One Night in Vegas
Page 13
Read more of the Master Brad Anderson’s story in the Brie Series:
Brie Learns the Art of Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and audio book
Brie Embraces the Heart of Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and audio book
Brie Masters Love in Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and soon audio book
Also recommended: The Erotic Adventures of Amy and Troy – in this novel you will meet Master Brad Anderson BEFORE he became part of the Submissive Training Center…
The Erotic Adventures of Amy and Troy
* Available in eBook and paperback
You can find Red on:
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Website: RedPhoenix69.com
Facebook: RedPhoenix69
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Red Phoenix is the author of:
Brie Learns the Art of Submission
and
Brie Learns the Art of Submission: Second Edition
Audio Book: Brie Learns the Art of Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and audio book
(Submissive Exploration—A young woman enters a world of new experiences when she enrolls in the Submissive Training Center)
Brie Embraces the Heart of Submission
and
Brie Embraces the Heart of Submission: Second Edition
Audio Book: Brie Embraces the Heart Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and audio book
(Submission of the Heart—After being collared, Brie learns that submission is sexier and more challenging than she’d ever imagined)
Brie Masters Love in Submission
* Available in eBook, paperback, and soon audio book
(Sensual Love – Brie experiences the different facets of love realizes her deepest desire in her Master’s arms)
Blissfully Undone
* Available in eBook and paperback
(Snowy Fun—Two people find themselves snowbound in a cabin where hidden love can flourish, taking one couple on a sensual journey into ménage à trois)
Sensual Erotica: The Erotic Love Story of Amy and Troy
* Available in eBook and paperback
(Sexual Adventures—True love reigns, but fate continually throws Troy and Amy into the arms of others)
His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages
Audio Book: His Scottish Pet: Dom of the Ages
* Available in eBook and paperback
(Scottish Dom—A sexy Dom escapes to Scotland in the late 1400s. He encounters a waif who has the potential to free him from his tragic curse)
Boxed Set: Keeper of Wolves Series (Books 1-3)
(Surprising Secrets—A secret so shocking it will rock Layla’s world. The young she-wolf is put in a position of being able to save her werewolf clan or becoming the reason for its destruction)
Novellas
Varick: The Reckoning
(Savory Vampire—A dark, sexy vampire story. The hero navigates the dangerous world he has been thrust into with lusty passion and a pure heart)
Keeper of the Wolf Clan (Keeper of Wolves, #1)
(Sexual Secrets—A virginal werewolf must act as the clan’s mysterious Keeper)
The Keeper Finds Her Mate (Keeper of Wolves, #2)
(Second Chances—A young she-wolf must choose between old ties or new beginnings)
The Keeper Unites the Alphas (Keeper of Wolves, #3)
(Serious Consequences – The young she-wolf is captured by the rival clan)
Socrates Inspires Cherry to Blossom
(Satisfying Surrender—a mature and curvaceous woman becomes fascinated by an online Dom who has much to teach her)
By the Light of the Scottish Moon
(Saving Love – Two lost souls, the Moon, a werewolf and a death wish…)
In 9 Days
(Sweet Romance—A young girl falls in love with the new student, nicknamed ‘the Freak’)
9 Days and Counting
(Sacrificial Love—The sequel to In 9 Days delves into the emotional reunion of two longtime lovers)
And Then He Saved Me
(Saving Tenderness—When a young girl tries to kill herself, a man of great character intervenes with a love that heals)
Play With Me at Noon
(Seeking Fulfillment—A desperate wife lives out her fantasies by taking five different men in five days)
Wild Card
A WILD Boys of Special Forces Novella
by
Angel Payne
Copyright © 2016 By Angel Payne Writes, LLC
All Rights Reserved
All characters in this story are fictional, and the product of the author’s imagination.
White lace and promises…
Jen Thorne is more than ready to help her best friend tie the knot, sumptuous Vegas style—until she shows up at the rehearsal and catches sight of a surprise guest to the festivities. Sam Mackenna, a Scottish RAF pilot on loan to the Air Force for cross-training, has been the object of her secret erotic fantasies for months. But even with romance in the air, a hunk like him is hardly likely to choose a geek like her.
A kiss for luck…
When Sam and she are unexpectedly alone, the gray-eyed warrior entices Jen to share her deepest fantasies—then throws the wildest card of all into the mix. He wants to the chance to make as many of them come true before dawn’s light.
One night. The man of her dreams. A wild card worth playing, or an invitation to the biggest disaster of them all…
What if her heart gets shuffled into the playing deck?
Dedication and Acknowledgements
For Thomas…for betting on the wild card every day.
And my sisterhood of friends and support, there all the time, putting up with the neurotic, crazy writer:
Victoria Blue (no science projects!)
Jenna Jacob (the ledge is just over there…let’s go have a drink)
Shannon Hunt (I can’t guarantee there won’t be more 3:30 AM Skypes…)
Lorraine Gibson (for watching the gory truth of my allergies firsthand and still loving me)
Jennifer Mitchell (this Sam is for you, babe! Love you!)
And for ALL the readers who love “The Boys” already:
You’ve been through the haters and the lovers, the bad times and the good…
I cannot begin to express how much you all mean to me.
Edited By:
Melisande Scott
Chapter One
“Life is a gamble.”
– Muhammad Ali
“Damn it.”
If tripping over one’s own feet was ever elevated to an Olympic sport, Jen Thorne was sure she’d take home a neck dripping with medals.
Not in her cards tonight. Not even the wildest ones in the deck.
That fact was as cold as the marble floor with which she still lay face-to-face. And the shots of subtle laughter throughout the room. Correction: the salon. As in, the wedding salon that rivaled most European cathedrals for gilt and most fairytale glens for beauty. Mr. Nyte, the mysterious owner of the Nyte Hotel and Casino, had spared no expense to make this the most coveted place to tie the knot in Las Vegas. That included—as Jen learned while confirming she hadn’t broken her damn leg at the rehearsal for her best friend’s wedding—hand-carved angels at the base of each pew.
From mud pies in the schoolyard to naked cherubs and marble floors. Tess Lesange, you’ve come a long way, baby.
It seemed only yesterday that Jen was joining Tess for their favorite recess pastime; now her best friend was marrying one of the world’s rising billionaires. Dan Colton, the golden-haired hunk who helmed Colton Steel and its gazillion subsidiaries, stood at the end of the aisle practically taking a bath in happiness. Though Tess now lived in Atlanta w
ith her man, Vegas had won out as an easier destination to access for most of the wedding guests, especially Tess’s Vegas-based family and friends.
But Colton and his movie star perfection hadn’t been the cause of Jen’s stumble. Nor was she enraptured by the salon’s buttressed ceiling, supporting a thousand fiber-optic lights to give the illusion of suspended stars. It also wasn’t the banks of red and gold roses, filling the air with their heavenly scent, or the harp and piano players that created one of the most beautiful versions of Canon in D perhaps ever played.
She’d stumbled because of the man sitting third pew from the front, third position in.
Third pew.
Third in.
“Holy. Shit.” She muttered it while glancing up again, confirming that the man of all her erotic fantasies was indeed right here, right now. Uhhhh, yep. And yep.
That presented the next challenge. She had about three seconds to come up with the cleverest one-liner a woman had ever issued after tumbling ass over elbows in a pair of custom-designed Louboutins.
That was how it was supposed to happen, right? Out would pop her inner Sofía Vergara, giving up the va-va-voom to make everyone dissolve in laughter—and entice Sam Mackenna to look at her in all the right ways. Perfect. Anytime you want, Sofía. Make it happen, girl. Sam’s waiting.
Sam Mackenna. The Highland warrior on generous loan to this century as one of the RAF’s top fighter pilots. Who took her breath away with his mastery of an F-15 as easily as he did walking into her little office every day, turning Air Force Base Nellis into a perfect stand-in for a Camelot courtyard itself. Whose serious gray eyes were usurped by his deep-dimpled grin. Who had enough thick, ginger hair to entice her imagination in a thousand ways—and a body so sinewy and athletic, it stirred a thousand more ideas after that. Ideas that made her knees weak…and her pussy pulse.
Like it did right now.
“Holy. Shit.”
It deserved repeating.
He was here. Really here.
And Sofía wasn’t coming to her rescue—though somebody sure laughed somewhere. Giggled, to be exact—with sources as easy to recognize as her fogged breath on the floor. Mattie and Viv Lesange, Tess’s sisters, were a pair as different from each other as Dickens and Dave Barry, unless the task at hand was exploiting someone’s weakness.
And Sam Mackenna was sure as hell her weakness.
“Mouse?”
Hell.
She knew only one person who pronounced the word like moose—and flipped her heart over in the doing. A tiny glance upward had the damn thing doing handsprings against her ribs. “Sam.” Great. She even squeaked it like a rodent. “Please—” Just go away. Let me die in mortification. Alone.
“You need a hand?”
“No.” Especially not when you look good enough to make my damn toe hairs tremble. She’d seen him in civvies before but his normal jeans and T-shirt combo hadn’t prepared her for this: a gray sport coat and white dress shirt tucked into black slacks that sheathed his long legs in all the right ways. Damn. Business casual, meet your poetic perfection. “And don’t call me that.”
“You like it when I call you that.” He sounded confused, even a little hurt. Right. Like a demi-god needed the validation of a paper pusher like her.
“Yeah, well…not here and not now.” She pushed to a sitting position, shoving dark strings of hair from her face. She’d gone for sleek sophisticate when pulling up her hair, but Audrey Hepburn she’d never be. “Speaking of here and now—what the hell, Mackenna? How are you here? Why are you here?”
She didn’t have to elaborate further. Sometimes Sam and she all but finished sentences for each other. The sharp glints in his gaze proved the verbal shorthand hadn’t gone wasted. “John Franzen is a good mate.” He elaborated the point by nodding toward the half-Samoan giant who was standing up as Dan’s best man.
“You two…served together?” No other explanation made sense. Franzen had been raised on Kaua’i, Sam just outside Edinburgh. One was U.S. Army, the other British RAF.
Sam grunted. “Camp Bastion. Never underestimate its magical brotherly bonding powers.”
Despite his sarcasm, Jen didn’t laugh. People rarely did when Bastion was invoked. The Brits’ operating base in Afghanistan was no humorous matter. Located in the lethal Helmand Province, it was a dirty, dangerous compound sitting in the middle of nowhere, making it ideal as an airstrip and very little else. When the Americans joined the party too, the base became an even bigger play toy for the enemy—often with lethal results.
Jen fought a violent urge—yes, another—to just grab the man, pull him tight, and hold him until all his demons went away. Just looking at his service record—four deployments, to the shittiest parts of the globe—told her the task would take a while. She’d savor every minute.
But a man like him probably preferred the “comfort” of someone like Mattie Lesange. The woman already prepared for the job, checking her reflection in a compact mirror from where she sat in the third pew, next to the spot Sam had just vacated. As she tucked the case into her purse then stood, Jen swallowed a lump of envy. The term “blonde bombshell” was invented for someone like Mattie. Even her curves had curves and she accentuated them all with finesse, skating to the edge of slutty but never over it. She’d probably already earned herself a cute nickname from Sam too. Something like kitten or princess or sugar bunny.
Not mouse.
“Anyhow,” Sam went on, “as you can see, John and Dan are thick as thieves too, so I was dragged along for the festivities.” He shrugged then chuffed, kicking up one side of his mouth in one of Jen’s favorite expressions. “Couple of glaikit bawbags,” he mumbled. “They say I’ve been too reclusive. That I should be ‘gettin’ out for my last few weekends in the states’.”
Jen’s return smile came easily—as she fought the craving to explore the new dimple he’d revealed. “You are too reclusive.”
“Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am.” She backhanded his shoulder. “Recluse.”
“Mmmph. Next I know, bastards’ll be draggin’ me off to Disneyland.”
His Scottish moodiness was contagious. While Jen kept her smile plastered on, she couldn’t help the inevitable direction he’d steered her thoughts. Another week, and his remaining days in the states would be down to single digits.
Ugh.
How the hell had nine months gone by already? Wasn’t it yesterday that the man had first entered her office with the command of a laird taking over his new castle, his long legs and proud shoulders making even his puke green flight suit look like a nobleman’s vestments? Hadn’t it been a moment ago that he’d laid the paperwork down to validate that he and his eleven squad mates were officially supposed to be at Nellis, on loan from Lakenheath for some U.S./U.K. cross-training over terrain that emulated most of the Middle East?
She didn’t want to think about that now.
She especially didn’t want to think about the moment she’d hand those papers back—and tell him goodbye.
Sarcasm to the rescue. “What? You really don’t want to get a pair of plastic mouse ears before queen and country call you home?”
Sam chuckled. For a moment. As his face sobered, his eyes gained a new gleam. Jen swallowed past a sudden cotton mouth. Fought against getting sucked into that stare of his, so sizzling and brilliant…
Hopeless cause.
Especially as he leaned over, both hands raised, knuckles brushing her cheeks…
Before yanking on her earlobes and cracking a broad smirk. “Don’t think the plastic ones will compete with these beauties.”
She spurted a laugh. Good thing. It disguised the quiver conquering the rest of her body…then the heat in the crux of her thighs. Hell. It had only been a couple of playful tugs…on her ears.
Was she that starved to be touched by a man again?
Yes. And no.
Celibacy had never been an issue after Diego, then Flynn. Paying o
ne’s way through college was always more glamorous in the movies than real life, meaning the time and energy to date was pushed onto a distant back burner, and Mr. Pleasure Bullet was adequate entertainment for most of her Saturday nights. Besides—surprise, surprise—it was amazing what a girl could get done without snoring in her ear, drool on her pillow, and a hairy arm smashing her boobs.
But that arm had never belonged to Sam.
What if it had?
Danger zone, girl. You are way, way behind the boundaries of proper thoughts for this man. Back on track. Now.
First that direction was lifting her gaze back toward him with new determination. Then ignoring how he’d never stopped studying her. Watching her with the intensity of a great, gorgeous wolf…
Focus.
“Captain Mackenna?” she finally murmured.
He lifted a new smile. “Yes, Miss Thorne?”
“You’re so full of shit.”
He dropped his hands. Chortled harder. Making him laugh shouldn’t have felt so damn good…
“Well played, a leanbh. Well fuckin’ played.”
But it did—in the exact same way his comeback made her belly tingle, her heart race, and her libido gallop.
A leanbh.
Dear one.
“Damn it.”
She glowered. Sam smirked. The bastard was deliberately buttering her up with the traditional Gaelic endearment—but who did she really have to blame? She’d begged him to teach her phrases in the romantic old language. Sam had been an outsider in a strange land, eager to share his culture.
Jen had always been just an outsider. And always would be.
Besides, the flattery was so casual, it could’ve applied to a six year-old kid as much as her. It was a damn good thing to remember, especially as Mattie sauntered over and wrapped a hand to Sam’s shoulder. Her nails, painted in a trendy reverse French, tightened on his broad muscle with their shiny ebony tips. In a voice as smooth and glossy, she crooned, “Everything all right here, thorny boo?”