Authors: Katie Porter
Jon smirked. “Have another drink, Princess, and you won’t care.”
Pushing away from the table, Ryan tugged Cassandra up. “Want to go dance?”
Her smile became more natural, just enough that his chest loosened in response. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist. Having her snuggled against his hip both wired him up and calmed him down. He traced idle patterns over the silky-smooth skin above her waist, enjoying how her muscles jumped under his touch. “I don’t. However, making a strategic retreat when appropriate? I do that.”
She stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll take what I can get. Come on. We’ll see you guys in a bit.”
Jon saluted them with his glass of scotch while Leah signaled the waitress. Again.
Ryan let Cassandra lead the way, holding tight to her hand so he didn’t lose her in the sweaty press of bodies. She wove through the crowds to the retro room, where ’80s pop spilled out the door on a wave of synthesized notes.
Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” was in full swing when Cass wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started a cruel, grinding shimmy. Ryan couldn’t help but laugh even as he palmed her hips and did his best to keep up without looking like a spastic chicken.
Addicted to Cassandra, was more like it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Abandoning the tension of the previous few minutes, Cass lost herself in one song after another. It wasn’t difficult, considering the perfect match of music and dance partner.
The DJ spun what sounded like Cass’s very own “If I Were a Stripper” playlist. Classic ’80s sexiness, but always with an element of cheeky humor. Years spent traveling with her family into the desert, and hanging around their home office where Mom always played music, meant she could either learn to love it or go bonkers. She’d chosen, quite predictably, to go along.
As she dug her hips into the throbbing beat of Aerosmith’s “Rag Doll”, her thoughts flew far from those childhood days. She gave herself to the moment. The air in the club was heavy with the humidity, wet with the collected sweat and respiration of so many dancers. Particolored lights flicked up and over and around a hundred bobbing heads. The ceiling in that particular room was low, giving Cass the impression of dancing in a broad, square cave. They were primitive people reveling in the dark.
“Raspberry Beret” by Prince faded into “I’m Goin’ Down” by Bruce Springsteen, which made Ryan smile.
“You like this?” Cass shouted, right up close to his ear.
“Gotta love The Boss.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re a keeper.”
She swiped a slick piece of hair off her forehead, then dipped in time to the next bass-drum kick. Sometimes she caught a flash of skin or a couple leaning into one another’s space, but mostly she kept her eyes on Ryan. Her dear Major Haverty had absolutely no grace for dancing. Apparently he saved his rhythm for sex where his lean hips never failed to find the right pulse.
She appreciated his willingness to humor her and wow, did he look fantastic. He’d stripped the respectable button-down, leaving only a plain white T-shirt. To say that a dose of sweaty dancing did the boy’s body good was an understatement. The white cotton plastered to his chest and hugged his shoulders—her own candy ready to be unwrapped.
She liked how he gave her space to move, not hanging on her and trying to cop clumsy feels. A slightly bemused humor tipped his lips into a half-smile. Never had she been with a guy who made her feel that everything she did was special. That laser-beam intensity of his could be intimidating as hell, but it was also a potent drug.
She looped her forearms around his neck and pulled up close. A quick lick along his throat left a sexy, salty taste on her tongue. Ryan seemed to take that as she’d intended: an invitation. He grabbed her ass with both hands, reintroducing their hips. Nearly six weeks together meant she was becoming more familiar with his body’s responses. He wasn’t hard, not yet, but his hands had taken on that edgy, filthy tension that said he was in the mood to get busy.
Cass was running on adrenaline but wasn’t quite ready to give up the night. A hefty dose of emotion waited for them outside the club, and she didn’t feel strong enough to face it.
“Let’s get a drink?” she asked when the song ended.
Ryan nodded and, damp hands laced together, led her back to the corner table where the noise was so much less. Leah was nowhere to be found, but a rather curvaceous brunette sat next to Jon. They made for an odd couple—his lean, buzz-cut precision and her rounded flesh. He seemed far more interested in her than the stereotypical bleach blonde from earlier in the evening.
“Hey,” he said. “This is…?”
“Julie,” the woman supplied.
After those casual introductions, Ryan left to grab a Red Bull for himself and a beer for Cass.
She and Julie chatted for a bit, but soon the conversation lagged. Glancing around, she looked for Ryan in the crowd by the bar. His tall frame was easy to find, and a nearby black light turned his T-shirt into a neon beacon.
“
Une femme aux courbes très généreuses
,” Jon said, almost to himself.
She turned to find his gaze on Julie’s bare shoulder.
Such lovely curves?
Cass laughed.
He lifted one arched eyebrow, pausing in the motion of taking a sip of scotch. She couldn’t remember his having ordered another, just nursing that one round. “
Parlez-vous français?
”
“
Oui. Il y a un an que je l’ai etudié à Montparnasse.
”
“Oh, don’t you two start,” Ryan said. He set Cass’s Corona on the table and settled in, his arm around her shoulder.
“Where did you learn?” Cass asked.
Jon shrugged. “Prep school.”
“Your accent is great. That means you kept with it.”
“Watch it, baby,” Ryan said with a rumbling chuckle. “You catch Dimples here being sincere and it’ll blow his cover.”
Leah appeared like some sort of amped-up version of herself. Her ponytail was a thing of the past. Long dark hair, all a tousled mess, made her look like she were already suffering from the regrets of a morning after. Three shots of tequila were neatly balanced in one palm. In the other hand she carried drippy lime slices and a salt shaker.
“Time to get this party started,” she said, her voice fuzzy. “Here, Tin Tin.”
“I drove, Your Highness. No thanks.”
“Fine.” She slammed two shots herself, one after the other. Julie took the third. “Fang, you remember that time we found Alley Cat’s stash in his footlocker?”
The story built on itself, returning inevitably to the trio’s history together. A half hour passed without Cass being able to contribute a word. Worse, her stomach knotted over each new detail of the danger they’d faced together.
Finally she leaned close to Ryan and said, “I’ll be back. Ladies’ room.”
She slipped away before he could reply.
Soon she stood leaning against a stall’s graffiti-smeared wall. A mash of words and images filled her brain. Jon’s provocative smirk. Leah’s fabulous rack, which was inevitably followed by a reminder that she’d slept with Ryan. The worst, however, was the smooth slither of dread that coated Cass’s skin. Every round of war stories choked off the blood to her heart.
Literal
war stories.
Finding Ryan sexy and potent had been much less complicated when reality stayed clear of her fantasies. Even seeing his fighter jet hadn’t brought it home, not like the eager way Leah and Jon bragged up Ryan’s daring. He was ambitious in life, having pulled himself out of a slummy childhood by willpower. Heck, she was still trying to process that new information as it was.
Knowing he was equally determined in combat soured her stomach. His profession made her family’s trips into the Canyon seem no more dangerous than heading to the 7-Eleven for a Slurpee.
Shoving off the wall, she washed her hands and splashed water on the back of her neck. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom. She needed to head back out there and smile, even if the pilots’ histories and nicknames and bewildering Air Force terms made her feel as competent as a rock. Rarely had she been more of an outsider. Even knowing, logically, that Ryan would be equally lost among a group of her colleagues from the gallery—or even with her family—didn’t help. None of them were in the habit of flying faster than the speed of sound, risking death every time they clocked in.
What if I can’t handle it?
She’d only just risked standing up to the owner of a family steakhouse. No one but a fool would think she’d reached a point far enough along on the mouse-to-superhero spectrum to endure getting seriously involved with a fighter pilot. Putting on a few accents was embarrassingly naive by comparison.
The door to the ladies’ room swung open. Leah staggered in, with Jon right on her heels. He nodded once to Cass, his expression stripped of flippancy as he followed his colleague into the handicapped stall. For a moment she wondered if Ryan had actually got them wrong. Maybe they’d snuck away for a quickie in the bathroom. The sound of Leah retching put the kibosh on that idea.
Not knowing the dynamics of this particular drama, Cass stood rooted next to the pair of grungy sinks. Jon’s voice pulled her free of indecision when he called, “Cass, could you bring us some towels?”
She grabbed the freestanding roll of brown paper towels off the backsplash. Inside the handicapped stall, Jon squatted while using the cinderblock wall for balance. He was remarkably calm despite the situation, managing to keep his mod-style dress slacks clean. A watch that looked super expensive gleamed on his wrist as he held Leah’s hair back from her face. The woman had no apparent concern for the state of her khaki cargoes. She knelt before the toilet in the classic kowtow of a barfing drunk.
Cass ripped off a length of paper towel and handed it over. “You seem rather…practiced at this,” she said softly.
Rolling his eyes upward, Jon had ditched his playboy cool. Lines of tension marred either side of his mouth, which turned down in a grimace. “You could say that.”
“I can hear you both.” Leah’s voice echoed inside the toilet bowl.
“You can hear us,” Jon said, “but you won’t remember a thing.”
“Fuck off, Tin Tin.”
“I can leave you to mop your own face, if you want.”
Leah groped blindly behind her until he wedged the paper towel in her hand. His expression of weary patience shifted Cass’s assessment. Maybe he wasn’t nearly so bulletproof as he projected. She remembered what he’d said about his call sign, back when she first met him at the 64
th
’s hangar. Rin Tin Tin.
For my unerring loyalty
.
She ripped off another hunk of toweling and handed it over. “You weren’t lying, were you? About your call sign.”
He shrugged. “I never lie.”
Before she could dissect that tiny statement, the door to the ladies’ room banged open again. “Jon? You in here? I can’t find—”
Cass turned to find Ryan, whose tense expression eased as soon as he caught sight of her.
“There you are,” he said with obvious relief. He crossed the bathroom with a few long strides and gathered her close. “I was looking for you.”
“Sorry.” Standing on tiptoes, she wedged her face into the crook of his neck. “Didn’t realize I’d been in here so long.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just needed a minute.”
His frown returned, just slightly, and he held her gaze. When Cass offered nothing more, he angled his head toward the pair of toilet groupies. “How is she?”
Leah sat up and wiped her nose with a towel. “
She
is right here.”
“Same ol’, same ol’,” Jon said tightly. “You two get out of here. I got this.”
“Nah, it’s my turn. Besides, what about that girl Julie?”
“You can owe me. I drove Her Highness here, so I’ll get her home.”
Ryan hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks, man. I’ll see you both Tuesday. That means you too, Princess.”
“Bright and early, Major Fang,” she said just before doubling over again.
Cass followed Ryan through the crowd to the muffled quiet of his giant Ford. She hadn’t had very much to drink, but her mouth felt fuzzy and her head even worse. They’d stretched from one extreme to the other, from her parents’ cozy, homey living room to a dingy bathroom stall—with a C-130 taking off somewhere in the middle.
“Is she always like that?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Is she dangerous?”
He frowned. “Like, as a pilot? No way. She’ll be the second one in the hangar Tuesday morning.”
That made her smile. “After you?”
“Yeah, after me,” he said with a soft chuckle. “She just… I think she gets bored.”
“Life at normal speed?”
“Something like that.” A shrug lifted those wide shoulders. “I wasn’t joking when I said she and I didn’t work. Her craziness was a serious part of it. She holds on too tight, then spins off when it’s time to let loose.”
He keyed the ignition and drove. Cass tried to keep her eyes open, but the heaviness of the long day dragged down her lids. A gentle nudge on her shoulder roused her from near-sleep. She blinked to find them sitting in her driveway.
“You want to come in?” Feeling sandblasted and turned inside out, she swallowed. They had yet to spend the night together without having sex, which made her wonder how he’d take her next request. “You’re welcome to stay, but I don’t feel up for much.”
“Crash out together?”
“Would you mind?”
He leaned across the central console and kissed her forehead. “I’m in this for you, baby. All of you.”
They were inside her house, curved in bed like a crescent moon, before either spoke again. “Maybe I pushed too hard dragging us to the club,” Ryan whispered against her temple.
A rush of warmth urged her to dig deeper. She wanted to grab hold of his rare moment of contemplation and, despite her fatigue, ask him to keep talking. Just as he had there by the runway. For that privilege, she would’ve forced her weary body to take a rain check on sleep. The boldness she’d discovered with Ryan, however, was no magic potion to cure years of caution.