Hero by Night (2 page)

So the drop-­dead gorgeous, not-­a-­model woman was a military brat? He took that tidbit and filed it away. He wanted to know more about her—­where she'd grown up, where she'd worked, if she screamed during sex or maintained the calm control he was finding wildly attractive.

“I might use some of the same words,” he said. “But they would have a different effect on you.”

“You're that good with your words?”

“Yes. And that's not the only thing I'm good with.” He paused for a beat, expecting a laugh and hoping for a breathy sigh. Nothing. Her face was an impartial mask. “So how about that dance? I could whisper naughty things in your ear.”

“No.” The way she said that one word sounded like a reflex.

“A walk under the stars?”

“Romantic, but I can't.” She stepped away even though he'd been careful not to move a muscle in her direction. “I wish I could.”

This time her words were not a quick dismissal. She said the word “wish” with the fervor of a kid looking up to the stars and asking for a snow day in July. Hell, if there was one thing he understood, it was wishing and hoping for things he couldn't have.

His mother walking through the front door to the farmhouse and admitting that leaving her family had been a mistake . . . His dad seated beside him in a helicopter one last time. . .

“Can I ask you something?” Chad said.

She nodded. A strand of blond hair fell across her face and he resisted the urge to brush it away. With any other woman, he would not have thought twice about an innocent touch in a public space. But he sensed Lena had boundaries that demanded respect.

“Where did you meet Georgia?”

“In therapy.”

The words, ­coupled with her matter-­of-­fact tone, nearly knocked him on his ass. “You're a veteran. I never would have guessed that one.”

“A little different from a model,” she said with a small smile. “I was in the army. Until eighteen months ago.”

“The job you can't go back to,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

She nodded, her blue eyes trained on him as if tracking his movements. Had someone hurt her? The thought of it pissed him off. Or had the time spent serving her country left her battle-­scarred on the inside? Either way, he wasn't the man to fix her problems. He'd never been drawn to wounded creatures.

Chad glanced at the dog. Whatever had happened to her, Lena already had her hero. She didn't need him. And he didn't want a woman in his life he couldn't walk away from come sunrise. Or a woman he couldn't touch . . .

He looked up at the patio and spotted another blonde. With her jeans and low-­cut blouse, the other woman possessed the same petite build as Lena. But there was nothing striking about her. Looking at her didn't leave him wanting to pull her hair, or hear his name on her lips, never mind learn her secrets.

“She looks like fun,” Lena said.

Busted.

He glanced at the woman who made him want to do all those things and more. “Sure you're not?”

“I can be,” she said with a wry smile, as if this bit of information was a carefully guarded secret. “But not the kind you're in the market for. Not tonight.”

“That's a shame. I was looking forward to whispering dirty things in your ear.”

She pursed her lips, her eyes filled with wistful wanting. “I'm not ready for that kind of fun,” she said, her voice low, but certain. “Not yet.”

“That's fair.” Yeah, those words made it crystal clear she wasn't up for his no-­strings-­attached, down-­and-­dirty nights. But it didn't keep him from hoping.

“If that changes, I'd like to know,” he added. Chad slowly backed away from the woman and her dog, offering her one last smile. “Try and have a good time tonight, Lena. This is a party.”

“I'll take that under consideration,” she said, the golden retriever returning to her side. “Good-­bye, Chad Summers.”

 

Chapter 2

C
HAD STARED AT
the naked woman on the bed and wondered if he was making a mistake. Lying on her stomach, with her face buried in the pillow, Amber's long blond hair fell in a dozen different directions—­straight up, over the pillow, and down the smooth slope of her bare-­naked back. His gaze drifted lower. A thin white sheet covered her ass, but he could see enough to guess she'd abandoned her underwear. Given how hot it was in the cramped studio apartment, he was ready to shed his clothes too. The heat was on despite the fact that it was unseasonably warm for fall in Oregon. He could hear the water rattling through the radiators. And she hadn't bothered to turn on the fan before passing out.

He moved to the kitchenette counter and switched on the small desktop fan. It wasn't much, but it would feel good when they got hot and sweaty. The blades rotated, blowing the sheet off her body.

His mouth fell open as he drank in the view. From where he was standing, waking up sleeping beauty no longer seemed like a mistake.

How had she hidden those curves earlier? When they'd talked and danced at the party, he'd never suspected her waist curved in such a way that it begged to be touched. Or that her low back led to an ass that would put most swimsuit models to shame.

Chad unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and tossed it aside. Stepping closer, he debated how to wake her. Call her name? Or climb in bed beside her and wait until she felt him?

When he'd given Amber instructions on how to find the hidden key to the guest apartment over the barn, he'd expected to find her awake and eager to do all the naughty things she'd whispered in his ear at Eric Moore's cookout. The bubbly blonde had made it clear she wanted him for one night—­nothing more—­before she returned to California.

But then Amber had left the party to stop by her cousin's house and pick up a few things while he'd rushed home for a quick shower to rinse off the beer.

Chad shook his head, still stunned he'd had a beer dumped on him in the middle of a party. Maybe he deserved it for not calling Susan back. But he'd never made her any promises. He didn't have to remember Susan to know that. He never made anyone promises beyond the here and now. And it sucked that Susan's sister decided to seek revenge in front of Lena.

Lena. Hell. Chad closed his eyes, his hands frozen on the waistband on his jeans. If he was being honest, he didn't want the passed-­out, gorgeous, and eager-­to-­rock-­his-­world woman in his bed. He wanted Lena. With her blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect heart-­shaped face, Lena looked as if she'd walked out of a Greek myth. Chad didn't remember much from that class, but the story about the girl who launched a thousand ships stuck with him. Lena possessed the kind of beauty that would start battles, but instead she'd fought in them. And if the golden retriever that followed her around offered any indication, she'd come back with some serious baggage.

As a rule, he steered clear of women with issues. He liked a good time, plain and simple. Nothing that could tie him down, or bind him to a person who might walk away without a backward glance. He'd been through that once, watching the door slam behind his mother. As a kid, Chad had witnessed his father's heartbreak. And he wasn't eager to follow him down that path.

But with Lena, he felt a connection.

“Fuck me, I sound like a freaking girl,” Chad murmured, opening his eyes as he unbuttoned his jeans. “Worrying about connections.”

The woman on the bed moved as his if roused by his words. Without turning over, she stretched her arms overhead and pressed her palms against the wooden headboard. Her back arched, lifting her hips in the air, her breasts resting against the sheets.

His mouth went dry. The things he could do to her in that position. His hands on her hips, pushing into her . . . Or if she rolled over, his mouth on her, tasting every inch of her.

“That's it, baby,” he said, his voice low. Without taking his eyes off her, he removed his pants and boxers. “Spread your legs for me. Let me see you.”

She obeyed, offering a glimpse at the one part of her body he planned to worship until the sun rose. And then she lowered back down, rocking her hips against the mattress. He swore he heard a moan.

“Just wait until I touch you.” His voice was a rough growl that spoke volumes about how much he freaking loved the way she responded to his words. “I want to find your sweet spots, running my hands over your shoulders, down your back to your perfect ass. I'm going to explore every wet and wanting inch of you. Taste you. Make you scream. And I'll make damn sure you're with me, begging for more every step of the way.”

He heard a soft gasp and his gaze snapped to her head, watching as she rolled over. She kept her arms stretched above her head. The pillow shifted, but not enough to catch a glimpse at her face. Her back arched again, this time thrusting her breasts up, inviting him to tease her nipples . . . And yeah, he wasn't trying to see her pretty eyes anymore.

To hell with holding back.
Maybe this blond beauty wouldn't start a war. But the sight of her on his bed, her long legs rubbing together as if seeking something to soothe the ache, dismissed his reservations. Common sense took a backseat to the need radiating from his lower half.

Chad knelt on the bed, half expecting her to toss aside the pillow and reach for him. The woman he'd met earlier, who'd teased him about bathing in beer hops as she'd moved closer, using every excuse to touch him—­he'd expected her to be straightforward in the bedroom. The way Amber was moving, responding to his words without giving up the pretense of sleep, didn't seem like her type of game. But then maybe she was still asleep.

Chad frowned. No fucking way.

“I'm going to touch you now,” he said, just in case she bolted upright when he reached for her.

A muffled moan was his only response, but it was something.

“Starting at your collarbone,” he continued, his finger running the length of the curved bone from shoulder to neck. Keeping his touch featherlight, he followed her sternum down to the valley between her breasts. His thumb brushed the side. “Baby, I swear, I could spend all night, right here, worshipping your breasts.”

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw her nipples tighten further. Earlier, he'd been pretty damn sure she was wearing one of those fancy push-­up bras that made for mouth-­watering cleavage, but often left him with a weird feeling that a bait and switch had taken place when the clothes hit the floor. He had nothing against small breasts, like the ones currently begging for his touch. Hell, he often preferred them, loving the way they responded to teasing.

He bent over, unable to resist a taste. His lips wrapped around her nipple as his tongue flicked back and forth. Oh hell yes, her breasts proved his theory. Smaller meant more sensitive. And if that wasn't a scientific truth, well, he didn't give a damn. Right now, the woman writhing beneath him, lacing her fingers through his hair as if determined to see if he'd meant what he said when he swore he could spend the night right here, tasting her, was his sole focus.

But he wanted so much more than a taste. Running his teeth over her sensitive flesh, he released her right breast and headed for the left, shifting his legs, positioning one on either side of her. Hovering above her, his body begged for more. He lowered down, letting her feel how she turned him on, his cock pressing against her thigh.

“I fucking
want
you,” he murmured, his lips never losing touch with her skin. “All of you. I want your legs wrapped around me, heels digging in, asking for more. I want you on your stomach, your ass in the air, my hand wrapped in your hair. I want to pull back and see your face, watch you come. I want to learn what makes you scream, what turns you on.”

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threatened, but Lena fought them, clinging to sleep. She'd spent the past year dreaming in vivid color. Some nights, when she closed her eyes, surprisingly real soundscapes and horrific sights haunted her. Images of men lying on the ground, their blood flowing over the dirt, their eyes vacant, or worse, pleading for a miracle, filled her nightmares. For some, she'd delivered that miracle, carrying them to safety while bullets sped past her. But knowing they'd lived didn't change the fact that she usually woke up in a panic, as if she'd been in hand-­to-­hand combat with her memories.

Still, she hadn't had a nightmare in months. They'd faded over time. But she never would have guessed that when the dreams returned, they would include the deep rumble of a man's voice talking dirty to her, or the surprisingly real sensations radiating from her breasts.

The sleeping pill. She hadn't taken one in six months. Not since she'd gotten her dog. But tonight she'd decided to keep Hero in the bathroom, knowing he'd try to sleep on the bed beside her. And this was not her bed. Not everyone appreciated golden retriever hair covering everything—­or chew marks on their furniture. Hero was a well-­trained ser­vice dog in some respects, but he still enjoyed a good chair leg when no one was looking.

So she'd taken half a pill hoping to black out, or dream of unicorns frolicking under rainbows, not have an orgasm.

The feeling of a warm mouth against her chest vanished.

No, she wasn't complaining! This was by far the Best. Dream. Ever.

“Don't stop,” she whispered. “I haven't felt like this in so long. So good. So . . .”

Close to normal.

“Just good?” the sexy voice murmured. “Beautiful, I can do better than good.”

“How?” Her voice was faint and she doubted he'd heard her.

Skilled hands moved over her breasts, teasing her nipples with a potent combination of pressure and featherlight touches. Her hands fell back to the bed, clutching the sheets, as a warm mouth kissed her neck.

“If you liked my mouth on your breasts,” he said, his lips still touching her skin, “imagine how you'll feel when I move between your legs, spread your thighs wide, and taste you.” His tongue flicked back and forth against her neck. Once. Twice. A potent demonstration of what he wanted to do to her. “I'll drive you wild.”

“Promise?” she gasped.

His teeth nipped at her neck. “Yes.”

“Oh.” It wasn't a word. It was a moan.

He lowered his hips, grinding nine, maybe more, hard inches against her. Not rough, but in a way that made her crave him. He felt big and thick pressed against her. But this was her dream. Why settle for average, when you could conjure up a man with a dirty mouth and an erection guaranteed to get the job done? She had a greater chance of seeing a unicorn walking down the street than actually going to bed with a man like this. If this were real, she'd be terrified right now. Intimate contact . . . she wasn't there yet.

His lips brushed her jaw. She felt cool air on her face. She'd lost her pillow. Her fingers dug into the sheets, clutching them hard, the pleasure waning now. Warning bells rang out in her mind.

Oh no, this was not what the beginning of an orgasm felt like.

Lips—­real, warm, demanding lips—­kissed hers, and it felt as if the blood running through her veins turned to ice. Her heart raced and her breaths came in short, desperate gasps. She fought for oxygen. It was as if someone had strapped her into a car, taped her foot to the gas, and taken away the brakes. The fear mounted. If she didn't do something soon, she'd crash.

Lena opened her eyes, forcing her mind and body to push aside the effects of the sleeping pill, and focus. There was a naked man on her. Kissing her. Touching her. This wasn't a dream.

No, it wasn't possible. No one got this close. Not to her.

Instinct took over. She released the sheets and pushed hard against his chest. “Get off me!”

Lightning-­fast, he backed away. “What the hell? What's wrong?”

She rolled to her side, reaching for the nightstand drawer, and her Smith & Wesson revolver. She heard a banging against the bathroom door. Her four-­legged Hero was coming for her. The lock gave, door swinging open as her retriever rushed out his teeth bared.

She felt the bed shift as the man who had kissed her moved away. Gun in hand, she rolled onto her back and focused on her target, struggling to get her ragged breathing under control.

“Chad? Chad Summers?” She blinked, starring at the man who had flirted with her, teasing her by Eric Moore's pond. The man she'd
wanted.

He held his hands up, palms out in a show of surrender, his gaze moving back and forth between the revolver in her hands and the growling golden retriever, who looked ready and willing to sink his canine teeth into the part of Chad Summers's body she'd felt pressed up against her.

“Lena,” he said evenly. “I can explain. But first, I need you to put the gun down and call off your dog.”