Holding Out For a Hero

by Caroline Anderson

  He met her eyes—kind, gentle eyes, thoughtful and caring. And curious. Not from idleness, but from a genuine need to know, to help him.

  He felt the panic rising, the need to escape, to get the hell out.

  And as if she realized that, she stopped pushing, just as he was about to turn and walk away. Her smile was apologetic.

  ‘Sorry. Come on. We’ll have coffee and a disgustingly sticky cake and go back and find something innocuous to do. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Playing hookey again?’

  She laughed. ‘Look where that got us last time!’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘True. Any news of Jess?’

  ‘She’s out of danger, they think. She’ll probably go home over the weekend. I spoke to the ward this morning. Apparently she wants to see us.’

  ‘Without the camera,’ he suggested hopefully, but Meg shook her head.

  ‘She wants to be on the telly—awake and in her make-up.’

  He sighed. ‘Oh, well, it’ll keep Pete happy,’ he said, ‘and if the producer’s happy, he gets off my back. I’m all for that.’

  They did go up to the wards later, and saw not only Jess, sitting up in bed and feeling much more alert and comfortable, but also Mick Jarvis, with his external fixator, and Andy Johnson.

  Andy’s wife and children were with him, and they seemed genuinely delighted that Ben had taken the trouble to go and see how he was getting on.

  ‘I’ve got the circulation back to it,’ he explained as Steve zoomed in on the lifeless limb lying supported on a pillow, ‘and I can move it if I think hard, but that’s only coming from the arm, not the hand, and there’s no feeling in it. They’ve said that’ll take ages,’ he told Ben, and Ben nodded.

  ‘Any pain?’ he asked, and Meg’s ears pricked up. Was this the anaesthetist in him sneaking out without him noticing, or the touchy-feely presenter getting down to brass tacks?

  ‘A bit—more of an ache, and only in the arm, but I keep feeling things like cramp and itching in the hand when there isn’t any. It’s weird, but they tell me that’s the nerve damage.’

  Ben nodded again and lifted Andy’s hand, as if he was going to examine the replanted limb, then suddenly seemed to realise what he was doing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped back. ‘Well, good luck with it. I hope it mends well and you get back to work soon. Thank you for allowing us to film you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘And don’t come back,’ Meg added with a grin. ‘No more bits cut off. Can’t you grow tomatoes under plastic?’

  ‘I’ve told him that,’ Jill said with a laugh. ‘We’re looking into it. Trouble is, all the glass would have to come down, and you know what that means!’

  ‘Get a bulldozer,’ Ben advised with a chuckle. Raising his hand, he waved farewell and they walked out of the ward, Steve panning after them.

  ‘Great. Excellent. What now?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Now I’m going home,’ Meg said. ‘I need to pack for tomorrow and, frankly, I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Can we film that?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Nobody’s interested in my flat or my clothes, and they sure as eggs aren’t watching me in the bath!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Pete, back off,’ Ben said firmly, and took the mike from her. ‘Enough’s enough. Meg, we’ll see you in the morning.’

  She nodded. ‘Don’t forget to bring jeans and climbing boots, if you’ve got them, or trainers with flexible grippy soles.’

  His jaw tensed. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do. I’ll see you at seven.’

  And before Pete could think of anything else he wanted to film, she walked briskly away down the corridor, ran down the stairs, grabbed her things from her locker and went out to the car park. Her windscreen had been replaced the day before, but the wiper was still broken and the aerial didn’t work. Never mind. She’d get them fixed next week. It would be something to do when Ben had gone…

  ‘Oh, hell,’ she whispered, and stabbed the key into the ignition. She didn’t want to think about Ben going, not at all, but he was going to, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

  Meg spent hours that night deep-conditioning her hair and doing her nails and packing for her trip to London. In fact, she was so wrapped up in the thought of Saturday night that it was only after she woke late the following morning and saw the abseiling crew setting up the ropes on the top of the surgical block as she drove in that she remembered.

  Oh, hallelujah. Judgement day.

  Damn. And, of course, she’d been so busy getting ready for tonight that she’d forgotten her clothes for the abseil. Great. She couldn’t do it without her trainers, but then she remembered she’d lost them anyway on the beach. Unless…

  She glanced down and saw her old pair abandoned in the footwell with a pair of her scruffiest jeans.

  Blast. There was no getting out of it.

  She nearly came to blows over the last parking place, but in the end the man trying to squeeze his car into the slot couldn’t get out of the door and had to go elsewhere, and she shot neatly into the little gap, squirmed through the crack and made it into the department, trainers in hand, at a minute to seven.

  ‘Ah, Spiderwoman,’ Pete said.

  She forced a smile at his weak joke and shot through to the staffroom, throwing her jeans and elderly trainers in her locker and washing her hands before checking in with the night sister.

  ‘I’ll be with you after hand-over,’ she said to Steve as she paused in the doorway. ‘I’m in charge today.’

  ‘No, you’re not, I’ve taken over,’ Angie said from inside the room.

  ‘But it’s your day off! I was on the rota—’

  ‘And you’re too tied up with this lot and the abseil to do it properly. It’s fine. It’s only a half day. Go on, I’ll get my own back on you in due course.’

  As if she was doing Meg a favour!

  ‘No way,’ she retorted with a grin. ‘This is your fault, you landed me in it. Live with it.’

  She shut the door and turned, to find Ben right behind her, his face unsmiling.

  ‘So how much is it going to cost me to stay on terra firma?’ he asked without preamble.

  ‘And good morning to you, too. I have no idea. I have to make a few calls first, but I hope you’re feeling rich, because at the last count it was over twenty-three thousand.’

  His jaw sagged.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty-three thousand. I’ve got the local radio stations on it. Didn’t I mention that? Obviously the listeners all love you.’

  ‘Or hate me,’ he growled. ‘They’ll probably all be lined up waiting for me to fall to my death—and, no, you didn’t mention it.’

  She cocked her head on one side, scanning his face a little more closely. His jaw was locked, the muscles jumping, and there was a little tic in his eye. ‘You’re truly worried about this, aren’t you?’ she said slowly.

  ‘No, I’m just peachy,’ he retorted sarcastically. ‘I love the idea of hanging by a thread.’

  ‘And there I thought it was just me,’ she murmured with a grin. ‘I tell you what—I’ll hold your hand if you’ll hold mine.’

  ‘Or we could both run away.’

  Tempting—and for more reasons than she cared to think about.

  ‘Coward,’ she said.

  Behind her she heard him mutter, ‘Dear God, you owe me.’

  She wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to, her or God, but one thing she was sure of. He was going off that building with her, come hell or high water.

  ‘Get over it, Maguire,’ she told him. ‘You’ve got your pound of flesh. I’m coming with you tonight and not drooling and being normal and ordinary—remember?’

  ‘Will you ever let me forget?’

  ‘I might. Depends how nice you are to me.’

  He snorted. ‘I must have been mad. I could have got out of that, too, and now I’m doing both. I need my head examin
ed.’

  ‘Has that ever been in doubt? Whatever, we’re doing this, both of us, so live with it. Right, what’s going on this morning?’

  By one o’clock the sponsorship total had climbed to over twenty-four thousand pounds. There was no way Ben had that kind of money sitting around. The bulk of his income went on living expenses, and anything that was left went to children’s charities and the air ambulance service.

  So there was no twenty-four thousand sitting in a savings account, waiting for him to give it away, because he’d already done it. Which meant only one thing.

  Dammit.

  ‘Got your stuff?’

  He shot Meg a look that should have fried her skin, and hefted the bag in his hand.

  ‘Right, let’s get changed and go and register. I forgot to bring my stuff so I’m doing it in my grotty old jeans and ancient trainers that were lying on the car floor. I hope Steve hasn’t got too strong a zoom on that camera.’

  ‘We could always—’ he began, but she just turned round, laughing, and dragged him into the staffroom.

  ‘Change,’ she ordered, so with a shrug he heeled off his shoes, yanked off his trousers and pulled on his jeans, trying not to look as she did the same.

  Clearly she had no such inhibitions. ‘Those jeans again?’ she said when he was one leg in, one leg out. ‘They’re worse than mine,’ she said, and he glared at her once more and dragged on the other leg.

  ‘Don’t you start. You’re lucky I’m doing this at all, so don’t push it.’ He zipped them up, hitched the belt up an extra notch for security and put on his trainers.

  ‘They need to be tight. You can’t risk them falling all that way onto someone.’

  ‘Would you stop it with the “all that way” stuff?’ he growled, snapping to his feet, snatching up his trousers and shoes and stuffing them into the bag. ‘Right, let’s get this fiasco over with.’

  Unfortunately it wasn’t that easy. It took an age to register at the desk situated at the edge of the car park, and all the time Ben was conscious of a steady stream of lunatics pouring down the side of the building.

  Madness. And some of them seemed to be having fun! He was given a harness, and someone clipped it on him and adjusted it to fit, tugging it good and tight. Great. It couldn’t be tight enough as far as he was concerned. He fastened the helmet and felt the strap all but choke him.

  ‘OK, we’re on,’ Meg said, and headed towards the doors. He turned and saw Steve grin and wave, and Pete was all but rubbing his hands together. Dammit. How on earth had he been talked into this?

  He trailed Meg up in the lift and out onto the roof, and when she turned to say something to him he couldn’t hear for the pounding of his heart. She frowned at him and reached out, her fingertips brushing the side of his neck.

  ‘Your heart’s racing!’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

  He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. ‘No, Meg, I’m not OK. I don’t do heights. I’ve been terrified of heights since I was three years old and got stuck on the ledge over the stairs. My mother had to get the fire brigade to rescue me, and I’ve never been able to cope with heights since. So, no, I’m not all right. I don’t want to do this, but apparently we have to, so let’s get it over with.’

  She caught her lip in her teeth, her eyes full of remorse.

  ‘You should have said—’

  ‘I thought I had. Anyway, it’s too late now. Let’s just do it.’

  Meg didn’t think he was going to be able to make it, but he gritted his teeth, listened to the instructions and then, turning his back on the hellish drop, he leant back, walked down over the edge and paused for the obligatory photo.

  ‘OK?’ she asked, worried now and not happy with the responsibility, but stuck with it because yet again she’d known best and bullied someone into something against their better judgement.

  She was always doing it, especially with something like this, but she’d never seen anyone so genuinely afraid as Ben.

  ‘Just peachy,’ he said, and, easing out his arm to give the rope some slack, he slid down a few inches.

  ‘That’s it. Bit more rope, a little bounce, and you’ll drop down further.’

  ‘Drop?’ he said with a twisted grin, and she was relieved that he hadn’t quite lost his sense of humour.

  ‘Sorry.’ She smiled back, her own fears forgotten in the process of helping him overcome his.

  He tried again, going down a few feet this time, and she released her own rope and dropped down beside him. ‘You’re doing well. Keep going.’

  ‘I intend to. I’m not spending the night here, tempting though it might be to miss the award ceremony. You wouldn’t like to take my mind off it, would you?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. Tell me about your underwear or something,’ he suggested, his voice a little desperate.

  He went down a few more feet, and she joined him and threw him a cheeky grin. ‘What underwear?’

  ‘The underwear you’re wearing?’

  ‘Like I said—what underwear?’

  He turned his head and stared full into her eyes. ‘No underwear?’ he murmured.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a bra on, but I thought I’d give the knickers a miss today…’

  Another drop, another look.

  ‘First you’re sunbathing topless, now you’re going commando. You’re winding me up.’

  ‘Am I? Only one way to find out.’

  ‘You’re on.’

  And without another word, he let the rope out and dropped fifteen or more feet. She shot down after him, hardly able to keep up, and by the time they reached the bottom his eyes were glittering.

  There was a massive cheer and flash bulbs were popping. There were girls begging for Ben’s autograph, officials waiting for their harnesses and helmets, and he patiently shucked off the kit and signed the scraps of paper and shook hands and waved to the people who’d sponsored him.

  Then taking Meg by the arm, with a smile plastered firmly on his face, he steered her round the side of the building and down an alley-way, then pushed her into a doorway, dragged her into his arms and kissed her.

  Finally, she thought. Finally…

  Finally!

  Lord, she tasted good. Sweet and moist and firm, her tongue tangling with his, her pulse racing under his hand as his fingers closed around her breast and he groaned.

  ‘Ben…’

  ‘Shh.’ His mouth found hers again, his hand sliding down, round into the small of her back and tunnelling down into her jeans to encounter…

  Underwear. Soft, silky, slippery knickers, with little lacy panels on the hems, just where her firm, taut buttocks creased against her smooth, lean thighs.

  He dragged her up against him, rocking his hips against her, desperate for the feel of her beneath him.

  ‘You lied to me,’ he moaned, and she gave a throaty, sexy chuckle.

  ‘It got you down.’

  ‘It got me up, is what it got me. I nearly fell off that building. All the blood diverted from my brain. Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?’

  She laughed again, and he realised she was trembling, nearly as much as he was. Easing away from her, he kissed her softly then straightened.

  ‘Later,’ he vowed. ‘We’ll finish this later.’

  If he lived that long.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE hotel was humming, a hive of activity, people rushing here and there in preparation for the big night.

  All the major TV companies were represented, and when Meg saw so many people she recognised hanging around the elegant foyer and greeting each other like old friends, it suddenly dawned on her just what she’d let herself in for.

  ‘Ben, what on earth am I doing here?’ she muttered, and he shot her a teasing grin.

  ‘Being ordinary,’ he reminded her, and she poked him in the ribs with a forefinger.

  ‘Watch it.’

  He chuckled and turned back to the desk as the uniformed recept
ionist greeted him with a friendly smile. ‘Good evening, Mr Maguire. Welcome back—it’s good to see you again. You’re in room 38, third floor. Turn left out of the lift and it’s on the right, overlooking the square. Is there anything you’d like sent up?’

  He shook his head, then turned to Meg. ‘Want anything?’

  Only you.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘Could I ask you both to sign in?’ the receptionist said, sliding a form towards them and studying Meg with discreet interest.

  She wondered if Ben had ever brought a woman here before, and told herself not to be so stupid. Of course he had. Here, and all sorts of other places, no doubt.

  It was obvious now that he’d expected them to share a room. Of course, the reservations had been made some time before, but she wondered if he’d even attempted to reserve a room for her since Thursday, when he’d suggested she should come, or if he’d always assumed that the woman who accompanied him would share his bed—whoever she might be?

  Not that she’d done anything to dispel his illusions. The atmosphere in the car on the way down had been charged with sexual tension, and she’d known from that first kiss after their abseil exactly how the evening would end.

  What she didn’t know was what it would mean, if anything, for Ben.

  And that troubled her. It made no difference to the outcome, but it made her wonder about her moral fibre. She’d never—ever—made love to a man she’d known for so short a time. And she’d never felt this way either, even after a lengthy relationship.

  It made no difference that she knew it was only the one night, and that it might not mean nearly so much to Ben, because for her it was everything. The honeymoon, the swansong—all of it, hello and goodbye rolled into one.

  It just would have been nice if he hadn’t taken it quite so very much for granted.

  He opened the door to their room and held it for her, and she went in, flicking on the lights, looking around curiously to see what the TV company would give him by way of accommodation.

  The answer was, quite impressive. A spacious room, sumptuously furnished with a kingsize bed and a luxurious en suite bathroom, but it wasn’t a suite of rooms, so there was nowhere apart from the bathroom for her to dress with any privacy. Crazy, really, but she just wanted somewhere she could get ready alone without him watching her. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him.