Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  Which made this a very delicate situation. ‘I, um, have.’

  Her eyes narrowed again. ‘You came here tonight expecting to make love? Or do you just carry them with you all the time?’

  ‘Neither.’ He flushed. ‘I’m just … trying to be responsible.’ No way could he tell her it was Seb’s idea. She’d be horrified at the idea of him discussing something so private. Not that he’d actually discussed it. Seb had just been—well, typical Seb. Seb lived, thought and breathed sex.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘My wallet. Trouser pocket.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘Sophie … I’m not taking you for granted, I swear. I never will.’

  ‘You’d better not,’ she said, and climbed off him.

  Please. Please, just let her get the condom. Don’t let her stop now. Please, he begged silently.

  And then she handed him his wallet.

  He shook his head. ‘No. This has to be your choice.’

  ‘You trust me with your wallet?’

  ‘I’d trust you,’ he said simply, ‘with my life. And, for the record, my wallet’s virtually empty.’

  ‘Like the Queen—you don’t carry cash?’

  The sparkle in her eye belied the sharpness of her question. ‘No. I gave most of my cash to the cabbie who brought me here. And spent the rest of it on some not-very-special flowers. Which you didn’t want anyway.’

  ‘I was … well, angry with you,’ she admitted. ‘Because I didn’t want flowers. I wanted you.’

  ‘You have me,’ he reminded her. ‘Completely at your mercy.’

  ‘Since you put it that way …’ She opened his wallet, took out the condom, unwrapped it and slid it over his penis.

  He groaned.

  ‘I didn’t hurt you?’ Sophie asked, clearly worried.

  ‘No. It’s just … I need you to touch me. But it’s your decision.’

  ‘I’ve made my decision,’ she said, and straddled him again.

  Charlie was almost hyperventilating as she sank down onto him, but he could see the fear in her face. ‘You’re in control,’ he told her shakily. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can stop whenever you want to stop.’ Even though it would leave him burning with frustration.

  ‘I don’t want to stop.’

  ‘Make love with me, Sophie,’ he tempted her. ‘Let me take you to the edge of the universe, where there’s nothing but you and me. Let it all go.’

  Slowly, hesitatingly, she began to lift and lower herself over him. He supported her hips, just liking the feel of her skin against his. ‘With my body,’ he whispered, ‘I thee worship.’

  And, please, God, he’d be saying that to her soon in front of an audience—one of whom would be wearing white robes and carrying a Bible.

  He felt her body begin to ripple round him, and then his own climax hit him. Hard.

  He wasn’t sure how much later it was, but she was lying in his arms. And his skin was wet. She was crying.

  He stroked her back. ‘Sophie? Are you all right? Did I hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘It’s just … I think I’m free. After all these years I’m free of the nightmare.’ She shifted to support herself on her hands so she could look into his face. ‘And it’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Better than all right,’ he promised her. ‘It’s just going to get better and better.’ He paused. ‘I love you, Sophie. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first met you.’

  ‘Me, too. Except I was trying to deny it because I … because of the past.’

  Say it. Oh, please—just say it, he thought. Me, too wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear the words.

  He waited, beseeching her with his eyes.

  And she told him. ‘It’s a clean slate. I love you.’

  The whole world felt as if it were filled with rainbows. All was definitely right with his world. He smiled. ‘The more I get to know you, the more I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Sophie?’

  ‘Maybe we should do this without marriage,’ she said.

  He frowned. ‘Cohabit, you mean? We could. But … why?’

  ‘Your family,’ she said softly. ‘It’s going to be hard for them to accept me.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Seb and Vicky sent me here tonight. That’s why I didn’t have dinner—they told me to stop wasting time and sort things out with you.’

  There was a shocked pause. ‘Did the press follow you?’ she asked.

  ‘Not after Vicky’s phone call. I bet they couldn’t get to the restaurant fast enough.’ He chuckled. ‘We have an official date, by the way. Some time soon there’s going to be a fundraiser at a certain hospital in Docklands. A promise auction. And a certain Sebastian Radley is the night’s star prize.’

  She blinked in surprise. ‘Your brother’s selling himself?’

  ‘In aid of a couple of good causes. Financially for the hospital, and emotionally for us. He also says that we owe him the position of best man.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So, actually, you have to marry me. To save me from being scalped.’

  ‘Is Seb a surgeon?’

  Charlie shook his head. ‘He’s in ED. But Vicky’s a neurosurgeon. And she’s with him in this.’

  ‘So I have to marry you.’

  ‘Yes.’ He licked his lower lip. ‘Though I’m quite happy to do a little … persuading.’

  She laughed. ‘I see. Sophie Radley. Well, it sounds OK. Mrs Sophie Radley.’

  ‘Um, no, You’ll be Lady Radley, actually,’ he corrected. ‘And our children will all be Honourables.’

  She shook her head. ‘I am not having Lady Radley on my bank account or my hospital pass!’

  ‘You can call yourself Mrs if you like.’ He smiled. ‘Seb loves being an Honourable, but my bank account’s just R. C. Radley.’

  ‘Not Lord?’

  ‘Not Lord. My choice. I’m a doctor first. Though I think being a doctor will take third place.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Husband first, father second, doctor third, and baron comes way, way down the list.’ He smiled. ‘But I’m jumping the gun. I haven’t spoken to your father yet.’

  She blinked. ‘You’re going to do it the traditional way?’

  ‘I don’t want to get married without your family’s blessing. Without your parents knowing that I’ll honour you, love you and protect you for the rest of my days.’

  ‘And if my father says no?’ she tested.

  ‘Then I’ll prove it to him, so he changes his mind.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ Charlie said, ‘if it happens.’

  ‘Actually,’ Sophie said thoughtfully, ‘it won’t. Because if he says no, my mum might have something to say about it.’

  He smiled. ‘I think I’m going to like your mum. She makes the best cake in the world and she’s on my side?’ He rubbed his nose against hers. ‘Better and better. Are you on duty tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Neither am I.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘So. Tomorrow morning we go and see your parents. Tomorrow afternoon we go shopping. For an engagement ring. I mean, there is an heirloom ring, and you’re more than welcome to it, but I want something that’s just for you and me. Starting a new tradition.’ The beginnings of a new family, one that loved each other. A family where he really belonged.

  ‘No can do. Shopping, I mean. It’s one of my family Sundays,’ Sophie said.

  ‘OK. We see your parents, we go shopping, and we come back for your family Sunday.’ He paused. ‘That is, if you think they’d like to celebrate our engagement? We could, um, take champagne for our pot-luck contribution. A case of it. And something nice for the kids.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘You know, Lord Radley, I think you’re going to fit into the Harrison family just fine.’

  He smiled back. ‘For now—and for always.’

  THE SHEIKH

  SURGEON’S PROPOSAL

>   Olivia Gates

  About the Author

  OLIVIA GATES has followed many dreams in her life. But there has been only one she was able to pursue single-mindedly, even though it seemed the most impossible of them all: to write romance novels. The fairytale realisation of her dreams came—after years of constantly learning, writing and submitting her manuscripts—when Harlequin Mills & Boon bought her first Medical™ romance. It was a dream come true, combining her passion—writing—with her vocation—medicine—in one magnificent whole. Now, living with her husband and daughter and their cat, she knows dreams are impish little things. They let you catch them only if you pursue them long and hard enough … Please visit Olivia at her website: www.oliviagates.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  JAY LATIMER EXHALED in frustration for the hundredth odd time in the last hour. She muttered something incoherent even to herself, leaned her head on her taxi’s window and forced her gaze to take in the vista zooming by, the slice of heaven on earth that was the sprawling pavements and central divider of the most spectacular highway she’d seen in Damhoor so far.

  It didn’t work. Not even the breathtaking sights of man-engineered beauty of parades of lush palms, immaculate lawns and explosions of flowers and the nature-endowed magic of azure skies and golden sand-seas meeting at the horizon could ameliorate her irritation at having to succumb to this abuse of power.

  Just what the hell did Damhoor’s Ministry of the Interior think they were doing, ordering her to this interview? Making it sound as if they were profiling a foreigner of questionable nature and intentions? Why didn’t they just check her credentials and history and be done with it? If half the things she’d heard about their limitless reach and power were true, they probably had dossiers on her from the first moment she’d wailed her indignation at coming into this life. They were reputed to have those on everyone who set foot on their land. So why inconvenience as well as insult her by decreeing this interview?

  And that was exactly what they’d done. Decree it. She’d received an honest to goodness summons, at six am no less, specifying the time of said interview only two hours later, and on the far side of Halwan, Damhoor’s capital, when they must know it would take her at least two hours to get there. They didn’t deem her worthy of even an offer of transportation.

  All that when she was here volunteering her services.

  She hadn’t dreamed anything like this would happen when her application two days ago to Global Aid Organization to join the mission that would tour Damhoor’s fringe communities and impoverished neighbors had been approved in two minutes flat. She was GAO’s dream aid worker after all, packing years of emergency medicine experience and promising them open-ended dedication.

  Then in had stepped the Ministry of the Interior, over GAO’s officials, decreeing it was they who’d decide if volunteers to the mission Damhoor was subsidizing were up to standard, conveniently forgetting that they’d begged for GAO’s presence in their region, counting on their experience and logistical clout in humanitarian services to achieve what the kingdom’s endless money and resources hadn’t been able to.

  And here she was, scampering to have some pampered sheikh interrogate her as if she were a suspicious character, to decide if she, her skills and motivations would pass the test of his oblivious, patronizing, over-privileged-from-birth standards!

  She exhaled again, trying to bring her temperature under control.

  This would be over in no time, she tried to convince herself. This was just a show. Of bravado. Looking a gift horse in the mouth was their way of showing GAO that they didn’t really need such gift … Argh.

  Her rationalizations only made her angrier. Of all the imperious rubbish.

  But what did she expect of a land where every higher official belonged to the extensive royal family?

  On every level, it seemed her long-held dream of coming to Damhoor was turning into a huge letdown. She’d had nothing but difficulties and rejection since she’d set foot …

  She slammed against the window.

  The driver had made a sharp swerve. Her heart zoomed into full panic mode as the car careened sideways then crashed into the high sidewalk, coming to a deafening, bone-jarring halt.

  In the stillness that consumed the next seconds, she forced herself to breathe, consulted her body. It transmitted one all-important message. No injuries.

  Her next thought was for her driver. Her eyes sought him and her heart surged in dismay. He was unconscious, his face covered in blood. Oh, God …

  Her shaking hands tore her seat belt off and her door open. It was then she saw it, receding in the distance. The reason for their accident. A convoy of three limousines, tearing along the almost deserted highway. Her driver must have lost control over the car while making way for them …

  No time for fury. See to him.

  She snatched his door open and examined him with eyes and hands. Her searching fingers located the source of his profuse bleeding, a five-inch gash that ran vertically from his scalp, down his forehead and alongside his nose, which was clearly broken. He must have rammed his head on the steering-wheel.

  She snatched off her long-sleeved cotton jacket, rummaged in the back for her handbag, grabbed scissors then cut bandages from the jacket. She stemmed his hemorrhage, considering what to do next. With him unconscious and bleeding retronasally, his airway was in imminent danger. He needed to be intubated and ventilated, ASAP.

  She had no idea when a highway patrol would pass, what the number for the emergency services was or where the nearest hospital was. And none of the few drivers at this early hour was even slowing down to offer help, beginning with the bastards who’d driven them off the road. If she wanted help, it seemed she’d have to find it herself.

  She improvised a cervical collar out of the rest of her jacket then struggled to transfer the man to the passenger seat, taking every care not to exacerbate any spinal injuries.

  With her lungs burning and muscles protesting, she took the wheel, started the engine. Yes. It was still working.

  She floored the gas pedal. She’d make those unfeeling idiots offer the help they hadn’t thought they’d owed.

  As she hit a hundred miles an hour, she almost slowed down, fearing she’d cause another, this time fatal accident. Only the man who could be choking to death beside her made her maintain her speed. She was about to catch up with the convoy anyway.

  It was only when she started overtaking them and waving frantically that they slowed down. About time!

  But it was only the lead and rear car that slowed down while the middle one shot forward. Then the cars that had slowed down encroached on her, forcing her to the side of the road. She came to a full stop, her heart hammering as eight huge men dressed in black suits came pouring from the two cars trapping her taxi.

  Before she could move, her door was snatched open and she found guns waved in her face and barked orders crashing down on her. They all mostly consisted of “En’zeli”. Get down.

  Get down? As in get down on the ground, like an apprehended criminal, hands above her head? Then she realized. In Arabic you got down from a car, not out of it. She guessed that Arabic couldn’t always be literally translated into English.

  This was one of the hurdles she’d had to leap over before she’d made headway in learning it. The biggest hurdle remained the huge difference between the formal and colloquial forms, the latter being the one being barked in her face right now.

  She stepped out of the car, her anger bubbling over.

  “Had fun waving your guns at an unarmed woman and an unconscious man?” she snarled. “Now, I demand that you get back in your cars and lead the way to the nearest hospital. And before you do, I need your first-aid kits. I’m sure limos like yours have comprehensive ones!”

  Eight pairs of astonished dark eyes stared at her, then at each other. She saw the imperceptible nods they exchanged, then two of them advanced on her and subjected her to a thorough frisking, to her spluttering
chagrin.

  When they were satisfied she wasn’t carrying anything untoward, the one who looked like the leader murmured something into his walkie-talkie. The middle car, which had stopped two hundred feet away, reversed. The guy with the walkie-talkie rushed towards it, and with a great show of deference he opened the passenger door and bowed down to confer with whomever was inside. He straightened with another deep bow and rushed back to her.

  “Ta’ee ma’ee,” he ordered.

  This she also understood. Come with me.

  “I’m going nowhere with you, and I again demand—”

  The man latched onto her arm, cutting her tirade short. She knew her own resistance would make his grip inflict bruises, yet she still struggled and sputtered her indignation all the way to the car. He opened the passenger door, tried to manhandle her in. She snatched herself away, only managing to plop in an unceremonious heap inside. Into what felt like another dimension.

  The transition from Damhoor’s glaring morning sun into what felt like one of its moonless nights blinded her. And after the intense heat, landing on cool leather had a jolt of goose-bumps storming over her skin. The next thing she noticed was that scent. Pervasive, potent. Pleasurable … It was on account of all those stimuli assaulting her senses that she shook. She was too outraged for alarm to register just yet.

  Still blind, she snarled her displeasure. “Is this how you feel like men around here? By ganging up on women after you drive them off the road? But if you think you can get away with anything, I’m telling you I’m—”

  Her tirade came to a choking halt. For there they were, materializing out of the blindness. A foot away from her. Eyes, the color of gold and the translucency of pure honey.

  They captured hers, forbade her to see or sense anything else, even the person they belonged to. It was only when they finally released her in a sweep of thick black lashes to pour confusion over her that she was freed to take in everything about this man in one unmanageable gulp.

  In her haste, she got glimpses of hair the deep gloss of a raven’s wing and the relaxed waves of a tranquil sea, skin of polished bronze, slashes and planes and hollows that were all assembled in a composition of—of … Wow.