Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (19 page)

Heather could only nod.

“Me too. I wouldn’t know what to do with a new guy now. I’m glad those risks are long past and I get to go home to a man who loves me.” She sighed a little. “But I also remember how it was at the start. The thrill. The obsession. Sometimes it’s worth the risk.”

“And when it’s not?”

“Eh.” Jenn’s giggles were back. “Then you’ll have played the field. No regrets when you do settle down.”

Back to that word
regret
. Heather had plenty. It remained one of her life goals to create as few as possible. More and more, denying herself any chance to be with Jon, no matter how it worked out, felt like a future regret waiting to happen. She’d thought the same thing about her first night with him. Only now, it wasn’t all about sex.

An hour later, when Jenn ducked into the bathroom, Heather checked her phone. A text from Jon. Her heart jumped.

The Lux. Come and get me.

He was so goddamn arrogant. She loved it. Her instant arousal had almost as much to do with his attitude as it did with their chemistry. One fueled the other, round and round.

Jenn had trouble walking back to the table, so they decided to call it a night. A movie wasn’t in the cards. They’d moved on to other topics on the drive home. Not that Heather could concentrate very well. In her mind, she was already at the club. Already had Jon in her sights.

She parked in front of Jenn’s adorable ranch house. The living room light was on. Rich was waiting up for her. Despite her anticipation of a fun night ahead, something like longing shivered over Heather’s skin.

She walked Jenn safely to her front door, amid the woman’s giggles and wobbly footsteps. “Go find him,” Jenn whispered as they hugged. “I’m a pumpkin by eleven, but you’re not. I bet he isn’t either.”

“Just what I had in mind.”

“Oooh, bad girl. I love it.”

Rich opened the door and led his wife inside, among a flurry of well wishes and good nights. Heather turned away. Her Camry looked like a smashed tin car compared to the monster that was Jon’s DBS.

Heather shook her head. She opened her phone and read the text again, as if it would make the situation more real. Clear the confusion from her brain. Only one thought remained.

“No regrets.”

Almost forty-five minutes later, just short of midnight, she arrived at The Lux. Clubs in Vegas shut down when the sun came up. The only problem now was the line of people waiting to get in. Dawn would reach her before she reached the door.

She couldn’t imagine Jon standing in line. No way would he have chosen this place if he didn’t have connections.

Heather unbuckled and stripped her lightweight Marino cardigan. The camisole underneath was also black, but nearly sheer. A tight black skirt and killer high heels. Her hair done up. Maybe this would work.

A valet took her car. She hid a cringe at the cost, then she strode toward the bouncer at the head of the red velvet line. She knew what it was to look a tough situation in the face.

“Is Jon Carlisle here? I’m Heather Morris. He’s expecting me.”

She waited a few tense seconds. Her pulse was pounding.

“Right this way, Ms. Morris.” The bouncer led her indoors and handed her off to a scantily clad woman. Dancer? Waitress? No telling. “A guest for Mr. Carlisle.”

The woman only nodded. Her hair was incredibly blonde.
Neon
blonde that glowed under a few scattered black lights. She led Heather upstairs and through a confusing maze of bars, dance floors and private rooms.

There he was.

So casual, he leaned with his arm stretched along the back of a thickly padded leather bench. A tall man and a fit, petite brunette sat across from him.

Heather tossed her hair and walked slowly forward, as if he were watching her. And soon enough, he was. His brows lifted. Dark eyes widened just a touch.

His reaction—slight, but pure interest—was enough to power Heather’s slinkiest smile.

Game on.

“Good evening, Captain.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

That low, sultry voice was
almost
too quiet to be heard. People chattered all around them, and a thumping bass beat never let up. Except there was no way Jon would miss it.

Heather.

She looked amazing. As usual. A black skirt clung to her hips and emphasized her sensual shape. While her top camisole was also black, its deep V-neck displayed pale skin and plenty of cleavage.

Jon snapped his surprise back toward neutral and crossed one ankle over his knee as if he couldn’t give a damn. “Good evening to you, Ms. Morris. Care to come sit on my lap?”

She barely twitched an eyebrow, but shared humor was obvious in her dark eyes. “The booth will do nicely. For now.”

She slid in to sit beside him. Not close enough to touch but near enough to feel the warmth from her skin. “Nice that you could make it,” he whispered. “My ego is much assured.”

“Your ego is unbelievable.”

“It works. Here you are.”

He didn’t want to examine how pleased he was that she’d arrived. Women were as thick as flies at The Lux, and plenty of them hot as fuck. He could’ve taken any one of them home. None were half so intriguing as the beauty beside him. Was that a benefit or a detriment? Any other woman would be easier to forget, but without Heather’s innate challenge.

“Heather Morris, allow me to present a couple incorrigibles,” he said, waving at the others. “Dash Christiansen and Princess Leah Girardi. My coworkers.”

She lifted dark eyebrows. “That means fellow pilots, doesn’t it? I’m surprised the three of you aren’t holding court, basking in attention.”

Dash laughed. “Some of us aren’t on the market. Married eight years, since graduating from the Air Force Academy. She’s in DC at the moment or I wouldn’t be sitting here looking like a total loser.”

“And as you can tell,” Jon said, “Dash is not shy about divulging his life story to near-strangers.”

Leah’s eyes gleamed. She stuck out her hand to shake and shot Jon a look of approval. Good. He liked that. He wasn’t above admitting how much he enjoyed impressing his friends with the women he introduced. “This calls for another round of drinks.”

Dash sipped his beer. “As do Mondays and Tuesdays and completing a sentence. I’d have a six-day hangover if I tried to keep up with you. Probably not a good call for a dude who flies jets.”

“You just wish you knew how to have as good a time as I do.” The waitress deposited a margarita in front of Leah, who licked her fingers clean of dribbles of booze. She grinned at Heather. “Drink up, sweetie. There’s dancing to be had, unless you’re really sticking by this perv all night.”

Jon trailed his fingers through the curling ends of Heather’s hair. Dark silk seemed an inadequate description. He wanted to feel it skimming over his lower stomach. “Isn’t that part of my indescribable appeal?”

Heather smiled as she picked up her own margarita. “I think she described it just fine.”

Leah laughed. “Perv? Totally.”

Jon offered a lazy salute. “No denying what we are. For example, you, Princess, are an adorable yet hardcore bitch.”

She tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder, hard enough that a few locks came loose. “Have to be to whip male ass.”

Dash laughed and affected a mock-sympathetic expression. “If that’s what you want to believe, you go on with that. But really you’re a sweet little kitten. We all know when the day is done, you sing sappy ballads using your hairbrush as a microphone. And bubble baths would definitely figure in.”

“Let me tell you what I’d do with a hairbrush to a butt munch like you.”

Leah and Dash got into it, turning trash talk into an art form. Normally Jon would be right up in the middle of it, but he found himself watching Heather.

More than that, he watched the way she examined the other two yahoos. A tiny smile curved her lips as she slowly sipped her drink. She glanced at him. “Can I help you?”

An obvious tease.

“They’re rather like monkeys in the zoo.”

“I heard that,” Leah snapped, flipping him off. She’d managed to find yet another shot of tequila. “You fling poop with the best of us.”

“Nice, potty mouth,” Dash said. “I never heard the real Princess Leia talk like that. Maybe you need a different hairdo, help adjust your attitude. Something with cinnamon buns?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh,
Star Wars
references. How novel.”

“I think it’s remarkable.” Heather finished the margarita Leah had ordered for her but refused another. “They just don’t stop. How do you actually get any work done?”

He missed the feel of her skin, so he wiggled fingers beneath her flowing camisole. The hem of her skirt was next. “My extreme stores of patience.”

“Sure,” she drawled. “But it’s fascinating too. You’re all…a unit, for lack of a better word. There’s no such thing as morale building. It’s already there.”

He liked her hair curled. The style gave her a softer look, made her more accessible. He pushed the dark strands off her shoulder and caressed her skin. “Accounting doesn’t lend itself to cohesion?”

Her husky laugh went straight to his cock. “Not in the least.”

Leah was all but dancing in her seat. The woman had a hard time holding still, which made it astonishing that she managed to drink so much. Two trips to the dance floor hadn’t shaken all her wiggles out. “It’s the war-zone thing. Does it every time.”

Heather’s pale eyes went large. She looked up at Jon from under her brows. “War zone?”

“Totally.” Leah was blithely shaking salt on the web between her thumb and forefinger, then lining up a lime between ring and pinkie. She downed a shot of tequila like a pro. “Ask Jon about the time we launched out of Bagram on less than a half-hour prep.”

Somebody was drinking herself a pair of loose lips. People who’d played in the desert together tossed around oh-shit stories when the booze flowed. Either they turned bad and someone ended up bawling in his beer, or they turned rowdy.

Jon rather liked nursing his slow-burn arousal. He stood, tugging Heather along with him. “We’re going to dance.”

She frowned slightly, as if chagrined by his demand. “I don’t remember you asking.”

Dash clapped, then tossed in a whistle for good measure. “You tell him, sweetheart. Make him work for it.”

She grinned at Dash. “I’m not your sweetheart, handsome.”

“I like your style,” Leah said with a bounce.

Jon laced their fingers together and lifted the back of her hand to his mouth. “Ms. Morris, would you care to dance with me?”

“I’d love to, Captain.”

Her smile was brilliant. Unforgettable.

The girl was bad for him.

The prospect of unraveling her mysteries would keep him interested for a good long time. But was that worth going deeper? Was she capable of letting anyone in? He’d learned the hard way that some people weren’t built that way. Didn’t mean they should be punished, but it did mean he should stick to those who’d proved worthy of his trust. Leah and Dash, Ryan and the rest of their friends.

Christ, that left the question of whether Jon was even ready for anything more. As interesting as Heather was, it wasn’t as if he had a background of healthy relationships.

Better to watch her lead the way to the packed dance floor. His weakness wasn’t her curvy ass, which certainly appealed. It was the look she threw over her shoulder. Mischief. Mirth. A hint of wickedness at the edges, as if they were already alone and naked. He’d never get enough of that challenge, that promise.

On the parquet floor, he grabbed her hips and tucked his pelvis against the lush ass he’d just been admiring. One hand followed the natural curve of her hip into the shallow of her waist. His thumb played in the hint of her navel, under her shirt, as they moved to the music.

He tucked his chin along her neck, took a sip from her skin. She smelled sweet. He wanted bigger and bigger bites. “How about me? Can I call you sweetheart?”

“I like it better when you speak French.”

“You mean when I talk dirty in French.”

She wrapped an arm back around his neck. “I’ve become too obvious. You’ll be done with me soon.”

That seemed incredibly unlikely, although part of him almost wished it were true. He’d shake off the weird mood that always took over when he wasn’t in control.

The playlist was eclectic, everything from house to rock to rap. The only connection was the sub-mental bass beat that whipped packed bodies into a frenzy.

That she danced well was no surprise. Every movement was erotically charged. She didn’t seem to notice how men’s eyes tracked her, how they followed every pulse and dip. Jon noticed—both the men and her body. She caught fire with the music.

Mostly guys left them alone. After dancing for a good thirty minutes, the only person who approached was a tall, slender blonde. The woman danced nearer, edging closer. Jon lifted his brows at Heather. She gave him one of those secret smiles and turned away.

The finger she crooked at the blonde was packed with attitude.

Then, whoa damn, was it on. Heather and the woman didn’t bother to speak. None of that. Just hips pumping and asses shaking. The blonde’s petite chest pressed against Heather’s back before they switched.

If Jon were a lesser man, he might have overloaded. No chance. This was one of the highlights of a lifetime. He made the most of gorgeous, grinding eye candy. Watching Heather twine around the slender woman dragged his mind toward thousands of possibilities. He considered his time with Heather exclusive, as he did with every sexual relationship—one mystery at a time, rather than any forced morality. His natural inclinations toward novelty, however, jacked his arousal to new heights. Nothing wrong with a powerful imagination.

Except Dash tapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got a situation, Tin Tin.”

Jon sighed. He gave Heather the option of staying to dance, but she waved goodbye to the blonde. Dread took a walk down Jon’s spine as they made their way back to the VIP area. Leah was a master of getting into the deep shit.

Though really, dancing on a tabletop didn’t top the list. Could have been worse. She’d stripped off her pink shirt. The bra underneath covered most of her goods, but that didn’t matter. The waitress stood next to the table. Her expression was less than pleased, mouth pinched and eyes narrowed. “She threw a glass.”