Let It Ride. Jillian BurnsЧитать онлайн книгу.
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