“Oh, God!”

Jen’s outcry sent a fan of heat across Sam’s chest as she grabbed him tight, digging her pretty fingers into his biceps and awakening even more primal urges through his entire system. Especially as her thighs slammed hard against his. And her luscious breasts mashed into the wall of his chest. And her heartbeat pounded relentlessly next to his, practically in unison to the wild, lusting gallop of his…

But he didn’t let her go. He gripped her even harder than she grabbed him, knowing she didn’t want to fall again—

But unable to think of lettin’ her do anythin’ else.

And how she’d look if she took him down with her…

Until they were prone on the floor together and she was beneath him in all her sighing, sweet, passionate resplendence…

Makin’ him wonder what she’d say if he ordered everyone—politely, of course—to adjourn themselves for dinner already. Everyone but her. She would stay right here. Gaspin’ and writhin’ as he hiked her filmy skirt to her waist. Sighin’ and keenin’ as he ripped her panties away and took her here and now like the cretin she’d undeniably turned him back into.

Holy fuck, he was so hard.

And so ready.

Like he had been for three goddamned days now…

“Shit, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.” It spilled from him as breath more than volume, zapped that way by the energy arcing between their bodies. The hot, torturous force sizzled through his nerves and bubbled in his blood before shooting down to invade the length of his cock, causing it to punch the front of his pants even harder.

He wanted her.

Despite knowing she still didn’t believe that.

He needed her.

Even more so as she jerked her head up and locked her gaze with his.

Her gaze.

Ah dear God, her eyes.

The dark, endless seas of them were a force on his senses, makin’ him pull her even closer, until the cadence of her heartbeat pulled on his like an ancient siren’s song, awakenin’ more primeval instincts inside him. Oh aye. He was a painted Pict, huntin’ a graceful she-stag across the moors. He was a medieval archer, trackin’ a wild hawk across the crags of Skye. He was raw lightning, chasin’ her rain across a gray and violet horizon…

“Why?”

He started from her sudden blurt, though it barely dented the primordial images dominating his imagination. “Why…what?”

“Why are you not sorry?” She crunched an urgent frown. It had to be one of the bonniest sights he’d ever seen.

Sam swallowed hard. It was no proper answer but with any luck might lead to one. She had, after all, asked the perfect question for it. I’m not sorry because I came here on this exchange thinkin’ I would be. Thinkin’ I had nothin’ left to offer my country but a man carved hollow by too much blood on his hands and too many hours in the cockpit. Thinkin’ I had nothin’ left to give the world but a soul full of disillusionment, and a heart full of loneliness. A Heathcliff who’d never really find his Catherine…

Until you, Jenny.

Until you.

But while he had the answer, he still didn’t have the right opportunity. Her furtive glance around brought him back to that recognition. Clearly she was already a ball of anxiety about becomin’ the main attraction, instead of the friend for whom she’d showed up for, even in heels that had damn near been her ruin. He was glad to see that no one seemed more aware of that fact than Tess Lesange herself, who was still eyein’ Jenny for damage from top to bottom.

“Hmmm…” Though suddenly she was including him along with her assessment. And throwin’ in that weird little commentary on top of her perusal too—which in turn didn’t escape Jen’s attention.

“Hmmm…what?” she challenged to Tess, twisting enough in Sam’s hold to prop a hand against her waist.

“Yeah.” Dan moved in behind his fiancée. “Hmmm what, my little ruby?” The man took Jen’s threads of suspicion and wove them into a full vocal tapestry, framing the whole thing inside a watchful scrutiny. Sam, continuing to secure Jenny at his side, looked on with a nod of appraisal—and approval. Franzen had supplied enough hints about Dan’s darker Dominant tendencies that Sam already had a good idea about the fuller aspects of the couple’s relationship, but watchin’ Dan finesse his Dominance over Tess with more subtle techniques was like observin’ a master martial artist at work. It only looked easy.

“I was just thinking”—Tess tapped a finger to the side of her chin—“about how nice Jen and Sam look together.”

“Well, thank ye.” Sam laid on the charm enough for Tess to clap in delight, giving him time to dip a deferential nod at Dan. The way Dan held Tess with protectiveness but not possessiveness, along with his subtle squeezes to her nape and wrists, were all just subtle affections to the majority of the room—but likely carried a huge world of meanin’ between the Dominant and his pretty subbie. Well done, mate, he conveyed silently to Colton. Out loud, he continued to Tess, “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Right?” Tess’s face lit up as she swiveled to face her fiancé. “He couldn’t agree more. That definitely means I should go to talk to the banquet captain about scooting around the place settings for dinner, and—”

“No.”

“No?” Tess spat it from compressed lips but backed off on her rebellious salt the second Dan swung around to fully face her, arching his left brow so sharply, it pulled on the swath of burn tissue along that side of his face. During the drive here, Franzen had given Sam the tweet-length explanation about Dan’s scars, because both of them had lived with stories like it for a long damn time. A mission, an explosion, a fire, and some trapped nurses. Dan had gotten the job done. Enough said.

“I said no, my little rose.” A new tug at the back of her neck was as gentle as his murmur above her forehead. He officially turned the woman to mush by bussing her hairline with the same firm forbearance. “You’ve been working yourself ragged on all of this for weeks, and tonight, I am instructing you to do nothing but be in this moment, with me, and enjoy the beauty of what you’ve created.” He slid a thumb beneath Tess’s chin, coaxin’ her face up, and Sam swore his breath snagged right along with the woman’s pleasure-filled little gasp. The look Tess blessed her Dom with…soaked with her trust and adoration and love… He’d not ever had the joy of such a moment with a submissive yet, but getting to witness such a connection was a gift as sacred and perfect as a sunrise over the Trossachs. The magic was really possible. If fate had brought him to the States just for this message, then the trip would’ve been worth it. But by God, he hoped he’d been brought here for more—and that the bonus included creating some special times with the gorgeous brunette in his arms.

“Yes, Sir.”

He’d been so lost in spinning up some new fantasies about Jen, it took a second to identify the breathy little sigh had emanated from Tess instead. Dan rewarded her with a low, satisfied growl before shifting his tender kisses to the bridge and tip of her nose. “I mean it, sweet one. From this moment on, you’re to relax and enjoy the hell out of all this. If Jen and Sam want to sit together, I’m sure they’ll find a way to sit together.” He emphasized that by tossing a look to Sam as clear as it was quick. Just fucking do it, man. “My little ruby is going to simply revel in this special night…and all of its fun surprises.”

“Yes, S—” Tess stopped short, her face swapping out languid and submissive for stunned and alert. “Wait. What? Surprises?”

As she spurted the last of that, a handful of hotel staffers pulled open a pair of double French doors on the far side of the salon—to reveal a spacious terrace awash in the dark amber rays of early twilight. In the center of the space was an elegantly set dining table. It was surrounded by towering palms, their graceful trunks wrapped in white twinkle lights. The table glowed as well, since LED lights were embedded beneath its surface. Red- and gold-colored roses floated on a miniature reflecting pool that extended the length of the table. Nearby, waiters in tuxedoes stood at the ready with trays of champagne and chilled flutes. Sixty stories below, the city’s iconic Strip blazed to life, lights flickering and traffic bustling, as the night approached.

“Oh…my.” Tess’s exclamation matched the awe across her face, meanin’ her man was equally lousy with emotion. In the space of a snap, Dan had abandoned his growlin’ hound of command to simply simper like a lad who’d given his special lass a fine gift from the depths of his heart—and probably had. That explained why Dan hadn’t wanted her footerin’ about and chasin’ down the banquet staff too. He’d wanted this moment all to himself.

“Do you like it?”

At first, Tess didn’t utter a word of reply. But her teary gaze spoke a thousand to everyone in the salon, making it inconsequential when she rasped her answer right into Dan’s ear. Everyone broke into applause when she sealed the perfection of the moment by popping up on tiptoes and dragging the man down for a ravaging, rolling kiss that left very little of her intent to the imagination.

Aye. Perfection.

“Ohhhh, you crazy kids.” Franzen, obligin’ a pointed look from Tess’s mother, moved in to disengage the lovers from their public gobble under the guise of movin’ the party along. “Let’s save some of the fun for the wedding night, yeah?” Spreadin’ out his massive arms—over here, they called them “guns,” but when it came to Franzen, the moniker fit—he clapped one huge hand to Dan’s back and then the other over to Tess. “We know eight days sounds like forever, but—”

“That might be how long you’ll need to get out of traction, Pineapple Smoothie,” Dan cut in. “Unless you choose to get your charming paws off my subm—my fiancée.”

Franzen chortled, along with most of the gents in the room, at Dan’s little slip. “As you wish, Dungeon Fun Ken.”

Another round of laughter, for which Sam was instantly grateful. The moment presented a prime opportunity to gauge Jen’s comfort level with talk like this: thinly-veiled references to the BDSM dynamic that her best friend clearly indulged in with Dan. He set his expectations for everything from matching laughter to a discomfited squirm…

Everything other than what he did observe.

The two women were actually eye rolling at each other. As if the “boys” were preoccupied with their innuendos, and they were sneakin’ in the chance for a shared titter before the Doms got serious again…

Sam almost nudged Dan so the mate could catch his subbie red-handed—red eye-rolled?—but he let the girls have their fun, even enjoyin’ what he witnessed. In many ways, he was reassured. Clearly Jen came from a crowd in which Dominance and submission were approached with respect but not held up as religion. That was good. Really bloody good. But at the same time, kind of bloody bad. Now more than ever, it was so easy for him to envision sweet Jenny surrenderin’ to him. Tied down by him. Cuffed for him. Naked and spread and ready for him. Utterly vulnerable to his every desire and pleasure but knowin’ the power she gave up was his to borrow, not to keep.

And damn, did he have some brilliant ideas about how to return some incredible dividends to her with that loan. Naughty, nasty, filthy things. Decadent, flagrant, wild things that would leave some sweet, sexy marks on her for a few days, remindin’ her of exactly who had conquered her body and then looked into her very soul.

Shit. Shit.

He forced down a deep breath. Directed his imagination to hit the fuckin’ showers—and to crank the knob all the way over to C.

He’d only been in the same room with her again for fifteen minutes, and he was already doin’ it again. Dreamin’ up scenes that weren’t what “friends” did with each other, in any fuckin’ culture across the globe. Worse, he was glommin’ extra details that were five steps past the edge of dangerous. Looked into her soul? What kind of mince was that, and who the hell did he think he could fool with it?

Fuckin’ hard to see into a person’s soul, when a man wasn’t sure if any of his was still left.

Not after what he’d seen.

Not after what he’d done.

So maybe you should stop moonin’ over the woman like you’re on a desert island and she’s the only biscuit left on the beach.

But he looked anyway.

To find her peerin’ back at him. Just as intensely.

Fuck.

But now that they’d started this, no way could he even think of endin’ it.

No. He’d already started it—from the second she’d blurted her first “Yes, sir,” to him, three days ago when they were on the motorway back to the base.

Two small words…but he savored what they did to him. Throughout his body…and yes, deep in his soul.

No. He hadn’t savored them.

He’d treasured them.

And he did again now, in every relevant way, while watching Jen twist a delicate fist against the middle of her stomach. While observing her heartbeat thud at the base of her throat, savoring the telling dilation of her pupils as he kept gazing at her, and securing her a little tighter to his side. While she answered that subtle move with the tiniest jerk of her hips, coupled with the tiniest clench of her jaw…betraying exactly what he’d done to the hottest, tightest grottoes of her body…

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Christ,” he gritted back.

Just before more servers entered, bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres that layered the balmy air with savory, delicious aromas. But as everyone hummed in delight and started moving toward the terrace, Sam let them pass his unmoving form—as Jen took advantage of the moment to extricate herself from him, murmuring about a need to use the ladies’ room.

A need he should let her attend.

A break they both needed.

A space he should recognize, giving them room for rational regard, sober perception, sensible breaths.

But that was what he’d told himself for three damn days. Had assured himself would be a positive for them, lending the distance and clarity they needed about this—whatever the hell this was. Yet with every sway of her escaping backside, those glorious ass cheeks moving so perfectly against her silky dress, the only label he could assign to the last three days was a matching number of words.

Fucking wasted time.

And one of the few important truths he’d learned from years in the world’s finest hellholes? Time liked being wasted the way death liked being disrespected. Both ended up with a guy’s balls strung up in a sling, watching his own hand twisting the counterweight.

He was done with the sling. Same way he was done with figuring out “friendship” with this woman. Same way he was damn sure Jen was done with it too.

He just wished he could still be sure about that once he rounded the corner of the terrace, onto a smaller side patio consumed mostly by a comfortable seating area around a modern fountain. Box hedges framed three sides of the setting, with the fourth bein’ a sheer glass wall overlooking the Vegas Valley all the way out to Red Rock Canyon. In the last glow of the day, the canyon’s edges were majestic silhouettes against a sky as glorious as any back home, autumn colors setting the firmament afire in shades of orange, amber, purple, and red.

The splendor was perfect for Sam’s intentions. He sprinted toward Jen, calculating how many steps it would take to rope an arm around her again and then how many more to carry her to one of the couches and finally kiss every damn thought out of her mind and protest out of her senses, until all she felt was all of his passion and all of her need for it…

Except that Jen wasn’t making a beeline for the bathroom anymore.

Jen wasn’t going anywhere anymore.

She’d stopped so suddenly next to one of the hedges, Sam almost wondered if she’d gotten snagged by the bush, except that the silent panic on her face didn’t match that motivation. Unless there was a serial killer clown or soul-sucking wraith hidden in the bush, he didn’t know what had her looking ready to throw herself off the tower rather than move another muscle…

Until laughter gashed the air.

It was more like caustic giggles, but semantics weren’t his primary concern at this moment—in which the whole, sudden mess of a situation became clear in one blast of a look.

There was Jenny, caught behind the closest hedge. There was the entrance to the privies, located at the other side of the patio.

And there were Mattie and Viv Lesange, lounging on a couple of couches in that patio as if they were going to be there all night…prattlin’ in gossip about Jenny herself.

“Ohhhh, whatever are we going to do with our darling Thorny-boo?” Mattie crooned, suckin’ long on a fag and then blowin’ out the smoke with her head tilted back.

“You’re asking me?” Viv drawled. “Bitch, please.”

“Honestly, if you aren’t laughing at her, you’re crying for her.” Mattie Lesange lived up to her sister’s label by deep-frying her words in a vat of snide.

“Speak for yourself on that one.” Viv rose and turned, but the sole glass of whisky in Sam’s system had barely dulled his reflexes, and he ducked behind a planter of palm trees before she saw him. Not that the woman seemed to care about the world beyond impressin’ her older sister, no matter who she had to throw under the bus to do it. “I’m not going to waste the tears. I mean, that ‘look, I’m so clumsy I’m adorable’ shit was semi-excusable when we were kids. Who does she think she’s fooling anymore?”

“Right?” Mattie took a long swig on her wine before reaching into her bag and popping open a makeup compact. While foofin’ her hair and checking her lipstick, she muttered, “She has to know how to walk a straight line in heels by this point. Isn’t that just a basic thing, like learning to shave your legs or brush your teeth?”

“Well, she does work at the base.” Viv might as well have been disclosing Jen was walkin’ the streets for a living. “She’s in HR, or whatever they call that in the military. Maybe the work keeps her on her feet a lot, and—”

“Heels aren’t outlawed on military bases, V.” A feline sniff from the woman still primpin’ in the compact mirror. “I have seen Top Gun. Whose side are you on?”

“Are you even asking me that right now?”

Mattie lifted a gentler stare. Pursed her lips as if an actual apology was about to emerge. Instead, she justified, “I’m just tense. You know that. A little off my game.”

“I know. It’s all right.” Viv’s heels clacked on the tile as she grabbed up her own wine and paced in front of the windows. Sam was about to give the girl credit for at least stopping to admire that eye-poppin’ sunset, until he realized she was using the glass to assess her own reflection. Not that there was much to check out, since it seemed the girl had bought a roll of tinfoil and chosen to call it a dress.

“I just…didn’t expect someone like Sam Mackenna on the guest list. I mean, Dan knows some fine, fine men, but that Scot is in a class all by himself…”

“No shit. And you were definitely letting him know that!”

Sam grimaced into the palms. Was that what Mattie’s glaikit glances were all about? He thought she was just suppressin’ gas or battlin’ female cramps.

“Right?” Mattie returned. “But then Thorny had to pull her little face-plant and get him all worked up over her precious, petite little ankles. And then whisper and giggle at him like some tourist flirt in the Encore pool.”

Sam was damn glad the palms were well planted. Though if much more trash came out of either of those witches, he’d go ahead and uproot a couple anyway—and then replant each of them in the women’s laps. For now, he restrained his rage. The trees provided an equal shield from Jen’s view, and he already knew that she’d be horrified about him witnessing her reactions to the sisters’ exchange. The tears shimmering on her lashes. The stubborn quavering of her chin. Firsthand, he’d seen what the wars of men did to entire countries—but witnessing what women could do to each other was nearly just as harrowing.

“Wait.” Viv spun around so fast, her wine sloshed. “Do you really think she’s making a play for Sam?”

“No. I don’t think it.” Mattie clamped her compact closed and hurled it back into her bag. “I know it.”

Fortunately, Jen gasped at the same time as Viv. Sam clenched his fists, fighting not to rush to her, as she clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes, still visible to him, shimmered brighter with moisture. She looked hurt—but something more.

She looked…convicted.

“Oh, come on.” Mattie huffed at her sister. “Nobody’s that much of a train wreck just because.”

“Good point.” Viv hummed. “But you’re not actually worried about this, are you?”

“Bitch, please.” Mattie waved her nearly drained glass in an adamant sweep. “The day I sweat a drop about little Jennifer Thorne is the day I buy a cat and look for assisted living.” She drained the last puddle of wine and then set the glass down with an angry clang. “Let’s get real. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, Captain Mackenna wouldn’t be tapping on that girl’s front door—or anything else of hers. He’s out of her league.”

“True…”

But the catch in Viv’s voice was blatant.

“What?” Mattie charged.

“It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“We said the same thing about Tess and Dan.”

“Which supports my theory further.”

“Oh?”

“Nature’s not going to allow another lightning strike under their geeky little rock so soon.”

Viv’s laughter was so pronounced, the water in the fountain jerked from the vibration on the air. It matched the visible shiver that coursed through Jen as well. She held on to the tension from top to bottom as the girl queried her sister, “So what’s your plan of attack now?” but Mattie took her time about contemplatin’ that answer as she re-shouldered her handbag and started leading the way back to the party.

Because in truth, she didn’t have an answer.

Because deep down, that bitch knew there would be no fucking plan of “attacking” him. An attack implied a territory or victory to be gained—and Mattie Lesange, while cunning and seductive, was nobody’s warmer; she knew damn well there’d be no territory to “win” with him beyond social niceties.

But he wasn’t leaving a shred of that surety to chance.

Or a syllable of his message to nuance.

Or a single more minute to the time he and Jen had already wasted in their senseless dance around the bush with each other.

And fate, finally giving him a break, happened to present the perfect opportunity to accomplish all three.

Despite how much he hated the circumstances in which it was startin’. With Jen’s heartache, evident on every inch of her lovely face as she emerged from behind the hedge, stumblin’ onto the patio and fallin’ into one of the chairs across from where Viv and Mattie had held their court of ruthless judgment. With the blatant shakes of her shoulders once she dropped her face into her hands, unloadin’ a long, hurting groan against her palms. With the transformation of that pain into angry tears, as plain as her sadness had been, as soon as she reared her head back up again.

With her furious surge back to her feet and then her stormin’ retreat from the patio.

But not his direction. Not toward the privies either.

She shoved through another glass door, which Sam hadn’t seen from the alcove of his position. And though he was able to swiftly tail her, his chest fisted when seein’ where she’d ended up.

At the elevator bank.

Callin’ one of the lifts that were rigged like shoebox dungeons.

Which might have been a damn fine thing, if not for how the woman pounded on the call button like Trinity from The Matrix, standing in the phone booth and waiting for Morpheus to pick up.

Goddamnit, how he yearned to be her Morpheus. And her Neo. Her hero but also her ruin. Her pleasure and her pain. Her bad idea but the best brainstorm she’d ever had. The one she’d break the rules for—only to realize that the greatest risks brought the sweetest rewards.

Maybe that was going to be the prize she got out of all this—but again, fate’s higher purpose wasn’t his picture to see here. Not yet, at least. That was the thing about big lessons. They were usually mosaics, not watercolors. And they usually only came one tile at a time.

And right here and now, he could only control how this tile got painted.

And knew it sure as hell wasn’t meant to have her tear-streaked face all over it.

“Jen.”

Which was why he sprinted faster as she started jabbing the button harder.

“Jen!”

Then even faster as the lift on the left slid open.

“Jen!”

And he went completely Neo on her, diving into the lift head first, split seconds before the doors whumped shut.