Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (29 page)

He hadn’t said
that
ten times. The quietness and sincerity messed with her emotional compass.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She stroked one of his forearms where his dark hair emerged from beneath rolled cuffs. “It was, by far, the nicest brush-off present I’ve ever received.”

His flinch confirmed her guess. “I had to work.”

“Then tell me you have work.” She waved a hand toward the strawberries’ trashcan grave. “Don’t smarm your way out of it. I know better.”

The skin between his brows furrowed. Soothing hands dropped away from her shoulders. Only then did she find the strength to let him off the hook.

“Jon, you don’t have to stay.”

A little roughly, he hauled her off the barstool. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

Her exhaustion made it easy to let him lead. She tripped after him, back to her bedroom and the sheets he’d straightened with unconscious efficiency. Heather slumped onto the mattress. The hot ache in her stomach remained, but at least the nausea had dimmed.

Once he’d tucked her in, Jon sat on the edge of the bed. “Your choice, Heather. I can stay or go.”

His expression was a marvel of composure. Not quite blank. Not quite present either. The curve of his top lip seemed almost sarcastic, but his gaze bored into hers. He expected something from her.

What could he expect? That she’d ask her lover to stay and play nursemaid? The doctor had said the food poisoning could take a day or two to run its course. Heather hadn’t wanted to disturb Jenn, not with Rich just back from Tampa. Their time together as a family was so fleeting.

Yet facing the whole weekend on her own left her cold and already lonely.

Would Jon really stick around to look after her? That idea was scary. Scary and…wonderful.

“Stay,” she whispered.

She didn’t want to take it back. Something like relief brightened his face before he hid it away. “Done. I’ll get your Gatorade.”

Oh, she was sunk. Torpedoes and direct hits.
Sunk.

She’d seen him in her home before, but always as partners intent on sharing one another in the bedroom—not sharing a living space. She’d also known him to be meticulous in how he dressed and cared for his clothing. His car was never short of immaculate. Although she feared getting so close, she couldn’t help but wonder what his condo would look like. Orderly, sure, but how would he fill his place of refuge?

He’d only asked once. The lurch in her stomach had nothing to do with food poisoning. More to do with her total lack of a spine.

The reality of watching him bustle around her bedroom gave her a secret smile. She peeked out from where she’d half-buried her face in her pillow. He brought a bowl and a towel from the kitchen, as well as a foul electrolyte concoction.

But Heather drew the line when he asked for cleaning supplies. “Why?”

“The bathroom counter.”

Surprise and embarrassment fought for control. “Sit down, Jon. Please. You’re making me tired from here.”

“That’s a step up. At least you’re not laughing.” His wry expression took the sting out of his words. “Will you puke again if I order a pizza? Yogurt doesn’t do it for me and I’m starving.”

“You’re the man who practically volunteered to clean my bathroom. Order whatever you want.”

Forty minutes later he sat beside her on the bed, propped up on the headboard. Heather ate crackers, finally able to keep them down. Jon had turned on a rerun of
The Daily Show
. Laughing with him felt good, no matter the acrobatics in her stomach. She snuggled against his chest. The steady beat of his heart pinched longing around hers.

She hadn’t felt so cared for in a long, long time.

She must have dozed because her next blinks were in darkness. Jon had shut out the lights. Only the streetlamp outside her house illuminated the room through lace bedroom curtains. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, but she didn’t think he was sleeping.

“Why did you come over?” she asked quietly.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Heather swallowed a sliver of dread. She couldn’t think of a joke or an innuendo. Too tired. Nothing came to mind except the truth. “It does matter. Did you come by for sex?”

“No.” His voice was a low rumble. “I had another run-in with Donaghue, the captain you met. Wanted to talk about it.”

Warmth prickled her skin. She’d assumed he was there for an unplanned quickie, which was their obvious MO. That he had stopped by for another reason, and such a personal one, sped her shallow respiration. When had that mattered? When had she secretly wanted him to see her as something other than a fun time?

Maybe when she’d opened her front door in her pajamas. When she’d needed him.

No, that was the easy answer. These moments and this…
wanting
had been gathering for weeks.

“Talk about it now,” she said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

He angled on the headboard to look down at her. The top two buttons of his soft blue cambric shirt revealed the notch at the base of his throat. “Because it goes both ways, Heather love. I can’t do this on my own.”

She wanted to disavow any knowledge of what “this” meant, but she owed him more than playing dumb. A shiver made her dive back into his embrace.

She was tired. Blasted. Exhausted. Holding up the wall between them had become impossible.

“Do you know why I got you to ask me to the ball?” she asked.

“I’d rather not guess if you can tell me.”

“Because I never went to my senior prom.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Neither did I.”

“No?”

“I was at an ROTC welcome mixer.”

Of course he was. Nothing about him was typical, she’d learned. He constantly made her look twice, to the point of pinching herself. Words like “too good to be true” were always followed by doubts.

Why me?

“But your reason?” he asked.

Heather shut her eyes. She was glad for the dark and glad for their closeness. She wouldn’t have to see his expressions. “I was on the back of a motorcycle on my way to Jersey.”

“You ran away?”

“With a twenty-five-year-old corporal named Sam.” She shivered. Something old and dark and scary lifted the hairs across her nape. Jon’s hand tightened around her upper arm. “We’d met just after my dad’s retirement—that fabulous seventeenth birthday of mine. Things weren’t so great at home after how I’d behaved, and then there was Sam. He was…he was everything wild and crazy. Smooth-talking. Cute. Hot bike. I was a senior with a grown-up boyfriend. I snuck out all the time. Drove my parents nuts and made my friends crazy jealous.
Such
a rush. I loved the attention and the thrill.” Her cheeks flashed hot. “I did anything he wanted me to.”

That time Jon’s reaction was unmistakable. He sighed and tucked inside himself. She could sympathize. She wanted nothing more than to hide. But she was doing this for him as a show of faith. Maybe she was doing it for both of them.

“When we ran away together at prom…I told him I loved him.” She swallowed. “Not well received, I’m afraid. A year on and off with a teenaged girl didn’t mean love to him. It meant a good time, every time. I honestly hadn’t seen the difference. So that weekend, he had other things in mind for us. Some friends of his came over—two buddies from his platoon. We got high. We…” She swallowed convulsively. “I woke up alone a few days later.”

“Fucking hell,” he whispered.

“I called my dad. He had to come pick me up from some shitty little beach motel.” Shame rolled over her in hot waves. The terror of waking up naked, with no sober memories of the weekend, had rattled the foundation of her life. “I swear to God, the strongest thing he’s ever done was not going after Sam. Dad could have had him kicked out of the Army on statutory charges. We drove home in silence. I was almost too high to give a damn, but his silence got through to me.”

Heather forced herself to sit up. Her hair was a sticky disaster. Her guts ached. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to revisit that horror show when vomiting remained a possibility. Recalling those days was absolutely nauseating.

“My medical tests all came back negative. I was… Jesus, I was lucky.” She shrugged, not brave enough yet to look Jon in the face. “I clamped down after that. Hardcore. I worked all summer and took summer courses. Nothing mattered but getting clean and proving myself. Dad… It took awhile, but we managed. I don’t think I was ever happier than when I saw him wipe his eyes at my college graduation.”

Tears filled her eyes too. She pushed at them with the heels of her hands as fatigue and a long-ago grief pushed back.

Jon’s fingers rested beneath her hair, caressing her nape. “When did you get your tattoo?”

“That week when I graduated.” She was feeling stronger now, as if emerging from a dark tunnel. “I’d been accepted to my first-choice MBA program and already had an internship lined up for that summer, but it was in Florida. I was afraid.”

“Of a challenge? That doesn’t sound like you.”

She shook her head. “I was afraid of slipping up.”

“Being her again. What’s done is done.”

“Yes.”

Jon gathered her in his arms, kissing her forehead. “I chewed out Donaghue at the BX for being a reckless dickhead. Shouldn’t have. It wasn’t my place. But better than that, I kept from hitting him.” She heard a smile in his voice. “I wanted a cheering section to tell me I’d done good.”

Amazed, Heather drew in a sweet breath. He hadn’t offered pity or trite condolences. He hadn’t judged her. Instead he’d given her an out—one she grabbed with both hands.

“You did good, Jon. Really.” She frowned slightly. “But why not seek out Ryan or Leah to talk about it?”

“Too personal with them.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I got pissed at Donaghue because guys like that put my friends at risk. I couldn’t explain that to them without coming across like a goddamn putz.”

Heather smiled. “Tin Tin strikes again?”

“Oh, don’t you start too.” He rolled halfway on top of her. “I’m a callous, cold, unfeeling playboy. Don’t you forget it.”

“That’s the first lie I’ve ever heard from you.”

“I prefer to call it an evasive maneuver. You’re pretty good at them too.”

“Not when I’m this tired.”

He looked her in the eyes, hand at her waist. “Is it a little better? At least?”

“Still feeling bad about it?”

“Sure.”

“I’m better. Honest.”

“Good.”

Jon slipped off the bed. A streetlight cast him in silhouette. “Should I sleep here or on the couch? I’m good with either.”

“Here.” The word slipped free so quickly. Honest and sure. “But no funny business. I’m liable to puke on you.”

“That could possibly establish an outer limit to my kink, Ms. Morris.”

He stripped off his button-down and shucked his jeans. Soon his body nestled against hers. Despite feeling as if she’d been run over by a semi, Heather hadn’t breathed so easily in years.

For the first time since their meeting in that wine bar, she let herself hope they had a chance. Something more. A future.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Despite having never awoken there, Jon knew before he opened his eyes that he was in Heather’s bed. Her curvy body wrapped around him. Silky hair spilled over his chest. Their legs pretzeled together. Most curious of all, Heather had a death grip on his waist. At least in sleep she’d let down a few of those close barriers.

That wasn’t exactly fair. In the dark of night, she’d laid at least one secret bare. Despite the years that separated her from her mistakes, and despite having created an entirely new version of herself, her voice had sounded frightened. Of what she’d done. Of the choices she’d made. Of what she remained capable of losing.

Jon wanted to hunt down that long-gone corporal and cut his balls off. Slowly. Using dull nail clippers.

Extricating himself from her grip was difficult considering he didn’t even want to. But certain things needed to be taken care of first thing in the morning.

At least it was Saturday. He had nowhere else to be.

After padding back from the bathroom, he stood over her and admired a singular view. Bright yellow sunlight spilled over the bed, which added a glow to feminine features already softened by sleep. Heather’s camisole had twisted around her ribs to reveal smooth skin and a few inches of her tattoo. He slid back into bed as quietly as he could manage.

But she shifted sleepily then rubbed her eyes. Blinked a few times. Her mouth tipped into a small smile. “Hey, you.”

A tight, wadded place behind his chest unfurled. Apparently he’d been worried that she would close off again. The absence of her usual wariness set him at ease. An unfamiliar sensation.

“
Bonjour,
Heather,
mon amour
.”

“It is way too early for you to play dirty like that.” She groaned as she pushed her torso up.

Jon laced his fingers behind his head and grinned. “You think I play dirty?”

“I don’t just think it, I know it.” The look she shot him was indulgent. “See? You’re doing it even now.”

“Feel free to tell me more.”

“You’re the one wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, lounging in my bed. You know what you’re doing.”

Laughing, he scratched idly across his chest. “I guess you’re feeling better.”

She rubbed her stomach as she seemed to take inventory. “You know, I think I am. I could probably even eat.”

“But you won’t,” he said firmly. “Nothing more than toast at first.”

“Yes, Dr. Carlisle.”

Dragging his slacks from where he’d tossed them, Jon pulled them on. A rumpled mess. When he caught Heather staring at his ass, he realized he didn’t care. What were wrinkled clothes when they shared a smile that was half-fun, half-curious hello? He padded toward the kitchen.

Dry toast and an electrolyte drink in hand, he returned to find Heather still in bed. But she’d changed her pajamas, her face was pink from washing, and she’d brushed her hair into a loose ponytail. She frowned at the glass of bright orange liquid.

“Is that more Gatorade? I need some caffeine.”