My Hero

by Kelly, Sahara

  “Thank you. I think so.”

  Max glanced around, realizing he’d spoken the truth. It was a nice house. Peta had clearly put her own stamp on the place, because there were whimsical little pieces here and there, the walls were bright and colorful, and the air was one of welcome, of—contentment.

  The thought surprised him. He had never expected to feel content anywhere. Sated, yes. Horny, definitely. But up until now, some kind of sexual wanderlust had always driven him on. He had never really bothered to wonder what he was looking for, the search had been too much fun. But now he had chance to experience something different. Something that didn’t require satin sheets, a willing woman, and any sexual gymnastics at all.

  It was strange.

  “So, Max. You don’t have any particular place you call home?” She was raising her eyebrows at him as she sipped her coffee. “My, this is very nice. I have to tell you I’m usually a tea person in the mornings, but I think you might just have converted me.”

  He stifled the thought that he’d like to convert her to something else for breakfast as well. And bagels weren’t involved. Cream cheese, maybe...

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess you could call me footloose and fancy-free.”

  “So I’ve heard.” The comment was dry, but Peta’s eyes twinkled over the rim of her mug, taking the sting out of them.

  “Hey. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  She snorted.

  “Well, all right. You can probably believe most of what you hear.” He found himself unable to come up with any diverting words. Something about Peta’s gray eyes dug inside him.

  “Better.” She smiled at his honesty. “So are you some kind of sexual predator?”

  Max nearly blew his coffee out his nose and across the table. “Fuck, no.” He bit his lip. “Sorry. You caught me by surprise.”

  She chuckled. “Not a problem. I have heard the word before, you know. Even used it myself a couple of times.”

  He felt relieved. “I’d wondered. It must be the British accent. You sound like the sort of person who wouldn’t say ‘shit’ if she had a mouthful.”

  That made her laugh out loud. “You know, seeing as we pretty much invented the language you Americans take such delight in mauling, let me reassure you that most, if not all, the curses you use so colorfully originated hundreds of years ago in England.”

  “Well, if you say so.” Damned if he was going to argue semantics at this hour of the morning. Of course, it had diverted her attention away from his sex life.

  “So you never found one woman to settle down with, huh? Still looking for the right one?”

  So much for diversion. “Uh, I guess. Though once...” He let his words trail off, not sure if he wanted to go any further in that direction.

  “Once?” Peta, of course, couldn’t let that one pass, could she?

  He nodded briefly. “Yeah, once. I met a woman. I thought I could play with her. She was gorgeous, hot, had a body that wouldn’t quit...”

  “But?” Her question prompted his memories, and images of a Cape Cod summer home flooded his mind.

  “But...she was crazy for somebody else. Married him, too. She wasn’t for me. Not that I minded, I had a second string to my bow, so to speak.”

  “But you cared for her?”

  Max paused. Had he “cared” for Emma Hansell? He’d lusted after her, that’s for sure. But she’d turned out to be so much more. She’d touched his arm and given him her apologies when he was the one who should have done the apologizing. It had been a defining moment for him, a moment when something had shifted slightly in his world. Of course, he’d gone right back in the house and fucked the shit out of Jasmine, but Emma’s memory had lingered long after Jasmine had disappeared from his life. Onto the Internet.

  “Max?” Peta recalled his attention. “Did you care for her?”

  “I’m not sure.” And that was about as honest as he could get. “She was special and I learned something from her. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  She dipped her head. “All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your private affairs.”

  He grinned. “Yes you did.”

  Looking up from beneath her eyebrows, she grinned back. “Well, yes, I suppose I did, really. But this is all most unexpected. To have the notorious Max Wolfe waiting on me hand and foot...well...you must admit?”

  He chuckled at her British phrasing. She wiped her mouth with her paper napkin and heaved a sigh of relief. “My word, that was excellent. I feel a thousand percent better now.”

  “Good. So, in all probability, does Mr. Peebles.”

  She had the grace to blush. “Never could resist those hungry-cat eyes. And I only gave him a little.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Max stood and gathered the dishes, frowning at her when she attempted to rise from her chair.

  “Stay.”

  Peta glared at him. “Right. Do I get a dog biscuit?”

  “Sorry. I just want you off that ankle as much as possible.”

  “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I have to move around soon. I need to get some work done, I need to take a shower...”

  “Uh uh. No shower. Let me put these in the dishwasher, and then we’ll discuss a bath.”

  “What’s to discuss?” her mouth tightened.

  “We will discuss how hot you want the water. We will discuss if and how you’re going to keep your ankle out of the water. We will discuss whether any of your other abrasions need some ointment or anything on them. We will discuss whether you need a pain pill or not.”

  Peta closed her eyes. “Okay. You’ve made your point.”

  Her eyes remained closed as he reached for her and carried her upstairs.

  *~*~*~*

  “Thank you, Max. That will be all.”

  “I’m not your damned butler.”

  Peta bit her lip. “I’m sorry. No offense meant. I just...I...what are you doing?”

  She stared as he carried her through her bedroom and into the small bathroom. He deposited her on the closed lid of the toilet.

  “Sit. Stay.”

  “I’m not your damned dog,” she muttered.

  He grinned. She found herself wishing he wouldn’t do that. Flash that wonderfully warm and affectionate grin at her. It was almost as if he liked her or something.

  Wistfully, she thought she’d rather have a hot and heavy lustful leer. But at this point, she’d take what she could get.

  Turning on the faucets, he held his hand under the running water until the temperature satisfied him. He flipped up the drain lever and looked around.

  “Want anything in it?”

  “Pardon me?” She struggled with his question.

  “The bath. Do you want anything in it? Bubbles? Some of that frou-frou stuff women like?”

  Peta rolled her eyes. She’d never been frou-frou in her life. “There’s a cube of bath salts on the top shelf over there.”

  Max rummaged in her bathroom cabinet, and she winced as she suddenly remembered that her birth control pills were in there, along with several other very personal items. The open mirrored door hid his face, but she could hear his chuckle.

  “My, my. Interesting.”

  She felt the color flood her face. Bollocks. He’d found her vibrator. “Did you find the bath cube?” Translation—get the hell out of my private life. Or lack of one.

  He closed the door and turned, and she waited for his next, probably embarrassing comment.

  To her surprise, none was forthcoming. “Yep. Got it here. English lavender. That okay?”

  “Um, yes, that’ll be fine. Just crumble it under the tap.”

  “That would be the faucet, right?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He followed her instructions, and within minutes the tub was filling with creamy fragrant water. Peta couldn’t wait to sink into it.

  “Right. Thanks. I can manage from here,” she said firmly. Enough was enough.
/>
  “You sure?” Max’s expression was innocent, but his eyes weren’t.

  “Quite sure, thank you.” Unless you’d like to get naked and join me.

  He sighed. “If you need anything, just shout, okay? I’m leaving the door open a little. And don’t...” He glared at her. “Don’t put any weight on that ankle. Or pain pills will be added to the breakfast menu.”

  She did not want any more of those damn pills. They muddled her mind and made her much too susceptible to this dynamic man who was presently dominating the little bathroom.

  “I hear you. I’ll be careful. Just...just go away now, please?”

  He nodded and left her, and she sighed, missing his presence. But the bathwater beckoned, she felt grubby as a worm, and within moments had sunk carefully into the steaming tub, with a huge feeling of sybaritic pleasure.

  Breakfast with Max, a bath drawn by Max, carried around by Max. Peta closed her eyes and sank even deeper.

  Sometimes a girl’s fantasies did come true.

  One good scrub, an awkward shampoo, and several dunkings later, She felt almost human again.

  The water was cloudy with soap and bath salts, and as she gently moved her knees, she caught sight of her legs.

  Holy fuzzies. She hadn’t shaved in she couldn’t remember how long. Quickly she grabbed her razor from the side of the tub and cleared the undergrowth from her armpits, thinking that her Mum may have been wrong after all.

  Wearing clean underwear in case of an accident wasn’t half as important as shaving beforehand. Of course, that pre-supposed that one knew an accident was about to happen, but so did the clean underwear thing.

  She reached for her legs.

  It was awkward, keeping her injured ankle away from the sides of the bath, and she put the razor down on the edge as she adjusted her position.

  It fell with a clatter onto the tiled floor, along with her can of shaving cream.

  Peta swore colorfully. Several ancient Anglo-Saxon words were involved.

  “May I be of assistance?”

  She squawked and grabbed the facecloth, holding it to her breasts.

  Max was leaning casually against the doorjamb, watching in amusement.

  *~*~*~*

  Something had drawn him back to that partially open bathroom door time and time again. He’d noted when she’d finished washing and started shampooing. He’d listened as she’d slid beneath the water and come up sputtering, ready to leap in and help if she needed him. But she hadn’t. Not then, anyway.

  Now she did.

  And what a sight she was. A small towel was wrapped around her hair, an even smaller facecloth was clutched to her breasts and she was glaring at him with a look that would have made even Mr. Peebles quail.

  “No. I’m fine. Go away.”

  “Oh I don’t think so,” purred Max. “You’ve dropped your razor. And your shaving cream. Want them back?”

  She seemed caught. “I...er...well...”

  “A clever man such as myself would deduce from this that you are intent on shaving something.” He let the deliberate innuendo hang between them. He ignored the little tingle that ran up his spine.

  “Very bright of you, Sherlock Holmes. But I can manage. Go away so I can do them myself.”

  “Aha. Them. Your legs.” He nodded sagely. “Hairy, are they?”

  “Maaaax...” she wailed. “For heaven’s sake...”

  He grinned at her distress. “Please. Allow me.”

  Without giving her time to do more than sputter, he knelt beside the tub and rolled up his sleeves, reaching in and grabbing the squirming leg that had no place to hide. “Watch that ankle,” he ordered.

  She whimpered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “You are about to see the amazing dexterity of Max Wolfe in action.”

  As he pulled her leg from the opaque bathwater, he wondered if she was going to see his cock in action too.

  Never had a woman’s leg, all shiny and dripping, caused such an instant and hot reaction. He clamped down on the arousal that flooded him, and carefully squirted a large dollop of shave cream on her leg.

  He smoothed it over her skin.

  Peta’s breath caught in her throat, and he raised his head at the sound.

  Their eyes met.

  His hands continued their work, stroking, caressing, spreading the foam over her skin. There was nothing businesslike about his touch, or her reaction.

  A little moan crept from her mouth, and her gray eyes darkened. Jesus, she was lovely.

  Hidden from the chest down by the milky bathwater, her shoulders gleamed at him, and he began to sweat as he realized that all her secrets were just a tug of the facecloth away. The one she was clasping to her breasts like it was a shield.

  He swallowed and picked up the razor. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer, just licked her lips. Was she afraid? Did she think he was going to nick her skin? Did she trust him? Was she as aroused as he was? Christ, he’d been in a lot of beds and done a lot of wild things, but shaving this woman’s legs was stoking some fire inside him to a higher temperature than he could ever remember.

  The razor slicked through the foam, leaving a trail of smooth skin behind it. Max whisked it clean and continued his work, making sure he carefully shaved every single square inch.

  Then he released her heel and watched as her leg disappeared beneath the water again.

  “Now the other one.”

  “Um, that’s my bad ankle.”

  “I know. Here...” He folded a towel and rested it on the side of the bath. “Put your heel here, and let me take it from there.” Let me take you.

  His jeans were strangling him now, but he bravely continued, trying not to make matters worse by letting his eyes roam to where the water was now lapping around that wet facecloth.

  She obediently raised her leg. A lot more thigh showed this time, as she was sliding her leg out to the towel.

  Beautiful white thighs. Rounded and womanly, and just perfect for fitting around him as he filled her.

  His hand shook, and he let himself enjoy the pleasure of sliding some shaving cream onto that delicious patch of skin above her knee.

  “Um, Max? Just the lower leg, please.”

  Fuck.

  He quickly turned to his task, before he came in his jeans. All this shiny scented skin was overwhelming.

  Her ankle was purple and blue and some other ugly colors, but the swelling had gone down. “Your ankle looks better today,” he mumbled, trying to keep his mind on his job.

  “It feels good,” she moaned. Yes, she definitely moaned.

  He finished shaving, and rinsed the razor, putting it carefully out of reach. But he left his hands on her leg. “Now. Is there anything else you need shaved?”

  He couldn’t resist the urge to touch her, to feel her, and he let his hands slide over her softness up past her knee to her thigh.

  Her eyes were wide, staring at him, and he wasn’t sure of her expression. For once, his skill at reading a woman seemed to have deserted him.

  Was it heat he saw there? An unfulfilled sexual longing? The dark pupils were dilating now, all right, but seeing as his hands had slipped all the way to the water and a little beneath, he doubted it was from a concussion.

  Could it be desire? Or nerves? Or embarrassment?

  Shit. He didn’t know. He knew what he wanted it to be, and with other women, at other times, he’d have pursued those wants, and made sure of his conquest.

  But Peta was different. He held back, just softly running his fingers over the inside of her thigh. He was amazed that the water in the bath didn’t just evaporate from the heat he felt his body generating.

  “I’m quite handy with a...razor,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes never left his face.

  “You have only to ask.” Please ask. Please say something, anything. Gimme a clue here. Before my cock self-destructs and I can never raise my head again. Th
e words “premature ejaculation” raced through his brain as the zipper on his jeans crushed painfully into his balls.

  Peta licked her lips and he saw the water move as she dragged in a breath. “Umm...er...I think...I’m fine, Max.”

  Oh I think you are too, darlin’. Very fine.

  “Well, okay then.” He slowly released her leg, slithering his wet hands over her skin and watching in fascination as goosebumps appeared in response to his touch.

  He couldn’t resist the slow smile that crossed his face. “You look good wet.” He raised his eyes to hers once more. “Very good.”

  She swallowed.

  He lowered his voice even more, letting a little of his heat come through. “Very good indeed.”

  He moved away from her then, making sure the towels were where she could reach them.

  He thought he heard her sigh as he left the bathroom.

  Chapter Eight

  For the rest of that day, an uneasy awareness percolated through Peta’s quiet house.

  She realized that both she and Max had crossed some invisible boundary at that moment in her bathtub when, with his hands around her thighs, their eyes had clashed.

  It was as if there was some sexual pot simmering somewhere, and every move he made, every sound, damn near every breath echoed like church bells in her newly-sensitive ears.

  She’d never been as aware of him as she was now.

  Hunched over her keyboard, she tried to drag her thoughts back to the book she was editing, the contract she was trying to negotiate, and the hundred and one other things she should be doing.

  Instead of lusting after a certain man.

  The one waiting for Phoebe, standing by the window and finally hissing with relief as a car pulled up outside.

  Was he that anxious to get away?

  She stifled a sigh. He hadn’t seemed that way when she was wet and naked. Oh dear.

  Phoebe’s voice sounded in the hallway as Max opened the door and let her in. A gust of icy air came with her.

  “Yes, yes, it’s cold. Yada yada. Haven’t got time to talk about the weather.” Phoebe bustled into the living room and grinned at Peta. “Well, you look a damn sight better than last time I saw you. Max taking good care of you?”