Let It Ride. Jillian Burns

      The Air Force major. He sat astride a monstrous black motorcycle, his gaze focused menacingly on the old man. His tight, low-riding jeans and black leather jacket personified danger as he curled his fists around the handlebars.

      Her body sizzled as she stared at him. The image burned into her psyche, drawing her into the fantasy of the rugged loner coming to her rescue, sweeping her into his arms and—

      “I’m fine, Major,” she blurted out to stop her crazy dream. She unzipped her backpack and dug around for one of the prepaid cards she’d bought. One of the diners close to her apartment had a program for the homeless. A way to ensure a handout didn’t go to buy booze. “This will get you a hot meal and coffee at Zelda’s Café on fifty-fourth.” She handed the old man the card, and he snatched it from her and took off.

      From the corner of her eye she saw the major get off the bike and move toward her.

      “You shouldn’t encourage those people.”

      She turned. “He’s harmless.”

      He rubbed his jaw and took a step toward her.

      Her chest tightened as he came closer. Her insides coiled with a tension she’d been trying to deny since his comment about blond geniuses. She knew it was just a pickup line, and she’d heard better. But he’d said it as if he really believed it.

      “That happen often?”

      She shook her head. “No. At least, not in a while.”

      His dark eyes searched her body, his gaze moving down from her breasts to her legs and up again.

      Her stomach clenched with a sharp ache. It’d been too long since she’d had sex, that’s all. Why had she waited? Oh, yeah. The whole trying-not-to-make-the-same-mistake-twice thing. She’d told Bob she wanted to wait until they were really committed, and he’d agreed. Too easily, she could see now. And it’d been easy for her, too. Easy and safe.

      She’d never felt the kind of ache for Banker Bob that she did tonight for the Air Force major.

      “He’ll probably trade the card for booze or dope,” he said.

      Straightening her shoulders, she bristled. “Well, I have to try.” His subtle musky cologne drifted to her on the breeze and she drew in a long, slow breath.

      He looked down the street, then back at her. “I could give you a ride.”

      She studied his black bike. Almost a quarter of a century old and she’d never ridden on a motorcycle. An image invaded her mind of riding behind him, her cheek pressed against his back and her palms clutching his hard abs. The vise in her chest squeezed with a dangerous desire.

      “Hey, I understand.” The major headed for his bike and swung his leg over the seat. He looked at her as he rolled the bike forward and the kickstand lifted. “You don’t know me.” His jaw muscle clenched as he turned the key and started the engine. The bike roared to life and he set his boot on the steel footrest and looked up at her. “Yet.” Without another word he curled his fists and took off out of the parking lot.

      A panicky sense of lost opportunity swept over her. Something inside her wanted to run after him and yell at him to come back, that she’d changed her mind. It was her gnawing inner voice begging for a night of reckless abandon. How could she feel so out of control? How could she even consider it?

      Then the bike made a U-turn down the street and roared back into the nightclub parking lot behind her. The engine shut off, and he shoved the kickstand down and strode toward her. She watched the sway of his hips, the tight fit of his T-shirt beneath the jacket, the set of his jaw.

      “Decided I’d wait with you until the bus comes.”

      Jordan tried to swallow past the hard lump in her throat. Even security-conscious Banker Bob had never been willing to lose sleep to make sure she got home okay. “Thank you.”

      He nodded, but didn’t speak, just stood next to her with his arms crossed over his chest.

      His leather-mixed-with-man scent tantalized her. The coil in her tightened more, her muscles tensed and she couldn’t even look at him.

      You’re an idiot, Jordan Brenner. So, he was sexy. So were a thousand other players trolling the casino looking to get laid. He just had a different approach. She should remember this guy was a friend of Captain McCabe’s, the most prolific serial dater in Nevada. And, she wasn’t a naive eighteen-year-old anymore, a girl who ran off with the first guy to charm her jeans off. She had responsibilities. She didn’t get swept off her feet.

      When the bus pulled up, she climbed aboard without a backward glance.

      2

      “JORDAN ELIZABETH, this underwear is indecent!” Tammy Brenner hissed as she held up a pair of thong panties.

      Snatching them from her mom’s fingers, Jordan sighed. “They’re for work, Mom. So they don’t show under the uniform, remember?”

      “I don’t like you working in that place,” Tammy said. “Showing off everything God gave you.”

      At least today Mom remembered where Jordan worked. “It won’t be for much longer. Soon, I’ll have my degree.” She stuffed the rest of their underwear and bras into a clean trash bag and carried the empty laundry basket over to the buzzing dryer. “Then I’ll start applying for a better job.” Her stomach clenched at the thought. A part of her was so ready to get away from casino work. Another was scared to death. What if she failed her finals? Or what if all the corporate honchos took one look at her and decided she wasn’t qualified? She needed to buy an ultra-conservative business suit. And maybe darken her hair…

      The boom of jet engines scraped across the sky as the Thunderbirds’ buzzed over the city, practicing maneuvers. Car alarms went off outside the Laundromat and her mother started screaming.

      “What is that? What’s happening?” Tammy’s voice escalated and started to quiver.

      Jordan rushed over and put her arm around her mom. “It’s only the jets from the air base, Mom, remember?”

      “I want to go home. My regulars at the diner will miss me.”

      Oh, no. She’d been doing so well this morning.

      “But I need you here with me. We make a great team, don’t we?”

      When her mom didn’t answer, Jordan gave up and stuffed the last of the towels from the dryer into the basket. She knew from experience she better get her mom home as soon as possible. Sticking the basket under her arm, she snatched up the trash sack of clean clothes, and led her mom by the arm out of the Laundromat.

      “No. I want to go back to my house. I hate this place!” Tammy jerked out of her hold and stopped on the already scorching sidewalk, glaring at Jordan as if the illness was all her fault.

      And maybe it was. If she hadn’t quarreled with her mom and run off to Vegas with Ian, maybe her mom wouldn’t have had the breakdown and been fired. No. The two incidents were years apart. Not related. She refused to start another self-destructive spiral of blame. Mom had Alzheimer’s. A medical condition that had nothing to do with a teenage daughter’s stupid mistake.

      “Let’s go home, Mom. We can watch Sleepless in Seattle again before I go to work, okay? Would you like that?” She tried to lead her mom gently toward the bus stop, speaking soothingly about visiting Mrs. Simco and seeing her new fish. Mom loved watching Mrs. S’s aquarium. But when the bus pulled up, and she tried to get her mother to climb the steep metal steps, Tammy wouldn’t budge.

      “No!” She stuck her bottom lip out like a toddler and shook her head, refusing to move.

      Jordan shifted the basket of towels higher on her hip and put her arm around her mom’s shoulders. “It’s okay. You like riding the bus.”

      “I want to go home,” Tammy wailed. She twisted out of Jordan’s