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Once a Hero...
Jillian Burns
Sassy heroines and irresistible heroes embark on sizzling sexual adventures as they play the game of modern love and lust. Expect fast paced reads with plenty of steamy encounters.Once a hero…always a hero. Subject: Captain Luke Andrews, MD. Current Status: On stress leave in beautiful Hawaii. Mission: Rest and recovery. Obstacle: There’s no rest from the wicked chemistry he’s found with her. After a too-close-for-comfort brush with cancer, ocean photographer Kristen Turner heads to Hawaii for three months, determined to never take life for granted again.Then fate handed her a smokin’-hot opportunity she couldn’t resist… Cpt. Luke Andrews has got to get some serious R&R, but he can't keep his hands off Kristen–his mysterious beauty.Spending his nights with her seems more dangerous than his last mission. So is this hot little vacation romp an escape from real life… or will the survivor and the hero battle it out for the long haul and learn to live each day as a gift? Uniformly Hot! The Few. The Proud. The Sexy as Hell!
Dear Reader,
I’m embarrassed to say this story began with one simple idea. I wanted a love scene under a waterfall.
I mentioned this to my Romance Book Club members and one of them, who’d just returned from a trip, said, “There are plenty of waterfalls in Hawaii.”
At the time, I’d just finished writing Primal Calling, set in the coldest part of Alaska, and I was ready for some sunny tropical weather. How simple, right? But, I hope I made up for it with my characters. A discussion at Book Club around that time was about a breast cancer survivor, and immediately a character started forming in my mind.
The heroine—a breast cancer survivor—and the hero, an Army Captain with PTSD, are definitely dark subjects, and not necessarily conducive to romance. But then, if there’s anything I believe in, it’s the power of love. Love for self, love for family members, and even love for a lonely man haunted by guilt. Love can make you a better person, love can give you the strength to overcome adversity, and love can heal a scarred soul. I hope you enjoy Kristen’s and Luke’s struggle to love each other and let that love heal what was once broken.
I so enjoy hearing from readers. You can reach me through my website www.jillianburns.com and while you’re there check out my latest news and future releases.
Jillian Burns
About the Author
JILLIAN BURNS has always read romance, and spent her teens immersed in the worlds of Jane Eyre and Elizabeth Bennet. She lives in Texas with her husband of twenty years and their three active kids. Jillian likes to think her emotional nature—sometimes referred to as moodiness—has found the perfect outlet in writing stories filled with passion and romance. She believes romance novels have the power to change lives with their message of eternal love and hope.
Once a Hero …
Jillian Burns
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all US service members
with Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. You are not
alone and your country owes you a debt of gratitude.
Acknowledgements
This story wouldn’t have happened without my
wonderful Romance Book Club friends
Deb, Kelley, and Arline!
I owe my SCUBA information to my god-daughter,
Jennifer, my sanity to my two critique partners
extraordinaire, Pam and Linda, and my clean
laundry to my heroic husband, who never complains
about my deadline craziness. I also need to express
deep gratitude to my editor, Kathryn.
1
“CALL 9-1-1!” KRISTEN TURNER yelled at the gathering crowd.
A piercing scream wasn’t all that unusual at the Tradewinds Bar and Grill late at night, except this scream had come from a gray-haired woman in a flowered muumuu, and the paunchy older gentleman beside her was flailing about, his face as red-and-purple-mottled as a Maui sunset.
The man was choking.
Kristen knew how to do the Heimlich—in theory—but getting her arms around this nice, but rather barrel-chested man, might be tough.
Before she could move behind him, a tall, dark-haired man swooped in, wrapped his long, muscular arms around the man and administered the Heimlich so perfectly, the chunk of BBQ chicken wing flew out of the older man’s throat and landed on the table.
The crowd applauded and whistled, but the mystery hero slowly lowered the older man to the floor and put his ear to the man’s chest.
The older man’s eyes were closed and the mystery man began performing CPR on him. He gave four harsh pumps to the man’s chest, and then held the man’s nose shut and breathed into his mouth a couple of times. Another four strong pushes on the chest, and another set of mouth-to-mouths.
Oblivious to the crowd around him, the guy worked tirelessly. Kristen could see beads of sweat rolling down his temple as he put everything he had into saving the other man’s life.
The wail of sirens approached and then paramedics elbowed their way through the crowd and knelt beside the fallen man. But just as they got out their equipment, the mystery hero stopped pumping and the older man drew in a quick breath and opened his eyes. The wife was hysterical as she hugged her husband. One of the paramedics eased her away while the other examined her husband.
They put on a blood-pressure cuff and stuck some round pads, attached to wires, on his chest and started an IV, but … the old man was already conscious and talking. If it hadn’t been for the mystery man this night might have turned out quite differently.
Hairs on Kristen’s arms stood up and the goose bumps made her shiver.
The wife asked about the mystery man, wanted to thank him, and everyone looked around, but he’d disappeared.
The older gentleman was rolled away on a gurney, his wife trotting alongside him, holding his hand, and the rest of the customers went back to their tables and drinks. The Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ Safari” boomed through the speakers, and some tables raised their glasses in a toast to the “stranger who saved the day.”
Rubbing her arms, Kristen leaned in the doorway and stared after the ambulance as it drove away. Then she scanned the road both ways and the area all around the Tradewinds. But there was no sign of the mystery man, as she’d begun thinking of him. Who did that kind of thing in this day and age? Didn’t the guy want his fifteen minutes of fame?
It seemed not. The mystery man must subscribe to the comic-book code of life, where, once a hero saves the day, he flies off into the night and no one ever knows his true identity.
WITH A SHOUT, LUKE SHOT UP from his bed, blinking in the darkness until he found the green glow of the clock. 1:00 a.m. He pressed his palms to his eyes and swiped his hands through his sweat-soaked hair.
Another damned nightmare.
So much for getting any more sleep tonight.
Luke got out of bed, dropped to his stomach and counted out fifty push-ups. Then he rolled to his back, laced his fingers behind his head and did fifty crunches. After that, fifty lunges. But the images from his nightmare didn’t go away.
After a hot shower, he stepped into his jeans and padded out to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, grabbed the white carton of leftover sesame chicken and the chopsticks, and carried them out of the condo. He rode the elevator down and crossed Kihei Road to a picnic table on Kamaole Beach.
The ocean breeze cooled his dampened face and body, and the constant crash of the waves calmed his thoughts. His buddy John, back at Fort Sam Houston, had been half-right. Maui was peaceful, all right. The air here was soft, and perfumed with the sweet fragrance of tropical flowers. The palm trees swayed, and the ocean sparkled with moonlight. But the calm and quiet hadn’t stopped the nightmares.
Not yet, anyway.
He’d only been here a few days. John had generously lent him the use of his condo for the rest of Luke’s leave. Surely three more weeks of living on this island paradise would be enough to get his head straight.
A dog whined and Luke glanced in the direction of the sound. A scruffy mutt the size of a shepherd sat on his haunches staring at him. “What are you looking at?”
As if he’d understood perfectly, the dog made a point of glancing down at Luke’s Chinese food, and his tongue came out and licked his muzzle.
Aah. The guy was hungry. Okay, boy. Luke really didn’t want the rest. He set the carton down a few feet in front of him and before he’d even straightened up, the dog had lapped up what was left. He licked the container clean and then lay down with a loud sigh.
Luke bent down to retrieve the carton, turned to pitch it into the trash receptacle and stopped midpitch. Standing across the grassy slope, under the streetlight was a young woman, small and slim and wearing a white T-shirt and cutoffs. She tugged off her helmet and Luke’s heart literally jumped.
It was the girl, the waitress from the bar tonight. Had she followed him?
She crouched down to chain her bike to the rack, straightened and toed off her sneakers and then skipped down to the surf.
Her straight blond hair lifted in the gentle wind and Luke caught his breath when she raised her face and arms to the full moon, blew it a kiss and then twirled. Her smile put the moon’s glow to shame.
Before he could fully admire her slim legs she ran into the ocean. He jumped up to stop her, thinking she was crazy or suicidal. Who did that at two-thirty in the morning? But she darted back up to dry land as the waves crashed around her.
Frolicking. There was no other word for it. She was frolicking in the moonlit sea. Her laughter carried to him across the breeze and made his chest tighten. Such joy. If only she could bottle that up, he’d buy a case.
What was she doing? Was dancing in the ocean her own personal remedy for insomnia?
Maybe he was still dreaming. Wouldn’t that be cool? To be having this kind of dream and be getting a good night’s sleep while he was at it?
Not possible. His psyche could never conjure up someone so unusual. He held still, cloaked in the darkness of the tree cover, wondering what she’d do next.
As she headed back toward her bike, he swallowed and hoped she wouldn’t see him. But she was still twenty yards or more away and walked past without noticing him. Reaching her bike, she unlocked the chain, and then walked it across the street and into the foyer of his condo building.
They were neighbors?
Luke got up and headed over to the condo. The dog trotted after him and tried to slip inside the lobby door as Luke opened it.
“Hold on there, mutt.” Luke closed the door with both of them still outside. But under the bright lobby lights shining through the glass Luke saw what looked like blood, still wet, all over the dog’s left side. “What the …” He squatted to get a closer look and the dog sat, panting up at him trustingly.
Luke’s shoulders slumped. The mutt had been scraped by something. A car, a boulder, something rough. He checked for broken ribs and didn’t feel any, but the dog could have internal injuries. Still, even if he knew where a vet’s office was, it probably wouldn’t be open at two-thirty in the morning. There were gauze and bandages in the condo….
He let out an audible sigh, opened the door and ushered the dog inside the lobby and up the elevator to his condo.
He’d take him to a vet first thing tomorrow.
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Luke lay in bed, staring at the rattan dresser across the bedroom. How did they get that wood to curlicue like that? And was the cane naturally that color or was that painted?
Nice. He’d been reduced to wondering about furniture making.
Close your eyes, Andrews. Relax. Deep breaths …
Forget it. He flipped back the sheets, swung his legs off the mattress and dropped to the floor for his usual workout.
The mutt, now bathed and bandaged, lifted his head, but otherwise remained lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.
The vet had said the dog was a shepherd mix, x-rayed it for internal injuries and found none. But he hadn’t had room to board the stray. The vet prescribed a bottle of antibiotics and directions to the nearest shelter ten miles away in Puunene. Luke planned to drop him off there in a couple of days, after the mutt healed a little more.
Tomorrow he’d have to get some dog food and some more bandages. In the meantime, no sense wasting a 60” flat screen and nine hundred channels….
LUKE JERKED AWAKE ON a choked-off shout. Geez. He’d fallen asleep in the club chair in the living room. The dog whined and stuck his cold nose under Luke’s hand. Bleary-eyed, he found the TV remote, switched off the infomercial, then stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. The dream had been different this time. Bloodier.
Feeling nauseated, he avoided the mirror above the sink and made his way to the balcony. He opened the sliding glass door and stepped out into a salty sea breeze and the reassuring sound of crashing waves.
After a couple of deep gulps of air, he leaned his forearms on the railing and stared into the night sky. There was a bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Maybe he should try one. But he should be able to deal with this without resorting to medication, damn it.
Give it time, Andrews. The advice had come from John, along with the key to his condo. And John had studied psychotherapy before switching to orthopedics.
This was only Luke’s fourth day here.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of that same blonde he’d seen last night pedaling her bike southbound on Kihei Road. He turned his wrist and checked his watch. Two-thirty. Again.
She dismounted and chained her bike to the rack just as she’d done the night before. She wore the same outfit, too. She turned away and headed down to the surf. As she had the night before, the blonde lifted her face and arms to the moon. Was she some sort of new-age moon worshipper?
After playing in the surf awhile she went back to her bike and walked it to the condo. Just before she entered the foyer she looked up. Without thinking, he stepped back into the shadowed doorway.
Luke held his breath. What are you doing, Andrews, you moron? So what if she knew he’d been watching her?
Should he step out to the balcony and act as if he’d just gone back inside to get something? Smile and wave as if this were just a normal meeting? But he couldn’t force his lips to curve upward. It was almost as if he’d forgotten how to smile. But it turned out it didn’t matter. When he braved the balcony again, she was gone.
KRISTEN TURNER HURRIED into the tiny bathroom of the Tradewinds Bar and Grill, wiggled out of her grass skirt and toed off her high heels.
Amy followed her in, plunked her makeup bag next to the sink and started touching up her lipstick in the mirror. “You sure are in a hurry.”
Kristen froze in the act of unzipping her backpack and shrugged. “I’m just ready to get home and put my feet up.”
With Amy’s raised brows and pursed lips, she didn’t have to say the word Riiiight out loud.
But Kristen chose to ignore her. She pulled her shorts and sneakers from her backpack and stuffed the skirt and high heels in.
“You really think you’ll see him again tonight?” Amy turned away from the mirror and waggled her brows. “Captain Mysterious?”
Kristen grinned as she tied her shoelaces. The name the bar patrons had given him had stuck and the story had spread among the staff who hadn’t been working that night.
She’d barely caught a glimpse of him on the balcony, and had half convinced herself she’d conjured him up from wishful thinking. She couldn’t believe her hero from the other night lived in her building. But she’d have recognized that angled jaw and those biceps below his white T-shirt sleeves anywhere.
“If it’s him, he probably thinks I’m some psych-ward patient if he saw me in my ‘celebrate life’ moment.”
“Nah, I bet he’s into you. He probably noticed you that night he was here. Why else would he be waiting on his balcony at that time of night?”
“Uh, ‘cause he’s a serial killer stalking his next victim? Or a vampire? Or maybe he’s a werewolf watching for the full moon?”
Amy giggled as she rummaged around in her voluminous purse and pulled out a hairbrush. “Your own personal Edward or Jacob, huh? Which does he have? Edward’s smoldering passion, or Jacob’s rock-hard abs?”
