Hold 'Em: Vegas Top Guns, Book 3 (3 page)

Even when they’d been together, he’d been cut. Not buff, but lean enough that every muscle had stood out in stark definition. Now…

Now, she had to get her brain up out of her panties. That was a crash waiting to happen.

Besides, the fact that his body was bigger meant nothing about the methods he used in the sack. He’d still be all sweetness and light, wasting that wickedly naughty grin.

Slipping into an empty booth, Leah pointedly didn’t look at the table they staked when the whole crew showed up. Sitting there by herself would be silly. She waved down the waitress who wove through the tables with an empty drink tray balanced on one hand.

“Hi, Princess,” Theresa chirped. “Your boys abandon you?”

She couldn’t even get away from her call sign with civilians. But then, Theresa hardly counted since the majority of the clientele at Paulie’s were airmen—none of whom hesitated to whip out the cinnamon-bun-hair jokes. She smiled at the blonde. “They’re turning into respectable members of society.”

Theresa shook her head with mock disappointment. “It’s a crying shame. Two flyboys like that getting tied down.”

“Women all over the city are in deep mourning.”

“Don’t think I’m not one of them.” The waitress winked. “Now what can I get you?”

Leah wound the end of her long ponytail through her fingers then drew it over her shoulder. She wanted a margarita, heavy on the tequila. But she’d ridden her bike, and it’d be rude as hell to call Jon or Ryan for a ride when she knew they were occupied. “A Dr. Pepper,” she said on a sigh.

“Coming right up, sweetheart.” Theresa disappeared on a swish of hips.

With no one onstage to laugh at, Leah pulled her phone out of her pocket to amuse herself with a flying game. Even she knew that she was a little obsessed.

When Theresa came back, she set the plastic cup on the table in front of Leah. “Here you go.”

“Cherries, even?” She grinned up at the waitress. “Don’t tell me you’re so desperate for a pilot that you’ll pick up a chick?”

Theresa laughed. “All joking aside, you pilots are too scary psycho for me. The cherries are from the guy at the bar. He said you’d know what it was about.”

Leah knew who she was going to see before she even jerked her head around.

Mike leaned backward against the bar with his elbows hooked on the edge. She’d almost managed to convince herself that his newly impressive body had been a trick of the flight suit. Apparently not. Simple blue jeans showed off long legs with thick thighs. His dark T-shirt was on the snug side, probably since he knew exactly what he was showing off.

She raised the cup of soda in a silent salute. Only being friendly to a new squadron member. It was the right thing to do. She’d been the new girl on base plenty of times herself.

After Mike lifted his beer bottle in response, she turned back to face the stage. It wouldn’t do to let the poor boy think he had a chance. Of course, her act would be a lot easier to carry off if someone were up onstage singing. She drummed her fingers next to her glass.

Really, she was thinking about the cherries. He still remembered that she’d liked them. Mike had always laughed when she’d pulled the jar out of her fridge to drop a couple in her sodas. She might have a sweet tooth, but she earned it the hard way by running almost every morning.

Then there was the time when they’d put a few cherries to an entirely different purpose. That remained one of their most memorable nights together. As he decorated her with the cold, sweet treats, then nibbled them off, Mike had made her feel almost…worshiped. As if he adored her body. It had been tantalizing and a little freaky at the same time.

“This seat taken?” he asked, sliding into the booth across from her.

She sat up straighter, shaking off the wisp of memory. That was then and this was now. He was a team member.

“By all means.”

“I never figured you for a solo partier.”

She took a sip of her drink. “That’d be the reason for the Dr. Pepper. Thanks for the cherries, by the way.”

God, his smile was wicked. His lips were finely drawn, but mostly it was the way his eyes sparked at her. That bright blue had followed her around way longer than they deserved.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said.

She wasn’t following that line of conversation. No thankee. “I assume you’ve been busy today? Settling in?”

“You know it. When you don’t carry a lot of crap around, it makes it easy to unpack. I’m almost done already.”

“Unbelievable.” She laughed. “I hate moving. All the decisions. I still have a few boxes stuffed in my storage space.”

His boots brushed by her toes as he stretched out his legs. He hitched one arm across the back of the imitation red leather seat bench. “So this is Vegas on a Friday night? I’d expected bigger. Flashier.”

She rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the Strip. That’s where all the crazy people congregate.”

“Then I’m doubly shocked you’re not there.”

“Oh my, I’d forgotten how terribly funny you were,” she deadpanned.

She half-expected him to grouse at her. He’d always been touchy at any implied lack. But something about him was more…at ease than before. His laid-back cool made her want to shake him up, just to see if she could. He only laughed.

“Haven’t you been to Vegas before?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. Maybe curiosity, but a lot more of filling time. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be or anyone else to talk to.

“Nope. Been into Nellis for Red Flag before, but I was too busy getting my ass shot down every day to see the sights.” He offered it as a quip, but she saw it for what it was. Another attempt at a truce.

So she’d take it. Life at work would be easier if they weren’t at each other’s throats. “That seems like a shame. I bet you could tear up the town. At least you’ve got plenty of time now.”

“That I do.” His gaze turned measured, burning into her. “So what do you say? Wanna head up there with me?”

“Oh, no way. That’s just asking for trouble.”

He looked at her from under his brows, smile stretching even wider. His tongue slicked across his bottom lip. “Don’t say you’re scared, Princess. I think that might start the apocalypse.”

She blew a breath out, short and tight. Everything inside her was warning that this was a bad idea. Reckless. Stupid.

She’d been acting like a saint for so damn long. Being a good girl didn’t fit her skin. Biting back yawns on a Friday night was
so
not her idea of a great time.

She ran her finger around the rim of her glass then dipped it in her mouth to lick off the drop of dark soda. Mike’s eyes blazed brighter, even in the carefully dim lighting of the bar, as he tracked every move. He tightened his grip on his beer bottle where she noticed a plain silver cuff on his right wrist. His shoulders hulked up a few inches as he tensed.

Oh, she was bad. Nasty, even.

Really, going out with him wouldn’t actually mean anything. It wasn’t like she was an easy lay. Never had been. She had fun, but she was always picky about her partners.

“The day the tourists scare me is the day I give up my commission and buy a Camry.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a Camry,” Mike teased. “My mom drives one.”

“My point exactly.”

“So you and me. On the Strip.” He dangled the possibilities like an apple before Eve, all tempting and obviously bad intentions.

But he wasn’t pushing too hard. He leaned back in his seat as if waiting for her to come to him. Only his sharp-edged smile reached out to her.

The thing was, under that smile…

He looked almost wistful. Maybe? It was hard to put a name on the lurking emotion. She’d never been able to get inside his head.

Really, Leah would be doing him a favor by heading out to tourist land with him. He might have friends in the squadron already—she didn’t keep that close of tabs on him to know—but maybe he hadn’t found a chance to meet up with them yet. He had to be as bored as she was, not to mention frustrated after a whole day spent unpacking boxes.

“All right,” she said slowly. “If you really need a babysitter to keep you safe from the tourists, it seems the least I can do. In the interest of squadron morale and all.”

He nodded. An obviously fake solemn look pulled his mouth down. “Right. Big bad ol’ me needs help keeping safe.”

She slid out of the booth and tucked her hands into her back pockets, totally confident he’d be right behind her. She shook her ass as she walked, just a little, just to show him what he wasn’t getting.

Outside, she drew to a stop. His BMW was parked right next to hers, meaning he’d known she was there even before walking in. She didn’t like having been blindsided.

Worse than that, she didn’t like how much she appreciated his bike. All red on black, it was huge. A man would need long legs to be able to keep that thing upright, and a hell of a lot of control to keep it moving. Mike had that control now, and she wanted to pick it apart piece by piece. Something unnameable set up a low-level heat between her legs.

She shook it off. They’d been down that road before, and she’d only been disappointed. Not happening again. Mike could be a great friend though, if she could concentrate. “Where are we going?”

Mike scooped up his helmet as he gave her another one of those mixed-up smiles. He shrugged into a worn black leather jacket that fit him like his jeans—like those clothes had never been meant for a body other than his. “You’re the expert around here. Why don’t you tell me? I’m at your whim.”

No way. She was not thinking about the tingling thrill those words gave her. No chance.

“Gambling,” she said abruptly. “You haven’t been to Vegas unless you’ve gambled.”

Chapter Four

As Mike pulled up to the light, he grinned over at Leah where she’d stopped alongside him. He’d poked fun at her bike on principle, but it was a badass machine. Quick and agile, it made up in maneuverability what his engine lost in the busy, crowded city streets. Choked with Friday night revelers, the Strip might as well have been a parking lot for how much speed they could manage.

She revved her engine, ready to rip up asphalt, then her black-tinted visor snapped back toward the intersection. Mike turned away from how her thigh flexed beneath khaki cargoes. He answered her with a sharp twist of the throttle. Vibration gunned up his arms as he leaned forward.

The light turned green. Their back tires squealed. The heady, happy stink of burnt rubber swirled up and around. Slammed back by the laws of weight and motion, Mike pressed hard against the sudden burst of G-force. It wasn’t exactly a jet, but it was nearly enough to tide him over.

A hundred yards ahead, they had to slow down. More traffic.

With a glance to his right, Mike caught the flash of Leah’s frustration in the way she smacked the gas tank between her knees.

She angled her head toward a valet line outside Caesar’s. Mike nodded and followed, content to let her lead—for many reasons. The foremost at that moment was making sure she didn’t ditch him. Friday nights were hard enough in a new town. The prospect of losing a relatively friendly face was made all the more serious because,
damn
, she was a fine woman.

Leah killed the throttle and swung her leg over. She ditched her helmet, shrugged out of her flight jacket and handed the whole lot over to the valet. With a mental shrug, Mike did the same and added a crisp twenty too.

“Have you ever been here?” he asked as they climbed the steps to the main entrance.

She nodded. “You stay here long enough, you make the rounds.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Three years.”

“Shit, that’s forever.”

“I know. I’m
so
fucking bored.” She looked him up and down when he grabbed the door for her. “But I love the job too much to volunteer to move. I’ll stay until they kick me out.”

She pushed past but grimaced at her reflection in the glass. Mike watched as she ducked out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. Frowning, he followed to where she stood against a chest-high urn decorated in Roman-style mosaics.

“What?” he asked.

“I hate helmet hair.”

She reached back to grab the rubber band from her messy ponytail. The motion drew her breasts up and pressed them flush against her baby-blue camisole top. Although the material was thick enough to be worn as a shirt, the shape and size of her nipples were perfectly visible—hard nubs after the thrill of the ride. She intensified the subtle torture by letting her hair down and giving it a good shake. Soft falls of dark, dark brown curled around her shoulders. The ends brushed the tops of her breasts.

Mike’s mouth turned desert dry. She’d been a new officer last time they met, doing everything possible to be taken more seriously. This…

Nothing about her seemed grasping anymore. A little wild and a lot stir-crazy, sure, but that eager young officer had been replaced by a seasoned one.

He cleared his throat and looked away, intent on being good. She’d been doing her best to make him feel welcome. Just squad mates. In return, he’d do his best not to come in his pants at the thought of burying his nose in that dark, lush curtain.