eBook Details

Double Down

Series: Vegas Top Guns , Book 1.0
By: Katie Porter | Other books by Katie Porter
Published By: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: Jul 31, 2012
ISBN # 9781619210851
Word Count: 80,377
Heat Index     
EligiblePrice: $5.50

Available in: Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.mobi), Adobe Acrobat, Rocket

Categories: Romance>Contemporary Romance>Erotic Romance

Description
Desire as reckless as a fighter jet in freefall…and just as dangerous.

Vegas Top Guns, Book 1

As part of the 64th Aggressor Squadron, Major Ryan “Fang” Haverty flies like the enemy to teach Allied pilots how not to die. The glittering excess of the Strip can’t compare to the glowing jet engines of his F-16. But a sexy, redheaded waitress in seamed stockings? Now she gets his blood pumping.

Cassandra Whitman’s good-girl ways haven’t earned any slack from her manager ex-boyfriend, or prevented a bad case of frazzle from holding down two and a half jobs. She sure wouldn’t mind letting the handsome Southern charmer shake up her routine.

Their wild weekend lives up to Sin City’s reputation. Especially when they discover a matched passion for roleplaying. For Cass, it’s an exciting departure from her normal, shy persona. But for Ryan, it triggers memories of a time when his fetish drove away the woman he loved—leaving him reluctant to risk a repeat performance.

Except Cass refuses to settle for ordinary ever again. She’s about to show the man with hair-trigger hands that she’s got a few surprise moves of her own.

Warning: This book contains dirty-hot roleplaying, featuring an all-alpha fighter pilot and an ambitious waitress with a fabulous imagination. Also: dressing-room sex, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, and a sprinkling of spankings.
 
Reader Rating:  starstarstarstarstar (4 Ratings)
Sensuality Rating:   lipliplipliplip
Excerpt:
Copyright © 2012 Katie Porter
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

Chapter One

Seamed stockings. The waitress was wearing seamed stockings.

Major Ryan Haverty groped blindly for his glass since he couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from those long, slender legs and the stockings clinging to every sleek inch. The cool wash of beer didn’t do much to clear his head. When the woman’s legs slipped out of view behind another table, he still pictured that sheer black and the darker line tracing up the back of each calf. Christ, maybe they were even silk.

She’d been cute as hell even before he realized the bonus she wore. Pixie-like features were topped with huge blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair twisted along her nape. Something about the quirk of her mouth said she wasn’t as innocent as some might think.

“Yo, Fang.” Captain Jonathan Carlisle waved a hand in front of Ryan’s eyes. “You with us?”

Ryan blinked at the use of his call sign. He’d unconsciously shifted forward in his seat, the better to watch the waitress walk away. He stretched an arm across the leather bench, trying to focus on his friends.

Jon smirked at him before flicking a glance in the direction the woman had gone. “Really, man? A waitress? Hasn’t anyone told you they’re practically paid to flirt with the customers? Tips and all.”

Jon’s words came out rounded in some places and clipped in others—the high-class affect of Massachusetts. No surprise since the guy came from money. Buckets of it. He didn’t play up the fact, but he was the reason they were sitting in Blakely’s Steakhouse, a tiny family-owned joint. If not for Jon, neither Ryan nor their third friend, Captain Leah Girardi, would have ever heard of it.

The dining area was barely bigger than Ryan’s small apartment, but it was lux. Light shone from frosted-glass wall sconces, and every table was blanketed by white linen. Were it not for formal Air Force events, he wouldn’t have known what to do with the multiple heavy silver forks at each setting. The atmosphere had a softened white-noise effect, muting conversations from the other diners.

The meal itself had been amazing, as evidenced by the scatter of plates between them, which had been all but licked clean of food. Hell, there’d been a time in his childhood when Ryan wouldn’t have hesitated to swipe up the last bits of rib-eye juices with his bare fingers. He hadn’t eaten a steak that tender and flavorful until his twenty-fourth birthday, home from his first deployment and living large in New York.

“Wait, the waitress? Fang has a thing for her?” Leah twisted around in her seat. “Where’d she go?”

Ryan quirked his brows. “What are you going to do? Pass her a note that says I like her?”

Leah flipped around and flashed a manic smile. Her hair was pulled straight back in a slick ponytail. “So you do like her.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but just a minute amount. Any more and he might have to give up his balls. “Princess,” he said, using her call sign, “sometimes you sound more like a ninth grader than a fighter pilot.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Jon laughed. “Careful, little girl, or someone’ll put that tongue where you aren’t expecting.”

Leah slugged him in the shoulder. Despite being scrappy and wiry, the other pilot didn’t even budge, and Ryan knew from experience that Leah could hit hard when she wanted. “Ryan and I have already been there, done that. Wasn’t worth T-shirts.”

“Never say,” Jon mocked, turning his pretty-boy features into a caricature of surprise. “Our waitress is going to be disappointed?”

“The problem wasn’t the sex,” Leah said. The woman had barely even a promise of tact. “We were too wound tight for each other. Two type-A’s in a relationship is a very bad thing.”

“Anyway, she’s no one’s waitress anyhow.” Ryan stretched his legs to the side as cover for searching her out again. The booth really was too small for him—one of the perils of being a couple inches over six feet tall.

There she was, near the swinging wooden doors to the kitchen. Though clad in the same charcoal-gray skirt as the other waitress, she wore it with entirely more grace over her sleek curves. The plain white blouse did him a huge favor and clung to her small breasts.

Some short, rat-faced man had taken her by the elbow, and neither of them looked too happy. Red flushed across her rounded cheeks. Her pretty pink mouth twisted.

Ryan’s hands fisted below the table. Those lips were meant for much more fun tasks than spitting words at a pinched asshole.

When she walked back toward Ryan’s table, she smoothed her features into the genial friendliness required of servers. The skin around her eyes remained tight.

A hard swallow contorted her graceful throat as she set the leather check-holder on the table. Somehow she still managed to dredge up a smile. “Here you go.”

Ryan grabbed the rectangular folder and flipped it open. His eyes bulged. For God’s sake, the bill was almost a third what he spent on rent, and more than the monthly mortgage his mom had paid for their trailer when he was growing up.

With a fast display of dimples, Jon snagged it from Ryan’s grip. “My choice. My treat. Go back to chatting her up.”

Ryan resisted the urge to tell him to shove it. “Fine, but I’ll get the tip.”

“I hope you were happy with your meal,” the waitress said.

“Everything was wonderful.” The smile he flashed was the same one that had talked his seventh-grade gym teacher, Miss Pavers, into ignoring the fact he hadn’t dressed out for a week. It was difficult to find clean gym clothes when his mom hadn’t gotten off the couch in almost a month. He ignored the kick Leah aimed at his shins beneath the tablecloth. “Especially the service.”

The woman’s eyebrows went up. “Does that line work for you often?”

“See now, there’s no way I can answer that,” he said with a laugh. “If I tell you no, it’ll just confirm what you think. If I tell you the truth, that I’ve never tried it before, you’ll never believe me.”

She gave a mock pout and shook her head. “That certainly is a difficult dilemma. I’m not sure you can recover at this point.”

“Be careful,” Jon said as he took the check and slipped a credit card inside. “At this rate you’re going to make yourself a challenge. There’s nothing Ryan here likes more than a challenge.”

Leah smothered a laugh, making it Ryan’s turn to kick at her.

“Ryan? That’s your name?”

“Ryan Haverty.” He stuck his hand out and nodded to her name tag. “And you’re Cassandra, right?”

She put her hand in his with a curt nod. An electric tingle worked its way up to his shoulder. Her fingers were slender and graceful and so smooth that he could imagine them wrapped around his c**k. He practically twitched in his slacks.

Cassandra nibbled at her bottom lip. The blue of her eyes shifted darker. “Any relationship to Joseph Patrick Haverty?”

“Not a clue who that is.”

She pulled her hand back as she chuckled. “It was a joke. Mostly. He was a painter.” She gave an abbreviated wave, as if to brush away her words. She picked up the check. “It’s no big deal.”

“Cass,” said a voice with a distinct whine. The man Cassandra had been talking with near the kitchen doors approached the table. He wore a suit coat that did nothing to conceal his narrow shoulders. His eyes were amazingly beady. Ryan was surprised he could see at all. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said to Ryan and patted Jon on the shoulder.

Ryan was surprised he didn’t draw back a stump. Jon, call sign Tin Tin, might be something of a pretty boy—especially with his goddamn dimples and faux-innocent smirk. The guy had a ruthless side that was only more intimidating for its coldly mechanical streak. Ryan was willing to have him on his wing anywhere, anytime.

After a quick glance over Leah that spent entirely too long on her rack, the man tagged on a, “Miss.”

Leah only raised her eyebrows, thank God. She could be a bit reckless at times.

The guy Ryan presumed was the manager returned his attention to Cassandra and tugged her to the back of the room. There was no mistaking their antagonistic body language. The guy hovered over Cassandra while she kept her face averted. Ryan probably shouldn’t have been able to listen in, but he’d always had excellent hearing. And he was very interested in the conversation’s outcome.

“Why are we out of napkins, Cass?”

“I don’t know, Tommy.” She rolled her eyes before facing her menace. “Probably because it’s not my job to order them.”

“You’ve been taking care of it for the last six months.”

Her smile only got bigger, but it took on a brittle edge. “Let’s not do this in the front of the diners.”

“I tried, but you’re the one who leaves the prep area every time I walk in.”

“Fine,” Cassandra said in a saccharine tone. “I stopped ordering the napkins when you dumped me and took up with Cynthia. How about you ask her to take on that duty?”

After gesturing to the dishwater blonde taking an order at the other end of the room, she stalked back to Ryan. Her eyes sparkled with an amusement that invited him to join in. She wiggled the black leather case with Jon’s credit card inside. “I’ll be back in a minute with this.”

The dickweed followed her to the back of the restaurant, unfortunately obscuring Ryan’s view of both her sweet ass and those sexy stockings.

Jon laughed and shook his head. “It’s my card in there, but she tells you that she’ll be back. Maybe you’ve got a shot after all.”

Leah took a healthy swallow of her red wine. “Nah, that’s a hot mess. You don’t wanna get mixed up in all that drama.”

For the privilege of holding those thighs, still wrapped in silk while he f**ked her, Ryan would put up with a lot of drama. The last time he’d had an up-close encounter with a girl who liked fancy stockings had been in college with his ex-fiancée, Ashleigh.

Just look at how that had ended.

He shoved the past back where it belonged. “If anyone would know hot messes, Princess, it’d be you.”

“No way. That’s Tin Tin and his stream of women. All the way.”

“They’re not a stream.” Jon ran a hand over his dark hair, which was buzzed to a quarter inch like he were some Army grunt freak. “They’re a select assortment.”

Leah laughed. “That’s not what it looks like from here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Right,” she replied with a look of disgust. “Just like I’d be jealous of the girls who make out with my brothers.”

Ryan let their patter fade into the background, knowing exactly how their sibling-style bickering would continue. Instead he watched the kitchen doors. A blur of reddish hair zipped past but didn’t return.

He tapped his fingers across the white tablecloth. It was way too long since he’d been with a woman who liked wearing rare bonuses like the stockings, because he certainly wasn’t about to ask for them. This was an opportunity too good to pass up.

He needed an in. Something that would give him an edge. Make a date with him a challenge. If it was also a way to snub her nose at that c**ksucker, so much the better. Cassandra was way out of that guy’s league, and Ryan wasn’t above rubbing it in the other man’s nose.

He sat up straighter when she finally popped out the doors.

She plunked the credit-card holder down in front of Jon. “I’m sure you know the drill,” she said with laughter lurking in her voice. She turned to Ryan. “I hope you guys didn’t hear too much. Things have been strained around here lately.”

Leah knocked back the rest of her wine. “Why do you put up with that crap?”

She shrugged. Slight embarrassment flickered across her features, temporarily turning her lush mouth down. “It’s complicated.” She plastered a grin on. “Besides, the tips are great here. You have my permission to take that as a hint.”

Ryan laughed. “You’ve got more patience than the three of us combined.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

Jon and Leah slid out of the booth and headed toward the door. Knowing when to make an exit was only one of the things that made them such good friends.

Ryan dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “What time do you get off?”

She checked her watch. “About fifteen minutes, thank the sweet baby Jesus. You asking for a reason?” Her hip cocked saucily, that slim gray skirt clinging. Beneath it the black stockings made his palms itch with curiosity.

He pulled two fifty-dollar bills out of his leather wallet. “I tell you what. This is your tip, no matter what.”

Her lips parted on a quiet gasp. “That’s thirty percent.”

“You say the word and I’ll leave it on the table.”

“Or?”

He stood. Even in her slingback heels, she only came to his shoulder. F**kin’ A, he liked that. He’d never been into the macho thing, but there was something about her that brought out his protective streak.

The fact that she was hot as hell in an apple-pie kind of way didn’t hurt at all.

“Or,” he echoed, dragging out the word. “You come with me and we’ll turn them into chips up on the Strip. Just to see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
Reader Reviews (2)
Submitted By: sarahd on Jan 11, 2014
this was a great story. I liked the emotional depth as well as the great story.
Submitted By: megmagruder94 on Sep 16, 2012
Oh my! This was a fantastic start to a series. It was steaming hot, but emotional as well. I am adding the second one to be read TODAY. Can't wait for more fron the Authors. Wish there was a was to know when a new book is added by an author. Take a chance on Vegas baby. You will be rewarded with a wonderful top gun story!
 

Double Down

By: Katie Porter
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