Page 29 of Wild Card

Chapter Eight

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It was better than she’d ever dreamed.

More sweeping, more spectacular, more shriek-worthy—a fact she emphasized many times over, just to make sure Sam got the point. Perhaps the way he answered her screams, with a smile that turned his dimples deeper than the Grand Canyon and his grin more resplendent than the Luxor’s light beam, made it a little easier to cut loose. All the reasons weren’t important right now. The feelings were. The freedom of having the sky to themselves. The thrill of the wind whipping at the cockpit’s windows. And the awe, turning her into a kid at an amusement park for the first time. From up here, Vegas wasn’t a city anymore. It was a wonderland of lights and color and textures, from the bold blues, purples, reds, and greens illuminating the Strip’s many icons, to the urban fairyland of gold and white beyond.

But all those belly twists didn’t compare to the buzz of watching Sam in his element. He was confident and calm, focused and watchful, though spared a few glances her way that made even her workout gear feel tight and hot. Thank God for well-made sports bras and their padded cups, though her nipples were only the start of her body’s refreshed need. Observing the man’s mastery of this complicated machine only made her remember how he’d commanded every one of her “buttons” and “switches”…and did they absolutely have to position the throttle between the pilot’s legs? With a hand gripping the thing like that, his elbow resting on one massive thigh, her thoughts repopulated with the fantasy she’d had in the gym. His fingers wrapped around his cock. Stroking himself, getting ready to feed his hard length into her eager mouth…

She pushed the thought aside with a pointed cough—though not fast enough to evade Sam’s notice. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His stare heated.

Before a hail over the radio came.

“Night wing two, this is McCarran Tower. Do you copy?”

Thank you, thank you, thank you, McCarran Tower.

“Copy that, McCarran,” Sam responded. “Is course alteration clear and approved?”

“Affirmative,” replied the woman on the other end. “Weather is clear. Enjoy your trip.”

He gave the appropriate sign-off but Jen didn’t care about the words. The secretive quirk of his lips, along with the steady turn he gave the helo, were another matter.

“Course alteration?” she enunciated with all the warmth of a murder conviction.

Sam didn’t look at her, let alone answer. The better part of a minute went by. He flipped switches, checked headings, even sang softly. “Sing me a song…say, could that lad be I…”

“Sam?”

“Merry of soul, he sailed on a—yes, mouse?”

Because of the headsets, he could issue the murmur with the slight growl that spoke straight to the tissues between her thighs. Still, she was able to maintain her glare. “Course alteration?” she demanded again.

More long seconds. Finally, one side of his mouth ticked up. “Jenny?”

Annnnd, more of the damn growl. “What?” She squirmed—and mentally smacked herself for thinking the man couldn’t arouse her without touching her.

“Do you trust me?”

She huffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither was you showin’ up dressed like that, all glowy and sweaty and delectable, but I invited you for the ride anyway, did I not?”

Well, there went the huff. And a lot of everything behind it too. Now, she could only laugh. First, because the man was clearly, certifiably insane. Second, because she didn’t know if she wanted him any other way.

Third, because she realized that he was guiding the helicopter toward the vast darkness of the desert beyond the Vegas city limits—and that their next landing very well might not be back on the rooftop of the Nyte at all.

And that despite every damn vow she’d made herself about resisting him again, she couldn’t wait to learn what surprise he had in store now.

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