Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I glower. “You’re not very good at this whole seduce-me-along-for-the-ride thing.”

  “Then I’d better try harder.” He drops my bag again and drags me to him, fingers twining in my hair, and gives me a curl-your-toes kind of deep, hot kiss that promises a whole lot more steam to follow. “How’d I do this time?” he asks, tearing his lips from mine.

  “Better,” I confess, “but—”

  He kisses me again, deeper, hotter, and then demands, “How about now?”

  “Terrible,” I pant.

  He gives me one of those low, sexy laughs. “Then by all means, give me a chance to improve.”

  “You think you can?”

  He drags his thumb across my cheek. “Try me, baby.”

  He can. Oh yes, I know he can. “I’ll go, but we tell Molly, and I’ve already texted a friend.”

  His hands settle on my shoulders and he gives me a direct look, those green eyes downright piercing. “I’m not the fool you accused me of being. I haven’t touched a woman since this blackmail started.”

  Shock rolls through me at the unexpected confession and I inch back to study him. “Is that a warning?”

  “It’s me gambling on you. And like I’ve already said, I’m not a gambler.”

  “Me going with you is me gambling on you, as well.”

  “Then let’s hope we both win.” He releases me and lifts my bag again. “Shall we?”

  My eyes meet his and I search for any reason to stay, but what I find is hot embers and burning promises. He wants me. I want him, and I’m so sick of saying no to everything but work and worry. I’m not saying no to him.

  I walk past him and go down the stairs, feeling him behind me but not close, as if he’s giving me space to change my mind. I know this as surely as I know that I’m taking a risk on him.

  I grab the doorknob and exit onto the porch, digging my keys out of my purse, the midday sun warm while Vegas will surely be hot. Jason is a short delay behind me, taking it upon himself to lean inside and lock the door before pulling it shut, but I step beside him and lock the dead bolt this time for extra measure.

  As if on cue, Molly’s door opens. Jason shocks me by draping his arm over my shoulder, our intimate stance making it clear that we’re friends with benefits at the very least. Molly steps onto her porch and her eyes go wide at the sight of us—or rather Jason, who she’s staring at.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands, waving her hands in the air. “You are supposed to be in Vegas!”

  “I’m on my way, ma’am,” Jason assures her. “And Skye is coming with me.”

  Her eyes go wide and her grin follows in an instant. “Oh, really? Now, isn’t that fun and interesting.” Her brows knit and she glances at her watch. “But tell me about fun and interesting later. If you have any flight delays, you’re screwed, Red Bull. This is for the television show. You can’t be late.”

  Yikes. He had mentioned time and the television show and I’m not about to be the reason he misses it, so I grab Jason’s belt and tug. “We have to go.” I drag him forward and down the stairs.

  He laughs and follows. “So I’ve been told.”

  We start down the sidewalk and while I feel safe with Jason, I’m now more cautious than I’ve been with him. It’s a thought that has me turning to walk backwards and calling out to Molly, “See you tomorrow night!”

  “Good luck in Vegas!” she shouts. “And have fun! You never have fun.”

  I cringe at what escalated to “too much information” way too fast and head for Jason’s sports car, rounding the hood with him on my heels. “No,” I say, turning on him, holding up a hand. “I’ve got my door. We have to hurry. I’m fine.” And I am, especially since it was his nature to be a gentleman. I like the contrast of bad boy, poker player, and manners. A lot. Too much.

  He hesitates but nods his acceptance and uses his key clicker to pop the trunk, I assume to stash my bag, but I don’t wait to find out. I slip into the car and in a flash he’s joined me and revved the engine. “ ‘See you tomorrow night’?” he says, repeating what I’d told Molly. “Making sure she knows when you’re to return, I see.”

  “She’ll worry.”

  “Or think you’re in my bed and I’ve convinced you to stay.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Since I have two jobs to be back to, one of which by Sunday afternoon, that’s not going to happen.” And somehow, I think that’s for the best, for him and for me.

  “I’m betting Molly’s more confident in my ability to be persuasive than you are.”

  I doubt that, as I’ve kissed this man. And touched him. And seen his tattoo and, and, and … “Molly’s a groupie.”

  He laughs that sexy, playful laugh that makes it easy to forget how intensely on edge he really is. “I don’t even want to think about what bingo nights are like with that woman, but I like her. She’s hilarious. And as for me keeping you in Vegas, don’t put it past me to tie you to a bed and keep you there.”

  Tie me to a bed? “What happened to getting me my own room?”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to get an invitation inside.”

  “So you can tie me up?”

  He cuts me an amused look. “Only if you ask.”

  “Don’t hold your breath on that one.”

  He laughs, and somehow I know I’ve just challenged him to a game he’s much better at than I am.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE DRIVE TO the private airstrip is short, and before I know it, Jason has pulled into what I assume is a hangar. I drive rather than fly because then I’m in control. And I like control. All of it. So what am I doing here? But I am here, and Jason halts our path a few feet from a sleek jet I guess to be big enough to hold at least twenty, but not big enough to make me feel safe. Okay. Not much will make me feel safe in a plane.

  “Don’t you need to park your car somewhere?” I ask.

  “They valet it to a garage.”

  “So you’ve used this airline before?”

  “Many times.” He surprises me and reaches up, caressing my cheek. “We’ll be safe. I promise. Of the many vices I have, a death wish is not one of them.”

  Vices. I don’t like that word, but I know he has a thing for cars and women. It’s other things that worry me.

  “Let’s climb on board our ride,” he says, motioning toward my door. “The sooner we get on the plane, the sooner we eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” His lips curve. “And not just for you.”

  My cheeks heat and I grab the door handle, his laughter following me as I pop the car door open and exit, shutting it behind me, while Jason heads to the trunk. I follow to help him, and while I’d swear if asked that the idea of food and bumpy air does not appeal to me, my stomach defies my fear and growls at the exact moment I step to his side.

  He lifts the trunk, but his attention is on me, his eyes alight with wicked heat. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s hungry.”

  “Good to see you, Red Bull,” a twenty-something man in a blue suit, with blond buzzed hair, greets him, reaching into the trunk to retrieve both of our duffel bags. “You playing tonight?”

  “Aren’t I always?” Jason asks, shutting the trunk and settling his hand at my back, his touch quickly becoming familiar and always far too warm for my own good. “Skye,” he adds, “meet the other Jason.”

  The new Jason’s gaze falls on me, curiosity in the depths of his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Skye. To avoid confusion just call me JJ, for Jason Jones.”

  Red Bull flexes his fingers on my shoulders and he glances down at me. “You can keep calling me Trouble.”

  I snort. “Believe me, I will.”

  JJ chuckles. “My last girlfriend called me worse things than that.”

  “That sounds like it didn’t end so well,” I comment.

  That draws a snort from him. “Let’s just say Trouble is G-rated in comparison.”

  “Skye calls me all kinds of names,” my Trouble says, dra
ping his arm over my shoulder. “Asshole and arrogant come to my immediate mind, but I’m certain they’re endearments.”

  “He’s right,” I agree. “Every time I call him ‘asshole,’ it’s from the heart.”

  “So damn affectionate,” Trouble murmurs, hugging me closer, as if we’re a real couple, and lifting his chin at JJ. “I need to be at the table in four hours. We’d better roll.”

  “We’ll have you in the air in fifteen minutes,” JJ assures him.

  Jason doesn’t let go of me, leading me forward and leaning in close to make the soft vow, “I aspire to change your opinion of me this weekend.”

  Butterflies erupt in my belly that have nothing to do with his words and everything to do with the steps I now face, leading to the plane. “That won’t be easy, considering you’re the man who’s putting me on an airplane.”

  “Life’s too short for fears, baby.”

  Somehow, some way, he’s once again said exactly the right thing—perhaps the only thing—that would make me overcome my dread of flying. Life is too short. I nod and he releases my hand, and I rush up the stairs before I change my mind. In several beats of my pounding heart, I am entering the cabin and see tan leather everywhere, including U-shaped booths on either side of me, with a shiny table in the center of the one on my left. Beyond them are several rows of oversized, comfy-looking seats.

  Behind me Jason is speaking to someone, and I glance back to find him leaning into the cockpit, talking to the pilot or pilots, I assume. I don’t know which, and really I don’t want the pilots to be human and his friends. Humans make mistakes. I inhale and face forward again, trying to decide whether I should sit down or make a run for the door.

  He steps behind me, his hand settling on my hip. “We need to buckle up until we’re in the air,” he says, indicating the chairs.

  Buckling up sounds just fine to me and I hurry forward to claim a chair, but as I move toward the window seat to my left, Jason takes my arm. “If you don’t watch the takeoff, you barely feel it. Unless you want to torture yourself?”

  I wave that idea off. “No, thanks. I’m not into masochism.”

  “Good to know,” he says, mischief in his eyes. I take the aisle seat and he sits next to me.

  At the sound of footsteps, I glance up to find JJ has joined us and is loading bags into an overhead compartment before walking our way. “Martha’s bringing your usual latte,” he tells Jason, then glances at me. “Martha runs our coffee bar. Can I have her bring you something as well?”

  “I think the lady might need a real drink,” Jason intervenes. “She’s afraid of flying.”

  He reaches down and squeezes my knee, sending tingling sensations up my thigh and straight to my sex, and I grab his hand and set it on the armrest. “Can you not tell everyone I’m afraid, please?”

  “Cautiously concerned control freak?” he offers, amusement in those too green eyes of his.

  My brow furrows. “I’m not a control freak.” He arches a brow in challenge. “Fine,” I amend. “Maybe I am.”

  “You are,” he assures me. “And while I never drink before a game, you need to calm your nerves. What can JJ get you?”

  “I thought poker players drank and smoked while they played?”

  “I don’t smoke, and I drink Red Bull,” he reminds me. “Only professional fools booze it while they play at this level. You, however, aren’t playing, so you can drink. What’s your sin of choice?”

  “Coffee’s my vice,” I say, leaving sin out of the picture, and relieved that the bottle is not his. “Anything else will put me to sleep and I have a poker tournament to enjoy.” I eye JJ. “What Jason’s having, make it two.”

  “Two of whatever he’s having coming up,” he confirms, his attention shifting toward Jason. “I have your normal dinner order on its way. Should that be amended?”

  Jason glances at me. “There’s a killer pizza place here, and I usually order a large cheese and a large pepperoni. You game?”

  “Who isn’t game for pizza?” I ask, laughing, and deciding I really love how easygoing he is. “Cheese and pepperoni are both great.”

  “Pizza it is, then,” he confirms, eyeing JJ. “The usual.”

  It hits me then that if the “usual” is two large pizzas, he must travel with an entourage of people, most likely women. And I can’t forget that I’m just another topping on his pizza while he has to stay just another notch on my barely used belt.

  “We’ll be ready for liftoff as soon as the service items arrive,” JJ promises.

  My stomach churns. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

  JJ’s brows furrow. “Say things like what?”

  “Liftoff,” I say. “I don’t need the reminder we’re about to be dangling in the air.”

  JJ and Jason exchange a look and a laugh. “We aren’t going to be dangling,” Jason assures me. “We have engines.” He eyes JJ. “Bring her a bottle of tequila just in case she needs it.”

  “Tequila, coffee, and pizza, coming right up,” JJ says, turning away.

  “Not tequila,” I tell him, while Jason says, “JJ, wait.”

  JJ turns to face us again, and Jason asks him, “Can you have the MGM book an extra room next to mine for Skye?”

  I’m taken off guard but pleased by the question, while JJ’s expression registers momentary shock, which he quickly blanks. “Consider it done.”

  “Great, thank you,” Jason says.

  “Anything else?” JJ asks.

  “Keep that bottle of tequila for yourself, on me,” he says. “And make it a good one.”

  “Unnecessary, but thank you,” JJ says, giving a little bow before he heads to the door.

  Jason is generous, keeps his promises, and has excellent manners. I’m beyond seduced, I’m melting, and he’s not even touching me. I swivel to face him. “Thank you for doing that.”

  “No thanks needed. I promised you a room.”

  “And you made sure JJ didn’t think I was just another woman along for the ride. You gave me respect.”

  “You make it sound like I walk around with supermodels draped on my arms.”

  “No. I … ah … It’s just—”

  “In fact, I don’t invite people into my private space at all. And this plane, and my pre-game rituals, which are damn near sacrosanct to me, qualify as that space.”

  “But you said—”

  “That I fucked my way into trouble—yes, I did. I slept with Stephanie several times, at a private event run by the man I mentioned already. She works for him.”

  “Won’t he suspect her as the thief, if this comes out?”

  “I’ll damn sure do everything I can to guarantee he knows it was her and not me, but it’s very possible she went into hiding for that very reason. Like I said, this is not a man to cross, and she knows that well. Everyone knows that.” He scrubs his jaw. “Had I stayed true to my rule of never fucking around in my own backyard, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “What do you mean by your own backyard?”

  “She lives in San Francisco, and that’s way too close to that personal space I told you I don’t let people inside.”

  “And yet I live in San Francisco, and I’m in your personal space.”

  He draws my hand into his. “I need your trust, Skye. People I care about need me to convince you to trust me.” There is a raw, raspy quality to his voice. “Surely you know what it’s like to love someone and need to protect them.”

  I don’t, and it’s a gaping wound inside me that I cannot seem to seal—but then another bad thought hits me. “I feel like … I’m holding you captive, almost blackmailing you.” I hold up a hand. “Not literally. I mean, I wish I could just give you the storage unit.”

  He shifts in his seat, rotating more fully to face me. “You can.”

  “I probably will, but …”

  “But?”

  I inhale and let the breath out, daring to enter the territory that worries me. “Why did Stephanie
leave her things in a storage unit? Where is she? Surely your private investigator has some idea?”

  “He doesn’t. By the time I hired him, she’d moved her things to the unit. And I don’t think her doing so is a good sign for me.”

  I don’t either, but my fear is for her. His seems otherwise. “Because of the man you mentioned?”

  “She doesn’t want to be found. Not by him, not by me, and not by the police, should I risk taking that path. To me, that says she intends to take this blackmail all the way, wherever that may lead. And I can’t believe she’s in this alone.”

  I tend to think he’s right. “Do you suspect someone you know?”

  “No one close to me, but my run on the tables the past few years doesn’t exactly please some of my competition. There are players who hate me just for existing, and players who might resent my success and their losses.”

  “Greed and jealousy,” I say. “Doesn’t it suffocate you?”

  “I tune out the negative, which is why I’m good at the tables. I live to play, but I’m also ready to shift gears. I made this year’s World Series finals in November, after that I’m retiring professionally.”

  “But you just said you live to play.”

  “I’ll play for charity.” He scrubs his jaw and curses under his breath. “And none of this is public, so I just trusted you with something no one knows.”

  “I’m not going to betray your trust, but please. Don’t betray mine.” I don’t want him to be even that familiar.

  His gaze finds mine. “Everything I’m telling you is the absolute truth, good, bad, and ugly. I’m not holding anything back.”

  “And I’m not trying to add to your many reasons to worry, nor am I trying to hold this over your head, and I won’t accept your money. Well, like I said, if I give you the unit you can pay for that, since I have to pay my friend back for it.”

  “If you’re working two jobs, why are you trying to do a third with the auction hunting thing?”

  “My friend thought it might cut down on my waiting time to get to law school.”