Last True Hero

by Diana Gardin

  She sucks in a breath, then stands up on her toes so that she can meet my lips. Hers brush mine softly, and then she pulls back.

  “I love you, Dare Conners.”

  I take her hand lightly and pull her along toward the restaurant entrance. We’ve decided to forgo See Food tonight, in honor of wanting to dress up a little and celebrate. I’m wearing dark jeans and a dark gray cotton blazer, black Chucks on my feet. Berkeley shoots me an approving glance as we enter the restaurant, smiling slightly.

  Leaning up to whisper in my ear, her voice sends a shudder through to my core, and I suddenly can’t fucking wait to get her home. “You’re not so bad yourself, soldier. I’m role-playing in my head right now.”

  Holy…

  Then she nods toward my shoes. “Those a nod for me?”

  Smirking, I just take her hand.

  “Hey, guys,” says Greta’s bright voice from beside the hostess stand.

  We greet Mea and Greta, but Drake is still on his way, I’m guessing.

  The hostess seats us in the back of the restaurant, at a table big enough for all of us to stretch out. The restaurant is located just off the small, oceanfront boardwalk. Beside our table, a wall of windows displays the brilliant expanse of ocean. The waves crash into the glittering sand, and the boardwalk and beach beyond are dotted with people walking, talking, or canoodling in front of the crashing waves. The sky is purple with the just-set sun, and with all of the places I’ve been, it’s the most beautiful view I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  Sitting here beside the tranquil bliss beyond the windows, I compare myself to each wave as it connects with the waiting shore. I’ve always been on my way to this town, to this time, with this girl. Along the way, I had no clue this is where I’d end up. But now that I’m here, I’m happy just letting the new me evaporate into Berkeley and a life with her, while the old me washes back into the ocean I came from.

  Drake shows up just as the white-shirted waiter comes to gather our drink orders. He settles into a seat between Greta and me, directly across from Mea, while the waiter scurries off to grab our beers and mixed drinks.

  “Greta,” Mea begins. She points out one of the giant windows, her finger stretching toward a gigantic, gorgeously ornate beach house perched on stilts about two hundred yards away in the sand. “Didn’t you say your dad has just landed a new contract with the new owner of that house over there?”

  Drake whistles. “That place is massive. Must be a lucrative contract. Does he only do work in the private sector?”

  Greta furrows her brow. “Actually, Dare, he wants to talk to you about maybe taking a position with his company. And no, Drake, I think that they often take on government Special Ops contracts as well. My father is ex-army.”

  I glance up at her in surprise. “Wow. No wonder we related to each other so well during…” I glance at Berkeley. “The situation.”

  She snuggles closer into my side. The waiter returns with our drinks, and Mea rolls her eyes. “Greta’s family is loaded, thanks to Daddy dearest.”

  Greta shrugs. “I’m an adult now, Mea. I don’t get to go running to Daddy for money anymore.”

  Mea just shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing with the movement, as if she doesn’t believe a word of it.

  Leaning to the side, I bend so that I can lean into Berkeley. Her rosy scent captures my complete attention, and I nuzzle my nose into the luscious curve of her neck.

  Damn, she smells delicious. How much longer before I can sweep her out of here and back to my house or her apartment? I scowl into her skin, knowing I at least have to make it through dinner.

  Berkeley giggles, and the sound echoes through my body, bringing all of me to attention. She clears her throat to cover her giggle, and then leans away from me. At the same time, her hand reaches over and grips my thigh. Her fingers trail upward, and I choke on my beer.

  Everyone at the table is busy relaying their orders to the waiter. When the man’s eyes stop on me, Berkeley speaks up. “He’ll probably want one of everything.”

  I smirk at her, remembering, and then give the waiter my real order.

  Leaning over to her, I whisper into her ear, “Eat fast, baby. I’ve been waiting to get you home since I saw you in that dress.”

  She shares my smile, and I know that once we finally do make it home, that dress won’t stay on her for very long.

  Epilogue

  Dare

  Moving to Lone Sands has changed my life a million times over.

  First change: Berkeley fucking Holtz. That girl came in like a freaking missile, blowing shit up and taking names. I really want her to take my name, but I have to ask her first. And that day will come. Soon.

  Then, my brother moved to town. He and Shay are one blissfully happy couple. So blissfully happy in fact, that in the four months they’ve lived here, they’ve created another life. Shay just found out she’s pregnant, and I’m going to be an uncle. I’ve never seen Chase this happy. And seeing him happy makes me happy.

  Lastly, I had a meeting with Greta’s dad, Jacob. Who offered me a full-time job as a security specialist with his firm. Which I accepted.

  It’s this brand-new job that the alarm on my phone is currently waking me up for.

  “Mmmm,” murmurs Berkeley as she wraps the leg slung over the top of me even tighter. Not the greatest idea, since the morning hard-on is raging, and painfully aware of her closeness.

  No nightmare. They’re pretty much gone these days. I give all the credit to the evil vixen siren with the heavenly body currently wrapped tightly around mine.

  “Time to get ready for work, baby,” I whisper in her ear.

  She moans. My Berkeley is still definitely not a morning person. I stare at her, her hair a glorious, wild mess of curls all around her head as she snuggles closer to me. Her mouth is still slightly parted in her half-sleep, and her lashes are long enough to touch her cheeks.

  Fucking gorgeous.

  “You have to get ready to work,” she murmurs sleepily. “I still have half an hour to sleep.”

  I innocently run my hand from where it’s resting against her plump, round ass, along her thigh until it’s resting on the underside of her knee. Her leg, where it’s slung over my middle, tenses.

  She’s not a morning person, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to turn her into one.

  She exhales as my fingers begin tracing tiny circles on her skin. My other hand joins the party, edging from her tangled curls, down the curve of her neck, over her delicate shoulder. I drop down from where her arm hugs my middle, and suddenly I cup her breast fully in my hand.

  Shit. I just turned myself on, probably more than I did her. Groaning, I carry the weight of her in my hand, kneading the soft, supple skin. My fingers act of their own accord, circling the tip of her before grasping her taut nipple between two fingers and giving it a tight pinch.

  Her eyes fly open, and she immediately grinds against me. Her quiet, answering moan tells me everything I need to know.

  “Good morning,” I whisper, pulling her on top of me.

  “I hate mornings.” Her voice is husky and so damn sexy as she leans forward to tease my ear with her tongue. Fuck me, she knows how one lick in that spot drives me utterly wild.

  “But I love you,” I point out sweetly as I rock my hips into her. There’s no fabric hindering our pleasure; she catches her breath as all my hardness melts into all her softness.

  She reaches her hand down, amber eyes blazing, and swiftly guides the length of me to her entrance. She’s ready for me, so I’m calling her bluff on her hatred of mornings, after all. The heat of her envelops me, and my lips part in anticipation. I want this. I want it before breakfast, and I want it on my lunch break. And then I want it twice when I come home from work.

  All Berkeley, all the time.

  She raises her hips up, and then slams down on top of me. I roar, and she smiles seductively. “Prove it.”

  Oh, I’ll prove it. I plan on spending the rest o
f my life proving to her how much I love her. And one day soon, I’ll put a ring on her finger that will prove it to the rest of the world.

  When I arrived in Lone Sands last spring, the sign told me that my lonely heart was welcome here. Now my heart is no longer lonely, but I still feel more welcome than I’ve felt in a very, very long time. Maybe ever.

  I don’t know if Berkeley’s parents have completely accepted us as a couple. They had plans for her that changed forever when she made the decision to be with me and not with Grisham. But I hope that one day, they can embrace it. Because I will do whatever it takes to make their daughter happy.

  And one day, Berkeley is going to want her parents at our wedding.

  Turn the page for the next book in the series, Saved by the SEAL!

  Grisham

  The cool blue Atlantic sprays my face as I sit in the sand. My eyes are fixated on the breaking waves. My good buddies—my brothers—are taking advantage of the larger-than-normal swells while they cut in and out of the waves on their boards. I lay back on my elbows and watch…the same way I’ve been watching for the past month and a half—the time it took for me to muster up the courage and the strength to get back to the beach.

  I glance at the board lying beside me. If I can do it, today will be my first time back in the ocean. It’s supposed to be my first day back. I just haven’t been able to get off my ass and into the water just yet.

  It’s early; the sun just broke over the horizon about half an hour ago and the morning is flawless. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting the morning’s rays touch my face.

  I’m utterly relaxed on the beach, but I’m also at home when I’m working; when I’m strategizing, planning, or embarking on a mission with my team. Working out in the mission field is about as far from the dream my father laid out for me as possible, and this is one of the reasons I love it so damn much. He pulled all the strings he could so that, as an officer graduating from Navy a couple of years ago I’d be placed behind a desk and rise quickly through the ranks without ever touching a battlefield.

  He didn’t anticipate the fact that I had my own plans for my life, my own goals and ambitions. I wasn’t going to be just a douche in a uniform telling other guys what to do, never having lived it myself. If I was going to order other men around, it was going to be while I was risking my life right there beside them.

  And my father, Admiral Michael Abbot, would just have to deal with it.

  Lawson Snyder disturbs the sand beside me as he dives into place and sprawls out. He places his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. His wet suit is hanging out down around his waist, and his tattoo-covered torso is on display.

  “Dude,” I slap him on the chest. “That was awesome out there. You’ve been practicing.”

  He chuckles. “Thanks, man. That’s high praise coming from a beachcomber like you. Us corn-fed Nebraskan boys don’t grow up riding the waves. Took me a while to learn.”

  True. But now that Lawson has found surfing, he’ll never quit. There’s something about getting lost in the sea and letting the waves guide you back to shore that’s addictive.

  We sit quietly while Lawson catches his breath, and before long our other surfing buddy and team member, Ben McBride, joins us. We don’t call him Ben, though.

  “Get your ass up, Abbot!” yells Ben as he runs out of the waves. “You said today was the day!”

  I watch him approach. “Did I say that, Cowboy? I meant today was the day I’m keeping my ass planted in the sand. Tomorrow’s the day I get back on the board.”

  “Bullshit!” Ben runs at me, feinting like he’s going to tackle me into the sand. I dodge left, laughing as he ends up on his face.

  “Still too fast for your ass,” I gloat. Grinning at Lawson, we high-five.

  “Too slow, Cowboy.” Lawson sounds ashamed of Ben as he shakes his head. “Even missing a limb, Abbot’s got you beat every single time.”

  “That’s why he’s team leader. I don’t give a shit. Can we go grab some waffles now if you ain’t surfing today?”

  I nod, dusting off my hands. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  They grab their boards and take off toward the steps that lead to the parking lot. I have my own car; I’ll meet them at the Waffle King in a few minutes. They’ll probably be scarfing down their piles of food by then. I just need another minute with the ocean.

  Just months ago, I was still stuck in a place with no ocean. I was in that faraway desert for four months before I was flown to a naval hospital in Germany, only two weeks shy of my assigned homecoming. I let my mind temporarily drift back to that last fateful day in Syria. The things I remember the most vividly are the smells.

  The smell of gasoline. The smell of burning rubber and plastic. The smell of dry, desert air as the darkness exploded with orange light. The smell of blood. Your own blood smells really fucking distinct. It’s a scent you can never erase from your memory.

  Yeah, the smells are still with me every single day.

  I’m torn from my thoughts when I hear the scream. It was short and staccato, possibly cut off by the waves.

  I sit up straight, my eyes searching the ocean for the source of the scream. Without even realizing it’s happening, adrenaline is surging through my body in a way I haven’t felt in months. My muscles are taut, alert. My senses are kicking into overdrive as my eyes search the blue-green sea and my ears strain for foreign sounds.

  This is a private spot on the beach, usually only occupied by surfers. At seven-fifteen on a Wednesday morning, it’s nearly deserted. I scan the sand and notice there’s a beach bag and towel about twenty feet to my left and behind me. I’m not sure when that person got into the water, maybe when my eyes were closed. Maybe when I was thinking about the desert.

  When I turn my eyes back toward the ocean, I see it. There’s an orange and pink surfboard drifting in the waves, minus its rider. I’m up from the sand in seconds, raising a hand to my eyes to scan the water for the missing surfer. I don’t need to search the small stretch of beach behind me to see there’s no lifeguard stand here. There’s a sign on the old, twisty steps leading down to the shore that this is a private stretch and there’s no lifeguard on duty.

  I step forward, and the foamy sea rolls over my foot. I stare down at it. It’s been so long since I’ve felt it; I’m having a weird reaction. My blood is pumping in my ears and I can feel a thin sheen of sweat breaking out all over my skin that has nothing to do with the sun and the heat.

  Then, out past the breaking point, a small figure surfaces, floating on top of the rising and falling swells. I watch for movement and don’t see any.

  I don’t think. I just react.

  Taking two running steps, I rush into the waves and dive headfirst into the ocean. I use my arms to pull my body through the rolling waves, kicking out hard behind me. I’m a skilled swimmer; it’s kind of mandatory in my job description, but I’ve been a good swimmer for my entire life. Even though this is my first time in the ocean since the accident, it doesn’t take long at all for me to reach the girl floating unconscious in the water. Her raven-colored hair floats around her. Without a second look I flip her on her back, pulling her under one of my arms. Then I use the other to cut through the salt water once more, this time with the beach set in my sights.

  I’m winded when I reach the sand, but I stumble up onto the beach carrying the still girl in my arms. I fall to my knees, laying her gently on the sand. Then, still running on autopilot, I brush her hair from her face so that I can assess her situation.

  As soon as her face is clear of her long, dark mane, I suck in a breath as recognition slams into me like a truck.

  “Holy shit,” I murmur. “Greta? Come on, girl, you gotta wake up for me.”

  She doesn’t move.

  Breathe for her. Her gorgeous face is turning blue. I use my fingers to tilt her chin back and then I lean in and breathe life into her mouth twice.

  Chest compressions. My hands are centered
on her chest and I watch her face carefully as I press down repeatedly, counting aloud each time I pump. After thirty compressions, I return to her mouth, pinching her nose closed and breathing in twice.

  Repeat. I repeat the process, pushing all fear out of my head. “Come on, Greta! Berkeley will kill me if I let you die. Wake up, dammit!”

  Suddenly, she splutters, taking a huge, gasping breath and ocean water pours out of her mouth. I quickly turn her on her side and she retches, coughing again and again. When she’s finished, I gently help her sit up on the sand, and I brush her hair out of her face as her crystal blue eyes finally focus on me.

  “There you are,” I breathe. “Hey, beautiful. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  I repeat the phrase again and again, rubbing her back with one hand while she gains her bearings. She blinks rapidly a few times, and then croaks out in a hoarse voice.

  “Grisham? Grisham Abbot?”

  I smile, grateful to hear my name falling from her mouth right now. “It’s me. Been awhile, huh?”

  She nods, coughing again. She raises a hand to her head and winces. That’s when I see the blood, nearly hidden in her hair at the top of her forehead.

  “Damn. That’s a nasty cut. That probably happened when you fell off your board. Let me take you to the hospital, okay?”

  She shakes her head. “I hate hospitals. I was just there with my little sister a few days ago. I’ll go to urgent care.”

  I shake my head. “Not by yourself. I’ll take you.”

  She looks reluctant, but nods her head. “Okay.”

  I stand, holding out my hand to her. “Do you think you can stand and walk? If not, I’ll carry you.”