Hold 'Em: Vegas Top Guns, Book 3 (13 page)

As if he’d blurt out to their CO something to incriminate them both.

That tightened his jaw.

He kept his eyes on Haverty. “Sir?”

“This is a big op, right? We’ll be working closely with the 65
^th
, but I still need you in the air against those arrogant NATO boys.” He had the look of a leader searching to see if he could depend on his men. “You gonna be ready?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Good. Princess is the best in the simulator, so do what you can to get along, huh, kids?”

With that, he grabbed his clipboard and followed the rest of the squad out toward the main hangar bay. Mike waited. He didn’t want to wait—wanted to be the one to speak first. But the odd silence around them made his skin tingle. Three days of obeying her every command was harder to shake off than he’d planned.

“You ready?” she asked.

He hadn’t heard her speak since the previous afternoon when they’d said goodbye. Out of condoms and out of food, they’d decided to call it good. Her voice had been soft against his ear. Then she’d been gone in a squeal of tires.

Mike wasn’t generally a guy to make plans too far out, but he planned to pick up another box of Trojans that evening when he finally made it back to the store. Just in case.

He grinned. “Sure thing, Princess. Ready and able.”

The scowl that firmed her lush lips revealed no hint of their sexual play. “Can it. Let’s go.”

The no-nonsense tone iced his skin.

Screw this.

He followed her through the hangar where the squad was busy outfitting themselves for flight. Squashing a flare of envy, he kept his eyes on Leah’s boot heels. The walk to the simulator was draining in ways he hadn’t considered. Maybe in the back of his mind he’d expected a hint of what they’d shared. A little smirk. A private phrase. He wore her bruises and her fingernail scratches like war wounds under his flight suit, but she was a blank wall.

The firm contrast between their weekend and their business selves was hard to reconcile—and this from a guy who’d never had such a problem before.

“All right.” She waved a hand toward the simulator, then propped two fists on her hips. “In you go, Strap Happy. You have a lot to prove to me.”

Shit, even that did a number on him. She was dead serious, and his pride was smarting, but the primal reaction to please her shimmied up his spine. He buckled in with a rigid back and the makings of a hard-on, pissed as hell that she managed to stay unaffected.

An hour later, the sound of Leah’s voice was a knife along his skin. Every critique. Every correction. It wasn’t enough that the smell of her was driving him up a wall—that sweet, salty skin layered with something delicately floral.

No, it was how damn good she was at the things that gave him fits.

He was an instinctual pilot. He hadn’t even thought about flying when volunteering in the wake of September 11
^th
. But his aptitude scores and physical conditioning had propelled him into the sky. The vagaries and minutiae of proscribed combat styles made him more frustrated than he would’ve thought possible, not after so many years in a cockpit.

That Leah was the one to see him make mistake after mistake only scraped deeper, shredding his ego. Four hours in the blasted machine dragged on. He was flustered and furious with himself.

Leah checked her watch. “Lunch break, I think.”

Glaring, he unhooked his harness before shaking the ground-down tension out of his hands. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Pulling rank. You like it. Even here.”

“Don’t be a baby, Mike.”

“No, seriously, admit it.”

The tops of her cheeks went pink. “Will you shut up?” she hissed.

Mike unfurled from the simulator, his thighs burning in ways he hadn’t felt since he’d traded running for exercises that wouldn’t stress his knee—all lactic acid and frustration. “This has nothing to do with your off hours, Princess. This is about you finally getting one over on me with your flying.”

She huffed. Her gaze darted to a dozen places before returning to his. “Yeah, it is. If that makes me a bitch, fine. You never thought I’d make it, and now I have. Now you’re learning from
me
.”

He was, no matter how bad it grated at his nerves. That just meant he’d need to find something to teach her in return. She’d taken to his brand of kink like a natural, but Leah Girardi had no idea how far he wanted to go. Getting there would mean learning from
him
, even if she was the one who wielded the paddle.

With a smile made of one hundred percent anticipation—one she caught, one that made her frown—he climbed back into the simulator.

“Forget lunch. Bring it, Princess.”

Chapter Fifteen

By the end of the afternoon, Leah felt like her skin didn’t fit over her bones. It pinched across her neck and made her cheeks feel funny—almost numb, as if her tight expression had been duct taped to her face.

Because Jesus Christ, the whole day had been a nut roll of the highest order.

Playing the bitch had never been difficult. Riding someone’s ass to make sure they kept their fellow pilots safe in the air? Not a problem.

Until it was Mike’s ass. The same ass he’d let her smack until it was streaked pink.

Their weekend had been a different world. This was work.

Because really, did he freaking suck in the simulator or what? He couldn’t get it in his head that he needed to fly like a bad guy, or that his usual techniques wouldn’t work—might even cause him to crash.

Even worse was his obvious frustration at his suckitude. He kept smiling, but it took on a hard edge that revealed the expression as a lie. The more angry he became, the more his blue eyes paled out. His laid-back, smooth motions became jerkier. Stiffer.

She wanted to pet him, to take him aside and assure him that he’d get it—if only he could center himself enough to take a deep breath. Then maybe she’d see if she could still get a grip on his newly shorn hair.

Leah couldn’t indulge those impulses. Not in uniform. Not anywhere they could be seen.

By the time she and Mike left the flight simulator and headed back toward the hangar, she was tied in knots. A fierce protectiveness wired up her muscles, all the worse because she couldn’t indulge it. Plus, Mike might chomp her arm off if she even tried. He didn’t seem in the mood for coddling.

“Are you going to tell Haverty how badly that went?” he asked with a studied nonchalance. His hand scrubbed over the back of his head, where a pencil-thin line of white showed at the top of his neck. Another reminder of his fresh haircut.

Leah swept her headgear off as they stepped into the dim recesses of the hangar. “I’m going to have to report in.”

A tendon snapped in front of his ear. “Of course you are.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“I know. It’s just…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah. Do what you have to.”

She’d thought on Saturday morning that looking herself in the mirror was strange, but that memory had nothing on walking into Ryan’s office with Mike at her side. And oh, great, Jon was there to join the party.

Leah had never been less enthusiastic about seeing her two best friends. Their bastion of support was unable to help her now. She wanted nothing more than to stay hidden in Mike’s little house, letting him work her up to one hell of an orgasm, or rewarding him for a full-out effort across a tough day.

Ryan looked up as they walked in. “How’d it go?”

Jon leaned back in his seat. “What Fang really means is how many times did you crash?”

Since Jon was sitting in the only chair, Leah and Mike both leaned against the wall of the tiny office. Only after she folded her arms across her chest, did she glance at Mike. He’d taken up an almost identical posture.

Her hands immediately dropped to her hips, but it was too late. Jon spotted the lapse. His dark eyebrows rose, and his mouth curved into a tiny smirk. Leah mentally aimed death threats at him, promising she’d skewer him if he uttered so much as a syllable.

Ryan pointed at the door. “Scram, Tin Tin.”

“You steal all my fun. Giving the new guy shit’s a time-honored ritual.”

Leah rolled her eyes. “Why are you even pretending you want to hang around? Head to Heather’s house.”

Jon’s mouth turned down. He was a whole different person when it came to Heather Morris. “She’s working late. Heads to London tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Ryan said. “That explains indulging me with your presence for the last twenty minutes. But too bad, you’re not invited. Go wait outside.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Jon offered a tiny, sarcastic salute before ducking out the door.

Only when she caught Mike watching the byplay did Leah realize that she wanted him to like her friends. For ease of relations around the squad, of course. His expression, however, was the same as when he’d finally abandoned the simulator—a man awaiting his execution and doing his best to not give a shit.

Ryan turned his best mean-boss look on Leah then Mike. “So. How many times
did
you crash?”

“A lot.” A hard glint shone in Mike’s eyes. “I pretty much blew.”

Leah jerked her head to look at him. His confession of how badly it had gone was the last thing she expected. “Fang, it’s just going to take some more work.”

The smile Mike aimed at her was fake. Plastic. It promised that he didn’t need anyone to fight his battles with him.

Message received, loud and clear. Eyes forward, she folded her hands behind her back and rolled her nails into her palms.

Mike went on to give a full, unflinchingly honest account of the day’s lessons—including many of the failings Leah had pointed out in his technique. Even a few she hadn’t.

Ryan nodded. A serious pall pulled his mouth into a frown. “Princess, is he going to be ready for the next Red Flag? Or am I going to have to plan for alternate scenarios?”

Something cold tumbled around in her stomach. A hard knot of discomfort. Had she realized that Ryan was going to put her in this position, she never would’ve dared Mike to show her his toy collection. But then, she wouldn’t have known the absolute perfection of seeing him on his knees. She took a deep breath, doing her damnedest to lock down the memories of their weekend.

“He’ll be ready.”

Ryan laughed as he stood from his desk and started gathering his belongings—his headgear, keys from a top drawer, and a few folders under one arm. She and Mike took it as their cue to leave. Once upon a time, Ryan had spent hour upon hour at the office. Now he was spitfire eager to get home to Cassandra. He usually took work with him, but the lucky bastard was there.

Yeah, Leah was envious. She didn’t know what that crazy weekend with Mike had been, but the answer wasn’t the start of something solid. With leather cuffs and spanking on the first night, how the hell could it?

All three stepped into the corridor, where, sure enough, Jon was hanging around. Looked like the poor dude needed a beer. Just not with her.

“So when can I take a few whacks at him?” he asked. “For fun and prizes?”

Mike flipped him off, but the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. His spine uncorked as he leaned against the far wall. “Gimme a week, Tin Tin, and I’ll be taking you down daily.”

Ryan locked the office door. “Please, please tell me it’s possible. Someone needs to take the boy down a peg or two.”

Jon only smirked. “You just wish you could do it yourself, Fang.”

“That’s for damned sure.”

Mike jerked a thumb toward Jon. “You guys let him get away with that mouth all the time?” But there was no real menace in the words.

The three men had dropped into the general smart-butt camaraderie of brothers-in-arms. Easily. As if they’d known each other for years. Because they were pilots.

Male
pilots.

Leah couldn’t help a biting edge of crankiness. She’d needed to work hard to be accepted. Sure, Jon and Ryan were two of the coolest guys she’d met. Otherwise they wouldn’t have put up with her shit for so long. They took her for her accomplishments, not her gender. She hadn’t needed to be as hard-assed with them.

Yet even that relatively smooth process hadn’t been as immediate as their acceptance of Mike.

The situation only got worse when Ryan slapped Mike on the back and grinned. “I tell you what, Strap. You make it through the week in one piece and I’ll buy you a drink on Friday. You found Paulie’s yet?”

Mike’s gaze slid to hers at the same time her spine froze. Her head jerked back a full inch. Her cheeks went ice cold.

Dear God, if he said a word, she was going to hurt him. Not in a way that either of them enjoyed.

“Michael,” she said, her voice low.

His full name slipped out automatically, absolutely without thought. She’d needed only three days to train herself. If she wanted something from him, she said his full name. End of story.

She didn’t receive the same reaction, not by a long shot. His eyes narrowed and his mouth flattened to a straight line. “Sure, I’ve heard of it. Stopped by on Friday, even.”