Holdin' On for a Hero (2 page)

She wasn
’
t sure what he was going to do
.
He knelt in front of her and pulled her over to the edge of the bed
,
spreading her legs
,
and she almost chickened out
.
She had never been so exposed to a man
’
s eyes
.
He lowered his head and lapped at her wet channel and she nearly fainted from the sensation
.
She had never imagined
.
It made her skin burn
,
her toes curl and her muscles tense
.

His tongue flicked inside her
,
probing and withdrawing
.
She gripped the bedcovers
,
thrusting against his questing tongue for more of the delicious sensations
.
His tongue moved higher
,
circling her clit
.
She couldn
’
t stop the gasp that burst from her
.
When he sucked her clit into his mouth
,
her legs spread as if of their own accord
.
Her hands moved to fist in his hair
.
Her body arched back
,
the veins in her neck standing out as she panted and moaned
.

Something expanded inside her mind and abdomen
,
swelling until it consumed her and her clit burned and throbbed like it was going to explode
.
It wasn
’
t long until the sensation overwhelmed her and she was consumed by the most exquisite feeling she had ever experienced
.
She collapsed on the bed
,
feeling strangely spent
.

He rose and dropped his pants and her eyes grew round
.
She had imagined him naked more times than she could count
,
but imagination did not do him justice
.
He was totally beautiful
,
strong and tall and perfectly proportioned
.
Her eyes moved up
,
seeking his
.

Wyatt
’
s dark eyes were intense and seemed to draw her in
.
She read longing in their dark depths
,
and something that told her this was as important to him as it was to her
.
He gave her a gentle smile and stroked his hand down the side of her face
.

Chance closed her eyes and felt his hands move to softly spread her legs
.
She opened her eyes as he lowered himself down
,
guiding himself into her
.
Before he was fully seated inside her
,
he met with resistance
.
He looked at her and for a moment they were frozen
.
She knew that he would stop if she asked
,
that he did not want to hurt her
.
But she didn
’
t want him to stop
.
She nodded
,
biting her lip against the pain
.

He pushed through the thin membrane and paused again
,
giving her the opportunity to stop what was happening
.
She could feel the tension in his body
,
and searched his eyes
.
What she saw in them told her that regardless of what had gone before this moment
,
Wyatt
’
s feelings for her ran deep
.

“
Don
’
t stop
,”
she begged
.
The pain was already vanishing
,
to be replaced with a new longing
.
“
Please
.”

Jolted from dream by the shrill ring of the phone, Chance rolled over and fumbled for her cell phone in the dark. With her heart in her throat she lifted it to her ear. No one called in the middle of the night unless it was to relay bad news.

“Hello?” Her voice was thick with a combination of sleep and fear.

“Chance? Is that you? I-I wanted…I needed to…I had to talk…” the voice trailed off.

Chance sat straight up in bed. “Wyatt? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

“I called your father’s house and Abbott gave me this number.” He didn’t answer her questions.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s starting again.” Wyatt’s voice sounded slurred and strained. “I never should have…”

“What’s starting? Wyatt, what’re you talking about?”

There was no reply to her questions. She turned on the light beside the bed, glancing at the time on the alarm clock. It was just after three in the morning.

“Wyatt? Are you still there? Are you talking about some mission you were sent on?”

“Forget I called,” he mumbled. “Just forget…”

“No, wait!” she exclaimed, afraid that he would hang up. “Wyatt, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t get away from it,” he replied after a long moment of silence. “It follows me and I can’t escape it. I’ve tried.”

“Escape what? Wyatt, you’re not making sense. What are you fighting? Please, just tell me where you are and I’ll come. We’ll figure out something, I promise. But I need to know where you are.”

“No, forget I called.”

“Wyatt, don’t—” she exclaimed. “…hang up,” she finished to a dead line.  She checked the caller ID to see where the number originated.  All that displayed was a Unknown message, indicating that the number was blocked.

She replaced the receiver and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling. Her heart was racing to keep up with the thoughts that tore through her mind.
What
’
s going on
?
He
’
s got to be in some kind of trouble
.
But how do I help him if I don
’
t know where he is
?
Damn
!
What do I do
?

After a few minutes she turned off the light and lay down, but she was too troubled by the call to sleep. She got out of bed, threw on a robe and went downstairs. After she put on a pot of coffee she brushed her teeth and washed her face. The coffee was ready when she returned to the kitchen. She poured herself a cup and walked into the den, stopping in front of the window to stare out at the darkness.

She hadn’t heard anything from Wyatt for over three years, since Patricia’s birthday party. As far as she knew he was still in the Navy, part of their special forces, the SEALs. For him to contact her at all was a surprise. For him to sound so desperate was frightening.

Hearing his voice had caused feelings to surface she’d spent almost her whole life trying to suppress. She felt the all too familiar heaviness settle in her chest and fought to push back the anguish.

For a long time she stood frozen in front of the window, staring sightlessly out into the darkness. The forgotten cup of coffee grew cold in her hand. At last she sighed and turned away from the window. She put the cup down on the kitchen counter and returned to the bedroom. In the bottom drawer of the dresser was an old photo album, one she had purposely not looked at in years. She took it from the drawer, sat down on the bed and opened it.

The first thing that met her eyes was a picture taken twenty-two years ago at her father’s estate. It was of a tiny fair-haired girl with uncommonly light eyes and a dark-haired boy with eyes so black they appeared bottomless. The children were sitting on the back of a big bay horse, the boy’s arms holding the little girl securely as she smiled at the camera.

The children in the picture were she and Wyatt. It was taken only a couple of weeks after he came to live with her family. At the time she was almost five and he was ten.

After Chance was much older, she had wondered why Wyatt’s father and grandfather would have allowed him to come live with them.  According to Adeola, the woman who raised Chance, Wyatt’s father felt that removing him from the place where his mother died would help him to recover from her death. 

Chance smiled sadly and turned the page. The album was filled with pictures of the two of them. His childhood was recorded in the photos, as was her own. She flipped slowly through the pages, remembering the past. The last picture was of Wyatt and his third wife, Ashley. Wyatt was in his dress uniform and Ashley wore a flowery summer dress. They were standing on the deck of Chance’s family’s beach house. The picture had been taken on Patricia’s birthday, three years ago. That was the last time Chance had seen or spoken to Wyatt.

She ran her finger over his image for a moment then closed the book. Nothing good could come out of reliving the past. Much as she wished things had worked out differently, they simply had not. Wyatt had not shared her feelings then and didn’t now.

But he called
, she told herself as she slid the album back into its drawer. He was obviously very upset so something had to be wrong. She couldn’t just forget about it and pretend that it hadn’t happened.

You mean you don’t want to,
a little voice said in her mind.
You want to think that he needs you.

She shook her head and stripped off her robe.
He wouldn
’
t have called if he didn
’
t need me
, she argued silently.
I can
’
t turn my back on him
.

Chance ignored the little voice in her mind that was telling her it was wishful thinking to believe that Wyatt could need her for anything. Somehow she had to locate him and find out what was going on.

* * * * *

Wyatt threw the empty liquor bottle on the floor and ran his hands back through his hair. The room swam, tilting from one side to the other.

He knew he was drunk, but not nearly drunk enough. He could not erase what he had done from his mind.

Of all the people on the planet, why in hell did you have to call her?
he asked himself.

“Why is right,” he said aloud. “Like I need more hell right now. Wyatt, you’re one dumb son of a bitch.”

He climbed unsteadily off the bed and made his way downstairs, holding on to the railing as the alcohol robbed him of balance. He made it to the couch and flopped down, throwing his feet up on the coffee table.

He stared morosely into the fire, trying to dispel the images that came unbidden to his mind. “Chance,” he said without being aware he had spoken until the sound of his own voice surprised him. “Damn, I really screwed up. The last thing I need is her.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Chance Davenport was a closed chapter in his life. She had been for a long time. At least he had tried to make it so.

When they were young she had fooled him into feeling like he was her hero, always looking up to him and praising everything he did like he was something special. As a child he had thought she was the only person in the world who truly cared about him. But things changed. They grew up and he found out the truth. She was no different than all the other rich white people. She had used him and betrayed him. Her betrayal was the worst thing he had ever experienced because he had never seen it coming.

“And so now you call her!” he growled as he pulled a quilt over himself.

So?
a voice inside him asked.
What difference does it make? She’ll laugh it off and forget it—forget you. Get over it and get on with your life. Chance Davenport is poison. She always has been.

Wyatt nodded in silent agreement with the voice and pulled the quilt up higher around his shoulders. Moments later he was out cold.

* * * * *

Chance had been pacing the floor for hours by the time the sun came up. Unable to be patient any longer, she picked up the phone and called her father’s house. Abbott Macdougal, the butler, answered the phone. “Davenport residence. May I help you?”

“Abbott, hi! This is Chance. When you spoke to Wyatt, did he say where he is?”

“No, I’m sorry. He didn’t.”

“He didn’t give you any idea? Think, Abbott. It’s really important.”

“I’m sorry, but he didn’t say.”

“Okay,” she relented with a sigh, then an idea occurred to her. “Abbott, I need to talk to my father.”

“Mr. Davenport has not yet come downstairs, Miss Chance. Shall I have him ring you when he awakens?”

“No, I need to talk to him now. Will you put the call through to his room, please?”

“Very well. Please hold.”