Let It Ride. Jillian Burns
was leaning forward, elbows on knees, watching the race the same way she did everything: with intense interest. Her ball cap was turned backward, as usual. Her cheeks were bulging with the last of her hot dog, and she had a glob of mustard on the corner of her mouth.
He grinned, glad she was back after two years stationed at Langley. She was the kind of pal who stuck by you through hell and back and always told it like it was. He never had to guess what she was thinking and she never ever lied to him.
Either she was involved in watching the race, or she didn’t want to yell over the noise, but he knew she hadn’t dropped the subject.
And sure enough, as the tow trucks cleared the track of a messy crash, she turned to him. “It was a stupid thing to do, McCabe. Jackson may like the challenge, but what if that girl turns him down? Have you thought about how it might affect him? He’ll be worse off than before. And minus his treasured bottle of Scotch.”
Mitch shrugged. “We’ve always competed, always dared each other. And you know he wouldn’t want to be treated any different just because he’s been injured.”
Hughes stared at him with pursed lips, and then looked down at the beer she held between her legs. “I guess you’re right.”
It struck him suddenly that Hughes had changed since being at Langley. Something was different. He wondered if something had happened. Well, if she wanted to talk about it, she’d bring it up. “Hey, how about we hit Duffy’s after this? See if we can get lucky tonight.” He grinned at her.
The look she gave him was…weird. Like she pitied him or something. Yeah—even though they’d kept in touch, sending text messages and e-mails—Hughes was different. Used to be she’d flip him off after falling for his latest practical joke. Then she’d shoot him an evil grin and plot her revenge.
But lately, she just seemed testy.
First, Jackson’s risk of being discharged. Now, whatever was bugging Hughes…These guys were the only buddies he had. Mitch felt his world was changing. And damn, he hated change.
COLE HAD CONVINCED himself Jordan couldn’t be as beautiful as he’d remembered.
But she was.
Seeing her tonight hit him hard all over again. He watched her for a half hour, studying her smile and gestures, the swing of her butt and the sensuous shift of her breasts when she moved. She looked at him a couple of times, meeting him stare for stare. He considered smiling and waving, but the mood didn’t seem to warrant it. Her mouth would tighten and she’d break eye contact.
His mission tonight was to make discreet inquiries of her coworkers. He hit pay dirt with a redheaded Keno girl who seemed to relish playing matchmaker.
He learned Jordan had worked at The Grand almost six years and that she attended the University of Nevada at Las Vegas weekday mornings. The redhead said she’d been seeing a banker several months ago, but no one since. Cole already knew she had a soft spot for homeless bums. And one other thing he’d picked up last night: when he’d told her he’d wait with her until her bus came, the look on her face had left him…aroused.
Unfortunately, tonight that shocked and vulnerable look was nowhere to be seen. As soon as Jordan spotted him waiting for her in the parking lot behind the bus stop, she called out to him.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Major. Really, it’s fine.”
Cole raised a brow, shoved the kickstand down and got off his Harley. “Maybe.” He closed the distance between them. “Maybe not.”
Damned if she didn’t look sexier in her civilian clothes. Her teased hair and showgirl makeup seemed out of place with the faded jeans, denim jacket and worn sneakers.
She crinkled her brow, and then checked the street. “I wait here every night. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Would anyone stop to help if you got mugged?” He grunted. “Maybe, maybe not.”
A withering sigh escaped her as she turned back to stare at him. “So, is this what you do? Ride around all night patrolling the strip looking for damsels in distress?”
“Used to patrol the Baghdad strip, does that count?” A smile tugged one side of his mouth. “Look. Maybe we could just talk until your bus gets here.”
“At two in the morning, you want to have a stimulating conversation about…?”
“About you.”
“Why?”
“You interest me. Is that so hard to believe?” Unbelievably, it was true. She was fascinating. He wanted to know everything about her.
“Yes.” She glanced along the street again, as if willing the bus to hurry. Damn, that was rough on a guy’s ego.
“You think you know me, or my type.” It wasn’t a question, but he wanted to see what she’d say. He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back. He cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No. I just don’t trust you.”
He didn’t blame her. “Fair enough. In your line of work, you’ve probably dealt with your share of jerks. You think I’m only after sex?” Wasn’t he?
“Aren’t you?”
“I could get that anywhere in this town.”
“Then go for it.”
The challenge flamed in his chest. “I don’t want anyone else.”
“So, you admit you want to get laid.”
He blinked. She was no shrinking violet, was she? But there was no reason not to be honest with each other. “What red-blooded man doesn’t?” he said with a shrug. “I never claimed to be celibate.” He folded his arms. “Look, I won’t deny the minute I saw you, I was attracted to you. And it’d be great if we got together. But you’re…interesting. I haven’t asked you up to my hotel room, or tried to put my hands all over you. I just thought I’d get to know you.”
She frowned, and something about the look in her eyes made him think she might be wavering.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “You ask me something about me, and then I get to ask you a question.”
“You assume I want to know you.”
“Fine. We’ll stand here avoiding each other in awkward silence until your bus comes.”
She surprised him by letting out a frustrated half growl, half groan. “All right, Major. You’ve seen combat?”
“Call me Cole. And yeah. Served one tour in Afghanistan and two in Iraq.”
“And you’re going back when your leave is over?”
Back into combat? Not likely. The thought of a desk job, or—even worse—a medical discharge, made his throat close up. And knowing he’d never fly again was a physical pain in his chest. But he couldn’t talk about it.
“My turn.” He studied her intensely for a second. What did he most want to know? “What’s your favorite time of day?”
She looked puzzled. Good. He’d caught her off guard. “Early mornings.” She cleared her throat. “Your injuries.” She gestured toward his neck. “Were you…shot down?”
He kept his features blank as he nodded, then smiled and stepped closer, wanting to catch a whiff of her unique scent. “Yoga at sunrise and herbal tea, am I right?”
She shook her head and barely stopped a smile. “Pilates and diet cola. At nine. Did you get a Purple Heart?”
He grimaced. “Not yet.” And he wasn’t likely to since he’d disobeyed orders. “What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Now why,” she frowned, “would you waste one of your questions on something