Double Down (24 page)

This was good. Curled into his body, surrounded by the strong assurance of his arms and the quiet comfort of his breathing…

Better than good.

“Nah, let’s take it as a positive sign,” she said. “That we…we have something here. We both wanted the other to spend time with our families.” She touched his face. “Because they are your family, aren’t they?”

He offered a tight nod. It wasn’t as if she’d cracked him open entirely, but that small concession felt like a victory. Ryan Haverty was a good man, only shy in ways no one would assume of an ambitious fighter pilot. In time he’d open up. She put her faith in that and closed her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ryan was never more in control than when he wrapped the throttle in his left hand and the side stick controller in his right. Information hammered at him from all angles and directions. The radio buzzing in his helmet. The heads-up display directly in front of him. Multifunction displays over each knee. He’d needed a ridiculous amount of practice and studying to learn how to process it all, but damn if it hadn’t been worth it.

Everything was worth feeling like he rode on top of a rocket, the entire world unfurling before him.

He’d worked for that very sensation. The impressiveness of it. He was bigger and badder than the rest of the world—and tiny at the same time. Almost insignificant among the cogs that kept even the simplest operation on track.

Princess flew to his right, among the canyons, dipping low along the topography. Her grace in the air meant that uneven terrain was the best place for her. The innate skill she displayed was almost enough to make him forget that one of his best pilots spent her nights praying to the porcelain goddess. Leah’s display at the club had been almost two weeks ago, but she’d apparently reenacted it again on Wednesday night.

“Target acquired,” came Tin Tin’s voice over the radio, mired among the hums and clicks.

Ryan tapped his display and reviewed the radar over his right knee. “I want Kisser to take this one,” he reminded them. The pilot was still relatively new to the squad. They all would benefit by better understanding how he flew.

“Roger,” Tin Tin replied. When in the air, his smartass tone was entirely absent—all business and calm calculation.

The squad swooped low in formation then swung around to the south. Everyone in place. Everyone with a mission. Kisser took the mocked-up flight path with as much efficiency as he’d yet demonstrated.

Spinning relentlessly through the checkpoints and hard lines in his head, Ryan watched his men and women for any weaknesses. Despite the intensive nature of that training session, no one even bobbled. They were more than ready for the next Red Flag. They’d take out the NATO forces like automatons.

Through their cohesion, they’d help save lives.

His satisfaction in that thought was only matched by knowing he had somewhere to be that night. Someone waiting on him.

Since quitting the steakhouse, Cassandra had worked almost nonstop at the gallery. She was grinding herself to the bone, intent on excellence for her first gala. On the phone the night before, she’d confessed that most days she forgot to eat lunch. Ryan tried to convince himself that the out-of-control sparkle in her eyes meant she was doing the right thing—working hella fuckin’ hard for what she wanted. He knew what that was like.

He was still going to make sure she ate a decent meal when she got to his place that night. Stuff her with the orange chicken she loved. Chinese food might not be the healthiest junk ever, but at least it would funnel some calories down her throat.

How fucking crazy was that? There’d be no late-night paperwork cram for him. Not tonight. Not when he knew he’d disappoint Cassandra by bailing.

He’d also disappoint the rest of his squadron if he didn’t get his head back on track. He pushed away thoughts of his girl, then ran through the data one more time.

“Let’s bring it around, ladies and gentlemen,” he said after queuing his radio. “One more run. This time’s for the gold. I expect the best, people. Trajectories on line.”

A chorus of “roger” and “affirmative” streamed in and dove right to his guts. Good people, every one of them.

His team was the best of the best.

Ryan carried the container of orange chicken back into his bedroom. “Hey, did you want any more of this?”

Cassandra sat on his bed, reclining against the pillows.
All
of the pillows. She’d even stolen both of his. His laptop was perched across her knees.

“What?” She blinked at him as she tried to focus.

He wiggled the box. “More chicken.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“There’s one last spring roll too.”

She rolled her eyes then smiled. “I swear, I’m fine. You might have to shove me out of here with a forklift.”

“Whatever,” he said, lacing his voice with amusement. “You’re tiny.”

“And you’re a sweet talker. Both of which we’ve said before.” She laced her fingers through her hair, pulling it into a ponytail. The rubber band from around her wrist snapped everything into place, uncovering creamy shoulders left bare by a thick-strapped tank top.

She’d shown up in her classy day clothes. A sundress printed with a geometric pattern that flirted around her knees had been topped by the black cardigan she always wore at the gallery. In a big way, Ryan had enjoyed uncovering her sleek body from under that professional layer. That she transformed from polished to panting because of him did crazy things to his guts.

Leave it to him to finally find a fantastic woman with classic taste and a picture-perfect background…and all he longed to do was muss her up. Turn her into a sweaty, gasping sex kitten. The only thing better would be if she talked dirty again, but that had ended with their game playing. Plain ol’ Cassandra didn’t cuss, no matter how rough they fucked.

Shit, that shouldn’t be a disappointment. Not at all.

In the hour since ordering Chinese, she’d changed into the tank top and a tiny pair of yellow jogging shorts. She’d taken to packing an overnight bag whenever she stopped by.

Now that he
did
like. A lot. If he had to choose, he’d rather have Cassandra waking in his arms than whispering foul, breathless words in his ear.

But he was a selfish idiot—one who didn’t learn very well from past mistakes. Because he sure as hell didn’t want to choose.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, shoving the leftovers in the fridge.

Determined to be good, he scooped up the sheaf of rent-by-mail movies on his entertainment center. He checked them out as he walked in the bedroom. “I’ve got two action flicks, one of which is martial arts heavy, and
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
.”

She grinned at him. “That one, please. It’s always funny, no matter how many times I’ve seen it.”

He booted up the DVD player and dropped the disc in. “I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen it.”

“What?” Her mouth dropped open. Letting her knees fall, she pushed the laptop away. “How have you lived without ever watching it?”

After flopping on the bed, he folded his arms behind his head. “I don’t know. Just haven’t.”

Cass planted a hand on his far side and leaned over him. Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something about the way you said that… Tell me the rest of the story.”

His grunt and shrug didn’t put her off. He sighed. “We didn’t have a VCR or anything. Or cable. Mom… Half the time we were lucky she paid the bills enough to keep a roof over our head. I didn’t take over the bills until I was about seventeen. When I found enough money for a few luxuries, I wanted to watch war movies more than funny things.”

Her lips moved almost as if she were repeating what he’d said. “You didn’t take over… Ryan Haverty, how long did you do her finances?”

He sat up fast enough that she jerked back to her side of the bed. The soda he’d left on the nightstand was watered down, but he gulped it down like ice-cold water after a long run. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just set up her Social Security check for direct deposit, then put her rent and stuff on auto pay.”

Snorting a bit, Cass drew his computer back onto her lap. “You are the biggest softie ever. Of all people, you should get why I’m tied to my family.”

“No, I get it.” Shoulders stiff, he used the remote to click on the TV. “We gonna watch this?”

“Yeah, just hang on a second. Let me finish this up.”

“What are you doing over there, anyway?”

Probably messing with her email—no good distraction from the sudden discomfort nudging at him. Most of the time he didn’t even think about his mom, much less talk about her. How was it possible to still be so tense? Only a few hours before, he’d buried a raging hard-on between Cassandra’s pale thighs until his body collapsed and his mind went blank.

It wasn’t his family, or his lack thereof. It was knowing how much he’d been holding himself in check. In the weeks since that round of phone sex, he’d bit his tongue more than once to keep from begging her to bring back that naughty British accent. His yearning for more was becoming difficult to ignore.

Jesus, he’d couldn’t name a more selfish prick.

The movie would need to be damn entertaining to clear out his head.

Cass slanted him a quick glance. Her lips curled up into what he had identified as her wicked smile. “I’m not doing anything,” she answered, drawing out the last word.

He pushed up on his elbows, trying to peek around her. She only tilted the screen away.

“Seriously, woman.” He curled a hand around her calf and tugged her closer. She didn’t give up her grip on the laptop. This was rapidly becoming a much better distraction than some Englishmen making stupid puns. “It’s my computer after all.”

She giggled, then blew a lock of hair out of her face. “Okay, okay. I was just doing some shopping.”

“That’s it?” He ignored a slight pang of disappointment. “Why’re you being all weird over that?”

“Oh, no reason,” she said in a singsong voice.

She tilted the computer so that he could see the display.

God. She wasn’t just shopping. She was
shopping.

The screen was filled with row after row of pretty girls wearing raunchy-as-hell costumes.

Ryan’s mouth went dry. Immediately. Even licking his lips didn’t help. His throat clicked when he tried to swallow past the sudden constriction.

“Why are you looking at those?” His tone was strangled.

“Because I like them?” She bent over the top of the screen. Adjusting the cursor to hover over one of the pictures was awkward from her angle, but she managed. A picture of a blonde in a skintight white dress blew up to take over half the screen. Ryan’s mind shifted to imagine Cassandra in that outfit, her strawberry-blonde hair pinned in a neat bun. “What do you think? Naughty nurse? You could be the doctor who gave me my injection.”

“That might be the worst joke I’ve ever heard you make.”

His brain and his body were operating on two separate levels, both of them practically out of body. Conscious thought ticked along, trying to make the connections. How much had she figured out? Did she know the depths he sank to, the ways he imagined her? Or was this a silly tease?

He didn’t want to be humored, and he didn’t want to turn Cassandra into someone there only to get his rocks off.

That was his brain. His body, however, was rocking and rolling, totally ready to go.

He still sprawled across the bed, leaning on one elbow toward her. He clamped down on her calf. Probably too tightly. He forced his fingers to loosen. If Cass bothered to look, a serious short-tent had popped out from under the silky material of his basketball shorts.

“You have a point,” she said, and clicked away from the naughty nurse outfit. “Probably not the right choice.”

Like he had any way to respond to that. If he said he didn’t give a shit what puns she made so long as she wore that, he’d totally give away how hard it hit him. How hard it
made
him.

“There’s a Vegas showgirl costume too,” she added. “Although that seems silly. We could go down to the Strip and see one in person.”

Not the same thing as having Cassandra wrapped in the tiny metallic outfit. Touchable. Within his grasp. A girl who chose to drag
him
back to her dressing room despite her hundreds of admirers.

“Ooh, look.” She bounced on the mattress. “Bad schoolgirl. That one would look good on me.”

She moused over to the girl on the bottom row, then opened the page. The tiny white shirt knotted between the model’s
very
ample breasts was almost obscene wrapped over so much flesh. On Cassandra, though… Fuck, it’d be perfect. She’d look up at him with a smile that invited him to live out all sorts of filthy scenarios.

“That’s good,” he managed to rasp.

“You think so?” She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Would you be the mean professor? Who had to punish me for cheating in class?”

His hand lashed out to slap down the computer screen before he could even think. He latched on to Cassandra’s thighs and yanked her flat.

She giggled, winding her fingers around the base of his neck. “I’m not sure how I should take that. Either you love it, or you think it’s the best idea
ever
.”

Burying his face in the crook of her neck made the words easier to say. “All of the above.”

Her hips shifted beneath him, then she squeezed her knees along his sides. “So I should order it?”

He snuck his fingers under the hem of her shorts. Deliberately, he traced a fingertip through her curls, discovering her lips were already wet. His mouth open over the curve of her shoulder, he licked. She tasted so fucking good. Always did.

His voice was still hoarse, but there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about that. There would be no going back now. No more hiding what he needed.

“Yeah. Order it.
Later
.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

When she was seventeen, Cass had led a tour that got trapped in the Canyon during a freakish, fast-moving thunderstorm. She’d kept the tourists calm despite her wild-horses heartbeat. They’d been able to find a rocky outcropping. Together the dozen anxious travelers had huddled together as Mother Nature offered a mind-bending show of strength. The air crackled with so much electricity that the hair had stood straight off her arm.