Let It Ride
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Jillian Burns
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1
“TARGET SIGHTED. Three o’clock.” Major Cole Jackson nodded toward the amazingly hot blonde across the casino. “The Keno girl with the mile-long legs and the big—”
“Her?” Cole’s buddy, McCabe, snorted as he fed another five-dollar bill into a slot machine. “Good luck.”
“Why? What’s wrong with her?” She was the sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. And after a decade of living on the wild side, that was saying a lot.
McCabe shrugged. “This is Vegas. You got your pick of women.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll start with her.” When Cole had spotted the Keno girl a moment ago the past months of hell had momentarily faded. Having her in his bed for a night or two would certainly help make up for lost time.
Cole’s buddies from Nellis Air Force Base had talked him into a week of rest and recreation to celebrate his discharge from the hospital. He was on medical leave until further notice—and who knew how long it would take the powers that be to decide his fate? But for now, he planned to party hard with his buddies and a city full of beautiful women. If he couldn’t be in the cockpit of his F-22, this would do.
He stared at the blonde as she moved around the casino, stopping at blackjack and roulette tables. He’d always been a sucker for blondes, and this one had his babe meter clocking in the stratosphere. Her lips alone sent his fantasies to places that could get him court-martialed. His gaze roamed lower to her skimpy red uniform. Damn, what it didn’t cover might burn his eyes to the sockets.
“You couldn’t even get to two Gs with that one, much less complete a roll. Trust me,” McCabe warned.
Ahh! Understanding clicked like an engine turning over in Cole’s brain. He shifted on his stool to face his buddy. “She shut you down.”
“Him and every other guy who’s tried,” Captain Alexandria Hughes chimed in from her stool next to McCabe, a satisfied smirk on her face. Their buddy since basic training, Hughes was the kind of chick who’d slug the first guy who tried to treat her like a girly female.
McCabe scowled at her, and then looked back at Cole. “I’m telling you, that Keno girl’s got a rep on base as Ms. Crash-and-Bur—” McCabe broke off.
There was a second of awkward silence before Cole jumped in. “Yeah, well, she hasn’t seen my maneuvers yet.”
“You’re full of it, man.” McCabe shook his head. “You nail her before my leave is up, and I’ll give up women for a month.” He raised an arrogant brow as he took a swig of beer.
Son of a bitch. McCabe had just challenged him. A rush of adrenaline coursed through Cole the way it had when he and McCabe and Grady and Hughes had all trained together, pushing the limits of their jets—and their commanders. If this Keno girl was hard to get, all the better. He didn’t want some pity fuck. He was ready for something to make him feel alive again. To prove he still had what it took.
And she was it.
“She got a fiancé? Boyfriend?” He’d make sure the playing field was level.
McCabe shrugged. “She was seeing someone—civilian—a while back, but the word is she hasn’t used that excuse lately.”
“Girlfriend?”
“God, what a waste that would be.” McCabe stared wistfully at the blonde, his slot machine forgotten.
Cole couldn’t agree more. If he’d ever dreamed of the perfect woman to hit the sheets with, she was it. Long, shapely thighs to cradle his hips and—his gaze went back to her chest—the kind of rack usually only seen in Hugh Hefner’s mansion. He stood, his comfortable Levi’s suddenly constricting. You were in the hospital too long, Jackson. But thankfully the crash hadn’t damaged anything vital to this mission. “All right. You got yourself a bet.”
“What?” McCabe’s gaze focused on Cole.
“You said you’d give up—”
“I know what the hell I said.”
“And she shot you down, right?”
“I prefer to think of it as a failure to pass the preflight check. It must be the uniform.” With his movie star looks and charm to spare, McCabe was the certified chick magnet of the group. He’d been known to bed two and three women in the same night. Occasionally at the same time.
“She got a rule against Air Force men?” Cole directed his question to Hughes. He wanted some high-level intel on his subject. Of course, he wasn’t in uniform tonight….
“I don’t know,” Hughes answered, her arms crossed over her desert-camo uniform. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Come on, Hughes, you aren’t turning all girly on us now, are you?” McCabe grinned at Hughes, but she didn’t return his smile.
She stood and finished her beer in one long gulp, then set the bottle down with a thunk. “Poor McCabe. Thirty days without a woman.” She leaned in close. “You won’t last.”
His face screwed up in confusion, McCabe watched Hughes stalk off. “What crawled up her ass?”
Cole shrugged. Air corps or Keno girl, females tended to stick together. Hughes was probably disgusted with him for making the bet. But this Keno girl had a rare kind of beauty that could make a guy forget everything that sucked about his life. Even without the bet, he’d go for her. And after months of surgeries and physical therapy, this challenge put him back into play.
It sure as hell beat sitting around the vet hospital listening to some shrink talk about post-traumatic stress disorder. So, he had a few night sweats and bad dreams. That was to be expected after being shot down and having to make it back to his base camp with a third of his body burned. He’d get over it eventually.
It was his future he was worried about.
All he’d ever wanted to do was be a fighter pilot, and eventually get into the space program. But that wasn’t going to happen now. Even if they didn’t force a medical discharge down his throat, with this permanent inner ear damage, the best he could hope for was a desk job. Either way, life as he knew it was over.
“So, what do I get if you lose?”
McCabe’s voice brought Cole back from his dark thoughts. He grinned at his buddy. “You get to save your right hand a lot of muscle strain over the next thirty days.”
“And you risk nothing? Screw that.”
“Screw what?” Lieutenant Colonel Grady appeared next to them with his perpetually grim expression. His hulking dark presence tended to scare most dogs and small children.
McCabe explained the challenge, and Grady cut his gaze to the Keno girl. His eyes widened and he whistled under his breath. “Oh, yeah. Ms. Cra—” He cleared his throat. “I’m in. How about that bottle of whiskey Jackson’s uncle left him?”
“Damn it, Grady,” Cole spoke up, “you’ve been after my Scotch since we were cadets and you don’t even drink. It’s fifty-year-old Cragganmore. You know how much it’s worth?”
“You want to back out?” McCabe taunted.
“Screw you, McCabe.” He could get this girl. He just needed to learn everything about her. “So, if I win, does Grady turn celibate, too?” Cole asked.
“Hey, I nev—” Grady began.
“Hell, no,” McCabe cut in. “He’s already got the worst temper in Nevada. What he needs is to relax. Learn yoga. Get a massage. There’s an old lady on the strip, does that herbal-aromatherapy stuff. I’d give a lot to see him get smeared with sweet-smelling oil and chanting New Age mumbo-jumbo.”
Cole grunted at the image. “Hell, I’d bet the whiskey to see that.”
“I want that Scotch. You’re on.” Grady stuck out his right hand to seal the deal and Cole shook it, his insides churning with the dare. He could already taste the sweet flavor of victory. And he couldn’t wait to see “Don Juan” McCabe suffer without a woman for a whole freakin’ month.
“Here she comes,” Grady warned.
A fruity scent teased Cole’s nostrils. Dammit, she’d approached him on his deaf side.
He spun to find the Keno girl standing next to him, his gaze drawn to the pale, soft flesh spilling out of her tight, red uniform top. He imagined palming those tits, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples. His body, long denied, roared into four Gs, but he called on years of discipline to focus his attention on her engaging smile and—man, her eyes were such a deep blue they were almost purple.
Up close she was flawless. Her lips moved, but she spoke so softly he couldn’t hear her above the rumble and ringing of the slots. He angled his head and leaned closer as he stood and pulled out his wallet.
“—buy a Keno card?” Her voice matched her appearance. Voluptuous and feminine.
“I’ll take two.” He slipped out a twenty and placed it on her tray.
She handed him the cards and he tossed them on his stool as she dug in her fanny pack for change.
“Keep it.” He covered her hand to stop her from making change. Damn, it was like ice. “You’re freezing.” He curved his fingers around her palm and enclosed her hand in both of his. Soft. Dainty. And so cold.
Her eyes widened, but she pasted on a bright smile as she eased from his grasp. “Thank you.” She turned to McCabe and her smile faltered a bit. “Did you want a card, Captain?”
“I think my friend here—” he slapped Cole on the back “—has it covered.” He turned to Grady. “You up for some poker?”
Grady nodded and they took their beers and headed deeper into the casino.
The Keno girl’s gaze shot back to Cole. “You’re a fighter pilot too? A friend of Captain McCabe’s?” There was a distinct edge to her voice. What the hell had McCabe done? Or did she have a grudge against all military personnel? Had some airman done her wrong?
He shook his head. “Not if you don’t want me to be.”
Her smile dropped and she raised a brow. “Don’t lose a friend on my account.” She turned to leave, but Cole sidestepped to block her retreat.
“Major Cole Jackson, 81st Airborne. And you are?”
She stared over his shoulder a moment, her lips a tight line. Bringing that gorgeous gaze up to meet his, she put her free hand on her hip. “Jordan Brenner. Mother of five. Looking for a man who can support me and all my kids.” Her expression said, Now will you leave me alone?
If she had five kids he’d stand on this slot machine and quack like a duck. “Five, huh? What are their names?”
Without missing a beat, she rattled off, “Anna, Billy, Charlie, David and—” she faltered, glanced down at the commercial-grade carpet, then back up at Cole “—Fred!” She smiled triumphantly.
Cole chuckled, unable to keep from returning her mischievous grin. Smiling pulled the scarred flesh on the right side of his face. “Not Eddie? Or Ethan? Or Eugene?”
A hum bubbled up from inside her, and a sweet laugh erupted, but was stifled just as quickly. Something inside Cole stilled. Why would she stop such a wonderful sound?
“All right. You caught me. I couldn’t think of an E name.” She shifted her tray of Keno cards to her other hip and her smile faded.
So did his.
“Aren’t you going to fill those out?” She nodded toward the Keno cards on his stool. “They’ll be starting another game soon.”
He glanced back and scooped them from the stool. “I’ve never played Keno before. Maybe you could show me?”
Wariness returned to her eyes, but she stepped closer, leaning in to point to his cards as she explained. He inhaled the scent of her fruity shampoo and closed his eyes. Damn. Heat raced up his spine.
“You can pick up to ten numbers on each card. The computer randomly chooses numbers between one and eighty and you win based on how many you matched.” She began rattling off the odds of certain numbers being chosen like a calculus professor.
“You really know your stuff.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For a blonde? Anyone with half a brain can figure odds if they work here long enough.”
So, she had a chip on her shoulder about being labeled a bimbo. He wanted to ask her how long she’d been a Keno girl. She couldn’t be much older than twenty-five. But he couldn’t open fire on her tonight. He’d do a little recon first.
“Just because you’re a beautiful blonde doesn’t mean you can’t be a genius, too. Look at Jayne Mansfield or Sharon Stone. Both have IQ levels close to Einstein’s.”
She stared at him, her face inscrutable. But something flickered briefly in her eyes and hit him right in the gut. As he stared back, the air between them vibrated as if he’d just started up the jets of his Raptor.
But he didn’t want to come on too strong too soon, so he broke eye contact, severing the connection. “I’ll let you get on with your work.”
She stepped away and fidgeted. “Enjoy the casino, Major.”
Cole watched her leave, enthralled with the way her perfect little butt moved beneath the miniskirt. A shock wave of lust roared through his blood straight to his dick and he tightened his jaw. Yeah, he needed to get control.
He’d made first contact. This time tomorrow, he’d have an intelligence report to aid him. Getting her into bed within a week? That was a challenge he was more than ripe for even without the added bonus of winning the bet.
JORDAN TRUDGED into the female employees’ room, tossed her tray in a bin and kicked off her heels. She was bone-tired, and her feet were killing her. Praying Mom had had a good afternoon and evening, Jordan snatched her time card and punched out. How long before Mom got to be too much for Mrs. Simco to handle?
“TGIF.” Sherri groaned as she rubbed her feet.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” Jordan did, but at least she didn’t have classes in the morning, only her regular shift tomorrow night. She and Mom spent Saturday mornings at the Laundromat.
“Umm-hmm, but somehow, saying ‘Thank God it’s Monday’ just doesn’t have the same kick.” Sherri grinned and peeled off her costume.
“True.” Jordan smiled.
“Besides, Friday means the kid is with his dad and Toby is picking me up. You want a ride, hon?” Sherri’s son was ten, but was already acting the rebellious teen. Toby was a bartender at the Luxor hotel and casino and got off work at the same time as Sherri.
“And where would I sit in his Miata? Besides, my apartment is totally out of your way.”
“I saw you talking to that tall, dark and dangerous guy with Captain McCabe…”
Oh, no. Here it comes. The you-need-to-get-laid speech.
“Which one? They all start looking alike after so many years.”
But she was lying. There’d been something about the scarred major that had lingered in her mind as she’d wandered the casino selling her cards. Something compelling that had nothing to do with his thick brown hair, or the subtle defensiveness in his bearing. It wasn’t even the scars running down the side of his neck and right hand. It was something in his eyes.
“You’re kidding, right?” Sherri threw her an incredulous look. “Dark hair, bomber jacket, fresh scars down the right side of his neck? Don’t you want to see if he’s got scars anywhere else?”
“He’s just like all the rest, Sherri.” No different than a thousand other hotshot flyboys roaming around The Grand.
Except…he’d made that comment about intelligence and beauty. And he’d made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed out loud. And, most of all, he’d ended the encounter without propositioning her.
Stop with the fairy tale, Jordan. That’s what had gotten her into the mess her life had become in the first place.
Sherri scowled. “Are you still pining over Mr. Banker-dude?”
“After I caught him with that showgirl? No way!”
“So, forget about waiting for a commitment right now. Just have a wild fling. You don’t have to be in a relationship to get you some, girl. You need a man.”
Irritation overtook Jordan. Her friend had it wrong. She didn’t need anyone. She’d never depend on a man again. She’d run off with bad-boy-Ian and been deserted. And she’d dated safe-guy-Bob and been cheated on. It may have taken only two failed relationships, but she’d finally learned men weren’t reliable. She reined in her annoyance. Sherri was a good friend. She meant well. She’d helped Jordan a lot when she’d first started working here six years ago, teaching her how to earn bigger tips by smiling and flirting, and helping her evade the advances of the worst drunks.
“I know you’re thinking of my best interests, Sherri, but all I need is to ace my finals next week. And getting involved with some flyboy from Nellis will not help me memorize differential equations.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I always did better on a test if I had a good screw the night before. Helped me relax.”
“Sherri!” Jordan managed not to roll her eyes.
“All I’m sayin’ is, that was one fine piece of man-meat staring at you tonight like you rocked his world. Just think about it if you see him again.”
Think about it? Hadn’t she just been convincing herself not to think about him?
After she changed clothes she left through the hotel’s employees’ entrance, heading for the bus stop past the parking garage behind the hotel. Even at two in the morning, Vegas vibrated with noisy traffic and tourists. But she’d long grown tired of the bright flashing lights she’d once found so exciting.
She glanced down the street toward the bus stop and spotted the bus already there. Jordan dodged a few cabs and a limo as she sprinted across the street. “Wait!” She waved her arm just as the bus pulled away in a wheezing cloud of exhaust.
“Crap!” It’d be twenty minutes before the next bus came by. She stuck her fists inside her denim jacket pockets and shifted her weight from sneaker to sneaker. Her body screamed for a hot bath and a soft bed, so she closed her eyes and envisioned the day she earned her programming degree. Once she did, her life would change.
She’d get a respectable job with a decent salary. Buy a home of her own with two bedrooms so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. Have professional care for her mom. All she had to do was stay smart, stay focused.
Not let some Casanova derail her plans. Again.
But every once in a while her heart just wanted to let loose all the wild feelings inside. Toss the laundry basket and run screaming into the night.
“Hey.” A strong hand gripped her arm and Jordan jumped. “Got a dollar?”
She let out a relieved breath as she recognized one of the bums that slept in the alley behind the hotel. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. But booze wasn’t the worst odor. Poor old guy. But for the grace of God…
A motorcycle engine revved and tires screeched. “Let go of the lady,” a deep voice ordered from behind her.
The old man yanked his hand away and backed off.
Jordan spun around.
The Air Force major. He sat astride a monstrous black motorcycle, his gaze focused menacingly on the old man. His tight, low-riding jeans and black leather jacket personified danger as he curled his fists around the handlebars.
Her body sizzled as she stared at him. The image burned into her psyche, drawing her into the fantasy of the rugged loner coming to her rescue, sweeping her into his arms and—
“I’m fine, Major,” she blurted out to stop her crazy dream. She unzipped her backpack and dug around for one of the prepaid cards she’d bought. One of the diners close to her apartment had a program for the homeless. A way to ensure a handout didn’t go to buy booze. “This will get you a hot meal and coffee at Zelda’s Café on fifty-fourth.” She handed the old man the card, and he snatched it from her and took off.
From the corner of her eye she saw the major get off the bike and move toward her.
“You shouldn’t encourage those people.”
She turned. “He’s harmless.”
He rubbed his jaw and took a step toward her.
Her chest tightened as he came closer. Her insides coiled with a tension she’d been trying to deny since his comment about blond geniuses. She knew it was just a pickup line, and she’d heard better. But he’d said it as if he really believed it.
“That happen often?”
She shook her head. “No. At least, not in a while.”
His dark eyes searched her body, his gaze moving down from her breasts to her legs and up again.
Her stomach clenched with a sharp ache. It’d been too long since she’d had sex, that’s all. Why had she waited? Oh, yeah. The whole trying-not-to-make-the-same-mistake-twice thing. She’d told Bob she wanted to wait until they were really committed, and he’d agreed. Too easily, she could see now. And it’d been easy for her, too. Easy and safe.
She’d never felt the kind of ache for Banker Bob that she did tonight for the Air Force major.
“He’ll probably trade the card for booze or dope,” he said.
Straightening her shoulders, she bristled. “Well, I have to try.” His subtle musky cologne drifted to her on the breeze and she drew in a long, slow breath.
He looked down the street, then back at her. “I could give you a ride.”
She studied his black bike. Almost a quarter of a century old and she’d never ridden on a motorcycle. An image invaded her mind of riding behind him, her cheek pressed against his back and her palms clutching his hard abs. The vise in her chest squeezed with a dangerous desire.
“Hey, I understand.” The major headed for his bike and swung his leg over the seat. He looked at her as he rolled the bike forward and the kickstand lifted. “You don’t know me.” His jaw muscle clenched as he turned the key and started the engine. The bike roared to life and he set his boot on the steel footrest and looked up at her. “Yet.” Without another word he curled his fists and took off out of the parking lot.
A panicky sense of lost opportunity swept over her. Something inside her wanted to run after him and yell at him to come back, that she’d changed her mind. It was her gnawing inner voice begging for a night of reckless abandon. How could she feel so out of control? How could she even consider it?
Then the bike made a U-turn down the street and roared back into the nightclub parking lot behind her. The engine shut off, and he shoved the kickstand down and strode toward her. She watched the sway of his hips, the tight fit of his T-shirt beneath the jacket, the set of his jaw.
“Decided I’d wait with you until the bus comes.”
Jordan tried to swallow past the hard lump in her throat. Even security-conscious Banker Bob had never been willing to lose sleep to make sure she got home okay. “Thank you.”
He nodded, but didn’t speak, just stood next to her with his arms crossed over his chest.
His leather-mixed-with-man scent tantalized her. The coil in her tightened more, her muscles tensed and she couldn’t even look at him.
You’re an idiot, Jordan Brenner. So, he was sexy. So were a thousand other players trolling the casino looking to get laid. He just had a different approach. She should remember this guy was a friend of Captain McCabe’s, the most prolific serial dater in Nevada. And, she wasn’t a naive eighteen-year-old anymore, a girl who ran off with the first guy to charm her jeans off. She had responsibilities. She didn’t get swept off her feet.
When the bus pulled up, she climbed aboard without a backward glance.
