Ultimate Heroes Collection

by Various Authors

  She coughed out a laugh, her turn to be surprised by him. ‘One sister. She was Kensington London to my Chelsea London until she very smartly married a guy called Greg Hurley. I blame my mother, who named us then left. My father died when I was sixteen.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. Neither of us have followed in either of their footsteps. Though Kensey did sell life insurance for a while. I’m sure there are many who would consider that a scam.’

  ‘One I’m afraid shadows my own family name. My father owns Universal Life,’ he said, naming one of the largest insurance companies in Australia.

  Chelsea blanched. She’d known Damien was one of the bright and shiny ones, but he was a Halliburton of those Halliburtons? He was beyond a New Uniform type. Half the buildings in his school were likely named after his ancestors while her father had been a scab on the face of existence and she had no clue if her mother was even still alive.

  Enough was enough. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loud enough to grab the attention of a passing waiter, as well as the five tables in between. ‘The bill, please,’ she told him, ‘and the faster it comes the more my friend here will tip.’

  As Damien helped her from her seat he whispered in her ear, ‘If you only knew how much that acid tongue of yours turns me on I’m afraid you’d only bite it.’

  He was dead right; she didn’t say another word, even as she quickly slid a small package from the pocket of her coat and left it with the hostess to give to Carrie.

  Once they sorted out whose phone was whose, Damien held open the glass door for her and led her outside. It was dark. Cold. Her breath expelled in short white puffs of air. She stomped her feet against the cold pavement and waited for him to join her.

  He walked to her side, rubbing his hands together. ‘So,’ he said.

  ‘So,’ she said back through cold lips. ‘This has been some day.’

  ‘One I don’t think I’ll easily forget.’

  She glanced sideways; her gaze caught with his and held. So blue. Her heart did some kind of acrobatics in her chest and, though she knew it was a bad idea, she desperately wanted him to ask her out again. Again.

  ‘I bet you didn’t picture being here twice in a day when you woke up this morning,’ she said, giving him time.

  He laughed. ‘Ah, no. I think I may have pictured meetings, phone calls, working through lunch, leaving the office way past dark, taking more work home and falling into bed some time after midnight.’

  Bed … At the word bed his voice dropped, and her nerves danced beneath her skin.

  ‘How about you?’ he asked.

  ‘Believe it or not you took the words right out of my mouth.’

  Mouth … At the word mouth his gaze dropped to hers. It felt dry, in need of a quick lap of her tongue. As though he knew the self-control she was struggling against Damien smiled, abundantly confident in his sexual power.

  But it didn’t make Chelsea feel like smiling. Her lungs felt tight, her nerve endings on fire, and her heart was beating so fast she thought it might pop fair through her chest.

  Was he punishing her? Leaving it up to her to ask him back to her place for coffee and finish what they’d started because she’d been so blasé about the idea earlier? It was what her body was aching for her to do. It was practically screaming.

  She was beginning to shake with the cold. She should just listen to her head, and kiss him on the cheek, and say goodnight. Or better yet goodbye.

  But then she thought about what it would be like to go home to her empty apartment, where she would shiver for a good ten minutes until the central heating kicked in. And even when she was dressed in her comfy flannelette pyjamas and bed socks, she would still be alone.

  So without a second thought she followed her instincts and reached out and grabbed two handfuls of glorious soft wool coat, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him full on the mouth. Giving everything she had.

  As though he’d merely been waiting for her to make a move, he immediately wrapped his hand behind her neck, pulling her closer still. Her eyes closed, she breathed out through her nose and once again let down her guard and let him in.

  He opened his coat and scooped her inside. She slid her arms around his waist and sank against him. And in his hold she felt warm, secure, desired, beautiful, and brimming with power. And maybe, just maybe, this thing that had sprung up so suddenly between them had the potential to be far more than what it seemed.

  A wolf-whistle from some young punk in a passing car pulled Chelsea out of her reverie. She slowly ended the kiss and pulled back just far enough to draw breath. Hard breaths, heavy breaths, but not nearly as hard and heavy as those belonging to the man in her arms.

  ‘Come home with me,’ she said, her voice husky and soft.

  He swallowed and leaned his forehead against hers. For so many seconds they felt like minutes. Until she began to wonder if he’d heard her at all. She prepared herself to ask again when he finally said:

  ‘Not tonight, Chelsea.’

  Her blood turned to cold sludge in her veins. Now she just wanted to get out of there and fast. She began by uncurling her fingers from his coat.

  ‘You have no idea how much I want to,’ Damien said, not letting her go just yet, pulling her closer until she felt the physical evidence of his words. ‘But I have an early meeting. And after spending every spare minute on the phone to you, I have a pile of papers to catch up on at home before then.’

  He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘Any chance I can get your phone number, though?’

  Chelsea thought about telling him where he could stick her number. But now more than anything she wanted to walk away feeling sophisticated, or at least hoping he saw her as such. Not used and shattered and weak and self-destructive for trusting him so quickly when he’d given her no real cause to apart from seeming too good to be true.

  She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, grabbed his hand, turned it over and wrote her mobile number on his warm palm and then began backing away.

  ‘So that’s goodnight?’ he asked, arms outstretched, broad form haloed by the light spilling from inside the restaurant.

  She kept backing away, her heels clacking on the concrete beneath her feet, putting more and more distance between them. ‘You’d better get home quickly if you don’t want my number to rub away.’

  His arms dropped to his sides and, the further she went, the darker and more shadowed his face became until she could no longer see the expression in his eyes. And just like that he was no more to her than a beautiful stranger again. She would do well to remember it.

  He pushed his coat aside, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. Lifting his hand towards the streetlight, he punched in a bunch of numbers.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket and out rang the theme tune from The Mary Tyler Moore Show—a show she and Kensey had loved watching the few months growing up they’d had access to a television. Despite the fact that she was doing her best to disentangle herself from him, she answered it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Chelsea, hi. It’s Damien.’

  ‘Damien who?’ She felt his smile from twenty good metres away. She didn’t know him, but it sure felt as if she did. Knew him, liked him, and much more … She picked up her pace.

  ‘Ah, the age-old question. Right up there with who am I? Why am I here? What’s my favourite colour? Now you have my number in your phone you can call me back some time in order to find out.’

  She watched him flip his phone shut, a flat tone buzzed in her ear. She flipped hers shut as well and slid it back into her purse. From halfway down the block he was now half hidden by the light pedestrian traffic.

  She saw him raise a hand goodbye, but she just turned and walked away, knowing there was no way on God’s green earth she’d be calling him.

  His second rebuff in one night well and truly restored the temporary kink in her self-control.

  CHAPT
ER EIGHT

  ‘SIR?’

  Damien’s vision cleared to find Mindy looking at him expectantly. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘Are you ready for our reports?’ she asked.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after seven a.m. He looked around the oval conference table at his team, who all had mugs of steaming hot coffee in their hands to combat the early hour, and looks of faint concern in their eyes that their intrepid leader obviously wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

  ‘Your reports,’ he said. ‘Of course. Go. Shoot.’

  ‘Right,’ Mindy said, then launched into a bullet-point breakdown of every news report of the night before that she thought might be relevant to the upcoming day’s trades.

  Damien’s leg started shaking at the lead story. He’d torn off the ends of his fingernails on one hand by the time they hit the special interest section. He almost made it all the way through the weather, before he scraped his chair back so loud the whole room went quiet.

  Caleb mouthed, What are you doing?

  ‘I’ll be back in a sec. Keep going.’

  And then he tore from the room.

  ‘I have an early meeting,’ he said aloud, repeating the words that had been thumping in his head the whole night through as he’d lain awake on Caleb’s couch, alone, wishing he could turn back the clock and follow Chelsea wherever she led.

  He had had an early meeting as he did every day of the week and it had never stopped him from indulging in night-time action before.

  But when Chelsea had asked him to come home with her, something about her, about the ingenuous intensity of her preceding goodnight kiss, had spooked him enough for him to tell a beautiful and willing woman who’d had him wound up as tight as a new spring, ‘Not tonight.’

  He’d been, of all things, honourable. And then somewhere in the middle of the night, as he’d tossed and turned on Caleb’s couch, he’d decided honour could go jump.

  So what if she smelt like sunshine not perfume? So what if she was soft, and vulnerable, and honest and nothing about her screamed one-night stand?

  He had to see her again.

  He found himself in the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor. He slid his phone from his pocket and keyed in her phone number, which was now already imprinted on his brain like a brand. It rang. And rang. And rang.

  The lift binged, he was in the foyer and moving through the revolving glass doors to Collins Street. The autumn chill seeped beneath his shirt, tie and suit trousers in a Melbourne minute.

  Damien gripped the phone in preparation of slamming it closed, when the ringing tone stopped and a familiar voice said, ‘Good morning, Damien.’

  ‘Chelsea.’ He turned down a side alley and out of the way of passers-by and the bluster shooting down the Collins Street wind tunnel. ‘Hi. Hi. Good morning yourself.’

  He slapped a hand across his eyes. Okay, so now that you have her what are you going to do with her?

  ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ she said, her voice far cooler than his. ‘I’m literally on my way out the door. Early meeting.’

  Well, he deserved that. ‘Of course. No worries. I just … I wanted to call to say hello.’

  Smooth. You are truly some kind of Valentino. She’ll be quivering at the knees right this second.

  ‘Would have been cheaper to send a text message. Or a postcard. How about next time you get the urge you post me a letter? People don’t write nearly enough nowadays.’

  ‘Chelsea—’

  ‘I get it,’ she said. ‘Truly. You don’t have to ease your conscience with some heartfelt rendition of “it’s not you it’s me”. Yesterday was one out of the box. And last night was something else entirely. But all in all it was a story with which to delight your friends come Friday night happy hour. You’re not the first, and I’m sure despite my best efforts you won’t be the last, man I meet who’ll have an early meeting.’

  Again he was hit with a wave of absolute vulnerability. Most of the time she came across as so gung-ho. So unruffled. But he could hear, as clear as if she’d said the words out loud, that he’d done it again. He’d hurt her.

  But awful as that was, as much as it was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, the strength of her reaction gave him hope he might convince her to see him again. Once they were within touching distance he’d be in his element again and he’d know just how to make them both feel better.

  He stopped pacing and planted his feet on the ground and stared hard at the graffiti-riddled brick wall of the alley. ‘I haven’t called to tell you I don’t want to see you again, Chelsea.’

  She remained silent. Her disbelief palpable.

  He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know what kind of guys you’ve dated in the past, but for me this whole phone thing we have going on leaves a lot to be desired. Especially now that I find myself missing the Mary Tyler Moore ring tone.’

  She laughed through her nose, or at least that was what it sounded like. He clung onto the small noise for dear life.

  ‘Let me prove it to you. Let me take you out again tonight. I’ll pick you up, I’ll take you somewhere nice where there will be no waiters with nose rings or exposed bra straps, I’ll pay and I’ll escort you home like a regular old-fashioned date. No funny business.’

  He crossed his fingers through the last part. He wanted funny business with her so much he could barely walk straight.

  After a long pause she said, ‘I don’t mind nose rings. What I don’t like is bad service. And small portions at exorbitant prices. And snooty uppity sorts who think themselves above other people.’

  He had a feeling she was somehow referring to him, which didn’t bode well for funny business so he chose to ignore it. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll do my best to find somewhere suitable. Tattoos all round and at the first sign of snootiness we walk. And afterwards, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. She sounded as though she’d agreed against her will, but he had the feeling this woman didn’t do anything against her will. Her will was even stronger than his. And her will said he’d done enough to have her want to see him again.

  He punched the air and let out a silent whoop.

  ‘Excellent. Let’s say seven o’clock. Text me your address as I’m nowhere near a piece of paper—’

  ‘You do know your phone has a notebook function?’

  ‘That’s nice. But I actually know how to retrieve a text message.’ He thought he did anyway. He’d better get back to the office just in case.

  He looked around and realised he was halfway down a hill heading goodness knew where. He headed up the hill hoping he’d remember which way to turn when he reached civilisation again. ‘Does this thing have a Global Positioning System?’

  ‘Of course it does.’ She laughed again and this time it was softer, gentler, more forgiving. ‘Someone ought to buy you a pocket-sized paper notebook for Christmas.’

  ‘I’ll add it to Santa’s list,’ he said. ‘So, I’ll see you at seven?’

  ‘You will. Although I could just as easily send you to some deserted block as punishment for how you ended things last night.’

  Damien grinned as he hit Collins Street and got his bearings and marched back towards the office. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You like me far too much to do that.’

  She didn’t deny it. All she said was, ‘Then don’t be late.’

  ‘I’ll be so early I’ll be embarrassing.’

  ‘Bye, Damien.’

  ‘See you soon, Chelsea.’ Damien hung up only once he was sure the line was dead.

  He pushed through the glass doors and jogged across the foyer, a newfound spring in his step. He knew that day he’d work as hard as ten men, to make up for the day before, and so that time would fly until he would be at her door.

  And this time nothing, not cold feet, or honour, or guilt would stop him from happily taking from her whatever delights she readily offered.

 
Chelsea slowly hung up the phone. The only early meeting she had was with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.

  She left the remains of both on the table in the kitchen nook at home, finished off the last bite of reheated leftover chicken teriyaki from a couple of nights before, then padded into her bedroom, disrobing as she headed towards the shower, wondering when exactly she’d become a masochist.

  She’d gambled big three times in her life. Finishing high school via correspondence while she worked full-time in a pet-grooming business after her father died to help Kensey pay the rent. Taking over the business when her mentor retired. And buying out Kensey for this apartment.

  All had given her the beginnings of stomach ulcers at first. But now…

  She looked around her at the beautiful bedroom. Sunshine spilled through the small balcony window, a light breeze kissing the gauzy curtains. The opulent furnishings made the large space feel cosy. Her instincts had been dead on.

  So what were her instincts telling her about Damien? That he was a creature of comfort who was emotionally unavailable. Not looking to fill any kind of void in his life with one woman.

  She padded into the en suite and turned on the hot water, waiting until the room filled with heavenly steam before she cooled it down and slid under the invigorating spray.

  But he was also a man who made her laugh. A man who made her able to forget her inhibitions and give herself to another person more intimately than she ever had.

  Damien Halliburton was a man who just might be worth the gamble, or might yet prove her to be the greatest fool who ever walked the earth.

  Right now she felt as if the odds were about even.

  Just before seven o’clock that night, Damien walked up Flinders Lane pressing past clumps of scantily clad waifs spilling from funky restaurant doorways. He smiled at those who smiled at him first, but his steps did not falter. He was a man on a mission.

  He looked up. Solid black wrought-iron balconies scattered the dark brick façade above. Several had light from inside spilling through translucent curtains, others yet trailed in blood-red bougainvillea. The building was unique and utterly charming. Much like the inhabitant he was here to see.