Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  He didn’t. He stood looking down at her, tall and broad and indescribable, something poignant, defeated in every line of his body.

  And she couldn’t say goodbye. Not like this.

  And it wasn’t because she now knew what he was, because they’d shared that grueling experience or because she couldn’t bear seeing fatigue shadowing his face and dimming the indomitable life force she’d been amazed by.

  It was because depletion had bared a vulnerability she hadn’t imagined. She sensed he needed solace, reprieve, and had never thought to ask for them, didn’t think they existed.

  She stepped back over the threshold, wrapped trembling arms around all she could of him.

  He stiffened in her embrace as if she’d electrocuted him.

  Oh, God. She’d read it all wrong. He didn’t need comfort, not from her. He thought she was coming on to him!

  Her feverish thoughts crashed and burned to ashes. All his tension was draining on a shuddering groan, his formidable body surrendering in her hold. He didn’t hug her back, just let her hug him, and hug him, moaning, resting his head on hers, swaying with her to the erratic cadence of their heartbeats.

  Then realization hit her. He was a man of state, in a conservative country. She was compromising him, hugging him in a hotel corridor that had to have prying eyes, no matter how deserted it felt to her oblivious senses.

  Fear won over her greed to give him more solace, made her tear her arms off him. A rumbling moan of loss and reproach reverberated like distant thunder in his chest.

  It made up her mind for her.

  And she stammered, “Would you like to come in?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MALEK FELT JANAAN’S words spearing through him, unraveling what her arms hadn’t undone of his sanity.

  He’d been feeling her withdrawing from him, had been steeling himself for the end that was advancing like a tidal wave of despondency. Then it had been the last seconds, the last glimpse, and she’d surged back into his existence, contained him in her arms, her haven. Then she’d made her offer.

  He had no idea what it was exactly but, whatever it was, he couldn’t take anything. Not when he wanted everything. Not when he had nothing to offer in return.

  “Come in, Malek.”

  This time she wasn’t giving him a choice but demanding he comply. He did, surrendered, let her take his hand and lead him inside. He could withstand almost anything, but he couldn’t bear letting her fade out of his life.

  But she was still there, drawing him deeper into hers, resolve and shyness in her eyes like at their first meeting. There was more now. Gentleness. Generosity. Solicitude.

  Then a sudden burst of anxiety wiped away everything. She dropped his hand, swung away.

  What had happened? What had gone wrong?

  Now she’d ask him to get out. Or he’d wake up.

  “I’m sorry, Malek. It’s just—just …” She paused, her throat working in agitation. “I’ve seen you do so much for others—and I wanted to—to do something for you—to show you, beyond words, how much I appreciate.” She paused again before blurting out, “But your … family must be waiting for you.”

  So that was it. What so troubled her.

  “You think I would have kissed you the first day we met if I had a … family?”

  “You didn’t … well, you almost, but you didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did.” He huffed a harsh laugh. “The almost was all the phone’s fault. Now I let you hug me, came into your room. I’d have to be a dishonorable, unfaithful wretch if I did all that with a … family waiting for me. Is that what you think I am?”

  “No.” Her denial was ready, vehement. It validated him, made him proud. Her next words made him ashamed. “It’s just I don’t know … anything about you …”

  And as long as he didn’t tell her anything, he could delude himself he had a right to feel for her.

  “You have nothing to worry about in that area,” he rasped, feeling as if he was lying, heard his voice alien in his ears, thick with hunger, rough with agitation. He shouldn’t be doing this. He could do nothing else. He had to have more of her. Just a little bit more. “So—what did you have in mind?”

  Her heavenly eyes melted with that look that hurt him with its magnanimity, its uniqueness. “You look finished …”

  He hadn’t seen that coming. He barked a laugh. “Shokrun.”

  “You know what I mean! And I know you’re a prime specimen of the exasperating species who accept help from no one.”

  “Takes one to know one, eh?”

  She giggled. “Well, yeah. But I was hoping you’d let me …” She stopped, looked as if she was getting ready to jump off a cliff. Then she did. “Pamper you!”

  He choked. She was out to give him a stroke today!

  He staggered, leaned back on the door they’d just closed, coughed, felt the air disappearing, the world receding.

  So this was temptation. Unstoppable, disempowering, to die for. This golden virago who’d invaded his life, occupied his being, conquered his reason and priorities.

  She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing into slits of blue fire. “Are you laughing?”

  He did laugh now, at the sheer inaccuracy of her suspicion. “No, but I may be dying.”

  “Ooh!” She stormed around, threw her bag on her bed, took off the jacket he’d given her, came back to him, thrust it at him. “I take it back. Now, take your jacket back and go laugh yourself to death somewhere else where you have access to emergency medical services. This emergency doctor isn’t equipped for intubation and ventilation at the moment.”

  And he could only do one thing. Give up. All of himself, to her, to do with what she would. He only hoped he’d survive whatever she had in mind. He was already half-disintegrated from a hug and a statement of intent.

  He blocked her path when she headed for the bathroom. She evaded him and he intercepted her again, spread his arms.

  “Ana kol’ly elek.” And he was, all hers.

  She probably thought he meant he was all hers to pamper. A last flicker of sanity stopped him from elaborating.

  After a hesitant moment, she beamed up at him, let out a carefree trill and dragged him behind her.

  Once inside the bathroom she said, “Shower or shave first?”

  “You’re offering …”

  “A shave. The shower you’ll take on your own.”

  He grimaced in not-so-mock disappointment. “Spoilsport. But if I’m to prioritize, a shave has become an emergency by now.”

  “A shave it is.” She ran out, returned with the dressing-table’s chair, placed it in front of the mirror and patted it.

  He sank on it, watched her hungrily as she strode out again and picked up the phone. She made three phone calls in all, her voice low. Preparing a surprise? Could he stand another one?

  Two minutes later he heard a knock on the door. She came back from opening it triumphantly waving a zipped shaving kit.

  She started lining up the products on the sink. “I decided to make use of your clout here, as it is for you after all.”

  He returned her smile, tried to convince his senses not to riot as her heat and softness pressed closer while she tucked his hair out of the way.

  “About your shaving qualifications.”

  She tossed her hair, looked down on him in mock disdain. “You’ll have to trust me, sir. I’m a doctor.”

  He chuckled, surrendered to the soothing, distressing experience of having her capable fingers gliding over his face in the smoothness of foam, her intoxicating breath filling his lungs as she concentrated on details, her face inches from his.

  He moaned a surplus of enjoyment and torment. “You know you’re the first to ever shave me?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Strange. Most men who aren’t sheikhs with hordes of aides shave at some barbershop sometimes.”

  “My barber cuts my hair, period.” He drove his hand through it, winced. “On the rare occasions I
let him, that is.”

  She sighed. “Cutting hair like yours should be outlawed.”

  A laugh ripped from him. “You’d like to see it longer?”

  Something blazed in her eyes—hunger? Longing? Before he could work it out, she snatched it out of reach, lowering her eyes, a playful smile hovering on her lips. “Mid-back would be nice. So, what have you got against being shaved?”

  He brought the urge to grab her and rekindle that lost expression under precarious control, heard his voice thickening as he murmured, “Among other forms of being waited on, it’s too … personal. I’m a bit of a fanatic about personal space.”

  Her hand froze after she’d shaved the first swathe down his beard, exposing his grateful skin. “If you’re not comfortable … The whole point is to make you comfortable.”

  He grabbed her hand as she moved it away, put it back to his face. “I am far, far beyond comfortable.”

  Her color deepened, then she gave a giggle and resumed. “So now you’ll start hankering after getting shaved.”

  “Not if it’s not you on the other end of the razor.”

  She met his gaze in the mirror, her lips deep red and moist, her eyes radiating azure intensity. Would they look like that, would she flay him with such focus and welcome as he rose above her, spread her, took her silken legs over his hips.

  Ya Ullah. So there was such a thing as torture by arousal.

  She tilted his head against her breast to gain access below his jaw. The moment her firmness cushioned him, he groaned with the surge of sensations, felt his grip on consciousness slipping.

  He jerked to the feel of her hand gliding over his face. He blinked at his clean-shaven reflection. When had she done that?

  “The good news is you don’t snore,” she teased.

  He sat up, dazed. “It’s getting alarming, these side trips to the twilight zone every time I sit still.”

  “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. But first—a shower. Go ahead as I put things in motion.”

  All he wanted to do was rise, press her to the door and devour her, then take her to bed and finish her. Still—to his total shock—this was as satisfying. He needed her gentleness and generosity as much as he did her passion, needed. Needed?

  He’d never needed. He’d been born into so much, need had been non-existent. He’d filled its void with purpose, goals, action, achievement. But now, this—this was need.

  And it was so unknown he had no way of fighting it. He was sinking in her care and compassion, no thought left in him of denying himself the pleasure and privilege of her.

  She skipped out of the bathroom. “And no filling the tub. There’s no way I’m budging you out of there if you fall asleep.”

  He followed orders, showered vigorously, trying to wake himself up. He had to savor each moment with her.

  He came out feeling as if he’d regained his old skin, and she pointed out the clothes on the bed, said “Saeed” as she rushed past him to her turn in the bathroom.

  So she’d called Saeed. He’d bet Saeed’s speed in complying with her request had been for her, not him. During the past week Saeed had fallen under her spell, too.

  Suddenly his blood roared in his ears, the lash of hormones an electric current jolting him to full wakefulness.

  She was singing in the shower!

  Elal Jaheem. To hell with duties and impossibilities. To hell with it all. He’d go in there, snatch her in his arms, let the water inundate them as it had the past week, this time warm, fusing, a medium for ferocity, for delirium. He’d knead and suckle her every inch, her every secret, deluge her in satisfaction, have her weeping for more, for him, and only then would he take her, then take her again.

  At the bathroom door his storming steps faltered. He staggered the last one, leaned on the door, his ear to it, his hands miming caresses over her wet satin skin, listening to her emanating magic, feeling her influence tightening over his senses and will.

  He knew she’d take him if he went in there. She’d open herself to him with all her fire and magnanimity.

  And he couldn’t do that to her. Not when he understood her need, of all people, for nurturing and being nurtured, for stability and continuity, for a total, unconditional, permanent alliance. Everything he could never give her. He’d be beyond dishonorable if he succumbed. He’d be cruel. Criminal.

  He turned on his heel, headed for the bed, dressed quickly.

  He should leave. He shouldn’t have come in, shouldn’t have let her expose herself to this. He would leave, leave her a note, or just go and call later. No, send Saeed with explanations—no, no explanations, just apologies, and a lifelong offer of any and every service and support he could provide.

  “You’re still awake!” He swung around at her soft exclamation, found her walking up to him, flushed, glowing, her hair a wet, darkened cascade over shoulders encased in a sleeveless stretch top echoing the color of her eyes, the rest of her curves cruelly hinted at in the layers of a flowing white skirt. She hurt him with her beauty. Then more when she ran a soothing hand down his back. “Must be the shower’s rejuvenating effect. I feel like a new woman. At least the old one. How about you?”

  He hadn’t had time to take the coward’s way out and now had to face her. He tried, began, “Janaan—”

  “How about a massage while we wait for food? I evoked my carte blanche with Adnan. Ordered plenty of logmet el guadi so we won’t have to fight over it.”

  “Janaan—I’m really tired—”

  “Duh. I’m not asking you for a massage, I’m offering one.” She took his hand in both of hers, guided him to the bed.

  She pushed him down, tried to maneuver him face down, but he caught her to him, giving up again, knowing that he had to take this from her. But no more. Never more.

  “Janaan, I don’t want food, or more coddling, I just want to hold you. Let me hold you, ya habibaty”

  She jerked at his intensity, at the endearment. He’d never said it to anyone before. He’d believed beyond a doubt he’d live his life never finding anyone to call his darling, his love. But he had. And she was. She was.

  He tugged at her and she sagged in his embrace, shy, open, giving. He could take all she had, and she’d let him wring her dry. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—take. He would never harm her …

  But haven’t you already? Aren’t you harming her now?

  Yes, he was. But for tonight the harm had already been done. And for tonight, he’d pretend there was a tomorrow, that this was the first night of the rest of their lives together.

  He rose above her as she lay quivering beside him, her heat singeing him, her eyes luminous, ready and—ya Ullah—so trusting.

  He turned her to her side, worshipped her in strokes that encompassed the perfection and uniqueness of her in wonder and frustration and regret. Then he wrapped himself around her and again felt he’d been created for just this purpose, this privilege, to shelter her, share with her.

  “Malek.” She moaned his name on a hot tremolo as she drove back against him, nestling into his body and being. And though he’d never felt such agony, with body and soul in the throes of a damaging arousal, she gave him something else he never thought to have. Peace. Profound and permeating.

  He homed in on it, shutting out the uproar of voracity. Once it was all he felt, he plunged into it, sank.

  The first thing Jay knew the moment she opened her eyes was that Malek was no longer around her.

  She sat up in bed, her heart hammering, rattling her. Then she heard it. The shower.

  He was still here.

  She collapsed back with the reprieve. She’d have a little longer of him, even if it was only minutes.

  The sun was trickling between the blackout curtains. They’d gone to bed at sunset, and she’d spent hours just feeling Malek all around her, absorbing his reality. She’d dreaded falling asleep and missing one breath, one heartbeat. But sleep had overcome her. She’d drowned in nightmares, in the agony of neve
r getting the chance to say goodbye.

  But he was still there. And she was no longer the same. The time of peace and intimacy in his arms had transfigured her.

  This was the end, but he’d given her this. And it had been priceless, unrepeatable, something to power her through life.

  The bathroom door opened and he stepped out, fresh, fully dressed and heart-wrenching. Longing and shyness almost stopped her heart as his heavy-lidded gaze raked disturbed, disturbing emotions over her. And she realized …

  He didn’t know how to say goodbye.

  She just had to make it easier for him.

  She rose to her feet, approached him when he stood there, staring at her. “Sabah el khair ya Malek. You look well rested.”

  His jaw clenched. “Janaan—we need to talk.”

  She groped for lightness, smiled. “That sounds ominous.”

  He clenched his fists, unclenched them. Then he spread his shoulders, stood straighter, almost formal. “Since your trip to Damhoor, and signing up with GAO were on the spur of the moment, you’re unaware of many basic facts about the land. And about the specifics of the mission you’ve signed up for. I don’t believe you know I am the mission’s leader. I should have mentioned it.”

  Her heart did stop this time. Then it stumbled in a cacophony of shock and elation. This meant—this meant she’d have two whole months with him. Sixty more days!

  She took a delighted step towards him. “Oh, Malek, that’s fantastic! We’ll be working together again …”

  He took a step back, making her stumble to a halt. “No, we won’t. I am not clearing you to join the mission.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  MALEK WATCHED HIS words hitting Janaan like that flashflood had the disaster areas.

  Seeing her eyes losing their animation, filling with incomprehension before the blow registered, was almost enough to make him retract them, forget all his resolutions. Almost.

  “why?”

  He gritted his teeth against her pain, delivered the answer he’d been rehearsing since he’d woken up. “It’s for the best.”