My Hero

by Kelly, Sahara

  The words were calm, but she felt like she was bleeding them instead of speaking them.

  He blinked. “You want me to move on?”

  “That’s not what I said. But probably, yes. You will anyway, so why wait?”

  Her question thudded between them. Better to at least retain a little pride. Screaming, carrying on, hanging onto his neck, no. That wasn’t her style at all. Diana could get away with it, but not Peta.

  “I suppose,” he said, running his hand through his hair.

  Bollocks. If only she didn’t love him so much. Then perhaps this wouldn’t kill her. But she did, and it probably would. Oh she’d survive physically, but she wasn’t sure about her mental state.

  She turned away again, to hide the sting of tears she could feel beginning behind her eyes.

  “Well, all right then. I’ll go and check in over at Cole’s and see if they have anything.” Max cleared his throat. “I’ll be back in a while, okay?”

  “Sure. Take your time.”

  Her voice was casual, miraculously so, since tears were pouring down her cheeks, and her throat was aching with the need to scream out her pain. Her hands trembled as she heard Max putting on his coat, and when the door slammed again she slumped, giving way to her grief.

  She sobbed. Huge, hiccupping sobs that wracked her body and tore at he throat.

  He was gone. Her house had never seemed so empty.

  Peta dragged herself to the kitchen table and sobbed some more, ignoring Mr. Peebles who was expressing his concern by twining himself around her shins.

  She sniffled, and grabbed for a tissue, blowing her nose hard, and trying to stop the flood that threatened to sweep her over the edge into despair.

  He was gone. Max Wolfe had done what he did best. Loved her and left her. Why was she so surprised? Why was she acting like some twit, crying over a man she’d known from the beginning she could never hold?

  Because you love him, you pea-brained moron.

  Her thoughts allowed her no respite and the tears came again. Mr. Peebles jumped up on her lap, and she took some small comfort from stroking him.

  “I love him so much, Mr. Peebles. It’s going to be hell trying to live without him, you know,” she confided with a sniffle.

  Mr. Peebles looked thoughtful, then closed his eyes as her fingers scratched around his ear and under his chin.

  She tried for a mental diversion. There was work to be done, edits and contracts to complete, and the office had to be checked up on, to see if she could actually get back to work. Get her life back to normal.

  Normal. Hah. Nothing would ever be normal again. Her life was now PW and...and...PW. Pre-Wolfe and Post-Wolfe.

  She blew her nose again, and stared at nothing in particular. In the last week or so, she’d crashed up her car, loved Max Wolfe, found out about her co-worker’s murder, loved Max Wolfe, found a dead body, tried to solve a crime, and loved Max Wolfe.

  Yes, there was definitely a trend. It was a damn shame that the Deans had been killed, but Peta was obsessed. Not by their murders, but by Max Wolfe.

  She exhaled deeply, wondering if it was her heart leaving her body, and why it wasn’t puddling on the table in front of her.

  Mr. Peebles sat up on her lap, and did something quite un-cat like.

  He licked her cheek.

  A weak smile crossed her lips. “Aw, sweetie. Thanks for the comfort.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “I have to go on, don’t I? I have to get past this.”

  Mr. Peebles obviously agreed. He jumped down onto the floor and she stood, looking vaguely around her.

  “So where do I go from here?”

  *~*~*~*

  The cold air blasted Max’s cheeks as he left the house, and walked down the street. He had no idea where he was going, but some instinct took him towards the center of town.

  He was two blocks away when he realized that he did, in fact, have a car.

  It didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter. He was walking away from Peta and that was the only thing running through his mind.

  His steps slowed, and for once he did something that was quite out of character. He started analyzing his feelings.

  Until now, he’d never done stuff like this. Thinking about the women he’d slept with was so unlike him, he got a distinct shiver of concern as he began the process. What was the matter with him? Where was the love ‘em and leave ‘em philosophy that had served him so well in the past?

  Where was the superstud who merrily fucked his way through life, taking what was offered with a smile, a hard-on, and a cheery wave goodbye?

  Peta had somehow eroded that carefully-constructed facade. She’d burrowed beneath his protective armor and reached a place inside him that was open to her, waiting for her, and she’d settled down there with all the enthusiasm of Mr. Peebles finding a comfortable lap and curling up on it.

  Even Mr. Peebles liked her. And he’d been notoriously aloof with Max’s other women. Not that any of them had stayed long enough to meet him, but still...

  Ignoring the slippery sidewalk beneath his feet and the cold wind lashing the color into his cheeks, he strolled on, asking himself some unanswerable questions.

  Why was it different with Peta? How was it different with Peta?

  She was no better looking than many of his other women. She had hips, nicely rounded ones it was true, and she was no slender supermodel. There was a good amount of flesh there for his hands to sink into when he pulled her onto his cock.

  His body flushed as he recalled the feel of her, the scent of her, the look of her as he buried himself in her.

  He tried to remember that precise moment with any of the other women he’d fucked. He couldn’t. They had all faded away, blown into obscurity by one eccentric chestnut-haired woman with a slightly British accent and a pair of gray eyes that spiked him to his soul.

  Resolutely, Max turned his steps onto Main Street and headed for the realty office. He wanted his own apartment. He needed his own apartment. He was a loner by choice and by nature. He was after someplace that wouldn’t collapse on him, had a reasonably comfortable bed to which he could bring his choice of women, and a rent that didn’t require him to be a multi-millionaire.

  He swallowed as he realized that no apartment would really offer what he wanted, because Peta wouldn’t be in it.

  Her ratty robe wouldn’t be hanging behind the bathroom door. Her assorted shampoos wouldn’t clutter up the shower. Her tea can, or as she called it, a caddy, wouldn’t be brightening up the kitchen counter.

  He chuckled as he realized how many British-isms he’d come to accept. He’d always thought a caddy was someone loaded down with golf clubs. Now whenever he heard the word, he knew he’d see her, intent on her tea-making ritual, swirling water in the pot and then tucking it up under a hat-like lump of insulation.

  He reached the door of Cole’s Realty Offices. He even put his hand on the doorknob.

  But he stopped. The truth snuck up on him and landed him a blinding thump somewhere behind his left ear.

  He wanted to go home. And home was anywhere Peta was.

  It was too late for the old Max Wolfe. The man he used to be had ceased to exist the moment he’d buried himself inside Peta Matthews and taken them both to the edge of oblivion.

  What was originally another in a series of conquests, had become so much more. Something that overrode everything else in Max’s mind and, he hated to admit it, his heart.

  He wanted her.

  He wanted her humor, her charm, her accent, and her deliciously rounded thighs. He wanted to see himself reflected in her eyes as she came in waves beneath him. He wanted to fall asleep with her curled up next to him and wake up wrapped around her. He wanted to drink tea until his bladder exploded, and even, possibly, eat beans on toast. He still wasn’t sure if he could manage the poached egg thing, but for her, he’d try it.

  And he knew why.

  Because the conquering hero, Max Wolfe, had finally been co
nquered himself.

  He’d gone and fallen in love with her.

  As Peta herself was wont to say, oh bollocks.

  Max turned away from the realty office and began the long walk home to claim his woman and his future.

  *~*~*~*

  While Max was experiencing an enormous emotional epiphany, Peta was experiencing a wide variety of her own emotions.

  Going upstairs to her room, the pain she’d been suffering gave way to anger. Her sheets were rumpled, the scent of Max and sweat and sex lingered, and her temper boiled over.

  “How dare he.” She muttered to herself as she yanked the comforter off the bed and dumped it in a pile on the floor beside her. “That bloody bastard. How dare he just saunter out of here like that.”

  The flying linen unnerved Mr. Peebles, who attacked a pillowcase as it fluttered his way.

  “He gives me the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life and then acts like it’s nothing.” Holding a pillow to her chest, she sank down on the bed and stared at Mr. Peebles as he glared at the now-dead pillowcase. “Do you think it was nothing to him, Mr. Peebles?”

  The cat wisely kept his silence.

  “Perhaps it’s always like that for him. Perhaps it was disappointing, even. Perhaps...perhaps...” She thumped the pillow. “Oh how the bloody hell should I know?”

  She stood and winced as her jeans chafed the bare skin beneath. Her temper rose again. “And to think I even left off my damned underwear. God, I am such a slut...”

  She rummaged in her bureau, pulling out a bra and panties. Serviceable white cotton emerged, and Peta roughly shoved her lacier garments to the bottom of the drawer. It was unlikely she’d need them in the near future.

  Scattering clothes right and left, Peta mumbled on. “Damn the man. How stupid could I have been? I knew what he was like right from the start, but did I listen to myself?”

  Correctly deducing that this was a metaphorical question, Mr. Peebles hunkered down on his front paws and waited for Peta to offer her response.

  “Noooo. Of course not. The stupid sex-mad Brit idiot couldn’t wait to strip off her panties and...and fuck like a bloody rabbit.” She glanced over at the cat. “Yes, I said rabbit. Aren’t you supposed to look predatory or something?”

  Mr. Peebles’s nose twitched.

  Peta sighed. “See? He’s even got me talking to a cat. One good-looking man pays attention to me, takes me to bed, fucks my brains out, and here I am. A raving twit with no underwear, conversing with a creature who only gives me the time of day if I’ve got food in my hand.”

  Mr. Peebles took offense at that. He stood, stretched gracefully, and flicked his tail at her as he left the room.

  Oh brilliant. She’d just been flipped the feline version of the middle finger.

  With a muttered curse that had far more to do with the physical than the abstract, Peta stripped off her sweater and jeans and struggled into her panties.

  They felt constrictive, too tight, and rubbed her in places that she hadn’t realized were aching.

  She closed her eyes and tried not to remember how they got that way. How Max had felt as his body had pressed her vibrator against her and how his cock had responded as she fell into a million pieces beneath him.

  She sank down on the bed again, and fought the tears. Damn it, she was NOT going to cry again.

  She bit down on her lip.

  And cried.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The timing was perfect.

  Wolfe was gone, on foot too, which would take a lot of time, given the road conditions. He’d seen the shadows behind Peta Matthew’s windows. She had gone upstairs.

  He probably wouldn’t get another chance like this. Maybe even try a little of that British cunt she seemed to guard so jealously while he was at it. God knew she’d been quick enough to share it with Wolfe.

  Now it was his turn.

  He chuckled to himself as he slowly eased the front door open.

  At last. Finally. He’d be able to get his hands on what rightfully belonged to him. His heart pounded as he entered the small hallway.

  He’d known it was here. Just as sure as he knew his own name. He could almost smell it. The trail had gone cold in Boston a few years ago, because people had a very distressing tendency to move around more than they should.

  And to think of the hours he’d spent researching, digging, making endless and futile phone calls, only to have it turn up in that stupidly ignorant Phoebe’s cache of junk. He’d been so close at the flea market. So fucking close.

  If only he’d recognized the box for what it was. But it had taken more time to find the dealer than he had anticipated, and when he got there—it was gone.

  Fortunately, the guy had at least remembered the bitch who’d bought it. And so the trail had led him here. To Phoebe, of all people.

  He grinned. Sometimes the world was a truly funny place. To think that he could have actually skipped all that time-wasting stuff, and just waited for Phoebe to bring it back to Mayfield.

  He closed the door behind him, and the damn thing clicked shut with a sharp sound.

  A door opened upstairs.

  He reached into his pocket and cradled the small caliber gun. The time was past for the niceties of doing it barehanded, or the innate satisfaction of a knife sliding home. This time, it was going to be obvious.

  An obvious case of a lover’s quarrel, that is. And he’d have to make sure that the part about the ‘lovers’ was backed up by a whole lot of very convincing forensic evidence. He remembered the condom in his back pocket, and silently eased his hands into a pair of thin latex gloves. Peta would look used, all right. But the only physical remains would be those of Max Wolfe.

  He smiled once more, and started for the stairs.

  *~*~*~*

  Peta’s heart stopped as she heard the distinctive sound of the front door closing downstairs.

  He was back. Max had come back.

  Her ears rang and her vision blurred for a moment, as her heart started up again and roared into overdrive.

  Would he come up and kiss her and sweep her off her feet? Or would he just casually mention that he’d found an apartment and was leaving shortly?

  Well, bugger that. Not if she had anything to say about it. She was dressed for sex, if wearing white cotton panties could be called sex-inducing attire, and if thought he was going to get away without one last fuck, then he was wrong.

  Peta rushed into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, ran a brush through her hair and then re-entered the bedroom.

  The footsteps hesitated on the landing.

  Aww. He was shy.

  “In here, Max...I’m so glad you came back. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, and trying to forget that she was almost naked, with her breasts on display, and her nipples putting on a rather obvious show of arousal, Peta waited.

  The door opened.

  “Max...I...” She gasped, and her heart stopped once again. But this time, it was with fear. Her eyes slid from the cold gaze of the man staring at her to the shiny little gun he was pointing at her.

  “You.”

  *~*~*~*

  Max’s pace quickened as he headed back to Peta’s little house on Acorn Street. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and his lips creased in a grin as he imagined her surprise when he walked into the kitchen.

  Or the bedroom. Or her bathroom. He didn’t care if she was sitting on the toilet at the time. Some things demanded immediate attention, and what he had to say was one of them.

  “I love you.” He tried out the words quietly to himself. “I love you, Peta.” Yep. It sounded right. He wasn’t sensing any urge to throw up, or run for the nearest train out of town.

  He wasn’t panicking. He was eager. For the first time in his life, he loved someone, and he couldn’t wait to tell her. In detail.

  And then show her. Also in detail. Most of which included them bot
h naked, on the bed, the floor, the dining room table, and possibly next to the tea caddy. If he was really creative, he could even find a use for the cozy. He wanted to lick her all over, and have her reciprocate. Twice.

  A thought sobered him. Suppose she didn’t love him back?

  His steps slowed a little as he considered this possibility, and a chill slipped down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.

  He gritted his teeth. If she didn’t love him back, then he’d damn well make her. He’d caress her, and touch her and drive her crazy, bringing that wonderful glaze of cloudy heat into those gray eyes of hers.

  Then he’d sink deep into her and make her admit that she loved him too. She just had to. She could never have given herself to him, cuddled him, hell, made him tea like she did, if she hadn’t felt something, could she?

  Once again, Max found himself caught up in a maelstrom of questions to which he had no answers. It was an unusual feeling, and a sort of unpleasant one. He wasn’t sure that he liked this whole “being in love” thing. Too many uncertainties, and too many unanswered questions.

  There was only one way to find out. He had to go get answers, and he had to lay to rest his uncertainties. And then he was going to fuck Peta until they were exhausted, sticky, limp, and ready to plan their future.

  And their family.

  A small vision from his dream crept into his mind. He’d dreamed that he’d had a son. Where the hell had that come from? He knew, sure as shit, that Peta was the mother.

  And he knew, just as certainly, that he wanted that child. Wanted to plant his seed in her and watch her grow as she nourished his son. And perhaps a daughter, too.

  He chuckled as he quickened his steps. Maybe he’d send Emma Hansell a picture of the babies. She’d like that.

  It seemed to take ages to get back to Peta’s, but his long legs ate up the slushy sidewalk, and he found himself breathing quickly as he mounted the steps two at a time and opened the front door.