm not big on that sort of thing.”

“In that case I'll only invite a few friends.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm. “I'd really prefer you didn't.”

“Fine.” She blew out a put-upon sigh.

Jax merely smiled. They'd begun to walk away from the spot where the woman had accosted him but now Treena stopped, and the sudden cessation of movement swung him around until his arm was still slung over her left shoulder but he was facing her. Flashing him a smile filled with promise, she leaned in to kiss his smooth jaw, then murmured in his ear, “Give me a date and I'll give you a
very
special present on your birthday.” Her lips curved up when she felt the subtle tremor that passed through him.

“Now that's tempting,” he admitted. Stepping back, he slid his hand down her arm and grasped her fingers. “But, honey-plum, you treat me to many more of those ‘special presents' and my heart just might explode beneath the strain.”

He couldn't believe how much it bugged him that there was so much he couldn't tell her for fear she might learn he was Big Jim's son. One of the things he couldn't say was that his old man had pretty much put him off birthday parties for life. His dad had been big
on huge theme parties that had been more about the type of boy he'd wished Jax to be than the real Jackson McCall.

On the plus side, however, he had to admit he was having fun watching Treena come up with ways to coerce his birth date out of him. He hadn't really analyzed it before, but being with her made him happy.

But right now the tournament was about to begin, and he couldn't afford to think about anything else. “I've gotta go,” he said, taking a long last look at her golden brown eyes, that warm smile and crazy-curl hair. “Give me a kiss for luck.”

She promptly grasped his shoulders and planted a warm one on his lips. He sank into its sweetness and heat and almost got sucked in to the point that he forgot where he was and why he was here. Luckily, she stepped back before he could start waltzing her toward the nearest supportive surface.

Oblivious to his lapse in concentration, she smiled and reached up to wipe her lipstick off his lips. “Knock 'em dead, cowboy,” she whispered and pressed a key into his hand. “Meet me at my place after you've won tonight's game.” Spinning on her heel, she headed for the place where he'd shown her she could sit and watch.

He turned in a daze for the reader board that would tell him which table he'd be playing today.

He got his head screwed on in a hurry when he saw that Sergei was one of the players at the table he'd been assigned. Great. He couldn't afford to lose today's game in particular, or the pressure to produce the baseball would really intensify. Blowing out a breath, he shook out his hands, found his table and took a seat.

Then he searched the crowd for Treena. He located her and went over to where she'd sat down. Grasping her hand, he pulled her to her feet. “I don't know what I was thinking,” he said as he led her back through the tournament room. “This isn't the final table—you don't have to watch from the gallery. You can stand back here if you want.” He positioned her behind his chair. “See the game a little more up close and personal.”

She gave him a pleased smile, but then looked around. “You'd better sit down,” she whispered. “Everyone else is seated.”

“Yeah. I'll see you later, huh? At your place?” He still hadn't quite absorbed the fact she'd given him a key.

“Yes. Now, go, go!”

He took his seat just as the final warning was announced. Nodding to the other players, he slowly inhaled, breathing in the scent of green felt and stacked chips to help him settle into his zone.

The game began and the button, which signified the deal although an actual casino dealer was used, went to the player two chairs to his right. That put Jax in the large blind position and sliding on a pair of dark glasses, he shut out all other considerations and focused, because the large blind and the small blind, which was the seat between him and the dealer, were the two lousiest positions at the table. It obligated him and the other player to bet six thousand and three thousand dollars respectively to guarantee a pot, regardless of the cards they drew.

And his hold cards were clunkers. They didn't improve appreciably when the flop cards were turned over, and grateful for the accrued winnings from previous
days that provided him with a cushion, he studied the table presence of the remaining players.

He'd played before with Sergei and with Ben Janeau, so he was familiar with their methods. But he didn't know the man on the button well enough yet to determine if the pulse beating in his throat stemmed from the excitement of holding a great hand or from a not-quite-sure-of-himself bluff. Nor, as he watched the woman at the other end of the horseshoe-shaped table, did he understand yet the significance of her fingering her bracelet before she placed a bet.

He lost the hand, but gained the satisfaction of putting together a couple of the players with at least some of their body language tells. And as he anted up for the next hand, he settled into his seat, the rest of the world beginning to recede. He lost his awareness of Treena and all the other onlookers standing behind him. The clang and clatter of the room muted.

Until finally all that was left was him and the game.

“Y
OU SHOULD HAVE
seen it, Carly,” Treena said in the dancers' dressing room later that evening. Leaning in to the lighted mirror, she carefully fit the first number's towering headpiece over her hair. “They bet as much as a hundred and thirty grand at a pop while I was watching—and apparently the pots grow larger as the game goes on. God, I wonder how Jax is doing since I left? His stack of chips was one of the biggest on the table when we arrived, and a guy next to me told me that's because while everyone starts out with the same amount, the current table stakes are the accumulated winnings since the beginning of the tournament.”

“So, you probably wanna avoid playing strip poker with the man,” Carly advised drily.

She laughed. “Probably so.” But heat tickled deep inside at the idea. “On the other hand, it might be kind of fun.” Then she remembered the way the evening's game had begun and frowned. “He started out losing right away, though. My chatty friend said that's because Jax was in a lousy position because of some rules I frankly didn't listen to all that closely, except to learn that it had to do with being obligated to place a bet even if you were dealt cards that would ordinarily cause you to
fold.” She shrugged. “Apparently those positions change after each hand. It's confusing—something to do with a button and the dealer. I was too nervous about all the money changing hands to really pay attention. But I wish you could have seen Jax. He sat there in a pair of shades like some mafia don or something, all cool and steady as an iceberg.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Is that mixing my metaphors? Language Arts was never my strong suit in school.”

“Beats the heck outta me. You'd have to ask Ellen.”

“You know what I mean, though, right?”

“Sure.” Carly nodded sagely. “He turned you on.”

“Big time. That's where that strip-poker-possibly-being-fun comes in.” Leaning toward her friend, she lowered her voice. “I know it's all very unliberated of me, but I can really picture him ordering me out of my clothes and telling me exactly what he'd like me to do.” She blew out a breath and fanned herself. Her reflection in the mirror displayed flushed cheeks even through the heavy stage makeup. “Good grief. I can't believe I just said that.” Nor could she believe she'd gone from thinking sex was for the birds to getting all tight between the legs at the thought of Jax giving her sexual orders. She realized that the scenario playing in her head was fairly mild as carnal experimentation went, but it signaled a complete change in attitude for her.

“At least you actually have a chance of fulfilling a fantasy or two,” Carly said wistfully. “Hell, plain old vanilla, nonverbal
missionary
-style sex sounds good at this point.”

“Well, hey, maybe you'll hit it off with your new neighbor. If I remember correctly, he was—well, I sup
pose handsome isn't precisely the word—but definitely one of those ‘Got Testosterone?' kind of guys you go for.”

Carly grinned at her description, but said regretfully, “Unlikely, toots. As convenient as it would be to have a nooky man right next door, those security types aren't exactly known for fraternizing with the rank and file.” Then she visibly cast off her discontent. “But what the hell—I'll just have to find someone who's not so fussy. I've gotten myself in a rut, that's all. But I intend to climb right back out of it.” She checked her dramatic makeup one last time in the mirror, then rose to her feet, all long legs, tall headdress and extravagant tail feathers. “Maybe not tonight or, unfortunately, even tomorrow. But soon, for certain.”

“Yeah, your dry spell's about to end,” Treena agreed loyally. “I feel it in my bones.”

Carly kissed her bunched fingertips then flicked them open, sending the kiss winging in Treena's direction. “From your lips to God's ear, sister.”

 

J
AX LET HIMSELF
into Treena's condo just before midnight. “Hey,” he called out softly. “You home?”

There was no answer.

Navigating by the light of the moon that filtered through the venetian blinds to cast achromatic stripes across the hardwood floors, he made a circuit of the apartment to satisfy himself she wasn't simply in one of the other rooms but hadn't heard him. When he was sure that wasn't the case, he went back to the living room. He'd only been alone in the condo that one time and knew if he were smart he'd take advantage
of Treena's absence to get cracking on his search for the baseball.

Instead, he flopped down on the couch and spread his arms along its back, his legs stretched out in front of him. Looking around, he marveled at how different the apartment looked in the moonlight. Except for one fruit-filled, colorful pottery bowl highlighted by the dim spotlight of a Tiffany-shaded accent lamp on the counter, all the colors in Treena's apartment were leached of their usual bright hues by the silvery illumination that turned everything to an indistinguishable, impersonal gray. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he'd landed in some stranger's house by mistake.

But of course he did know better. And any minute now he was going to haul his ass up off this comfy couch and start tossing the joint for the cursed collectible.

He just needed a second to give his strategy some thought.

Before he could drag his butt up off the couch, however, he heard Treena and Carly laughing out in the hallway. And his heart lifted.

He assured himself the phenomenon was strictly relief that he'd held off on his search. He'd never find what he was looking for if Treena came in and caught him red-handed going through her stuff.

Then he snorted. Because he knew perfectly well that he was full of shit.

Carly's voice grew fainter as she continued up the stairs to her apartment, and a moment later he heard Treena's key in the door.

“Hey,” he said softly, and smiled when he heard her startled squeak.

She appeared in the archway, a pleased smile curving her lips. “You
are
here. I thought I must have beat you home.”

Home.
God, it had been such a long time since he'd possessed a place he could call home that the mere word did something to his gut. He couldn't afford to consider what the root of that “something” was, though, so he shoved down the desire to explore the feelings it conjured and simply smiled back at her. “Yeah, I guessed as much. Sorry if I startled you—I wanted to warn you before you walked in and saw some shadowy man sitting on your couch.”

She strode over and mounted his lap like a cowgirl climbing onto a paint, nimbly swinging her leg over to straddle his hips. She wiggled herself to a comfortable position upon his burgeoning erection. “Hmm. Doesn't feel all that shadowy to me. It feels, in fact, downright substantial. So what were you doing sitting in the dark?”

“Decompressing from the game.”

“Oh!” She sat up straighter, which pressed the softness between her legs harder against his straining dick, making him groan. Looking down at him, she started to rise up off his lap. “I meant to ask right away, but I seem so easily sidetracked these days. Mostly by this, you devil.” Reaching between her legs, she gave the hard-on tenting the fly of his jeans a brief stroke. Then she took her hand away. “How did the game go after I left?”

He grabbed her hips, hauling her back down to her rightful place. And grinned. “I won.”

She whooped and wrapped her arms around his head,
hugging his face to her shallow cleavage. “Oh, Jax!
Congratulations.
Man, I take back every bit of my lack of sympathy when you tried to tell me poker could be a stressful job. I couldn't imagine it at the time when I tried reconciling the kind of money you make for the short amount of time it takes you to earn it. But after watching you—” she heaved a sigh, which pressed his nose deeper between her soft breasts “—I don't know how you can do that night after night without having a heart attack. I nearly had one just watching how much cash you bet on every hand.”

He laughed and worked his tongue into the low neckline of her backless halter top—the same one she'd been wearing the first night they'd met. He lapped her cleavage from sternum to clavicle.

“That's it?” Gripping a handful of his hair, she pulled his head away, leaning back in his lap to stare down at him. “That's your answer to my very genuine apology? To lick my boobs?”

“Well…yeah. They're very lickable.” He gave her a double wag of his eyebrows. “Salty and sweet as a world-class margarita.”

“Oh, for crying in a beer.” She shook her head in faux disgust. “You're such a guy.”

“And this would be a bad thing?” Pulling free of her grasp on his hair, he buried his face back in her cleavage. He dragged his hands forward from their spread-fingered grip on her bare back to frame the sides of her breasts. Pressing them together, he reveled in the feel of their silken inner curves against his cheeks. Her flesh caressed his beard-shadowed skin as he nuzzled her, and he ensnared her beaded nipples between his fingers and
gently compressed them through the thin crepe that poked out over their impudent thrust.

She sucked in a sharp breath and arched her back. “Ohmigawd,” she whispered. Rocking slightly upon his erection, she inhaled deeply, as though seeking to control her feelings. But her exhalation was a long, shaky sigh, and her head fell back as if it were suddenly too heavy for her slender neck to support.

Hungrily he stared up at the vulnerable arch of her throat, the sensuous droop of her mouth and the shadowy fans her golden red lashes created against her flushed cheekbones. And his heart performed an unfamiliar, almost painful clench, as if suddenly squeezed in the bench-vise grip of an unseen giant.

Treena open her heavy-lidded eyes and gazed down at him with an expression that nearly incinerated him on the spot. “So,” she said in a husky voice. “If you're not all burned out on cards, how would you like to indulge in a little game of strip poker?”

 

T
HEY WERE LETHARGICALLY
assembling breakfast late the following morning when someone knocked on the front door. Treena looked up from the stove where she was turning bacon to glance over at Jax, who stopped slopping pancake batter around a pottery bowl to quirk his eyebrows at her. “Will you get that?” she asked. “I'm afraid to leave this.”

“Sure.” And propping the wooden spoon he was using against the bowl's festively hued rim, he slid from the bar stool and padded barefoot to the entryway.

“Well, hi there,” she heard him say an instant later upon opening the door. “You're the last person I ex
pected to see, given I've never been here when you haven't just let yourself in.”

“Hey, I knock,” came Carly's voice. “Well, sometimes, anyway. Treena here?”

“Yeah, c'mon in. She's in the kitchen. Excellent timing, by the way—we're getting ready to put breakfast on the table. I don't know what Treena's philosophy will be on feeding your two friends, though.”

She barely had a chance to wonder who Carly might have brought with her when Rufus came charging around the corner. Her throw rug on the hardwood floor where the kitchen and living room met accordion-pleated beneath the pup's exuberant onslaught, and with a startled yip the black-and-brown mutt scrambled in place on the fabric bunching beneath his paws, which caused it to contort even further. Then he sprang free, but his balance didn't improve appreciably when he landed on the tiled floor.

He skidded across the kitchen like a sailboat without a rudder, sliding past her to thump up against the cupboards.

Treena laughed so hard she slid down the stove to an ungainly heap on the floor. Lifting her head to wipe her streaming eyes she saw Buster, who had followed more decorously in the younger dog's wake, plopping his slightly overweight butt down on the Rufus-crumpled area rug. His tail thumped twice against the floor.

She tried to get a grip, but each time she came close to gaining control the look of shock on Rufus's face as he'd sailed past her would flash across her mind's screen once again. And off she'd go on another wild ride through Hysteriaville. It didn't help when Rufus scrambled past her with an almost human look of sheepish
ness on his furry face to join Buster on the crumpled rug. Panting, he leaned heavily against the older dog.

Jax's legs appeared in front of her just as she was sure she was finally getting control of herself. Over the sound of her own intermittent snickering she dimly heard the click of a burner being turned off. “Oh, God, the bacon,” she said, and for no good reason she could think of the idea of it burning to a crisp while she laughed like a loon cracked her up all over again.

“She's easily amused,” Jax said, presumably to Carly, although her friend was nowhere she could see. He crouched down next to the dogs in the kitchen opening. “I gotta hand it to you,” he said to Rufus, ruffling the dog's ears. “That was one spectacular entrance.” Then he turned to Buster. “You're a bit more sedate than your little buddy here, aren't you, sport?” He shook the paw that was offered him. “Nice to meet you, too. What did you say your name was again?”

Treena finally got herself in hand and pushed to her feet. Castigating herself for acting like a buffoon, she cleared her throat. “That's Buster.”

Jax turned back to look up at Carly as the other woman rounded the corner. “Interesting dog,” he said with mellow amusement. “He looks like something Dr. Seuss might have created.”

That nearly reversed Treena's newly regained composure, because it was so wonderfully apt. Buster had long legs and a wide rear, and his splotchy ginger-colored fur was short-haired everywhere except for the wild tufts that sprang up from the crown of his head and formed feathery ruffles around his ankles.

Carly's arctic voice, however, cut through her amuse
ment like a razor through silk. “Oh, that's nice,” her friend snapped in a tone that suggested she thought it was anything but. “Do you kick cripples when they're down, too?”