Hold 'Em: Vegas Top Guns, Book 3 (32 page)

Wasn’t that a frightening thought? Her air stuttered in her throat. They were kink. Plain and simple. A girl didn’t marry kink and expect to have it all work out.

She touched her tiny gold airplane. The necklace didn’t meet regulations, so she’d hidden it under her collar. Better that way. But the delicate gift still shocked her to the core.
Special
. He made her feel special.

Plastering on a smile, she sought out Ryan. The boy looked like a bundle of nerves, practically vibrating. He smiled wanly and stuck out his hand as she ambled up the aisle. “Glad you could make it.”

She took his grip but then tugged to toss an arm around him. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Cass is a great girl. She’s on pins and needles out there, waiting. You two are going to be so happy together.”

“What’s this?” Ryan leaned back and peered into her face with a faked expression of concern. “Real emotion from Princess Leah? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and grown girl parts.”

She balled up a fist and planted it on the major’s shoulder. “Fang, don’t be an ass on your wedding day. I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules.”

He pretended to consider, then shook his head. “Nope. I have to be nice to Cassandra. And her parents. That’s it.”

“You better be nice to her forever. Or I’ll chop
your
bits off.”

Jon sidled up to them, with Heather at his side. “Now there’s the mean girl we know and love.”

They shared a round of greetings, until she couldn’t put off talking to Mike. As the minister, who looked like he probably did Elvis weddings in his free time, took Ryan to the side, Leah found herself face-to-face with Michael.

Her heartbeat flushed in her ears on the sudden memory of swinging the cane in the hotel room. The way his mouth had pinched down at first, then gone slack as he’d floated away on the feelings.

His hiss when she’d screwed up.

She made herself smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hello…Leah.” He’d meant her to fill in the blank with
ma’am.
She had.

She wanted to lean up and kiss him. An easy slide of her lips over his—the normal greeting when two people were involved. “How was your vacation?”

“Could have been better,” he said as something dark flitted across his features.

Though there was no denying that they
were
involved, she still couldn’t put a name on them. Fully half the squadron had turned up for Fang’s wedding. Jon knew. Ryan might suspect. But every dickwad she worked with? No thanks.

Besides, she hadn’t called him. More to the point, he hadn’t called her either. She might want to be on top in the bedroom, but Mike had the perfect fuck-buddy system down to an art. She would’ve liked to be the one to run. He hadn’t given her the chance—bailing for Florida at the first opportunity.

She rocked back on her heels as she racked her mind for something to say. Anything that didn’t involve ordering him out to the back alley so she could climb him the way she wanted to.

Goddamn, she needed another drink. Bad.

She’d thought about stashing a flask under her dress jacket but figured Fang would have her head.

The minister started shooing everyone to their seats. She went willingly enough, staking out a spot in the front row next to Heather. Jon stayed at the altar beside Fang. Even the notorious Tin Tin had found his earnest face, apparently taking seriously his role as best man.

Mike slid in next to Leah.

Her nerves shot napalm down her skin. Every inch knew his proximity. Three inches between their elbows. Five between their knees. And a canyon between their lips.

She scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.
Such
a hot mess. The second he realized that, he’d bolt faster than he had to Florida. She wouldn’t even see his contrails streak across the sky. Hell, he already had. Not calling was a pretty clear signal.

A soft swell of prerecorded music filtered through speakers. At least it was well done, all the gentle chords of the traditional wedding march.

Leah stood along with everyone else, turning a half right face to be able to see the chapel doors.

Cass looked beautiful. On short notice she’d managed to find a sleeveless white dress with a tiny hint of train. The real beauty was on her face. Incandescent joy that shone in her eyes as she stared at Ryan—who looked just as joyous. The nerves had all faded away from his expression. Little remained but happy expectation.

Leah’s heart clenched for them, and with a more intense version of the jealousy she’d felt while observing Dash and Sunny.

Mike sat in her peripheral vision. His eyes were that bright blue she both loved and dreaded. She knew what to do when they shifted dark—knew how to hold herself, to let the command keep her spine stiff.

This moment… Watching one of her best friends get married ought to be something good. Pure. She felt like a traitor because she wasn’t feeling that selfless.

When Cass and Ryan linked hands in front of the minister and everyone else sat down, Leah had to tuck her fingers under her thighs. All to avoid reaching for Mike’s hand.

He would let her. Screw the rows of airmen behind her. Screw the week he’d been gone, with her being a stone-cold bitch for not calling. She knew without asking that he’d lace their fingers together, even let her trace a thumbnail over the vulnerable skin at his wrist.

Because he had that calm, Zen-out factor—the cool she loved to shake up when they were naked in bed.

The same reserve that made her feel like shit. She couldn’t measure up.

The words of the ceremony were washed under by the blank roar in her ears. Her heartbeat hurtled past the sound barrier. The only thing that cracked through was “I do”, and the way Cass and Ryan grinned at each other.

When the minister announced the new husband and wife, Leah exhaled on a shaky whoosh, as if she’d been worried for them.

Ryan curved his hands around Cass’s face and bent toward her. She stood on her toes to kiss him back.
Hard
. They were so cute together, like Ken and Barbie but better. More real.

The squadron stood and cheered in full-on military war cries. Cass’s side of the aisle stood also, though they clapped more like normal people as the happy couple strolled past arm in arm.

In a tiny reception room, Jon broke out the bottles of champagne and poured dribbles of golden bubbles into plastic cups provided by the chapel. A few rounds of speeches went by, led off by Cass’s gruffly overjoyed father.

Leah drifted farther and farther toward the periphery of the room. The little cup of champagne wasn’t easing the drawn-crazy buzz that coursed down her spine.

She couldn’t take her eyes off Mike. The easy way he fell in with the group. His wide smile. His bright eyes. She leaned against a credenza, plastering her best “I’m happy” smile on her face. She managed to keep it steady even when Jon sidled up next to her.

“Are you going next?” She’d aimed for lighthearted and failed miserably. She needed another drink to cut through her fucking crankypants mood.

Instead of laughing it off as she’d expected, Jon’s gaze tracked down Heather. The woman stood with Cassandra, their heads bent together as they giggled. Normal and girlish.

“You never can tell,” he finally said.

Leah drained the last dregs of her champagne. Jon always sprang for the good stuff. “Don’t tell me you’re going all normal like.”

He shrugged. “When you find someone who fits you…it’s the logical step.”

She bumped her shoulder up against him. “Marriage isn’t about logic.”

“No, it’s not.” He grinned. His dark eyes narrowed, back to the pervy boy she’d known for so long. “When you’re supremely lucky, it’s about finding the one person who makes you feel like you’re the hottest shit around and makes you feel humble at the same time.”

That was Mike, all right, but the humble part sure seemed to outweigh the rest. She set the plastic cup on the credenza, carefully avoiding Jon’s gaze. “Tell Ryan that I wish him the best, okay? I don’t feel like wading through the crowds to get to him.”

Jon grabbed her wrist. “You okay?”

“Of course, Tin Tin,” she said with a forced smile. “I’ll see you at work.”

She left. Walked right out the front doors of the chapel and kept going. She didn’t even bother trying to hail a cab.

“Leah,” called a voice from behind her. “Wait up.”

Her feet stuttered to an abrupt halt, but she couldn’t make herself turn around. She didn’t need to. The voice was Michael’s. She knew it wide awake. Knew it in her sleep. Knew every tone and inflection.

Now he was all rough annoyance. He spun her with a rough hand on her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

As if she actually had any goal in mind.

She pinched the back of her neck, but that didn’t free her from the tension. She wasn’t able to look at him directly. Too much temptation and risk. She feared that everything she doubted about herself would be reflected in his blue eyes.

“There,” she said, pointing at a tiny bar two buildings down. The doorway looked shadowy and cool. Neon blinked in the painted-over front window. The place had once been a more upscale bar, maybe in better days, but now it perfectly fit her mood.

“Wanna go get a drink with me?”

He studied her so carefully, prying apart her secrets and poking at her fears. “Not really. I was thinking we might go back to my place.”

Fucking hell, she wanted that. Considering how things had gone down last time, she didn’t know if she had that degree of control. She possessed none of the icy calm he’d need from her. She was one hundred percent ragged edges, and half-bombed to boot.

Leah shook her head and ran a hand over her bun, which was starting to slide free. Drinking in a dive bar in dress uniform might not be her best idea ever. She knew she was careening out of control. Best to let Michael see the worst of her now, before they continued to get their hopes up.

“I need a margarita.”

She started walking toward the bar, but the ties binding her to Michael were even stronger than she thought. She couldn’t resist throwing back a few more words. Just in case. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mike banked his expectations. Again.

His skin flashed frigid. A heavy pulse chugged in his ears, and as he crossed the street to follow Leah on her self-destruct course, he put a huge chunk of himself away.

She couldn’t even look him in the eye without a haze of alcohol separating him. What sort of future was that?

None that he could stomach. That was depressing as hell.

The dive was a shithole and a half. Dingy beige walls wept an oily sheen. Humid and sickly, the air hung heavily with the stench of cold cigarette smoke. A few patrons turned rusted necks to watch him and Leah make their way to the bar. By comparison, it made Paulie’s look like the swank Italian place where he’d taken Leah for their birthday dinner.

Already a lifetime ago.

“Set me up,” she said to the emaciated bartender. “Two shots of tequila.”

“I’m not drinking, Leah.”

“Didn’t say you were. And a margarita.”

First one shot, then the other, she blitzed herself in high style. By the time she reached for her margarita, which had a strange gray color, her eyes had gone glassy and soft.

“To the happy couple,” she said, raising her glass. “Live long and prosper. Or something.”

Mike couldn’t speak. His heart was squeezing shut. Whatever he’d wanted from this woman wasn’t going to happen. Not that night, at least. Maybe not ever. How could he trust someone who had so little stomach for braving the hard shit?

Because that’s what this was. The hard part. They were pressed right up against it—the precipice where they’d launch into something new. Time to crash or fly.

Leah bobbled on her barstool, which gave him a preview of the outcome. Flames and wreckage.

“Hey, there,” he said, steadying her balance. “Easy.”

“You taking care of me, pet?”

He grimaced. That name should’ve lit him up like an incendiary bomb. Instead it jabbed at him, knife sharp. It was all that they
weren’t
. Not right then.

“What I’m doing is keeping you from UCMJ action.”

“So gallant, Strap Happy.” She flicked the Silver Star pinned to his uniform. “Is that how you got to be such a hero?”

“I haven’t done any more than another would.”

“Don’t believe you,” she said, leaning into his arm. “You’re Mr. Air Force Stud. That’s why I like to see you on your knees.”

Mike cringed and instinctively flicked his gaze around the bar. “Are you going to behave?”

“Shh, that’s what
I
ask of
you
. I love it when you behave. When you follow my commands to the letter. When I mark your lovely flesh. So fucking hot, Michael.” As if she realized her string of lizard-brain babble, she blanked. Stiffened. Waved to the bartender. “Another shot, please.”

“Forget it,” Mike said to the man. “She’s had enough.”

“Not by half, pet.”

“Cut it out, Leah. I mean it.”