He preferred not to think about how disappointed he felt when he didn't see her friendly smile greeting him.
His thought pattern took him straight back to the scene at the door to her apartment, Casey stunned speechless, that smile locked on her lips and her golden eyes wide with shock. Her hair had been tamed in some sort of braid except for the unruly pieces fluttering free about her face. He wanted to wrap those pieces around his little finger. Her mouth had gaped open slightly, forcing him to lock an iron restraint on Little Chad. All he had wanted to do was press his lips against hers and slip his tongue in to taste her. It was a sure bet that she tasted as good as she looked. He wanted to find out. Not that he ever would. Hell, he didn't even know why he tortured himself, dogging after a married woman.
She still hadn't arrived at work when he glanced behind the bar five minutes later. Dammit, where is she? Did she stop on the way to work to visit a boyfriend? She certainly didn't look like the sort of woman to get involved in a relationship while still married. Not that that meant anything. He'd learned his lesson about cover blurbs being a piss poor indication of the book itself. Still, his impressions usually held him in good stead, with one or two notable exceptions. It gave him one more reason to help her honor those vows and stay away from her.
That little fact right there should have put the red light on any feelings stirring for Casey, sexual or otherwise. This wasn't the time or the place to cultivate a relationship. She certainly wasn't the right woman, if such a creature even existed. So why did she continue to fascinate him?
"You're missing out on some knock-out scenery,” one of the men quipped, gesturing to the dance floor. “This is your party. You should be the one going home to a hot bed with twisted sheets tonight."
The bawdy comment knocked his thoughts right back to the here and now. As well as later tonight, with Casey hot and tangled in his sheets.
"The night is still young.” He shook away thoughts of Casey as he perused the bar. “If you have your eye on any little filly in particular, speak now or forever hold your piece."
Only one piece tempted him this evening and she had yet to arrive. So much for ditching those thoughts.
The conversation turned to a description of the women in the room. Those with a history of trying to snag an officer were discussed in less than flattering terms as the men warned him away from certain ladies. Very few men wanted much to do with the manhunters, even on a one-night-stand basis. Not that it deterred them from admiring their finer attributes.
"Remember when women were a mystery?” Zeus eyed up a particularly tantalizing redhead whose outfit left nothing to the imagination.
"Were?” One of the married pilots, Magoo, laughed. “Some mysteries were never meant be solved."
"Yeah,” Rebel drawled, “but a lifetime of trying is a hell of a lot of fun."
He listened with a twinge of envy as two of the married men exchanged war stories. In spite of their comments, he had a sneaking suspicion the men were happily married. He knew from firsthand experience that Rebel enjoyed his married state.
"Whoa, mama!” Rebel hooted. “Will ya take a look at the major league ta-tas on the blonde leaning over the pool table."
Chad shot him a disparaging glance.
"Hey.” Rebel shrugged his shoulders innocently. “I'm married, not dead."
"You'll be dead if Kelli ever finds out about your viewing habits. Barkeep, another round to celebrate the arrival of Marilyn Monroe."
Rebel took offense to Chad's smug comment. “Coming from a career bachelor and hound dog, how the hell would you know? Besides, Kelli doesn't care if I look. As long as that's all I do."
He opened his mouth to respond, only to hear a familiar voice break through the droning.
"Hey, fellas. I hate to break up such scintillating conversation just to ask you what you want to drink, but that's my job. And someone over here just called for a round."
Six male mouths clamped shut at the first hint of a female voice. Chad's eyes locked briefly with Casey's as she leaned over the bar in an effort to catch the attention of someone at the table.
Little did she know, she had his undivided attention. He took a swig of his draft and reminded himself to swallow the beer in his mouth before it dribbled out, making him look like an ass. Her breasts rested on the bar, pushing them up to give a mouth-watering glimpse of their upper curves above the neckline of her low-cut shirt.
What is it about this woman? She oozed class; every fiber of her being distinguished her from the man-eating sharks circling all around her. She was strong and capable while being femininity incarnate. She made him want to throw her down and ravage her right there on top of the bar, and at the same time, protect her from every other drunken leech with the same lascivious inclinations.
And how the hell did he keep forgetting about the husband lurking somewhere in the picture? Husbands of any type weren't something he normally lost track of.
He smiled at her, leveling his eyes with hers after drinking his fill of her breasts. Her nipples puckered at his attention, putting Little Chad on full alert.
"Whatcha all drinking, Zeus? I can't serve a round if I don't know."
He bristled at her obvious slight. In fact, she seemed to be totally ignoring him in spite of her body's reaction.
"It's Marilyn's party, ask him what he wants."
Oh yeah. Ask me what I want.
He felt her reluctance to address him directly. The gaze he shot her openly defied her to ignore him. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile as she straightened her shoulders.
Marilyn? she mouthed. “Why are you the man of the hour?” she quizzed him.
"I joined this illustrious group of jet jockeys this morning. So I think that deserves more than just a pitcher of beer, don't you?” He challenged her yet again with his eyes. He wanted so much more than alcohol. “We'd like to go a round or two with Jose Cuervo."
The men grunted their appreciation of his preference. He moved to the bar to claim the poison of choice.
Her scent assaulted him as soon as he neared. Pushing her to the back recesses of his consciousness had proven difficult enough before. Now, three of his five senses were aware of her.
Throw in two heads fighting each other for supremacy and his cause was lost.
A thrill not unlike the one he experienced when he kicked in the afterburners raced from the palm of his hand straight to his groin when he settled his hand over hers on the neck of the bottle of liquor. Make that four out of five senses. He longed to go for five out of five with a taste of her luscious mouth.
His gaze shifted from their meshed hands, to her lips, to her eyes. One male eyebrow lifted high in an unspoken question. The flush in her cheeks answered it for him.
"Thanks, Casey.” He winked as he moved back to the table.
"You're welcome, Marilyn.” She called out as he reached the table and threw his leg over the chair to sit down.
Zeus snatched the bottle from his hand, quickly filling the shot glasses. He banged the half-empty bottle on the table, commanding attention.
"To Marilyn Monroe."
A chorus of “hear, hear” and some loud “woofing” worked its way around the table.
"The sixth best pilot in the room, but always the biggest pain."
Eleven glasses were lifted to the center of the table, amber-colored liquid sloshing over the sides as they clinked.
The lingering sadness he'd hidden since his brush with Casey's son withered away much as he anticipated. He began to feel the part of the jovial playboy persona he projected to the world. Good booze, fine company, and easy women never failed to perk up the spirits. Yet for all the possible feminine companionship swarming the room, his attention remained steadfastly fixed on Casey.
Adding insult to injury, the woman showed absolutely no interest in him whatsoever. Which shouldn't bother him since he'd determined she was off-limits. But dammit, was she the only woman in a five-mile radius immune to his charm?<
br />
And yet. And yet, she continued to invade his mind.
He knew of only one way to vanquish an invader—lock on target and blow it out of the sky. His mission for the night solidified.
"Casey. I think we bested old Jose that round. Send him in for another one.” He lifted the empty bottle high as he summoned her to the one place he wanted her—his side.
Chapter 5
How do you know if there is a fighter pilot at your party?
He'll tell you.
She sulked, sitting in the far corner of the bar. The past two hours were wasted, in her opinion, watching the brash American pilot. Her brother must be an idiot to put his faith in the gringo. For a man supposedly about to sell out his country, he enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh with his fellows a bit too much. Dios mio. What must her brother be thinking?
Still, she had little choice but to obey her brother's whims. El Matador reigned supreme among their group. This man in front of her would bring them the firepower and weaponry necessary to advance their cause and take revenge not only on the country that killed their father, but her allies as well. The drugs they sold for so long provided the money required to buy off the disloyal pig and keep him in her native country long enough to train two of their pilots until they became proficient at flying the sophisticated jet. Her fingers spasmed rhythmically as thoughts of choking back the stick of the magnificent machine soon to be in her possession.
Too bad this man would not be around long enough for her to enjoy. Despite his obvious flaws, she forced herself to admit she found him physically attractive. Maybe she could sneak some time with him before her brother turned him over to the jungle. Given his actions in the past two hours, the difficulty would not lie in seducing him to her bed, but rather, finding the opportunity.
Many women had approached him over the course of the evening. The putas seemed to initially congratulate him for whatever the reason for the celebration. Before long, they batted their eyes and flaunted their wares. And the man responded.
Men really are such weak-minded creatures.
Judging by the lull in the nonstop drinking, the perfect opportunity to reveal herself to the pilot arrived at last. Tossing back the remainder of her Corona, she dropped the bottle to the table. She tugged on the frayed hem of her tank top to better emphasize her attributes. She had to lure him to the dance floor. She emphasized every feminine wiggle and jiggle as she approached the men.
"Hola, guapo. You would like to dance with me, si?” She poured on the charm as she addressed her mark, praying for the strength to ignore the juvenile comments from the others surrounding him.
She watched the hesitation flash in his eyes. Though it galled her, she would beg him if necessary. Anything for the cause.
"I'm not really—” The gringo stuttered through a response.
"Por favor, guapo? I have waited all evening for the chance to dance with you."
"Go for it, Chad."
"This one might even go home with you."
These men were more immature than most. She could see male pride burning in her mark's eyes and knew he would not risk looking the fool in front of his amigos. Perfect.
"I've got two left feet right about now. But if you don't mind me tromping on your toes, we can trip the light fantastic.” He swayed briefly as he pushed to his feet. He gallantly extended his hand to lead her to the hardwood floor.
Despite the driving beat of the twangy country song, he pulled her close. The smell of tequila flowed from his body as he molded himself to her. She looped her arms around his neck and snuggled close.
"What is your name, guapo?"
"Chad."
She had let him consume too much alcohol before making contact, had not realized he'd had so much to drink. Her mission just might fail because of that. Still, she had to try. Failure was not an option.
"What do you celebrate this evening?"
"I just became a part of a new squadron."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Sorry.” He grinned. “I just assume everybody around here understands military lingo. I started a new job this morning. So tonight we're partying. Now, you know something about me, but I don't know anything about you. Let's start with your name."
"Luz. I'm from a small little mountain village in Cancuen, in Latin America. This is my first trip to your country."
She felt his body stiffen in recognition. She relished the feeling of power flooding her as she stared him down. He had never expected a woman when he had been given the contact phrase. Men could be so predictable. He never imagined a woman playing his game with him.
"I wasn't expecting you so soon.” He managed to sound calm but the light in his eyes gave away his secret.
"We have been waiting for you to arrive in Nevada ever since we heard our plane will be playing in your silly little war games.” She leaned seductively close to his ear as she spoke.
"I don't have any information for you yet. I won't know anything until midweek."
"Si, I know. I just thought it best to let you know I am here, ready.” She prayed he was smart enough to know she'd be watching him.
"El Matador—"
She stopped him short. Why did men always feel the need to question her because she had breasts and a vagina? “Is my brother. I am familiar with all of the intricacies involved."
"I place myself in your capable hands then."
Did he think to flirt with her? Maybe her opportunity to take advantage of the situation would materialize here in the States. He did have a nice hard body. She slid her hands up and down his arms, testing the solidity of the muscles there before trailing her hands up his chest. Yes, he was most definitely attractive in a wide-shouldered, tight-assed sort of way. The exact way she liked her men. That, and compliant. She did not believe this man would bend to any woman's will. Eh, bien, no man was perfect.
"If we dance together too much longer, the guys will expect me to take you back to my hotel room."
She longed to wipe the smirk off his face. “Would that be so difficult?” she challenged him.
"Not for me.” He ground his hips against her in counterpoint to his comment. The temptation to leave with him became great, as great as the weapon he concealed in his pants. “Where will I find you?"
"I will find you. Do not worry, guapo.” She bit his ear as she leaned in to whisper to him, relishing his reaction.
"But you won't—"
"That is not your worry. Your only concern is getting us that plane."
"Which I will do when you show me the money."
Ah, now his spine showed. Good, he would need one against her brother.
"Not to worry, guapo."
She gave him a little pat on his buttocks as the song ended and she walked back to her solitary corner. She watched warily as he strutted back to the cheers and “high fives” of the others.
Usually, a sixth sense guided her in her dealings with other people. Given her line of work and the sort of people populating her world, the instinct proved valuable. Something about this man confused her normally impeccable trait. She wanted to know if they could trust him. She needed to know if they could trust him. Her father thought they could. She hoped he'd been right.
A great deal of time and money had been expended in pursuit of their goal. Their people had been oppressed for years. Her father had been killed. The time would soon be at hand. Retribution would be theirs. Too much of their success depended on the man swilling beer with his amigos.
If only she could trust him as much as her brother seemed to.
* * * *
A chilled mug of tonic water in her hand, Casey dimmed the lights before heading for the only chair with four legs still on the floor. The cleaning crew had stacked the other ones on top of tables. She plopped her bottom on the hard wooden chair and kicked her feet up to rest on the table once she had toed off her sneakers. The best part about closing time had to be the opportunity to put up her feet. Especially when she'd cl
osed every night this week, beginning with the night of Chad's little celebration and ending on this very long Saturday night.
Tonight had been a particularly grueling experience. Chad continued to taunt her at every turn. First, he'd nearly run down her son in the middle of the street last Saturday, and then he'd stopped at the bar nearly every night to make sure Jackson was fine. Hell, he'd even stopped by the apartment at the beginning of the week. In the past eight days, her emotions had taken a trip rivaling the roller coaster ride circling the top of one of the hotels on the strip.
Chad insisted on doing a pretty dang good imitation of a human—being kind to her son, being solicitous toward her. She knew better. Life had already shown her—the hard way—the true nature of fighter pilots. And reinforced it time and time again at the bar.
All in all, Chad had managed to make an already miserable couple of nights even worse, by making her acutely aware of him as a time-to-drag-out-the-vibrator-and-masturbate handsome man. Her body reacted to him on a primitive level even when her intellect wanted to maintain distance. His cut muscles, disheveled hair, and hazel eyes called out to her hormones. When he flashed that sexy smile, her hormones sent her body into a state of sheer longing.
Had she really only known him for a week?
"I don't know how you do it, Case.” Andrea, a young, nubile waitress, emerged from the bathroom.
"Do what?"
"You're here all night, you dote on that adorable boy of yours all day.” The waitress grabbed her purse from behind the bar. “When do you sleep?"
"I do what I have to do, nothing more and especially nothing less.” She shrugged her shoulders, hating when people made her out to sound like something special.
"I still don't know how you do it.” Andrea propped a sultry hip against the tabletop. “I really admire you. I went running home to Mommy and Daddy when I got dumped last year. And I wasn't even married to the SOB. But not you."
Call of Duty [Class of '93 Trilogy Book 3] Page 6