Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  Though now wasn’t the time. They needed to talk things through. ‘But I want more than sex.’

  Very quietly, as if she was afraid of the answer, she asked, ‘Which means what, exactly?’

  ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Though I have certain obligations,’ he warned, ‘so I can’t promise you a rich life.’

  She coughed. ‘Says the man who lives in a posh flat in the most expensive part of Hampstead.’

  ‘It’s not mine,’ he said. ‘Well, it is mine, but it’s part of the Weston estate. I can’t sell it and bank the profits. And most of my salary goes to prop up the estate. Old houses just eat money. They need things done to them, and you wouldn’t believe how many regulations there are about building work. All of which adds to the cost of the remedial work—the right materials, the right craftsmen and the right method, not to mention fitting in with modern planning regulations.’

  ‘Money doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘I know. Vicky told me.’ He smiled wryly. ‘After I’d threatened to scalp her for giving you the once-over.’

  ‘Obviously she just wanted to make sure I wasn’t another Julia.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘But I don’t come from your world, Charlie. I come from the East End. My family isn’t posh. What you see is what you get.’

  ‘Which is fine by me. Actually, I envy you your family. It must be nice to know that people love you just for yourself.’

  ‘But your family love you for yourself.’

  He shrugged. ‘Seb and Vicky do, yes.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  Charlie chose his words carefully. ‘Appearances are important to her.’

  Sophie made the leap instantly. ‘So she won’t approve of me.’

  Charlie made a face. ‘You don’t need her approval. I make my own decisions. But I can’t offer you a normal life, Sophie. Because of who I am, people are always going to be interested in what I do. And the gossip rags will speculate when there isn’t a story, just to keep things ticking over. When are we getting married? Are you pregnant? Am I having an affair? Does one of us drink too much or take Prozac?’ He sighed. ‘Be with me, and you’ll be in the public eye, too. And our children—heaven help any of them if they try to sneak into a nightclub or a bar under age. There’ll be photographic evidence, they’ll be labelled as wild socialites and we’ll be pilloried as terrible parents who have no control over their kids.’ He crumbled the last piece of cake. ‘I saw how those photographs in Celebrity Life upset you. I won’t ask you to give up your privacy for me.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  The first glimmer of hope lightened his heart. She thought there was an ‘us’? ‘I’ll get the lawyers onto it.’

  ‘Onto what?’

  ‘How I can stop being Baron Radley and become just Charlie. And when I can offer you an ordinary life, I’ll ask you to share it with me. As my wife. My equal partner.’

  There was a long, long pause. Charlie’s heart started beating faster. Was this it? Was this the moment when she told him she didn’t want to share his life, regardless of who he was?

  ‘Remember what you said to me in the emergency department? Compromise,’ she said softly. ‘You don’t have to give up being Baron Radley. And what does the “R” stand for, anyway?’

  ‘Rupert. After Prince Rupert of the Rhine.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve used my middle name since the second day of school—no way was I putting up with any more teasing about whether my surname was Bear and if I had yellow trousers with big squares on them.’

  She laughed. ‘Sorry. But I can just imagine you as a four-year-old, scowling at everyone who called you Rupert the Bear. Do I take it you hate a certain Elvis Presley song, too?’ She hummed the first couple of lines of ‘Teddy Bear’.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t told you now,’ he muttered.

  ‘I promise not to call you Rupert. Though it’s not that bad.’ There was a wicked gleam in her eyes. ‘I mean, your parents could have called you Bradley. Imagine being called Bradley Radley.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ He shuddered. ‘And what did you mean, I don’t have to give up being Baron Radley?’

  ‘Being a baron gets you free theatre time in Harley Street. Time you use to help people. Giving up being a baron means you won’t be able to do that, because you won’t have your bargaining tool any more,’ she pointed out. ‘And you’ll hate not being able to make a difference.’

  How did she know him so well, so soon?

  He realised he’d spoken aloud when she said softly, ‘I just do. Because it was the same for me. I didn’t want to fall for you. You stood for everything I hated—you’re posh, you’re upper-class, you’re so very confident. Except, time after time, you proved me wrong about you. You back your staff, you make sure the junior doctors are looked after properly, you care about your patients.’ She paused. ‘I’m scared, Charlie. I’m scared I’m not going to live up to what you want.’

  ‘Sophie, you already do,’ he said simply.

  ‘I don’t mean that. I mean.’ She stopped, and sucked in a breath.

  He knew exactly what she meant. ‘Sex.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘SEX.’ How could such a little word be so—well—huge? Sophie thought.

  ‘I’m going to ask you an embarrassing question, if I may,’ Charlie said.

  She had a pretty good idea what he was going to ask. And trust Charlie to be polite about it.

  ‘Have you made love since you were attacked—apart from that night with me, I mean?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she said defensively.

  ‘That isn’t what I asked.’

  She stared at the table. ‘No. I haven’t.’

  ‘Sophie. If this is going to happen, you have to trust me,’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘We started making love. When we were face to face, side by side, it was fine. You were responding to me. It was working.’

  ‘Do you have to analyse it like this?’ she muttered.

  ‘Hear me out,’ Charlie said. ‘I think I know when you got scared. It was when I leaned over you—because it reminded you of being pinned down.’

  Sophie forced herself to breathe evenly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So. I have a theory.’ He smiled at her. ‘Want to test it?’

  ‘Yes. And no. I’m scared,’ she admitted.

  ‘Sophie, I promise I’ll never hurt you. Any time you want to stop, we’ll stop,’ he said. ‘No pressure.’ He shifted in his chair and held his arms out.

  So she was going to have to learn to trust him with herself. Trust him not to hurt her. Trust him to wipe the bad memories away. Let him finish the healing process that had begun with her counselling.

  Slowly, she stood up. Walked the six steps from her side of the table to his. Let him pull her onto his lap.

  ‘It’s not so bad, is it?’ he asked softly, nuzzling her cheek and sliding his hands round her waist.

  She put her hands round his neck. ‘No.’

  ‘Kiss me, Sophie.’ He tilted his head back, offering his mouth to her. His blue, blue eyes invited her to blow his mind.

  Just like he blew hers.

  She bent her head. Brushed her lips against his, very lightly. His hands tightened slightly against her waist, then relaxed. ‘Sorry.’

  He wanted more—she could tell by the need in his eyes. But he was trying so hard to keep within her comfort zone, not push her back into being scared. She reached back and removed the clip from her hair. He took a sharp intake of breath as her hair fell over her shoulders. ‘Oh, God. Your hair drives me crazy.’

  ‘Good,’ she said with a grin. She bent her head again and nipped at his lower lip with hers, teasing him until he opened his mouth and let her explore him.

  Kissing was good. Very good. She could kiss him for hours. His mouth was soft and sweet and teasing, and he was letting her set the pace.

  More? Yes, she wanted more. He was wearing a black round-neck cashmere swea
ter—it felt glorious, soft and warm against her fingers, but she wanted the touch of his skin. She tugged at the hem, then slid her hands underneath, smoothing them over his abdomen.

  His breath hissed. ‘Sophie.’

  ‘I want to touch you,’ she whispered. ‘And, nice as your sweater is, it’s in the way.’

  ‘So what do you want to do about it?’

  ‘I want you to raise your arms,’ she said.

  His pupils widened as he realised what she was intending to do, and he raised his arms. She eased his sweater up and over his head, then folded it neatly.

  ‘What?’ she asked, catching his grin.

  ‘You can tell you’re a surgeon. You’re very neat.’

  ‘And what would you have done? Dropped it on the floor?’

  ‘Let’s see. The choice is, be prissy about my clothes or have your hands on my body.’ He drummed his fingers on his chin. ‘Yes, I think the sweater hits the floor. Who cares about crumpled clothes?’ He smiled at her. ‘But tonight we’ll do it your way. I’m all yours, Sophie. Do what you want with me.’

  Pleasure thrilled through her. ‘Whatever I want?’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ he promised.

  ‘Mmm.’ She ran her hands over his torso. ‘You feel good, Charlie.’

  ‘Kiss me again?’ And it was a plea, not a demand.

  She did. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She wanted them to be skin to skin.

  ‘Touch me, Charlie,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re wearing too much.’

  ‘Take it off.’

  He shook his head, holding her gaze. ‘No. Because then it’s my choice to remove your clothes. Tonight, it’s your choice. You’re in control.’

  Suddenly she understood what he was doing. All those years ago, the choice had been taken from her. Tonight, he was giving it back.

  ‘I don’t want to get undressed in my kitchen. Even though the blind’s drawn,’ she added.

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’ he asked softly.

  In answer, she slid off his lap and held her hand out. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. ‘Come with me.’

  Charlie had to use every ounce of control not to pick her up and carry Sophie to her bedroom. He’d done that before—albeit he’d carried her to his bed, not hers—and it had all gone wrong. This time they’d do it her way. So she felt safe. And then, maybe, they’d both get what they wanted. Each other.

  He followed her to her bedroom. It was just what he’d expected: the room was small, painted a bright sunny yellow. The double bed had an iron frame, and the duvet cover and pillows were in a lighter shade of yellow. There was a pile of books—medical books, by the look of them—on the bleached pine cabinet next to her bed and a wrought-iron lamp with a cream shade on it.

  Sunshine. Just like her hair. Like Sophie herself.

  ‘Do you ever just wear jeans and a sweater?’ she asked.

  He looked down at his trousers. ‘What’s wrong with these?’

  ‘Nothing. But they’re designer.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘For your information, they were a present. From my mother. Because the gossip rags caught me in some very disreputable jeans a couple of years back.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’d been doing some maintenance work on the flat, I’d run out of biscuits, and I wasn’t going to bother changing out of my work gear for the five minutes it’d take me to nip to the local shop for supplies. They ran a story speculating about whether I’d lost all my money at an online casino.’

  Sophie chuckled.

  ‘It wasn’t funny at the time. You wouldn’t believe the lecture I got about my clothes. Anyone would’ve thought I was fourteen, not thirty-four.’

  It was a stupid story. But it had made her laugh, broken the tension he’d seen building in her eyes.

  Then she stopped smiling. ‘So what were you wearing underneath your jeans?’

  ‘The same sort of thing that I’m wearing now.’

  ‘Show me,’ she said, her voice a husky whisper.

  She wanted him to take his clothes off? Oh, yes. Please. On the other hand, if he stripped off it would leave her in no doubt about just how aroused he was. He didn’t want to scare her again. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  Slowly—hoping she wouldn’t see that his hands were shaking—he unbuttoned his trousers. Let them fall to the floor. Kicked them aside, managing to nudge off his socks at the same time—socks just weren’t sexy.

  ‘OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Very OK.’ She walked over to him. ‘But this, I think, is my job.’ She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his grey marl jockey shorts and slowly drew the fabric downwards.

  Charlie closed his eyes. He counted backwards from a hundred—in sevens. Thought about different types of sutures. Anything to stop him doing something stupid, like grabbing Sophie and kissing her senseless.

  He had to take this slowly. At her pace. Even though every single cell in his body was going crazy with desire for her.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, and her voice was shaking.

  Charlie opened his eyes. ‘Sophie? Are you all right?’

  ‘I think so. But you’re so beautiful.’ She trailed her hand across his ribcage. ‘I want a picture of you. Just like this.’

  ‘Watercolour, oils or photograph?’

  She grinned. ‘Just as long as the original’s mine.’

  ‘Oh, it is.’ If she didn’t touch him again—and soon, and a lot more intimately—he was going to dissolve. It was hard to breathe. And even harder to stop himself grabbing her. He resumed counting backwards—this time from a thousand, in seventeens.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’ve got this weird look on your face.’

  He told her.

  She frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can keep my control. So I don’t just grab you and make a mess of this. But I think, if you don’t touch me soon—if I can’t touch you soon—I might just expire.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The small matter that you’re naked, and I’m fully clothed.’ She gave him the wickedest grin he’d ever seen, and his temperature rose another notch. ‘Sorted.’

  She stripped. In six seconds flat. And he knew that, because he was counting.

  He held his arms wide, and she walked into his embrace. He didn’t dare wrap his arms round her. He just kissed her, and hoped she could tell from the heat of his mouth just how much he wanted her. Desired her. Needed her.

  Loved her.

  All he was aware of was Sophie. Her scent, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair. The way her mouth responded to him, teasing him. The way the tips of her breasts brushed against him, making his body tighten even more. And then, somehow, they were on her bed. Lying facing each other, on their sides.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘Such incredible curves.’ He drew one hand down her side, palm flat and stroking along the dip of her waist, the arch of her hip. ‘And I could drown in your eyes. And your mouth—oh, even thinking about your mouth makes my synapses stop working properly.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yes.’ His breath hissed from him as Sophie copied his actions, moulding the curve of his buttocks.

  ‘I want to make love with you, Charlie.’

  ‘It won’t be just sex,’ he warned her. Because he wouldn’t be making love only with his body. His heart would be right there, too. And his soul. And he really, really hoped she knew that. He really, really hoped it’d be the same for her, too.

  He kissed her again, then drew a line of kisses down her neck, across her collarbones. When he wriggled lower to take one nipple into his mouth she gave a sharp intake of breath, but before he could stop, her fingers slid into his hair, urging him on. He teased her other nipple, then worked his way downwards, nuzzling her abdomen as he slid one hand between her thighs.

  He cupped her sex, feeling how hot and damp she was. She wanted this as much as he d
id. But he had to be completely sure. ‘Sophie. May I touch you?’

  ‘If you don’t,’ she said, her voice shaky, ‘I may have to kill you.’

  He slid one finger along her cleft, noting the way she shuddered when he touched the sensitive spot of her clitoris. He did it again, just to be sure. And again and again, until she was shuddering with need and gripping him hard.

  ‘Charlie. Please. Now,’ she begged.

  Not yet.’ He replaced his hand with his mouth, alternating flicks of his tongue with suction, and Sophie whimpered.

  Charlie, I’m going to.’

  The rest of her sentence was lost as he tasted her climax.

  She shuddered once, twice, and he shifted up to pull her into his arms.

  ‘Charlie. That was.’

  ‘Just the beginning,’ he promised. ‘I still have quite a bit of my theory to prove.’

  ‘Wha’ theory?’ Her voice was slurred with pleasure.

  It was good to know he could turn her brain to mush. He’d remember how next time they had an argument.

  He rubbed his nose against hers. ‘That we can wipe out the past. Start with a clean slate. Just you and me.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘So let’s try a little erasing.’ He rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him.

  She quivered as she realised she was straddling his erection.

  ‘I want you, Sophie,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m not going to pressure you.’

  She tilted her hips. ‘This feels like pressure.’

  He groaned. ‘Uh. OK. I think I’ll have to start from ten thousand and count back in multiples of seventy-three.’ But he wasn’t sure if even that would take his mind off the fact that he really, really, really wanted to be inside Sophie. Right now.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Sophie said, and leaned down to kiss him.

  By the time she lifted her head again, Charlie couldn’t think straight. And he was almost inside her when he remembered. ‘Condom.’

  She stopped, and her eyes widened in horror. Clearly she’d realised just how irresponsible they’d both been about to be. ‘I haven’t got any.’