Not A Hero: A Bad Boy Marine Romance

by Sarah Robinson

  She grinned, knowing exactly what he meant as she placed one knee on either side of his waist and made her way up. He reveled in how beautiful she looked, glowing and her belly ever so slightly swollen, his child tucked safely inside.

  He grabbed her naked hips—she almost always slept in one of his t-shirts and nothing else, this pregnancy was making her feel hot all the time. He lifted her over his shoulders until she was straddling his face, her center dripping so enticingly above him.

  His tongue flicked across her, and she gasped, her hips lifting. He wasn’t about to allow that—one of his hands on each of her legs as he kept her firmly against his face and let him tongue begin to explore. She moaned and circled her hips, grinding back and forth as he tasted her.

  “Oh, God, Miles,” she groaned, her head dipping forward as she looked at him. “I’m already so close.”

  He stared back at her, wanting her to feel their connection, feel how much she meant to him, feel how damn much he loved every inch of her. “Come on my face, Zoe.”

  She grinded her hips against his chin, his stubble sending her over the edge as his tongue slid inside her, tasting as she gasped and shook and exploded against his mouth. He continued until she was slumped over, exhausted, before he lowered her down to the bed.

  “Oh my goodness,” she breathed out slowly, her back to the mattress as she collected herself.

  He grinned, pleased with himself as he headed for their bathroom. She joined him a moment later as they brushed their teeth and washed up, trading sultry gazes through the bathroom mirror. When she was done, he spanked her ass and followed her back out to the bedroom.

  “Do we have time for more?” she teased, shaking her butt from side to side as she crawled onto the bed.

  “Oh, I hope so,” he said. She was on all fours on the bed, her ass facing him, and he pushed her legs apart, his palm gripping her center as he dipped two fingers between her folds.

  “Mmm,” she groaned, pushing back against his hand. “Yes…like that, Miles.”

  “Again?” he teased, pumping his fingers faster. “So greedy.”

  “With you?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder at him as she pushed down on his hand. “Always.”

  His eyes darkened as his hand moved faster and faster against her, his other hand smoothing across her cheeks before dipping a thumb to press against her back entrance. Only a little pressure, but he knew it always drove her wild.

  Still on her knees, she dropped down to her elbows and buried her face in the covers as her orgasm ripped through her and he felt her trembling against his hands. She fell forward completely and he leaned forward to bite her cheek.

  “Ouch!” Zoe squeaked, and then she laughed as she curled under the covers. “Jeez, we just woke up, and I’m already tired.”

  “I’m not sorry,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes, a smirk on her lips. “Of course you’re not sorry. I’m the one who has to spend all day watching the dumb Camaro in the car show since you’re busy handing out the Town Hero awards this year.”

  “Sabrina is not a dumb Camaro—she’s an antique, and she’s going to win top prize at the car show, you’ll see,” Miles said with a laugh as he walked over to the bedroom window and looked out on the lake he’d been staring at for the last thirty years—still as in love with it now as before.

  “MOMMY!” The bedroom door was flung open, and a little girl bounced into the room and onto the bed, jumping right into Zoe’s outstretched arms. “Is it time yet? Is it time?”

  Miles exchanged a knowing look with his wife, glad their daughter hadn’t come in a second earlier. He headed back to the bathroom quickly to wash his hands as he heard Zoe talking to her.

  “Time for what, Vi?” she asked.

  “VillageFest!” The three-year-old clapped, curling into her mother’s arms. “I want to go on the Ferris Wheel! You promised.”

  Zoe laughed and Miles walked back in, joining them on the bed. “You have to ask Daddy. It’s his birthday, you know.”

  Violet turned her beautiful green eyes to him and threw her arms around his neck, every bit as gorgeous as his mother was, her namesake. “Happy Birthday, Daddy!”

  “Thank you, baby girl,” he said, kissing her face a million times with loud, exaggerated noises as she shrieked and laughed and batted him away.

  Violet bounced back to Zoe’s side, laying her head down on her mother’s stomach. “Mommy, can my brother come too?”

  “Or sister,” Zoe reminded her.

  “Or brother,” Miles said with a laugh, still sort of hopeful his second child would be a son. “Come on, Vi. Let’s go have breakfast, then we can go to VillageFest.”

  “Okay! Pancakes!” Violet clapped, bouncing off the bed for the door. “And then the Ferris Wheel.”

  The minute she disappeared into the hallway, Miles turned to his wife with a wicked grin. “The Ferris Wheel has always been one of my favorite rides.”

  Her cheeks splattered dark red, and she smacked his arm. “You’re absolutely terrible,” she teased as she climbed out of bed and began to get dressed. “We’re parents now.”

  “If I recall, it’s that kind of behavior that made us parents in the first place,” he replied, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “And I couldn’t be happier because I’m so in love with my children and their mother.”

  “I love you, too, birthday boy,” she said, spinning around in his arms and kissing him.

  He lifted one brow, his lips twitching into a grin. “You know what that means for tonight, right?”

  She shook her head, laughter dancing in her eyes. “What?”

  “Birthday sex. And lots of it.”

  Acknowledgments

  The truth of this novel is I started writing it two years ago. Long before my bestselling Kavanagh Legend series (hey, since I mentioned it, maybe go buy it…#hopefulauthor!) and several of my other series, like the Forbidden Rockers. It sat, unfinished (or barely even started!), rejected by publishers, sad and alone. But I loved these characters, and I loved this story. I wanted to tell it a million times, but I never found the time.

  Finally, I decided I was going to do the impossible—write two books in two months. Well, this was the first one, some of which I’d started and the rest of which I’d scrapped, but I did manage to finish it in a little less than a month, so that’s a start. We’ll see if I get the second one done by next month, but that’s a different story for another day (hint: Kavanagh). Anyways, it took a lot of work from a team of people to finally get this story out, and I’m so happy to have completed the story that’s been nagging at me for years.

  Before you ask (because some of you already are, which I loooove!) I have definitely not closed the book on the fictional town of Slipwick, Pennsylvania, which is loosely based on the real town of Slippery Rock. I am definitely considering a book featuring Tobin’s journey to find love, and who knows what else, time willing, so stay tuned! Also, another great reason why you should all be subscribed to my newsletter. #justsaying

  Thank you first and foremost to all the readers who continually give me a chance and fall in love with the characters I hold so dear in my heart.

  To my husband, for being okay with me writing about sex with lots of other men.

  To my best friends, Nicole Tesch and Nathalie Wisecup, for supporting my dreams and drooling over hot guys with me. PS: Nathalie just got engaged! #KeelyWisedUp

  To Holly Morales, who sticks with me through everything, despite life changing and growing.

  To Kay Springsteen Tate, for editing this novel even when it was a complete lump of crap and needed to be worked over from the bottom up. You’re the real hero of this book in my eyes.

  To my amazing agent, Nicole Resciniti, for sticking with me despite many a panicky and teary phone call from me. I’d be absolutely lost without you. You’re my rock in this industry. Congrats on brand new mommyhood—she’s beautiful.

  To Aut
hor Tracy Wolff, for encouraging me to finish this book and helping me straighten out my thoughts over it. You’re an amazing friend, and I’m so in awe of your many, many accomplishments.

  To Author Lavinia Kent, to being one of the most real women I’ve ever met, yet somehow managing to look twenty-nine years old forever. I adore you.

  To all the sweet authors who’ve helped me get this book out there, reading it and reviewing it, as well as the bloggers who have/are sharing and introducing my work to readers. My job would be impossible without you!

  I am so happy to have finally written my seventh indie book, and my eleventh book total in less than three years. Holy smokes, I need a vacation! Oh, but wait, my next book comes out in two months—eeks! Who’s excited! *raises hand*

  Thank you to you all!

  PS: Continue reading for a free novella, Logan’s Story, the first book in the Forbidden Rockers series! My huge thank you to you guys for taking the time to read this novel and follow me as an indie author, as well as traditional!

  PPS: Remember, don’t miss out on future releases by subscribing to my newsletter!

  BONUS CONTENT!

  Keep reading for an extra novel by Sarah Robinson for free!

  Logan’s Story

  Forbidden Rockers, Book 1: A Prequel Novella

  Sarah Robinson

  Logan’s Story © Sarah Robinson

  Editing & Formatting by Michael R. Burhans -Balaat Professional Services and Cover Design by Author Violet Duke.

  Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Robinson

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental. Any mention of trademarked brands are not meant as copyright infringement.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete and support the author by purchasing the book from one of its many distributors. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  1994

  There was absolutely nothing that could have made him feel more helpless than sitting in the hospital waiting room next to his father, swinging his little legs that didn’t quite reach the floor and counting the tiles on the floor. Logan wanted to run home and grab his Superman cape that he kept hidden underneath his pillow. He wanted to fix everything like they did in the cartoons he was allowed to watch every Saturday morning before his parents woke up.

  A tall man in scrubs walked into the room and pulled the surgical mask off his face, unveiling a grimace as he looked toward Logan and his father. Logan was startled at the sudden movement as his dad jumped up out of his seat and rushed over to the doctor, leaving him alone on the plastic chairs wondering what was going on.

  “Mickey Clay?” the doctor asked looking first at Logan’s father, then past him to see Logan watching them intently with a look that begged the doctor for good news.

  “Yes, that’s me. How is my wife? Is she okay?” His speech was hurried and hoarse, betraying his tough exterior with the depth of his emotional turmoil.

  “Laura is doing fine, she came out of surgery pretty well and is still sedated. We are going to keep her under for a while longer to give her body and her brain time to heal. The trauma was severe,” the doctor explained to him.

  “When can I see her? When will she wake up?”

  “You can see her now if you want but I have to warn you that she is hooked up to a lot of tubes and wires, it might be frightening.” The doctor nodded toward Logan indicating that a five year old child might not be equipped for the sight.

  Mickey nodded then brushed it aside. They were proud Irish men. Irish men could handle tough, they could handle pain, and his son would learn to handle pain.

  “When will she be awake?” Mickey asked again.

  “Let’s see how she does overnight first and then maybe her vitals tomorrow will indicate that she is ready to be awoken,” the doctor told Mickey, as he looked back down at the papers in his hands as if to visually confirm what he was saying was accurate.

  “I want to go see her,” Mickey said firmly, crossing his arms and daring the doctor to try to stop him.

  The doctor was no fool and knew that this giant, six-and-a-half-foot man with the broadest shoulders he had ever seen was not someone who could be told what to do.

  “Of course, I will have one of the nurses take you to her immediately. Uh, Mr. Clay, there is one more thing I need to talk to you about,” the doctor cleared his throat and Mickey stared at him, his entire body tensed waiting to hear what else could go wrong.

  “When your wife’s car hit the pole, the car stopped, but her body kept going. Good news is she was wearing her seatbelt, which is the only reason she is alive. However, the bad news is the seatbelt held her bottom half still and the forward jolt of her top half broke several vertebrae at the very bottom of her spine.” He avoided direct eye contact with Mickey, always hating to give news like this to patient’s families.

  “What are you saying? Doc, are you saying my Laura is paralyzed?” Mickey’s stomach dropped and fell to the floor along with his jaw as his eyes widened and the image of his wife in a wheelchair flooded his brain.

  The woman he loved more than anything, who he took dancing every Friday night when they could find a babysitter, the woman who waltzed around the living room while she vacuumed just because, confined to a wheelchair just didn’t seem possible.

  “Nothing is confirmed until she wakes up and we do some tests, but you need to prepare yourself now that this is a real possibility. I am really very sorry this happened, we did the best we could do, but the car accident was extreme. She is lucky to be alive.” He smiled at Mickey with one of those practiced doctor smiles where his eyes are frowning with pity, but his mouth is in a tight upward turn in an attempt to comfort. It wasn’t working.

  Mickey stood frozen as he watched the doctor walk away and contemplated everything that had just happened. Less than two hours ago, he had been talking to his wife on the phone as she told him she was getting in her car to come home from work. She was a nurse working the late shift so it was almost midnight but she always called Mickey anyway to let him know she was on her way. They did everything together and were always in constant communication. She was the love of his life. Laura Clay was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and now she might not ever walk into his arms again.

  Clearing his throat and blinking back tears that stung with embarrassment, Mickey turned around to look at his son. Logan was still in the plastic hospital chair with his head leaning against the wall and his legs crunched up against the arm rest. He was fast asleep and had no idea the life sentence his mother had just received. Mickey fought harder to push the tears back.

  Men don’t cry.

  He kept reminding himself over and over again, but it was becoming harder to believe. He scooped up his son with ease and walked to the nurse’s station to find where his wife was.

  He didn’t care that she was sedated, he was going to be there for every moment. He would be there when she woke up and he would stick by her side through anything that came from today. He decided it all right then and there. He was a man, an Irish man, who had made a vow and no matter what happened, he was not going to break that vow.

  He clenched his jaw and breathed in deep as he held his five-year old son closer and reminded himself of those promises that they made standing in front of everyone they loved.

  Mickey Clay would love Laura for the rest of his life. Period.

  1

  2010

  “Dude, you’re bleeding.” Dylan nodded his head, lookin
g at Logan’s hand currently dripping blood onto the strings of the guitar he was playing.

  “Oh, shit.” Logan glanced down at his fingers and then placed the guitar down, propping it on the nearby stand. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t get any blood on the stage, asshole,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes at the lead singer as he headed out to the tiny bathroom backstage.

  Logan didn’t bother to answer; he was used to the razzing from his band mates. There was no way to explain to someone who didn’t live and breathe art, how much he loved the pain that came with plucking the chords of the perfect song.

  Logan opened the bathroom door and immediately let go of the door handle since something sticky had been left on it and had transferred to his hand. He grimaced as he looked at some gloppy, green substance on his hand mixing with the blood from his blistered fingers. He quickly turned on the faucet in front of him, looking at himself in the mirror as he shoved his hands under the not-so-clear water churning out of the pipes.

  One day.

  Logan thought about the future as he examined the bags under his eyes from being up all night playing at this bar. One day he wasn’t going to need crappy gigs like this where the only people left listening to them play was a few drunk girls hoping to go home with them and a few career alcoholics who couldn’t find their way out the door. Haven, their band, was going to be big one day, Logan was sure of it. They’d named the band after the town they grew up in, but their eyes were set on New York City.

  Dylan was putting their instruments into cases when Logan walked back onto the stage and other band members were loading amps onto a cart to take them out to their van. Logan picked up the tip jar at the edge of the stage and looked inside to see three crumpled dollar bills and some coins. He tightened his jaw, his mind flooding with stress as he thought of the bills he needed to pay.