Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  He didn’t say a word, but she could see on his face that he didn’t believe her. What was his problem? Did he think all the have-nots wanted to see how the rich and famous lived? Well, she didn’t give a damn about money or fame. They weren’t important. It was who you were and how you behaved towards others that counted. And people of Charlie’s class forgot that way too often, in her view.

  ‘For your information, my mum never carries any paper on her. So when she wants to leave me a message, she scribbles one on the front of whatever magazine she happens to be reading at the time.’ Sophie lifted her chin. ‘We were supposed to have lunch tomorrow as I’ve got a half-day. But Mum obviously got the wrong day and popped over today. She’s the queen of scattiness.’

  And mine’s the queen of ice, Charlie thought. Or maybe women were just like that around him. Sophie certainly seemed to be freezing on him, and he had no idea what he’d said to upset her. All he’d done had been to ask about the gossip rag on the table. What had been the harm in that?

  ‘Look, I wasn’t questioning you. It’s up to you what you read. Or not,’ he added hastily as he saw her eyes harden.

  Sophie picked up the magazine and read the handwritten message on the paler parts of the photograph on the front cover. A smile softened her face. ‘Oh, yes!

  ‘What?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘She’s left me a cake. Which means we have pudding. And my mum makes the best cake in the world.’

  Something that should be patented, if it could turn someone’s mood from ice to sunshine at the mere mention of it—but Charlie kept that thought to himself. He didn’t want any more misunderstandings between them.

  She dropped the magazine on the worktop, finished making the coffee and handed him a mug. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony. Grab a chair and I’ll fix us some food.’

  ‘Can I do anything to help?’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Just chill. If you’re really bored, there are some medical journals in my living room.’

  ‘I’m all right here.’ Too tired to move, really. His last case in Theatre had left him drained. Sick. How could somebody deliberately burn another person? Particularly when that other person was so much smaller. Surely children should be protected by their parents, not from them?

  Though cruelty could take other forms than physical hurt. Emotional neglect, for starters.

  But he wasn’t going to think about that now. Not here.

  This was the last place he’d expected to find himself. Sitting in Sophie Harrison’s kitchen, watching her make pasta sauce. She was as precise in the kitchen as she was in the operating theatre, he thought as he watched her chop onions, garlic and mushrooms. She didn’t measure anything, he noticed as she tipped a large glug of red wine into the pot. And she worked fast. Somehow there was bread baking in the oven and pasta on the boil and, for the first time in a long, long while, Charlie felt at home. At peace. He could sit here for ages, just watching Sophie. There was something soothing about her. Balm to his soul.

  She brought heaped plates over to the table and added a plate of hot crusty bread and a tub of butter. ‘Are you on call tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me neither.’ She poured two glasses of red wine and handed him one. ‘Sorry it’s nothing fancy.’

  ‘I don’t eat cordon bleu and drink vintage wine every day of the week, you know.’ He grimaced and rubbed a hand over his eyes as he saw the hurt in her face. ‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

  ‘And I wasn’t implying anything either—it’s just a scratch meal.’ She shrugged. ‘If I’d planned to cook you something, it would’ve been a bit more interesting. That’s all I meant.’

  ‘This,’ Charlie said honestly, ‘looks wonderful.’ After the first mouthful he revised his opinion. ‘And tastes even better.’

  ‘Not quite up to my mum’s standard but, hey.’ She grinned. ‘Not that she ever sticks to a recipe book. She changes things as she goes along. I learned at her knee, so I tend to make things up as I go along, too.’

  Charlie couldn’t ever remember his mother cooking. They’d always had a cook. They still did, although his mother wasn’t the one who paid her wages. ‘It sounds as if you had a happy childhood.’ Lucky, lucky Sophie. He’d have given a great deal for that.

  She nodded. ‘I did—and even though I am an only child, I’m part of a much bigger family. We still have a family Sunday once a month, but there are too many of us to make it a proper roast lunch and fancy tea like it was when I was a kid. We just pile round to my mum’s and all take something with us, a pot-luck thing. Summer’s even better, because my dad takes charge of the barbecue and my uncles set up a bouncy castle in the back garden for the kids.’

  Something he’d never done. ‘Sounds like fun,’ he said wistfully.

  ‘You’d hate it.’

  ‘Why? Because I’m a baron?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘No. Because when my family’s together and they’ve sunk a few beers, they’re noisy. Actually, they’re noisy even without the beers. Then there are all the kids running around—it’s a bit chaotic. Not the kind of thing I imagine you’re used to. I get the impression you’re used to something a bit quieter and more refined.’

  ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, having a title. Sometimes I wish …’He stopped. Hell, why was he pouring his heart out to Sophie like this? He barely knew her.

  ‘What?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Nothing. Just ignore me. It’s been a rough day.’

  ‘Heartstrings case, huh?’

  He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘The sort where you patch someone up and you know it’s just going to happen again and again. And no matter how many phone calls you make, how many wheels you set in motion, you know it’s not going to be enough to stop it happening. There’s always an excuse—not enough funds, not enough staff, not enough time.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  To his surprise, she reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. You did what you could.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough. I gave the mother the number of a women’s refuge, and she just screwed it up and threw it away.’

  ‘But she knows it exists now. You’ve planted a seed. One day, it might grow.’

  ‘When it might be too late. She’s going to go back to her man. And that poor little kid. I alerted Social Services, but you can tell they’re going to lie about it. An accident. Oh, the bath water was a bit too hot. The child must have done it himself. Hell, everyone knows you put the cold water in first and check the temperature before you let a kid anywhere near it!’

  She squeezed his hand and released it. ‘Last time I looked, saving the world wasn’t in a surgeon’s job description. Or is it different in plastics?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You all just think you’re superheroes.’

  There wasn’t a bite to her words. He glanced up, met her gaze and realised that she was trying to tease him out of his mood. Unwillingly, he smiled. ‘Something like that.’

  She changed the conversation to something light and fluffy, and by the end of the meal he found himself laughing for real.

  And then she gave him some cake.

  ‘This is seriously good.’ Although he’d eaten a large main course, Charlie wolfed down his cake.

  She pushed the plate over towards him. ‘Help yourself to some more.’

  ‘Thanks. I will. It’s gorgeous, but …’ He frowned. ‘I can’t place the taste.’

  ‘Coriander spice cake. It’s made with porridge oats and yoghurt, so it’s sort of good for you.’

  Charlie scoffed. ‘No way. Something that tastes this good has to be sinful. Addictive.’

  And then he wished he hadn’t said that. Because he could think of something else that would taste good. Something else that would be sinful. Addictive.

  Sophie’s mouth.

  Thank God she wasn’t able to read his mind, because she merely made them both another mu
g of coffee. ‘Ready to talk about it yet?’

  But they had talked about his patient. Or … He felt his eyes widen. She’d guessed there was more? ‘Nothing to talk about.’

  She gave him a disbelieving look, but to his relief she let it drop and allowed him to steer the conversation back to something trivial.

  Before he realised it, it was ten o’clock. He stood up. ‘Sorry. I’ve hogged your evening. And your cake. Let me wash up before I go.’

  She shook her head. ‘There isn’t much to do. And you look bone-tired. Bed’s the best place for you.’

  His heart missed a beat. Bed?

  Oh, ridiculous. She wasn’t offering. She’d meant his bed. On his own.

  Though he had to face it. He’d like to sleep in Sophie Harrison’s bed. With her. And wake up with her. Make love with her in the quiet of a London dawn.

  And if she had the slightest idea what was going on in his head right now, it would be goodbye to ever having a decent working relationship with her—let alone anything else.

  ‘Is it OK if I call a taxi?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure. You live in completely the opposite direction, don’t you?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘But I needed the company tonight.’

  ‘I normally call Z-cabs, if that’s any help—they’re only just down the road from here. Their card’s next to the phone.’ She nodded to the phone mounted on the wall next to the cork board.

  ‘Thanks.’ He made the call swiftly. ‘They’ll be five minutes,’ he said.

  ‘They’re pretty good—they’re usually on time.’

  ‘I’d better wait for them downstairs.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly as they stood in the lobby a minute or two later. ‘What for?’

  ‘For letting me just … be …’

  ‘Be yourself?’ she guessed perceptively.

  He nodded. ‘Something like that. It doesn’t happen very often.’

  ‘Sounds as if you could do with a friend.’

  Except the way he was feeling towards Sophie wasn’t just friendly. He knew he should leave. Now. But he couldn’t. Not when her lips were slightly parted. Not when those beautiful brown eyes looked at him like that.

  He couldn’t stop himself. He bent his head and very gently brushed his mouth against hers. When she didn’t pull back or slap him, he did it again. The next thing he knew, he’d loosened her hair and had threaded his fingers through it—soft, so soft. She felt like heaven—and his mouth was coaxing Sophie’s lips to part even more.

  And Sophie was starting to kiss him back.

  Hell, he’d wanted this so much. Wanted to feel her body close to his, so close he could feel her heart beating. Wanted the warmth of her skin against his. Wanted her to kiss his demons away.

  It couldn’t happen. He had to stop.

  Right now.

  Except he couldn’t. Not when it felt so good, so right, to hold her and kiss her. Time seemed to slow to the point where it didn’t exist any more. All he was aware of was Sophie and the sweetness of her mouth.

  The beep of a car horn shocked them apart.

  He dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just …’ Just couldn’t help himself. Wanted to be a real person for once, instead of Charlie, Baron Radley. Wanted Sophie’s warmth to enfold him.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be ringing Celebrity Life to give them a kiss-and-tell,’ she said dryly.

  He shook his head. ‘That isn’t what I meant. But we have to work together. I think it’s best if we pretend we didn’t just do that.’

  ‘Sure.’ Her face was completely unreadable. He couldn’t look at her mouth—it would drive him crazy with longing, now he knew what she tasted like. Sweetness and spice. Like the cake she’d just fed him. And, oh, how he wanted more.

  He just couldn’t have it.

  The taxi horn sounded again.

  ‘I have to go. I’ll, um, see you on the ward tomorrow. Thanks for dinner.’

  ‘No worries.’

  Cool, calm and collected. As if nothing had happened.

  But it had, he thought as the taxi drove him back to his own flat. He knew what she felt like in his arms. He knew what it was like to kiss her.

  But how could he ask her to be part of his life? She’d hate it. She’d hate the brittle social circle he moved in. She’d hate all the stupid protocol in his world. She’d hate having her privacy ripped away by the paparazzi—he’d been more than lucky tonight that no one had snapped him walking from the hospital with Sophie.

  And then there was the whole mess of Weston, the baggage that dragged him down. The estate that needed a dynastic engagement. And the entailments that meant he couldn’t give it up—though, even if he could, that would mean dumping the burdens on Seb or Vicky. No way could he drag them down like that.

  And what the hell was he thinking anyway, wondering if she’d be part of his life? Today was the first time they’d been on more than wary keep-your-distance terms. She’d just cooked him dinner tonight and he’d kissed her—and he was planning happily-ever-afters? Talk about jumping the gun! But there was something about Sophie—something that made him get carried away. And he couldn’t afford to do that. Not with Weston and all the rest of it to think about. He’d done the right thing, telling her to forget that kiss. But if only things were different.

  ‘You look like you’ve got the world on your shoulders, mate,’ the cabbie said when he pulled up outside Charlie’s flat.

  Sometimes, Charlie thought, it felt like it. ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, and paid the fare.

  I think it’s best if we pretend we didn’t just do that.

  The memory made Sophie cringe, and she took it out on the saucepan, scrubbing it a lot harder than was warranted.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like that. She’d felt guilty about the way she’d misjudged him. And he’d looked miserable and tired. She’d automatically suggested her mum’s solution to the world’s problems—a decent home-cooked meal and a bit of space to talk. It was what she’d have done for any of her other colleagues.

  Except she wouldn’t have kissed any of her other colleagues.

  Oh, this was bad. Embarrassing in the extreme. OK, so Charlie had been the one to start the kissing. He’d been the one to loosen her hair. But she’d kissed him back. And if that taxi hadn’t beeped its horn.

  She didn’t want to think about what might have happened. What she might have admitted. That would have been too, too much.

  It was bad enough as it was. Charlie probably thought she’d been coming on to him. And he’d called a halt—because she was too common for him.

  Tomorrow, Sophie thought, was going to be hideous.

  And she’d somehow have to brazen it out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOPHIE took a handful of body scrub, and wished that her thoughts could be sloughed away as easily as dead skin. Why the hell had she kissed Charlie back last night? After he’d gone, she’d tried to busy herself with medical journals and messing about on the Internet, but she’d ended up thinking about him. Worse, she’d dreamed about him. X-rated dreams. Dreams about being naked with him. Feeling his hard, muscular body drive into hers.

  This was bad. She hadn’t felt like that about anyone in a long, long time.

  Since she’d been a student. Since that night.

  She rubbed the scrub harder into her skin. That night was buried and forgotten. In the past. End of story.

  And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had a boyfriend since. She’d had dates. But she’d been busy with her career, starting out as a junior doctor and working her way up the ladder—putting the hours in, learning everything she could—and she hadn’t had time for a love life. Frankly, she liked her life as it was. A busy working life and a good social life, with all the hugs and platonic kisses she needed from her friends and family. So she just had to push Charlie out of her head. Push that kiss out of her head. It was never going to work between them: his f
amily were practically royalty, and hers were plain old East End.

  So. They were colleagues only. And it had only been one little kiss. And one little kiss wasn’t going to turn her whole world upside down, was it? She was too strong, too sensible, to let that happen.

  But she was very, very glad she was only on a half-day shift today. With any luck, she’d have finished the ward rounds and be in Theatre before she bumped into Charlie—and with even more luck, she’d be out of Theatre and off duty before he’d finished his list.

  Between breakfast and walking to work, she texted her mother to confirm lunch. And then it was time to face the ward. And Charlie.

  Nobody gave her strange looks when she walked in. Nobody asked her any awkward questions. It was just as if last night hadn’t happened. The hospital grapevine wasn’t whispering a thing.

  Good.

  Her ward round was uneventful—to her relief, no sign of Charlie—and then her bleep went. She glanced at the display and rang the emergency department. ‘Sophie Harrison. You paged me?’

  ‘Soph, it’s Paul. We’ve got an icky one for you. Toddler swallowed a couple of his gran’s hearing-aid batteries.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Usually, if a child swallowed a foreign body and wasn’t in pain, and the X-rays showed that the object had passed through the upper end of the oesophagus, they waited for it to pass through the child’s system naturally. But hearing-aid batteries were too dangerous to leave—they were likely to disintegrate in the child’s throat or stomach and release toxic mercury salts, leading to tissue death or perforation around the area of the battery. ‘Have you done an X-ray?’

  ‘Yep, and it’s in the oesophagus. It hasn’t gone down as far as the bronchial tree. And, before you ask, we’ve kept the child nil by mouth—according to his grandmother, he hasn’t had anything to drink since before breakfast.’

  Which was one of the signs of an ingested foreign body: refusal to drink, difficulty in breathing and excess saliva, sometimes with black flecks in it if the child had swallowed a battery.

  ‘Any idea how long ago it happened?’