Hero by Night

by Sara Jane Stone

“Lena.” His voice was low and rough. “I’m pretty damn close to begging.”

  Finally, she wrapped her lips around him, taking him deep. He let her set the pace, her hand stroking him, rising up to meet her lips, as he stared down at her.

  Beautiful, sexy, strong—­even if she didn’t feel it now—­this woman made him question his wants, his needs, his plans for the future . . . everything. She made him want to be better, to transform their fake relationship into something tangible. Because from where he was standing, they’d already crossed that line. Hadn’t they?

  She released his cock, placing her hands on his thighs as she stood, her palms running up over his hips, his abs, stopping at his chest.

  “I’m tempted to climb up,” she said, rising to her tiptoes, her lips nearly touching his ear. “Wrap my legs tight around you, and ride you long and hard.”

  Hell, the way she turned the tables . . .

  “I freaking love it when you whisper naughty things in my ear,” he said. “Now go lie down on the bed. It’s my turn to touch you, taste you, and make you scream.”

  She raised an eyebrow, but she followed orders. Lying on the bed, she spread her legs and arched her back. The view ratcheted the tension pulsing through him to an eleven on a scale of one to ten.

  “Lena.” He pulled at the plastic restraints. “Another night I swear I’ll lick you, burying my tongue inside you until you call my name. Tonight I need you, beautiful. No more teasing. No more foreplay.”

  The plastic “chain” holding his wrists together snapped. With his hands free, he retrieved his wallet from his pants pocket and pulled out the condom he’d stashed there earlier. He tore open the wrapper, quickly covering himself before approaching the bed.

  “I’m not going to lie, Lena. I want you hard and fast. I want you on your knees, your ass in the air, my hands on your hips, holding you tight as I bury my cock inside you.”

  “I’ve never liked lies,” she murmured, rolling onto her stomach. She rose off the mattress on her hands and knees. “Like this?”

  “Yes,” he growled. “Yes.”

  He moved to the edge of the bed, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock, one hand running over her low back, exploring her curves.

  “Just like that.” He thrust inside her and she cried out, pressing back against him. His palms moved over her backside, one settling at her waist, and the other moving higher toward the long locks he’d fantasized about pulling from that first night in the studio over the barn.

  “Chad.” His name was like a plea, a cry for more. “Chad, please.”

  Quickening the pace, he thrust into her again and again, the physical pleasure rising with each movement.

  “I want you to come with me,” he said.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  His hand wrapped around the long strands of hair cascading down her back and pulled. Her head drawn back, her blue eyes stared into his, the wild, wanton look matching the need pulsing through him to claim her. But in that instant, his cock buried deep inside her, his hold on her a potent mixture of command and possession, Chad realized his mistake.

  He should have tossed the cheap handcuffs in the trash, come in here and made love to her. In this moment, she was his, but it was fleeting. Tomorrow, he vowed as his climax pushed aside the doubts. Tomorrow he’d make love to her. No toys or games. He felt her tighten around him, heard her scream his name, and then he was lost.

  Still panting, they shifted their bodies, maneuvering under the sheets side by side. He rolled away from her only for a moment to discard the condom.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “We still have that Chinese food.”

  “No,” she murmured. “Save it for breakfast.”

  He laughed, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her back against his front. But even with the soft contours of her curves pressed against him, there was a gap he could not close. She was his, dammit. The first woman who’d forced him to open his eyes to the possibility of more.

  But the words “temporary” and “fake” still hung over their heads, provided a buffer he didn’t want or need. He hoped she’d felt the same because tomorrow he planned to lock those words in the past.

  “Chad?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you—­”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Lena. I was right there with you.” He hugged her tight.

  “Being with you,” she said. “I feel one step closer to normal. I feel like maybe I can face tomorrow’s ceremony.”

  “You can.” He kissed her neck, debating whether to tell her about his conversation with the sergeant in charge of the event. But now when she was drifting off to sleep wasn’t the time. And part of him wanted to surprise her.

  “I know you can,” he added.

  And after the vice president handed her the Silver Star, after they put the ceremony behind them, they’d have eight hours in the car to find new words to define their relationship.

  Chapter 18

  LENA FOLDED HER hands in her lap, staring straight ahead while Chad handed over their IDs and the vehicle registration. Wearing her dress uniform for the first time in more months than she wished to count, with her hair pulled into a tight bun, she felt an eerie calm.

  “Have you been here before?” Chad asked as he pulled away from the checkpoint.

  “No. I was stationed in Virginia.” She glanced at the window as they drove past a cluster of buildings. Men and women, some in uniform and others in civilian clothes, walked along the paved pathways. “But it feels familiar.”

  There were days when she still missed the precision of military life. The need to survey her surroundings haunted her in Oregon, but while deployed, while doing her job, it had been a necessary part of life.

  “Being here, it does make me wonder if I should go back,” she said.

  “And give up normal?” Chad shook his head. “Don’t tell me you were lying last night when you said I’d brought you one step closer.”

  “I was telling the truth, Chad. What you’ve done for me—­”

  “Give yourself some credit, beautiful. It takes two to do what we did last night.”

  “Too bad orgasms aren’t the cure-­all to PTSD.”

  Chad laughed, steering them away from the main buildings. “Yeah, I think the VA might be bombarded with claims.”

  “Chad.” She glanced down at the map of the base with the red arrow pointing to the locale of the ceremony. “I think you’re going the wrong way.”

  “Nope, I spoke with the sergeant in charge last night. They changed the location,” he said, pulling up in front of a one-­story office building. “There’s a conference room inside that will work for today.”

  “They moved the ceremony from an auditorium to a conference room? Did the vice president cancel?”

  “No.” Cutting the engine, he faced her. “But I told them you would unless it was friends and family only. No press, no surprises. And if the vice president gets too close, have Hero give him a shove. This is your day, Lena.”

  She drew a shaky breath, and her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  “Nope, no crying.” He opened his door and hopped down. “I pissed off a lot of ­people last night, especially the woman who’d planned this thing. So try to look happy about the change.”

  He held the door as she stepped down. “Chad Summers, you’re full of surprises. I never would have guessed you’d be the one to ride in and save the day.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Confusing me with your dog again? I’m not your hero, Lena. I’m your friend. And yeah, I care a helluva lot about you. But that’s something we can talk about later. Right now, I need to give you this.”

  He held out a folded piece of paper. Plucking it from his fingers, she started to open it.

  Chad’s hand covered hers. “Not yet. Save it
for later. Just in case things get a little tense in there and you need something to make you smile.”

  “Thank you.” She formed a tight fist around the note.

  “Now, let’s go get your medal,” Chad said. “Ready?”

  She nodded, taking Chad’s hand. Inside, they walked down the hall past a row of cubicles toward the conference room. Dressed for the occasion in his ser­vice dog vest, Hero marched by her side. She’d left his chew toy in the car and she could have sworn he was pouting. Or maybe he sensed her rising nerves.

  Lena paused in the open doorway to the conference room. Her parents and Joe sat at one end of the oval table. Both her father and brother had worn their dress uniforms. A few unfamiliar faces moved about the space, one held a large camera. She continued to scan the room, taking in every detail. Windows with the shades drawn lined one wall. A small table stood at the far end of the room with a box on it. The Silver Star. Her medal. If she stepped into the space.

  Lena drew her lower lip between her teeth and her feet remained planted to the ground. It looked safe, but there were so many ­people even in this smaller venue. And she would never be able to keep an eye on every corner of the room while standing beside the table. Someone could move behind her.

  A man in suit, wearing an earpiece that suggested he belonged to the vice president’s Secret Ser­vice detail, rushed into the room. Her breath caught and her hands went numb. The man moved quickly as if running away from something.

  A loud crash sounded and she jumped. She had to get out of here. Run. Take cover. It wasn’t safe. At her feet, Hero barked and spun in circles, demanding her attention. She glanced down at him and felt the panic recede. But not far enough. Not this time.

  She stepped back, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Not enough oxygen. The word flashed through her mind like a warning.

  “Lena?” Chad said. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t.” Her voice shook with the fear. She pulled her hand free from his, feeling the terror take hold. “I can’t . . . I can’t breathe.”

  Oh God, she would suffocate, right here, with all these ­people watching, if she didn’t run. Feeling as if she was dragging her feet through quicksand, she spun around and headed for the door with Hero at her heels.

  In the parking lot, she ran to the truck, pulling on the passenger side door. Locked, dammit. She stumbled to the back of the pickup and scrambled inside. Her vision blurred as she collapsed onto her back. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe.

  A weight covered her chest and a wet nose touched her ear. Hero. He’d followed her. And with his reassuring presence covering her, keeping her safe, the panic slowly faded. Sweat ran down her face. She could feel the sting in her eyes. But the worst was over. Oxygen flowed through her body again and feeling returned to her limbs.

  In her hand, she felt the crumpled piece of paper. Maneuvering her arms around Hero, she lifted her hand and unfolded the note.

  When you’re screaming my name, I don’t give a damn if you have a Silver Star or not. I’d rather see you stripped down, your legs spread, your fingers exploring the places I’m dying to taste. I want to run a trail of kisses over you . . .

  Are you blushing yet?

  Scanning the naughty words, she could hear his voice in her head, offering instructions, making demands. Maybe if she’d entered the room, she could have accepted the Silver Star, opening his note when panic threatened, and she felt her cheeks warm.

  Instead, she’d run.

  Her hands dropped to her sides as her eyes squeezed shut. Clutching the note in her hand, she let the tears flow.

  Running away from a Silver Star, her family, and the man who cared enough to make demands from the army proved one thing. She had derailed on her road to normal. She still was too broken.

  Chapter 19

  CHAD WANTED TO tear to pieces the fucking idiot who’d tripped over the tripod. Dammit, he wanted this moment for her. She deserved to receive that medal. He’d tried everything he could think of to make it work, but it wasn’t enough.

  Without a backward glance at her family, or the other ­people filling the small room, he turned and sprinted for the door. Maybe he couldn’t make this ceremony possible, but he refused to let her fall apart alone. Scanning the parking area, Chad spotted Hero’s tail in the bed of his pickup. Rounding the back, he heard the sobbing.

  “Lena?” He froze. The sight inside the pickup’s bed gutted him. Lena was on her back with Hero covering her chest. But even beneath the dog, her entire body shook as she wept.

  “Lena, can I come up?” he asked, not sure of the rules right now.

  “I need to leave.” She drew a deep, shaky breath as she pushed Hero off her body and sat up. “Please, Chad. I need to get away from here now.”

  “OK,” he said. “OK. I’ll going to lower the gate. Make it easier for you to climb out.”

  Keeping his moments slow and measured, he lowered it and held out his hand. But she shook her head as she moved toward him and hopped out on her own. Hero followed, hugging her side. The retriever studied Lena with a furrowed brow as if he knew the panic still lingered.

  “Lena—­”

  “Just drive, Chad. Get me out of here.” Lena moved to the passenger side and climbed in, allowing Hero to settle in her lap.

  Feeling as if he was swimming upstream against a river of helplessness, his hopes for their future rushing past, flowing in the opposite direction, Chad followed her orders. Minutes later, they were on the road, leaving behind her family, the vice president, and everyone else involved with today’s event.

  A sick feeling settled in his gut as they drove in silence. The woman who’d claimed a part of him that he’d never planned to offer anyone felt so damn distant right now, so far beyond his reach, he wanted to scream in frustration. He knew she had her reasons and that they existed beyond her control, but that didn’t erase the feeling that she was slipping farther and farther away from him with each mile marker they passed.

  EIGHT PAINFULLY LONG hours later, the truck pulled up in front of the Summers family farmhouse. Finally, she could get this weight off her. Hero had insisted on spending the entire drive on her lap. Opening the passenger side door, Lena let her dog out before stepping down and stretching her legs.

  “Lena.” Chad stood in front of her, his hand in the pockets of the slacks he’d worn to the ceremony hours earlier. There was no sign of his trademark humor in his brown eyes. And it felt like years since she’d seen his smile. Her stomach flipped knowing they needed to talk about how she’d erased his grin with one epic panic attack.

  She glanced at the door, wishing she could fast-­forward and begin nursing her heartache. She wanted to escape inside and have a date with the bag of chocolate chips in her kitchenette. After this conversation, Lena had a feeling mouthwatering chocolate would be the closest she’d get to orgasm territory for a long time. And beyond the bedroom doors, she’d lose the one person who delivered passion, kindness, and hope into her life—­the one man who believed in her.

  “Lena, we need to talk,” he said. “I didn’t want to say anything on the ride.”

  Because he’d known this conversation would lead to a downward spiral and he wanted her to have the space to walk away and fall apart. At every turn, this man put her needs first. He’d convinced the army to rearrange a medal presentation featuring the vice president for her.

  “But I need to know you’re OK,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  A wash of failure rushed over her, threatening to swallow her up. Turning away from Chad, she focused on the physical and mundane. She reached into the bed of his truck and retrieved her overnight bag. Their relationship had transformed into something real and tangible, something that demanded more than she had to give right now. What they shared—­the wild nights in his bed, the laughter, the friendship that took her by surprise
at every turn—­it couldn’t be more.

  Running away had dissolved any hope of a future for them, proving she wasn’t ready. Now, she had to say those words—­“It’s over”—­and walk away. The realization tore into her, ripping her apart like a well-­aimed bullet. She’d felt invincible on the battlefield, racing through enemy fire to save her fellow soldiers. But now, an ocean away from the gunfire, she felt as if she’d been hit. She might not be able to save herself. But she could still save him.

  “Lena.” His brow furrowed and he took a step toward her, his arms outstretched. Instinct demanded she step back, and Hero quickly moved between them, forming a barrier. After weeks together, they were back where they’d started. She was broken, lost on her road to normal. And he was out of reach.

  “I’m sorry,” she added, hating those words with a fierce and rising passion. How many more times would she need to apologize for emotions and reactions that stemmed from feelings beyond her control? If she stayed, if she kept trying to be with him, those words would likely become her constant refrain. She would never be enough for him.

  Lena closed her eyes. Her mind ticked off the things she’d miss—­his panty-­melting grin, the way he made her laugh, the way he supported her without demanding results . . .

  Opening her eyes, she drew in a deep, shaky breath, and an ugly hiccup escaped. Tears welled in her eyes. One escaped, rolling down her cheek.

  “You went to so much trouble to rearrange the ceremony,” she said.

  “Lena, I don’t give a damn about the medal. I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

  “But I panicked.” Another hiccup punctuated her sentence. “I thought I was getting closer . . .”

  “There’s no timetable,” he insisted, staring into her watery eyes. “Take all the time you need.”

  “Chad, please. I can’t.” Her voice trembled. “I think we should end our deal.”

  “What we have is real, Lena. There is nothing fake about what I feel for you.”

  “I know,” she said. “Which is why we need to walk away now.”