Wildcard (2 page)

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

A coy grin found its way across his features as he leaned on the counter and did his best to get closer. She was quieter and a tough nut to crack, but crack her he would. She had a bit of sass under the reserve wrapped around her like a cloak. At least this would be interesting. One thing he hated most was a steak fuck. Nothing was worse than hitting on a girl who was about as dimensional as a medium-well sirloin.

Jasmine couldn’t help the small smile that quirked the corner of her lips. He was a cocky one, that was for sure, and way too young for her. No problems with confidence though, or assertiveness, not with the way he’d separated her from her friends or the slightly possessive way he was hovering around her. After a rough divorce that had knocked the stuffing out of her, having a cute guy so set on getting her attention was novel and exciting. Settling more comfortably on the barstool, she sipped at the white wine he’d ordered for her.

“So,” he started with a grin. “Gonna tell me your name?”

Jasmine studied him over the rim of her glass. What was the harm? It wasn’t like telling him her name was a marriage proposal or any long-term commitment, was it? Still after Julian, the rat, guys—even cute-as-hell soldiers like this one—were on the look-but-don’t-touch list.

“Maybe. Depends.”

He grinned at her response. “You know, this conversation will last twice as long if you only say half a sentence and I have to ask what the end of it is. Soooo…it depends on what?” He gave her a playful nudge.

She smiled behind the glass, then put it down. He was handsome, and more so, he was flirting with her. For a woman like Jasmine—too plain, too boring, too middle-aged wife—correction, too middle-aged ex-wife—he was like a breath of fresh air. If she could let herself believe it was really happening.

“Depends on you telling me what unit you’re with.”

“Well, that’s easy. Third of the Fourth Infantry. Charlie Company, First Platoon, First Squad. Sergeant Michael Thrivener, at your service.”

He held his hand out for a shake as though they’d just met. He leaned over and gave her puppy dog eyes, his expression pleading. “Now can you tell me your name? Pretty please? With a shot on top?”

Jas chuckled, a deep throaty noise that made her sound like she’d been smoking twenty a day for the past ten years. Steph called it her “phone sex laugh.” Normally it embarrassed the hell out of her. Not now, though. She took his hand and shook it. “Jasmine McDonal…err, Howell. Sorry, recently divorced.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she winced.
Recently divorced—perfect line to get them running for the hills. Watch it boys, desperate divorcee here.

His expression deadpanned a little. The smile faded and for a second he seemed genuinely sorry for her. “Sorry… Can’t imagine that’s easy to deal with.”

He picked up a shot glass and took the shot quickly. It was obvious the mention of divorce had touched him a little. His nose wrinkled as he swallowed.

“Fuck him. Probably was a dirt bag anyway. Bartender, two more!” He gestured with two fingers. At her look, he explained the contents. “It’s called a brain surgery. No clue what the hell is in it, but it sure rides down smooth.”

He handed her a glass. Inside the yellow liquor there was a thicker red substance that looked roughly like a brain, or maybe a heart, or something. She took it, trying not to look too closely at the contents.

“Here. To moving on, because the last one was a piece of shit for not seeing how great they had it to begin with.”

Jas sniffed at the contents and recoiled as the alcohol hit her. “Whoa, that’ll take the hairs off the inside of your nose.” She eyed him for a moment, suspicion coiling in her chest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you’re trying to get me drunk here, Sergeant.”

“Maybe I am. You’d have to be to deal with the Garth Brooks music. That’s bad enough to take the ears of a drunken sniper.”

His tone was playful and his eyes warm as he leaned into her a little. Close enough to let the scent of his aftershave wind around her, his posture tempting her to lean forward toward him slowly.

Jasmine lifted an eyebrow as she considered the glass again. Did she dare? Oh, to hell with it. She was young, free and single… Well, OK, two out of three wasn’t bad. She had a cute guy hanging on her every word, and her friends were just the other side of the bar with strict instructions not to let her get drunk and dance on any tables. Not that she’d ever actually danced on tables, but there was a first time for everything.

“In for a penny,” she murmured and drained the glass in one gulp.

“
Nice
.” He chimed his glass off hers as if she were one of his buddies. “All right. Atta girl. Next one’s a bit nicer on the liver.” He handed her another glass. “And now to fun times, strangers, and what the night may bring.”

He lifted his own glass in a mock toast. She was sure it was meant to sound uplifting, but in ways could have been seen as the opposite. Part of her wondered just what it was that made him shift so suddenly. Still, ocean blue eyes, olive skin, and a muscled build or not, he was right. A little fun wouldn’t hurt her too badly. In fact, it could be just what the doctor ordered.

Three brain surgeries later, Jasmine’s world was spinning around the edges.

“You, Michael, are a very bad man,” she said with a giggle after his last round of barrack-room jokes. Wriggling to the edge of the stool, she motioned him out of the way so she could clamber down. She wrinkled her nose as she contemplated the climb. At least she’d had the foresight to wear pants tonight instead of a skirt and heels. No doubt if she had, she’d have fallen off the thing onto her ass and flashed her panties to the entire bar. “At my height, you’d think I’d learn not to sit on these things, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged, a little carefree. “Eh, no harm in them. So where we headed?” The intent of not letting her slip away dripped from his voice, his gaze locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile.

God, his eyes are amazing.
Clear, ocean blue-green, and filled with an innocence she knew had to be false. Having lived around the base most of her life, she knew all about soldiers. There was no way one who looked the way he did, like sex on a stick, was anywhere
near
innocent.

She slid off the stool in the most graceful movement she’d managed for years. A hand in the middle of his broad chest stopped him in his tracks as he made to follow her. Feeling the solid muscle under her fingers, Jasmine fought the urge to let her hand wander a little.

“
I’m
off to the ladies’ room,” she told him firmly as she grabbed her purse. “Gal’s got to powder her nose…” she trailed off, trying to think of something witty to say, then just gave up. “Stay,” she ordered, wriggling her fingers in a small wave over her shoulder as she headed, somewhat unsteadily, for the toilets.

Michael’s eyebrow arched upward. The mental debate to follow her had to be plastered across his features as he watched her leave. He sighed, turning back to the bar to lift another long island to his lips. It tasted a little watered down, so he tipped a little skimpier than normal.

He’d been careful to make sure her drinks were stronger than his, a trick his squad had picked up years ago. Right now he was thankful for it. Jasmine was the type of woman to be savored, not fucked while he was smashed out of his skull and forgotten just as quick.

“Fifty-fifty she comes back…better odds than most, I guess.” Unfortunately, his level of intoxication had a detrimental effect on his already low patience. Tapping his finger on the bar, he glanced back to the restrooms several times.

“Fuck it.” With a sigh he pushed away from the bar, lumbered through the crowd to the restroom and posted up in the hall.

He didn’t have long to wait. Unlike most women in his experience, she didn’t make one trip into a three-hour chatathon. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever seen women go to the restroom in crowds of less than three. He’d certainly never seen one go alone before. Stepping through the door, she looked up, surprise on her face to see him there. Surprise which was quickly followed by a sultry smile Michael instantly wanted to see more of.

“Heya, handsome. What a surprise. Come here often?”

He stuffed his hands into his jeans and shrugged casually. “Once every moon or so.”

He didn’t chase a lot. It wasn’t his style, and besides, there were always easier catches if the harder ones got away. This one, though, had that right combination to make him actually want to hunt her down. Hunt her down, capture her, and drag her off to his lair. Then screw her senseless.

“You’re stuck with me…for the night anyway.” He shot back with a grinning wink, hiding his lust-filled thoughts.

Looping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she walked toward him on unsteady feet. Michael hid his smile, guessing she didn’t drink much or often.
Putty in his hands
. As she reached him, her heel caught on a raised tile and she stumbled a little.

Oh yes, thank you God!

He caught her in his arms easily, pulling her close for a moment so he could prolong the body contact. His brain short-circuited at the way her curves felt against him. He took a deep breath as her perfume slowly worked its way into his sinuses and his brain catalogued the scent.

Using her lack of balance, he copped a quick feel, biting back a groan as her breasts fit his hands perfectly. It was enough to tease him almost past his tolerance, his cock hard and aching, demanding release from its denim confinement.

“Hey!” She pushed against him, her cheeks bright red. Not giving her the chance to say anything else, Michael yanked her closer and claimed her lips. Wrapping his arms around her, he let the terrible music and all the annoying patrons melt away as he paid homage to the perfection of her lips.

As he’d expected and hoped, after her initial shock she relaxed. Her lips softened against his as she started to kiss him back. Caressing slowly up and down her back, his hands coasted to a stop on her hips. He itched to slide them down, cup her ass, and drag her up hard against him.

Stopping the kiss for a moment, his lips lingered close to hers as he fought the urge to just throw her up on the narrow table in the corridor and get to work.
God, he hadn’t had such a strong reaction to a woman in years.
Perhaps ever. All he knew was he had to have her, get himself balls deep in her luscious softness before the night was out. Whatever it took.

He nodded at the door. “We should go…” His voice was a hushed, raw whisper he barely recognized as he nibbled at her ear. Anything to keep her off balance and soft in his arms. He read her indecision from the sudden set of her body.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to, I swear,” he started, only to be cut off by her soft exhale and chuckle.

“Oh come on, I’m a big girl. I think I figured out where this is going…just, why?”

He shrugged and quoted a line from an old movie. “Why ask why? When how is so much more fun.”

He slid an arm behind her for support as they made their way toward the door. He needed to get her out of here and build on the atmosphere he’d already developed. On their own, without the risk someone would walk in on them, he knew she’d open up to him. From there it was a quick, hot ride to possessing her completely.

Realizing he had a problem, Michael made a show of patting his pockets. Unless he wanted to seduce her in his car, he was going to need to grab some keys from one of the guys. One of them always rented a cheap motel room, just in case.

“Damn, gotta get my keys from the gang. Won’t take long.”

Keeping her arm looped in his, as much to balance her as to make sure she went where he wanted, Michael turned her in the direction of the rest of his squad. Once there, he nudged Parra in the side.

“Hey man, you got the keys?” He jerked his head toward Jasmine, indicating they were good and ready to seal the deal.

Parra glanced over. He’d been sitting by himself for some reason, and his eyes widened a little as he started to smile.

“Damn Mikey, who’s the chica?”

Michael didn’t smile back. Already he could tell Parra was interested, his body language and the syntax of his speech were both intrusive. His catch had obviously wandered off and Michael wasn’t in the mood for Parra swooping in and trying to steal his.

“Her name is Jasmine. And she’s fine.”

The last part oozed with unspoken warning to back off. He’d done them all a favor and picked the wildcard. She could have been a two-bagger, but just because she’d turned out to be stunning didn’t mean Parra could move in and try his luck.

“Mikey aren’t you going to introduce us?” Jasmine’s dark eyes twinkled with amusement as she looked from him to his friend. Michael swallowed the growl that threatened to rumble up from his chest. Damned if that wasn’t just like a woman.

He was already annoyed Parra had called him “Mikey.” It was a stupid pet name, one Parra used when he was impressed with something he’d done, or when he planned to do something Michael wouldn’t like.

“Jasmine, Parra. Parra, Jasmine. There, you’ve been introduced. Keys?”

He held his hand out in silent demand. If Parra knew what was good for him, he’d take the hint and make ready with the motel keys.

“Hold on, hold on. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jasmine. Michael didn’t say he’d found such a gorgeous young woman.”

Parra oozed charm as he took Jasmine’s hand, kissing the back in a gallant gesture. Michael felt his expression freeze, a cold death that was about to fall on Parra’s shoulders any second.