Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  He neared. He was even more beautiful than she remembered. More blessed by the gods of all things extraordinary. Through the noisy crowd their eyes caught and held. Pacific-blue, she thought with an internal sigh, like the ocean at night.

  ‘Hi, Damien,’ she said.

  ‘Chelsea,’ he said as he stopped in front of her.

  She must have swayed towards him, or maybe it was an optical illusion, but he suddenly felt closer. And then he was leaning in towards her. She instinctively lifted her cheek for a friendly peck, but instead his lips landed square upon hers. She blinked in shock for a good second or two before his mouth began to move over hers.

  As her eyes flittered closed her hand fluttered up to land gently upon his chest. His arm slunk around her back to pull her closer. And right there, in front of a street full of bustling pedestrians, everything floated away, leaving only the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of his heavenly lips. Her hand curled into his shirt, and she hoped against hope that would be enough to keep her from collapsing in a puddle at his feet.

  When the kiss broke her eyes opened. A small smile lit his, creases fanning out from the edges.

  ‘Well, what do you know?’ he said, his voice low, rumbling, pure sensuality.

  Needing to catch her breath and regather her scattered senses, she slid her hand away and put a metre of space between them. Then she pulled his phone out of her clutch purse and held it out for him on an upturned palm.

  ‘Right,’ he said, closing his eyes and shaking his head as though he’d completely forgotten why they were really there. He opened his jacket, once again revealing a broad mass of starched white shirt and enveloping her in a wave of his light but wholly masculine scent. She breathed deep.

  He found her phone and held it out to her. Her left palm tickled as he slid his gently from her grasp, while her right hand immediately soaked in the warmth still remaining in the phone she now had back.

  ‘So,’ Damien said. ‘Now that the formalities are out of the way, shall we?’

  Formalities? Kissing her to the point of melting her knees from the inside out was to him a formality? Boy, oh, boy. What was she letting herself in for?

  He held out an elbow. She tugged her hand into a tight ball to get the feeling back before placing it in the crook of his arm. He tucked her tight against him, drawing her close enough so that the heavy pedestrian traffic could not break their hold, and so that she could again smell the scent of autumn clinging to his clothes.

  During the day the restaurant had been bright and bustling, all flashy money and flashier people checking to see who was walking through the front doors.

  But at night it was as if they had walked into a cave. It was warm and dark, the ceiling lights recessed so that the whole place seemed lit only by discreetly scattered candles bathing it in a dark red light. It was so romantic. More than romantic. Decadent. As if an orgy could break out at any second.

  Damien pressed a gentle hand to Chelsea’s back and she jumped. She could feel the heat of his palm searing through the heavy coat and straight to her skin. He leaned forward to whisper against her ear. ‘I think she wants our phones.’

  Her gaze shot to the hostess. Tall, skinny, brunette hair to her waist and staring at Damien with a small smile and her hand outstretched as though she’d take from him whatever he chose to give her.

  Chelsea glanced back at Damien to find herself so close to him she could see just how close he’d shaved before coming to meet her tonight. It somehow gave her a jolt of confidence.

  ‘Do you think we should revolt?’ she asked as she slid her coat and scarf from her back.

  ‘I haven’t eaten since lunch,’ he growled. ‘I’m starving.’

  She glanced back again to find his gaze had been inexorably drawn to the neckline of her dress. To the barely there hint of cleavage deep within the V. His eyes slid up to hers, connected. Actually, it was more as if they clashed, sending little sparks of heat all over her body.

  Chelsea handed over her phone and coat and said, ‘I give in.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Damien said, and handed his phone to the hostess. ‘In the same compartment, if you please. These two have a way of causing trouble if left on their own.’

  The woman’s smile faltered as she realised she was beaten before she’d even had the chance to play.

  And while Chelsea watched the phones with an eagle eye, she sensed that Damien didn’t once take his eyes off her as he waited for the numbered ticket to be placed into his outstretched hand. He slid the ticket inside his jacket pocket, and she realised that she wouldn’t be leaving the restaurant without him unless she wanted to leave her phone behind too.

  ‘Where would you be comfortable sitting?’ the waitress asked as she picked up a couple of menus.

  ‘I think it’s far too late for all that,’ Damien said beneath his breath, but Chelsea heard him loud and clear.

  She’d had crushes before, but for the first time in her whole life she was absolutely in lust. He created in her urgency that beat down every other wholly sensible qualm. She hung on to her clutch purse with both hands to stop herself from taking him by the hand and dragging him to the nearest dark alley. Hard bodies, slick, sweaty limbs, and nothing left the next morning bar the lingering scent of day-old aftershave.

  Damien breathed out hard before turning back to the brunette and Chelsea thankfully felt the hook through her chest melt away.

  ‘A nice private corner would suit us well,’ Damien said. He smiled, the low light doing things to his eyes that made her stomach turn to liquid.

  ‘No problem,’ the hostess said. ‘Follow me.’

  Damien held out an arm to encourage Chelsea to go first. What he really wanted to do was continue where they’d left off outside, to lean in, slide his hand around her waist, and kiss the point where her neck met her shoulder, but instead he placed a gentlemanly hand in the small of her back and followed.

  Beneath the soft fabric of her dress her skin was warm. Tugging left then right with each swaying step. He closed his eyes for a second and begged heaven to help him make it through dinner without giving in to the desire swarming over him.

  They reached the private booth in a far dark corner of the room. Before the hostess had the chance he pulled the table away from the wall so that Chelsea had to slide past him to get to her seat.

  He was breathing perfectly normally up until that point. Until he swallowed a mouthful of her scent. Sweet, airy, gentle; the complete antithesis of the sensual vision before him.

  The woman was a walking dichotomy. It only made him want her more yet in the same breath made him fear she was exactly the wrong girl for the job.

  ‘Much appreciated,’ Chelsea said, smiling up at him from beneath her lashes.

  Damien slid behind the table at a right angle to her, and allowed the hostess to lock them into place, glad to have a table hiding his lap.

  ‘Any drinks for starters?’ the brunette asked.

  ‘God, yes,’ Chelsea shot out at the same time that Damien said,

  ‘I asked for a bottle of Mount Mary Pinot Noir 1993 to be placed on hold under Halliburton.’

  ‘Oh,’ the brunette said, her eyes widening. Then she collected herself, nodded, and sent Damien one last lingering look that should have made him puff out his chest even though he was in the company of another woman. But she left him completely unaffected.

  Then he and Chelsea were alone, hidden from view of the rest of the restaurant by the angle of their table, a large potted Ficus and the clever lighting. Their booth was cramped. But intimate. Low candlelight flickering from an alcove on the rendered wall above shot waves of gold through Chelsea’s hair, and created shadows beneath her lashes, her nose, and full lower lip.

  Simply looking at her, he felt anything but unaffected.

  A waiter with an eyebrow ring and three more through his nose came back with their wine. Damien did the whole sniff, sip, thumbs up before they were each poured a healthy glass a
nd the bottle was left in an icebox nearby.

  Chelsea fussed with her dress, her hair, the placement of the napkin in front of her and said, ‘There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

  Damien leant his elbow on the table and his chin on his palm. ‘This should be good.’

  Her hands fluttered to her lap, but she gave him direct eye contact. All golden light and sunshine and radiant energy. He could have snuffed out the candle and his senses would have told him exactly where she sat.

  She asked, ‘Whatever did happen to Keppler-Jones and Whosiwhatsit?’

  The laughter that burst from Damien’s chest was so sudden he almost pulled a muscle. He leant back in his chair and rubbed the strange spot of discomfort beneath his left pec. ‘Meaning did I knock them off in order to get a corner office?’

  She took a sip of her wine, smiling at him from over the glass. ‘Your words, not mine.’

  He leaned forward again. ‘You have to promise me that this will go no further.’

  ‘Cross my heart,’ she said, and the action tugged his gaze to her chest where the stretch fabric clung to her curves.

  He licked his lips before dragging his eyes north and saying, ‘It was a dark and stormy night.’

  Her eyes gleamed. ‘Isn’t it always?’

  ‘The company had been around since long before the heydays of the eighties. Jones was a family friend of my godfather and I worked for them part-time while studying business/law at university and stayed on afterward. Once I’d risen as far in the firm as a non-partner could I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.’

  ‘And the dark and stormy night?’

  ‘Was the retirement party. One to go down in the history books. I’m certain it took five years off each of their lives. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Now tell me about the animal-print dog-collar connection before I go any further into imagining what kind of job would make you some kind of expert fit for Chic magazine.’

  She grinned up at him. He could practically feel the blood in his veins revving itself up to explode through his system the second talking finally turned to touching. And before the end of this night there would be touching.

  ‘I own and run a pet-grooming salon in Fitzroy. Disappointed?’

  ‘Infinitely,’ he said with an answering smile. ‘So what was it about clipping dog toenails that drew you to the cause?’

  She shook her hair off her shoulders and sat back in her chair, into deeper shadow, her face in richer relief. ‘There’s a tad more to what I do than clipping dog toenails.’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘We see up to sixty clients a day. Their treatments can include brushing, dematting, therapeutic baths, fluff or towel dry, nail-clipping, haircuts and shave-downs. They leave us looking brand-new. Feeling brand-new.’

  ‘And don’t we all need to feel that way every now and then?’ he said.

  Her glorious eyes shone with a fire that was pure dynamite. He couldn’t remember feeling lit by such an inner blaze. It had him wondering if his life was far too comfortable. Maybe it could do with a little spicing up.

  ‘Come on down one day,’ she said, ‘and I’ll give you the works. I’ll guarantee you’d leave the place unrecognisable. And flea-free.’

  Damien laughed, though truth be told his mind hadn’t gone much further than the works. Imagining those small hands giving him a therapeutic bath and a towel dry was almost his undoing.

  ‘It’s some kind of thrill, don’t you think?’ he asked.

  Her right eyebrow rose in question.

  ‘Working for oneself. Balancing the kind of satisfaction, control and wealth you can only gain if you own the business against the daily possibility of losing everything. I like to think of it as a masochistic gamble rather than anything as mundane as a job.’

  She again reached for her wine. ‘Unless you never gamble more than you can afford to lose.’

  ‘Never?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then that’s not really a gamble at all, is it?’

  She shook her head again, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth as though she knew some great secret he and the rest of the world had yet to catch onto.

  ‘That said,’ she added, ‘I had a meeting with the bank today and they have approved a loan for me to expand out to three salons.’

  ‘Good for you. It seems this is a celebratory dinner as well.’ He topped her up wine.

  She watched as the dark liquid poured into her deep glass, then said, ‘But I’m not sure if I want to sign.’ She added a little shrug, then sank further away from him again as though she’d said more than she’d meant to.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, adding a dash to his own mostly full glass. ‘If they think you warrant such an investment, they have faith in your product.’

  ‘I guess. But I’m not sure that I’m willing to put all my faith in someone else’s judgment.’

  For the first time Damien saw the genuine vulnerability he’d sensed all along in the lift of her cheek, the blush across her neck, the shy tilt of her head.

  He shifted in his seat, mighty glad he hadn’t zoomed over to her place as she’d begged him to do. Right about now he’d be dealing with the fallout. With those great golden eyes boring holes in his back as he walked out of her life as he was wont to do. He thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t gone so far he didn’t still have time to pull out graciously without hurting her feelings.

  ‘Am I being ridiculous?’ she asked.

  It took him a moment to remember what they were talking about. He gulped down half his wine before saying, ‘If your bank works anything like my team do, they keep their ears to the ground. We watch the news, read the papers, I even have a team on gossip magazines, as you never know where new market patterns will emerge.’

  ‘But once you see something worth your attention you know it? It’s that simple for you?’

  ‘It really is. And then I gamble everything at my disposal on that instinct.’

  ‘What if your instincts are wrong?’

  ‘What if they’re not?’

  She looked up at him from beneath the shadow of her long lashes. Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. And he knew there was far more going on behind the golden depths of her eyes than the conversation at hand. It seemed he wasn’t the only one ignoring the elephant in the room—an attraction so intense he wasn’t sure just how long he and his chivalry could hold out.

  ‘So now that I’ve given you some free financial advice,’ he said, ‘you owe me.’ He turned over his palm and pulled a pretend pen from behind his ear. ‘Give me the address of your business. It’s time I had a haircut.’

  At that she laughed, as he’d hoped she might; only the footloose sound stirred all sorts of shackled feelings deep inside him, enough for him to keep on pouring until his wineglass was full all the way to the top.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHELSEA kicked off her shoes beneath the table and rubbed life back into the balls of her feet.

  She wanted nothing more than to run her bare foot up the inside of Damien’s trousers. To scrape her toenails along a length of manly leg hair and just forget all about dinner. He was so utterly and totally beyond the realms of gorgeous that her nerve endings felt as if they were on constant red alert.

  Added to that she was beginning to like him. To really, actually like the guy. Beneath the suit and tie he was nice. Funny. Sharp. Thoughtful. And he kept looking at her as if he wanted nothing more than to continue the kiss he’d started outside.

  But, and it was a huge but, it seemed he was that mythical creature that she had spent her whole life both desperately wishing to know really existed, while at the same time despising to the depths of her soul.

  He was a gambler. Who won. And again and again by the looks of him. By the loose way he sat in the chair. The ease with which he wore his immaculate clothes. The way he rattled off the name of some no doubt ridiculously expensive bottle of wine.

  And
for him to always win meant guys like her dad had to always lose.

  She grabbed the leftover cork from the wine bottle and spun it over her knuckles, from one end of her hand to the other with ever increasing speed.

  There was only one way to settle this. The clincher that she had always known since she was a little girl must determine the worthwhile men from the jerks.

  ‘Do you have a dog?’ she asked.

  He looked up from his perusal of the dinner menu. ‘Ah, no.’

  There is no point in liking him. Unless, perhaps, the question merely needs one more qualifier. ‘Do you like dogs?’

  ‘I love dogs. I had a golden lab when I was a kid. Buster. He had an inner-ear problem and ran into walls all the time.’

  ‘He did no such thing.’

  ‘You have no idea. He was the best sounding-board a boy could have. Helped me get over my father’s wrath when I got a C in history. He helped me get over being dumped by Casey Campanalli in the eight grade. Helped me survive my parents’ trigger-happy divorce. To this day he’s still the best hug I’ve ever had.’

  Chelsea bit her cheek to stop from sighing. He was born to wear a suit. He was born to eat in expensive restaurants day in and day out. He had a natural reserve about him that had her instincts screaming at her to back away fast. But Damien Halliburton was a true dog lover.

  The plumber had wanted a dog for company. The single dad had been landed with his in the divorce. The consultant had treated his dogs as if they were his children. But this guy … he had understood the importance of having love in your life that was not for sale.

  She liked the guy. She wanted him. And now he’d accidentally made contact with the deepest personal touchstone she had in her arsenal. She was in trouble.

  She flicked the cork into her palm, then onto the back of her hand, then continued twirling it over her knuckles. ‘So yours wasn’t an idyllic childhood, then?’

  ‘I have no complaints. Both parents are still well and truly around and I do believe, on their diet of matching dirty martinis and tennis three times a week, they will live for ever. They divorced when I was eleven, which is likely why they are on such good terms and are now the poster children for contented singledom.’