Authors: Katie Porter
“Excuse me.” A low voice cut through the haze of noise to his right. “Are you alone?”
The tension that had been flying through him slid right out through his toes before he even turned to look. He knew that voice. It was the voice that brought him home every night. “Yep. I’m only in Vegas on leave.”
Cassandra was wearing a cream-colored sweater set of all things, along with a pale green skirt that swirled around bare knees. She smiled at him. “I’m on vacation too. From Kansas. I’m a kindergarten teacher there.”
“A kindergarten teacher?” The laugh that took him was sudden but not surprising. He and Cassandra did a lot of laughing together.
She nodded as she primly stacked her chips. “That’s right. For the last three years.”
He managed to get a hold of his smile. “I bet that’s rewarding work.”
“It sure is.” The look she slanted out of the corners of her eyes was all Cassandra, full of minxish humor. “Except when I want to strangle the kids. Or the administration. But that’s a job, right? Good parts and bad?”
The dealer flicked out another round of cards. Ryan managed to look down at his. A ten and an eight. He stayed.
She crossed her legs at the ankle. “So you said you’re on leave? I can never tell the uniforms apart. Are you in the Navy?”
“Nope. In the Air Force.”
She opened her eyes wide. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp. “Ooh. That’s so exciting. What do you do in the Air Force? Probably just paperwork, right? My cousin Eric’s in the Army and that’s all he does. He says it’s not nearly as exciting as it seems.”
Apparently her character chattered. Babbled, even. Ryan focused on his cards in order to keep from laughing and blowing the act. “I fly fighter jets.”
“No way,” she breathed. “Are they as fast as they seem?”
He grinned. “Even faster.”
The dealer called, and he and Cassandra flipped over their cards. His eighteen lost to the dealer’s twenty.
“You’re a careful gambler, aren’t you?” Cassandra teased.
He broke character for a minute. He couldn’t help it. His hand curled over her knee, fingers flirting under the fluffy skirt. “I used up all my luck finding you.”
Her expression melted, her eyes going wide and soft. She covered his fingers with hers. “You’re a good man, Ryan Haverty.”
He leaned over to steal a kiss from her beautiful mouth. “Because of you, baby. If I hadn’t found you… I think I would have imploded eventually. Hiding too much of myself.”
She stroked a touch down his jaw, then shook her head. “I don’t believe that. If you want to tell me more, though, you have my permission.”
Christ, she was so perfect for him. Her easygoing acceptance. Her life and energy. Something warm and contented unfurled inside his chest.
“I love you, Cassandra Whitman. You’re everything to me.”
It seemed only right to tell her there, at the blackjack table. They’d started their adventure at the same damn table. When they’d planned that evening’s fun, he’d known instantly where to sit.
Her lips parted. Pink flushed across her cheeks. She hopped off her stool and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Ryan.”
The kiss he brushed over her lips started soft. Gentle. Appropriate for such a moment.
As usual, the heat between them flared. Ryan crossed one arm around her back, using his other hand to angle her head and stroke deeper. Her taste went to his head every time.
The dealer cleared her throat. “Will you be in the next hand?”
Cassandra giggled. “Yes, yes, we will.” She tugged the black silk cord out from under her pale sweater. At the end was tied a ten-dollar chip.
“Is that what I think it is?” he asked with a laugh.
“You bet.” She grinned at him over her shoulder. “The chip from our first night. I kept it as a good-luck charm. But I don’t think we need any of those anymore.”
She tossed it into play, and Ryan kissed the soft skin behind her ear. “We’re making our own luck now.”
“Together.”
Before the dealer could pass out new cards, she grinned at him again—the wild, reckless grin that made all the blood rush to his cock.
“So,” she said breathlessly. “Feel like giving a kindergarten teacher the best vacation of her life?”
Author’s Note
The 64
th
Aggressor Squadron is an active United States Air Force unit assigned to the 57
th
Adversary Tactics Group, stationed at Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, Nevada. The pilots’ objectives are as we’ve described: to fly as adversaries against allied pilots from around the world, teaching them to better counter enemy tactics. The unit dates back to WWII when it participated in multiple theaters of operation.
Now, the 64
th
and other “bandits” from the 57
th
ATG regularly conduct dogfighting simulations in the United States, known as Red Flags, and Maple Flag exercises in conjunction with Canadian Forces. They also add their expertise to the USAF’s Weapons School syllabus and travel the country to provide training and test mission support to various units.
All individuals described in this story are fictitious. Research mistakes are entirely our own.
In the meantime, we enjoy assuming that at least one of these dedicated, highly skilled bandits appreciates seamed stockings.
About the Author
Katie Porter is the writing team of Carrie Lofty and Lorelie Brown, who’ve been friends and critique partners for more than five years. Both are multi-published in historical romance. Carrie has an MA in history, while Lorelie is a US Army veteran. Generally a high-strung masochist, Carrie loves running and weight training, but she has no fear of gross things like dissecting formaldehyde sharks. Her two girls are not appreciative. Lorelie, a laid-back sadist, would rather grin maniacally when Carrie works out. Her three boys love how she screams like a little girl around spiders.
To learn more about the authors who make up Katie, visit
www.katieporterbooks.com
or follow them on Twitter at
@carrielofty
and
@LorelieBrown
.
Look for these titles by Katie Porter
Coming Soon:
Vegas Top Guns
Inside Bet
Hold ’Em
Hard Way
Bare Knuckle
Club Devant
Lead and Follow
Came Upon a Midnight Clear
Zero to kinky in 3…2…1…
Inside Bet
© 2012 Katie Porter
Vegas Top Guns, Book 2
As junior partner of an accounting firm, Heather Morris is at the top of her game. Her straight-laced colleagues wouldn’t believe the secrets she hides: her wild teenage past, work-of-art tattoo and nipple ring.
Her orderly life veers off course when she’s approached at a wine tasting by an arrogant pretty boy with a dirty mind and a hardcore dangerous profession. She finds herself tempted to step outside her respectable façade for some well-deserved excitement.
Captain Jon “Tin Tin” Carlisle knows women.
Loves
women. One glimpse of the nipple ring under Heather’s conservative blazer lights up all his instincts. He’s stumbled upon a rare treasure: an exotic beauty with a sexy laugh and a taste for dares.
After a red-hot hour of roulette, their simmering attraction bursts into an exploration of mutual passion that tests even Jon’s erotic limits. Soon he craves something he’s never desired before.
More
. But for Heather,
more
means trusting, and trusting leads to trouble.
Now Jon must decide if the best sex of his life is worth chancing his heart on a woman who shields hers so well.
Warning: Contains hot power play featuring a fighter pilot who comes from old money but knows all about bringing the dirty. Also: a nipple ring, sex on the hood of a hella sweet sportscar, and one teensy, tiny, wickedly naughty fluid exchange.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Inside Bet:
“You’re rather self-assured.” Heather faced forward toward the roulette table, but nothing in her posture suggested that Jon should remove his hand. She dropped the hem of her top so that lace simply draped over his wrist. Brave girl. He rewarded her with a teasing, kneading motion along the dip of her waist.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked against her throat.
“Has anyone ever told you it verges on arrogant?”
“Once or twice. Or more.”
“You don’t care?”
He didn’t really like talking to her without seeing her eyes. Considering her measured, careful voice, she was more difficult to read without precise physical clues.
“Arrogant is what frightened people call bold.” He didn’t need to bend far to speak directly into her ear. In her heels, she was nearly his height. Good thing his ego had never been fragile. Actually, he rather liked the advantages. It made a whole host of sexual positions easier to contemplate. “When am I going to see your panties?”
“Lay another bet, flyboy.”
The croupier had gathered all the chips, paid out the few winners and opened the table for more bets.
“What’s your birthday?”
That earned him a sidelong glance over her shoulder. “The seventh of August.”
“Not long off.”
She laced her fingers over his, across her stomach, with the layer of silk in between. “Plan on buying me a present?”
He leaned their bodies forward to drop another $100 chip on the black square marked seven. Her ass tucked neatly against his cock. Just as he’d thought. They would fit well together.
“What do you want?”
“Everything I’m worth,” she said. “So maybe the sun and the moon?”
“I’ll throw the stars in too.”
“You think you’re pretty slick.” No question there. Just bemused humor. “But I’m still waiting on our side bet.”
“How slick
you
are. That’s my reward if I win.”
“What?”
A fine trembling had taken over her limbs. He was perversely proud that she didn’t back down, despite obvious jitters.
“If I win with a black seven, I get to find out how wet your panties are.”
“Here?” Her swallow was an audible click. “How?”
He slid his pinkie under the band of her skirt. Not far enough to brush the top hem of her underwear, but enough to make her think of them. “I’ll leave that up to you.”
Suddenly she laughed. The tension drawing her shoulders tight against his chest dissolved. “You know what? Fine. At 37-to-1 odds, the chances I’ll have to pay out are slim.”
He hid a real smile against her nape. So many to tuck away that evening. “But there’s still a chance.”
“You like chances?”
He darted out his tongue and claimed a taste of her skin. Soft peaches and rich cream. “I live for them.”
The uniformed croupier declared the table closed and propelled the roulette wheel with a flick of her wrist. The white ball bounced twice before settling into a smooth counter-roll against the wheel’s movement.
Heather’s breathing went shallow and fast. He spread his hand over her stomach, the better to feel the fast rise and fall of her diaphragm. She’d breathe like that on her way to orgasm.
Enjoying the lustrous feel of her skin against his lips, Jon didn’t lift his face. He didn’t need to. Her lush body’s sudden jolt told him the exact result.
The ball had landed in the number seven pocket.
“Are you going to pay up, Ms. Morris?”
“I’d never welsh on a bet.”
“Like I said, the method is up to you.” He brushed a lock of dark brown hair away from her ear. Although he didn’t want to give her an out, neither did he want to hear the word
panda
yet. If pushed too far too fast, she would back off entirely. “You can whisper the answer, if you’d rather.”
She turned slowly. The crowds around the table meant they stayed pressed together. No way she could’ve missed the brush of his stiffening prick across her hip. Maybe now she wouldn’t doubt its size.
Pale blue eyes evaluated him, as if he was an impossible equation. Good. He enjoyed being that tough to read.
She patted his shirt along the line of his vest. Lovely hands. Her long fingers were tipped with a fresh French manicure. He imagined how they’d look when clawing linen sheets as he edged her nearer and nearer to coming. How long could he sustain her there without letting her go over?
“Stay right here,” she said, her voice huskier than ever.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to be back?” He didn’t like that question after hearing it said aloud. Too…undisciplined.
“You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
She disappeared into the crowd. Jon watched her as far as he could. She didn’t wiggle as she walked—more like she slinked along. Her hips telegraphed every sensuous intention. Unfortunately, a stream of Japanese tourists following a tour guide’s up-held umbrella closed off his view.
He turned back to the table. While accepting his winnings and handing the croupier a nice tip, he tried to regulate a flush of pure excitement. He had an inkling of what she was up to. If Heather managed, he’d be very proud of her—and more intrigued than ever. She was the kind of woman who tasted risk carefully. The tip of her tongue at first. Not a deep swallow. That made every tiny step all the more valuable.
He gambled too much while she was gone, dropping four hundred dollars on a single spin. Seven again, since it had already brought him such luck. His parents would be appalled if they could see him, so it was a good thing he didn’t answer to them anymore. Grandfather’s trust fund remained excessively handy for pissing them off and for killing time.
When she returned, she slid under his arm as if she weren’t tormenting him with every movement. As if she belonged there. Her fingers ducked into his trouser pocket and out again in a wickedly fast move.