Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (15 page)

“Best birthday,” she whispered.

“Hm?”

“My best birthday. This one.”

He looked at her with something close to wariness, maybe suspicion. She knew because that was how she always looked at him. Nothing had prepared her for that realization.

“Thank you,” she went on. “I… Your competition tonight was renting a movie.”

“Maybe I didn’t need to try so hard.”

She smiled. The moment between them was so calm and close that she ducked into his arms, holding on tight. He petted a hand beneath the coat she wore, just where the tattoo colored her skin. Why was it so easy to be completely fearless with him, but difficult to simply…
be
?

“But after all, I deserve a bit of pampering.”

“That you do,” he said quietly.

Something warm and soft opened in her chest. This was dangerous, but she needed to do it. Needed to. The reward could be worth the risk, as it had been all along.

“Worst birthday was my seventeenth.”

Jon stopped petting. He held his breath, as did the desert.

“It was the weekend of my dad’s retirement. I was in selfish-bitch mode, thinking I owned the day. God, Jon, I was such a mess.”

“A mess? I can’t imagine it.”

“Recall what you know about when I lost my virginity. Now picture that desperate girl three years later.” She swallowed, biting back a hot rush of tears. “Dad was so proud that day. Mom only wanted me to behave. Just for the afternoon, and then I’d be free to party with my friends that evening.”

“I don’t think you made it.” There was no teasing in his words, only a quiet understanding that scored her heart.

“I was drunk by four. I was in the backseat of a Ford Focus by the time night fell.” She shuddered. “And the thing is? It wasn’t even any good. Just…a thing to do. Not…”

Jon turned her body toward his, her face in his hands. She breathed his breath before they actually kissed. Lips softly met lips. His thumbs stroked the apples of her cheeks. “Not what?”

Heather closed her eyes. “Not like this. Jon, no matter what else happens…”

“You’ll always have the happy memory of waking every gopher for a hundred miles.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. Every emotion was too raw, too close to the surface. So she indulged in the easy ones—the feel of his body, the surprising openness of his humor. Tension eased away on a shaky exhalation. “You can take me home now, Captain.”

He arched one brow. “I fly at oh eight hundred.”

God, that was sexy. Unbelievably so.

“Then you’ll have to drive fast.”

Chapter Eighteen

Jon had never particularly feared Darth Vader when he was a kid but dread curled through his stomach when the Imperial Death March droned from his phone. Served him right for assigning it as his parents’ ringtone.

He sat down on his couch before answering and listened to the cell ring. Letting his parents twist was a bit of a hobby, so he might as well do it right.

Eventually he thumbed the phone. “Carlisle.”

“I suppose we can thank heavens you haven’t abandoned the family name.” His mother’s voice was cultured. Perfectly accented and smooth.

His shoulders tightened. He put his heels up on the low console table. A faint memory of a voice calling, “No shoes on the wood,” echoed through his head, but it wasn’t his mother’s voice. That had been Constance, the housekeeper.

As far as Jon’s mother was concerned, he could have tap-danced on the tables as long as he put up the appropriate front in public.

“So good to hear from you too, Mother,” he drawled. “Did you and Father go to Europe this year?”

He’d rather thought they might have gone to the South of France for the summer. He hadn’t heard from them for seven blissful weeks.

“Not for long. Only three weeks in Nice. Such a whirlwind trip, I barely had a chance to unwind. Not to mention the crown princess stopped by for four nights, and you know how much of a bother she is.”

Jon’s mother nattered on while he all but rolled his eyes. He would’ve, had she been able to see him, just to emphasize his disdain. For all her complaints, his mother absolutely lived to host royalty. It was the center and heart of her life.

He fished his computer tablet out from under a couch cushion. Turning the volume down low, he played a game while letting his mother talk. And talk. And talk.

Eventually she ran out of steam. “Besides, darling. I called for you.”

He glanced at the time. Thirty-seven minutes. “What about me?”

“I want to make sure you’re going tonight.”

Yes, that was exactly the way it worked. His mother went on at length about her life then concerned herself with Jon to issue autocratic orders. Their relationship couldn’t continue like this—not if he wanted to stay sane—yet he had no idea how to fix them. Twelve years on from Sara’s crash and…nothing.

“You know I hate those things.”

“This is the biggest charity event in Las Vegas all year.”

He put the computer down. Either that or end up tossing the thing when their conversation went down the road he expected. “It’s a charity event to fund
golf courses
.”

“Those courses sponsor lots of underprivileged youths! Every bit helps, Jon. You know I’ve made philanthropy my guiding principle.”

Since Jon’s sister died. Yeah. He knew. Except she and his father had a weird twist on real philanthropy. “The economy sucks right now, Mother. Golf courses are the best we can do?”

“Don’t use such language in front of me.”

“I’m doing fine, by the way. Contributing to the Air Force teaching policy letters. Top of my squadron.”

A faint sniff came over the line. He pictured his mother’s nose wrinkling. Even on a Saturday morning, she’d be perfectly attired in a tailored skirt and blouse, with her dark brown hair carefully styled. She didn’t use dye though, claiming the silver that shot tastefully from her temples gave her “gravitas”.

He let the silence drag out. No saving her. She sniffed again. “You know I don’t like to think of you in danger.”

If that were the problem, Jon would eat his flight suit with a knife and fork. “I’m not dropping Grandfather’s hard-earned cash on golf courses. He’d turn over in his grave.” At least Grandfather would’ve understood, even if no one else in his family did.

“I already paid for your tickets, including one for a guest.”

He fisted his free hand. Almost forty-five minutes of being able to hold on and relax, but he’d had it. They’d made intrusions on his love life over the years. Background checks and gossip and instructions to come visit, all of which were suspiciously timed. The idea that they’d know anything about Heather was enough to make his skin crawl.

But at the same time, he’d love it. They wouldn’t be able to say a single bad word about her. Elegance and class. Only he knew about the gorgeous tattoo under her clothing. Or the nipple ring. Or that she could fuck wildly on the hood of his car and come so loud he heard it over the screaming wind.

“Mother, I had other plans.” Preferably making Heather gasp his name.

“You’ll go, Jon.” Her voice had turned ice cold. She’d perfected that tone over the years. It had been incredibly effective in shutting down a fourteen-year-old who missed his sister. “You’ll go and you’ll be on your best behavior.”

“Or what?” He rolled to his feet. Too much anxiety riding his bones to remain seated. “Not like you can cut me off. You lost that weapon years ago.”

The silence dragged out with weight. He could picture her pinched mouth, the way her eyes would’ve gone from pale brown to gold. “Fine. I hope you remember you’ve driven me to this.”

“To what?”

“Our new housekeeper found boxes of Sara’s books in storage in the west attic. If you go, I’ll send them to you.”

Something hard and cold clenched in his chest. “Is this what we’ve come to? For golf courses?”

“This is what you’ve forced us to, Jonathan. Don’t abdicate your responsibility.”

He’d go. Of course he’d go. No way could he pass up his sister’s belongings. Yet again, his mother had twisted his arm. He’d do what she wanted because he missed Sara. Contemplating the woman she would’ve become, his lone port in the storm when they were children, was agonizing. Only the loss of his grandfather matched that old pain.

Maybe he could still redeem the evening. After signing off with his mother amid terse words, he paced through his living room. He’d call Heather. See if she wanted to go with him. They’d returned to The Palazzo twice since her birthday, and he’d swung by her house for an incredible hot quickie after work, but it would be fun to show her off in public again.

They’d make it more…exciting. One way or the other.

Jon hated country clubs. Not for any particular offense beyond reminding him of his youth. They were decorated with the same wood-paneled walls and similar schemes, as if museum-quality relics of the post-WWII era. Moneyed. Snooty.

Cold. Antiquated. Irrelevant.

At least with Heather at his side, he could keep his mind on more palatable activities. For his mother to use Sara’s books as blackmail still pounded renewed spikes of disappointment into his heart. One would think he would’ve learned years ago that
emotionally unavailable
didn’t change.

It still hurt.

The luscious dip of Heather’s cleavage was a much preferred line of thought. She wore a dark purple dress with a heart-shaped neckline, over which he wanted to trail his fingertips. Creamy pale skin swelled and enticed.

She watched him from over a martini. “Your gaze drops rather often, flyboy.”

He flashed a smile. She didn’t deserve his foul mood, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Best to hide it. “Do you blame me?”

“Considering this dress, I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”

“It’s not the dress so much as the lovely way you fill it out.”

She took a slow sip of the martini. Before she could reply, a portly man approached with a blonde on his arm.

“Jon,” he said in a friendly tone. “We weren’t certain you’d be able to come.”

Jon couldn’t place the man until he recognized him as Alexander Maxwell, owner of a small casino. Off-Strip. Not one of the quietly luxurious ones. Second-tier society. That Jon was so programmed to callously assess the man within seconds added extra disdain toward how he was raised.

“It’s very difficult to say no to my mother.”

“You’re such a good son. My daughters are so busy they can hardly be bothered to show up.”

“Well. How lucky you are that their friends are more accommodating.” He eyed the arm candy in the red miniskirt.

Two circles of bright red popped up on Maxwell’s florid cheeks. He still didn’t introduce the young woman. She hardly seemed to notice, flitting her gaze around the huge ballroom. She appeared awestruck and way too naïve.

Heather’s eyes flicked between Jon and Maxwell. “Jon, perhaps you could introduce me?”

“Terribly sorry. Rudeness only affects certain people.” He rested his hand along the sultry curve of her lower back. Under his fingertips was her tattoo. A wicked secret to keep him grounded and to put a lid on his goddamn funk. “Heather Morris, allow me to introduce you to Alex Maxwell. Alex, Heather is in internal audits at Hanover Financial Logistics. You ought to switch your business to her firm. If everyone else there is half as smart as she is, you’ll be well served.”

Another woman might have blushed or demurred. Heather only lifted her brows before holding her hand out. She looked at the primped blonde and extended the same greeting. “It’s lovely to meet you too. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Courtney.” She fluttered fake eyelashes.

“You seem like a sweet girl, Courtney,” Jon said. His earnestness surprised him. Maybe there was
some
good to be done that night. “If you would, let me give you a word of advice: run. Before it’s too late. Maxwell won’t treat you well for long. Sin City tempts some men into thinking pretty girls are interchangeable.”

The girl paled. Damn, she was young. A sheep among wolves. Her hold on her date’s arm, however, didn’t loosen. Maxwell puffed up his chest. His mouth slipped open, but he didn’t say a thing.

Jon would’ve
liked
for Maxwell to gainsay him, to contradict him and stand up for himself. Hell, if he had, Jon would’ve written a check from his own accounts for double what his parents contributed. But Maxwell sidestepped Jon’s comments, offering instead something about the “noble endeavors” the event was intended to promote.

All because inner-city kids needed golf. Sure. More like they needed safe homes and better education, but the same people who would congratulate themselves on a productive night would probably lobby to reduce teachers’ union rights.

Ridiculous jackasses.

Of which he was part and parcel.

He sipped his scotch. Heather made small talk with both Maxwell and Courtney until they drifted off to find more friendly social opportunities.

Heather looked at Jon for a long moment. The weight of her blue stare burned through his skin. This thing they had was…interesting. Dirty with a shimmer of something more.

She wrapped her arm through his and led him to a relatively dark corner. A potted palm tree twinkled with tiny lights. Classy.

“You’re in quite the snit this evening. Was it that man in particular?”

“No. Could’ve been any of them.”

“Good to know. I’d hate to think I was making small talk with an arms dealer or a loan shark.”

“Can’t vouchsafe that. Skeletons in closets and all.”

“Technically true.” Heather smoothed the hair that draped across her shoulder. “Although I’m guessing this attitude is one hundred percent you. So give it up, flyboy. Why bring me here? I would’ve declined had I known my job was to run interference on your pissant mood.”

“Does it really matter?”

She tilted her head, peering into him. “Why wouldn’t it? Frankly, Jon, I’m surprised. I saw you spin Mr. La Rocca so fast that he wound up kissing your ass and thanking you for the privilege.” She sipped her martini and caught a dribble with her tongue. “Tonight you’d rather burn the whole place down.”