Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  ‘And what does this have to do with coins?’ A markedly bemused smile was appearing on his face.

  ‘I never knew why I kept them, I just did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I decided this morning that I was going to throw them in the brown envelope that came around if you and Candy got married.’

  ‘You’d have stayed?’

  ‘I like my life, Iosef. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am and I’m never going to walk away from it. It would just be very nice if you were here beside me.’

  ‘And you really love me?’ Iosef checked.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Annie nodded. ‘Now that I know that I can. I love you because you’re so horrible and rude but you still make me laugh. I love you because—and I’m sorry if it’s shallow—you’re fabulous in bed and make me think that I am, too. And I love you because …’ She wasn’t laughing now and she wasn’t crying. The moral gauge that had wobbled for so long now finally settled as she found her truth—not today’s truth but finally accepting all that had come before and knowing, knowing she could deal with all that lay ahead. ‘Somehow I knew that we were better than that—somehow I knew I was too … Somehow I knew that you really loved me.’

  ‘And I do.’

  Which was fab and everything, but he was playing with the top of her pyjamas, the kisses that were raining on her face becoming just a touch more insistent now—and because there could be no more secrets, because she’d insisted on it, Annie had to make time for one last confession.

  ‘I don’t have a body image problem.’

  ‘Good …’ Every button was open now, his lips nuzzling her breasts, his fingers stealing down her waist towards the darkest female secret of them all. ‘Because your body’s fantastic.’

  ‘Just …’she wriggled an inch, frantic eyes catching his as love swept in and again caught her totally unprepared ‘… a teeny-weeny body-hair issue at the moment …’

  ‘Try.’ he said, slipping down her pyjama bottoms and sending her straight to a heavenly torture. ‘Try, try and try again, and never will you turn me off.’

  ‘Never?’ Annie checked.

  ‘Never,’ Iosef affirmed.

  EPILOGUE

  IT SHOULD seem the strangest of weddings but for Annie it was perfect.

  If they wanted Levander and Millie to be there—which they did—then it had to be quick, and given they had just buried Ivan, it had to be low key.

  Low on preparation but high on love.

  Everyone they cared for, and didn’t really, crammed the registry office and the fabulous dinner afterwards. Annie’s sisters pursing their lips in jealousy yet trying to smile; her parents utterly bemused and trying not to show their surprise that their dizzy, kind but not exceptionally gifted daughter had actually been the one who had rocketed them up in social status.

  ‘They’re wondering what on earth you see in me!’ Annie smiled as her entire family stared open-mouthed at the very happy couple.

  ‘You’ve got it the wrong way round,’ Iosef countered, but Annie shook her head and laughed.

  ‘Believe me, I haven’t!’

  ‘Well—more fools them, then!’

  Nina made a discreet, but later well-publicised, appearance. In just a couple of weeks she seemed to have aged a decade—as if every one of her sins had caught up with her.

  And despite having learned more of Nina’s role in Levander’s abandonment, Annie kept her promise to herself not to judge.

  She gave her a hug and thanked her for coming, told her that it was lovely to see her and watched with admiration and pride as somehow Millie and Levander said pretty much the same.

  Weddings, even low key, very spontaneous ones, were, though, very hard work.

  A sort of concentration of emotions and feelings and people who were either desperate to be together or desperate to be apart.

  Still, there was always a good party afterwards!

  Everyone they really adored squeezed into Iosef’s that night as Millie and Levander packed their bags in preparation for their early morning flight.

  ‘You should have booked a hotel,’ Millie chided from the bedroom, frantically trying to squeeze milk through a breast pump so she could freeze it for the flight back to the UK the next day. ‘It’s your wedding night and the two of you are stuck with us lot.’

  ‘But we love you lot.’

  ‘You’ll come and see us in England?’ Millie asked for the hundredth time.

  ‘I think Iosef’s already booked the flights!’

  ‘George wants to play strip poker!’ Annika, Iosef’s younger sister, plonked herself on the bed. ‘I think things are starting to get out of hand.’

  ‘Talk to George!’ Annie mouthed as Iosef wandered into the bedroom and promptly wandered out again.

  Jackie then wandered in with a lime margarita, Levander turned on a massive plasma TV and ignored the women who sat chatting on the bed.

  ‘I think I made a better bridesmaid than bride.’ Annie stared down at her pale lilac dress critically. ‘I was really gorgeous, you know.’

  ‘You look fab,’ Millie scolded. ‘I wore jeans for my wedding.’

  ‘Poor Mum.’ Annika actually laughed. ‘She longs for a big white wedding, for a Kolovsky dress to be on the news. There’s still me, she says sadly, and Aleksi, too, I remind her.’

  On cue he entered—shuddering at the thought.

  ‘Not a chance! Is this where the action is?’ he asked, sprawling on the bed. ‘Best wedding I’ve been to, by the way, Annie.’ Then flinched as Millie dug him in the ribs. ‘Well, one of the best …’

  And it was family, just a crazy family that had never been like this before—one night that could never happen again, one night when for the first time they were all united.

  Till Iosef came back.

  ‘Out …’ He shooed them like flies, flicked off the television when Levander didn’t budge, ushered out a giggling Annika and Jackie and even screwed on the top of Millie’s bottle of breast milk as he pushed her out, too. ‘If you lot don’t mind, I’d actually like to spend time with my wife.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Annie laughed when finally he turned the lock, when finally, despite the high antics outside the room, they were alone.

  ‘You really don’t, do you?’

  ‘Not a scrap.’

  ‘It’s our wedding night,’ Iosef attempted. ‘It should be about us.’

  ‘This is us …’ Annie said softly, holding him close, drinking him in. ‘This is about family and friends and still being able to be yourself. Anyway, we’ve got plenty of nights ahead when it’s just the two of us—let’s just enjoy them all for tonight.’

  ‘I love you.’

  He said it again for the umpteenth time, held her so close she could barely squeeze out her answer, but hearing it again there on their wedding night it was like a poultice on a wound. She just accepted the relief that came with it.

  ‘I know that you do.’

  HER CELEBRITY

  SURGEON

  Kate Hardy

  About the Author

  KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools; she’s a school governor and chair of the PTA. She also loves cooking—see if you can spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.)

  Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She writes for Modern™ and Medical™. She says it’s the best of both worlds because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book; add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

  Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

  For Magg
ie, Sue and Sandy—with love

  CHAPTER ONE

  HALF past eight. Sophie groaned inwardly. She’d probably missed the party for Guy’s promotion to Director of Surgery, but no way could she have left her patient in the middle of the operating table. And she never, but never, left the ward until her patients had been round from the anaesthetic for at least half an hour. You never knew with surgery: one moment, your patient was fine; the next, all hell could be let loose and you might even need to go back into Theatre.

  But when she finally made it into the wine bar opposite the hospital, Guy was on his own. ‘Don’t tell me that rotten lot went off to get food and gave you the short straw of waiting till I got here, when it’s your party?’ she asked.

  ‘No. The party’s off.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘The job went to an external candidate.’

  ‘Oh, Guy. I’m so sorry.’ He was a brilliant surgeon and a nice bloke, too. It really wasn’t fair. ‘I was so sure …’

  ‘It means you’re stuck where you are, too, Soph.’

  Because she’d been in line for promotion to Guy’s job. She waved her hand to protest at his bitter tone. ‘Hey. My promotion wasn’t a given, anyway. They couldn’t advertise the job until your promotion had been announced—and I might not even have made it to the interview stage.’ She could see in his face that he was brooding. And he’d had more than his share of hassles this year, with an acrimonious divorce. His wife had blamed her affair on Guy spending too much time on his career. Time that clearly hadn’t paid off.

  ‘Come on, let’s have a commiseration drink instead. I’ll shout you a curry. We can put the world to rights, and stick two fingers up at the hospital board—who clearly can’t see talent when it’s two millimetres in front of their noses.’

  ‘You’re good for my ego.’

  Not as good as Abby would have been—Guy’s house officer, who’d admitted to Sophie in the changing rooms a few weeks ago that she had the hots for Guy—but Sophie could work on that. A few judiciously dropped hints, and maybe Guy would see what was two millimetres in front of his nose.

  When they’d settled themselves comfortably in the local curry house and ordered their meal, Sophie turned the conversation back to Guy’s bad news.

  ‘I hate to rub salt in your wounds, Guy, but do you know anything about the new director of surgery?’

  ‘R. C. Radley, you mean?’

  The name was familiar, but she couldn’t think why. She nodded.

  ‘He’s a plastic surgeon.’

  ‘We’re going to have a nip-and-tuck merchant in charge of surgery? Oh, great. No prizes for guessing where all the new equipment’s going to go, then.’ Damn. And she’d raised half the money for the equipment she had her eye on. It looked as if she’d have to raise the other half, too.

  ‘And he went to a certain well-known public school.’

  Uh-oh. There was a distinct whiff of fish in the air. ‘Eton?’

  Guy nodded.

  Like some of the members of the board. Sophie rolled her eyes. Now she understood what had been puzzling her—why Guy had been passed over. ‘So the old-boy network strikes again, then?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘It sucks, Guy, it really does—but don’t let it get to you. There’ll be other chances.’ She raised her glass of beer. ‘Here’s to us. You and me, and a brilliant surgical team.’ Though she wasn’t going to drink to their new director of surgery. Not until after she’d met him and seen if he was worth drinking to.

  ‘Mr R. C. Radley. Why does his name ring a bell?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s not a Mr. He’s a lord.’

  ‘He’s a what?’

  ‘A baron,’ Guy told her.

  Baron Radley? The board had appointed a baron to run the surgical team? Sophie’s mouth tightened. ‘So instead of giving the job to someone who can do it blindfolded, the board’s made a political appointment. Someone who’s got the right name and the right title.’ And the right accent. Sharp, braying, coupled with a mocking, hearty guffaw as he. She shook herself. No. That had been years ago, and she was over it now. Over it.

  ‘Soph, hang on. You’re being a bit—’

  ‘No, I’m absolutely right,’ she cut in. ‘They’ve gone for something that will bring some press coverage for the hospital, instead of thinking about what’s right for the patients. And that stinks.’ She frowned again. ‘Baron Radley … Isn’t he the one in all the gossip mags?’ The ones her mum read. Now she remembered where she’d heard the name. Celebrity Life. Baron Radley had been photographed with just about every eligible woman in London—every woman with a title or who looked like a supermodel. There was a different woman on his arm every time he went somewhere. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, what does the board think they’re doing? We ought to—’

  ‘Leave it, Soph,’ Guy warned. ‘Like you said, there’ll be other chances. None of us can expect to get every job we go for.’

  ‘But it’s wrong. It’s morally wrong that they’ve picked someone with a title instead of someone who can do the job.’

  ‘He might be a good surgeon. And there’s nothing we can do about it anyway.’

  She sighed, knowing that he was right. ‘At least, working in general surgery, we won’t have to have much to do with him,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s just forget about it, yeah?’ Guy asked.

  She nodded as their curry arrived, but the knot of tension at the back of her neck was starting to tighten again. How old was their new director of surgery exactly? Had he been one of the gang who …?

  She wasn’t going to think about them. It had been years ago. If she let the memories hold her back, they’d win. And she was damned sure they weren’t going to grind her into the dust again. The chances were, R. C. Radley hadn’t been one of them anyway. He was probably Guy’s age, in his mid-to-late thirties—he’d probably finished med school before Sophie had even finished her A-levels. She certainly couldn’t remember being at med school with anybody called Radley. And if he was older than she was, it was unlikely he’d been part of their social set either.

  They kept the conversation on more neutral topics for the rest of the meal—avoiding hospital politics—but as they left the restaurant Sophie realised with dismay that Guy must have drunk several glasses of wine while he’d been waiting for her to turn up, as well as several beers during their meal. Not only was he slightly unsteady on his feet but, when Sophie steadied his arm, he put his arms round her and tried to kiss her.

  Sophie turned her face away so his lips landed wetly on her cheek. ‘Come on, Guy. I’ll call a cab to get you home.’

  ‘Come home with me, Soph.’

  ‘Not a good idea. You’d regret it in the morning.’

  He smiled. ‘Waking up to a gorgeous girl like you? No.’

  She shook her head. ‘Guy, it’s the drink talking. I’m your mate, not your girlfriend. You used to be my boss, remember?’

  ‘Not since you got promoted and moved over to Andy’s team.’

  Mmm, and she couldn’t use the ‘we can’t mix work and a relationship’ argument if she wanted to get him together with Abby—not when he was Abby’s boss! ‘I’m focusing on my career, Guy,’ she said gently yet firmly.

  ‘And because I didn’t get the job, you’re not interested?’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘If I didn’t think you’re drunk and don’t really know what you’re saying, I’d slap your face for that. I don’t sleep my way up the ladder, Guy. In fact, I don’t do relationships at all, and you know that—my career comes first, last and always. We’re friends, and I’d like to keep it that way.’

  ‘Maybe I’d like more.’

  The voices grated in her head again. And I’m going to take it.

  She forced the memory back where it belonged. ‘Not with me, you wouldn’t. Guy, you’re a nice bloke, but I’m not interested in anything more than friendship from you. From anyone.’ She sighed. ‘I’m beginning t
o think you’re as shortsighted as the board.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that there are other women in our department. Women who might like you and be interested in having a relationship with you.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I’m not telling you when you’re drunk! Ask me when you’re sober, and I might give you a clue.’

  ‘Soph, you’re a tease.’

  And teases get what they ask for.

  Again, she pushed the words away. ‘Guy, just shut up and get in the taxi.’ She bundled him into the back of the black cab she’d managed to hail, closed the door, gave Guy’s address to the cabbie and paid him to take Guy home. Then she walked back to her own flat, made herself a strong cup of coffee and sifted through her post. Junk mail, more junk mail, a bank statement and a postcard from Sandy in Tokyo.

  Sometimes she wished she’d had the nerve to do what her friend Sandy had done and taken a year out to travel. She could have rented her flat out for a year and gone round the world with Sandy. Had adventures. But, no, she’d been too staid and sensible. Surgical jobs weren’t as easy to come by as emergency department jobs, so she’d declined Sandy’s offer.

  Did that make her boring? Maybe. But she’d worked hard to get as far as she had. Taking a year out would have set her back too much. She’d done the right thing.

  Her mum had also popped round, found Sophie was out and had scribbled a note on the front cover of her favourite gossip magazine. Missed you. Call me. Sophie grinned. Typical. She’d even written her duty on her mother’s kitchen calendar, so her mum would know know exactly when Sophie was likely to be at home—and Fran completely ignored it. Scatty didn’t even begin to describe her. And Sophie adored her for it.

  Idly, she sipped her coffee and flicked through the magazine. She really didn’t understand what her mum saw in this kind of stuff. Who cared where celebs went or what their houses looked like?