Local Hero (13 page)

“You're happy.” She turned her hand under his so their palms met. “It shows. Not everyone is as content with themselves as you are, as at ease with himself and what he does.”

“It took me awhile.”

“And your parents? Have you reconciled with them?”

“We came to the mutual understanding that we'd never understand each other. But we're family. I have my stock portfolio, so they can tell their friends the comic book business is something that amuses me. Which is true enough.”

Mitch ordered another bottle of champagne with the main course. “Now it's your turn.”

She smiled and let the delicate soufflé melt on her tongue. “Oh, I don't have anything so exotic as an artist's garret in New Orleans. I had a very average childhood with a very average family. Board games on Saturday nights, pot roast on Sundays. Dad had a good job, Mom stayed home and kept the house. We loved each other very much but didn't always get along. My sister was very outgoing, head cheerleader, that sort of thing. I was miserably shy.”

“You're still shy,” Mitch murmured as he wound his fingers around hers.

“I didn't think it showed.”

“In a very appealing way. What about Rad's father?” He felt her hand stiffen in his. “I've wanted to ask, Hester, but we don't have to talk about it now if it upsets you.”

She drew her hand from his to reach for her glass. The champagne was cold and crisp. “It was a long time ago. We met in high school. Radley looks a great deal like his father, so you can understand that he was very attractive. He was also just a little wild, and I found that magnetic.”

She moved her shoulders a little, restlessly, but was determined to finish what she'd started. “I really was painfully shy and a bit withdrawn, so he seemed like something exciting to me, even a little larger than life. I fell desperately in love with him the first time he noticed me. It was as simple as that. In any case, we went together for two years and were married a few weeks after graduation. I wasn't quite eighteen and was absolutely sure that marriage was going to be one adventure after another.”

“And it wasn't?” he asked when she paused.

“For a while it was. We were young, so it never seemed terribly important that Allan moved from one job to another or quit altogether for weeks at a time. Once he sold the living room set that my parents had given us as a wedding present so that we could take a trip to Jamaica. It seemed impetuous and romantic, and at that time we didn't have any responsibilities except to ourselves. Then I got pregnant.”

She paused again and, looking back, remembered her own excitement and wonder and fear at the idea of carrying a child. “I was thrilled. Allan got a tremendous kick out of it and started buying strollers and high chairs on credit. Money was tight, but we were optimistic, even when I had to cut down to part-time work toward the end of my pregnancy and then take maternity leave after Radley was born. He was beautiful.” She laughed a little. “I know all mothers say that about their babies, but he was honestly the most beautiful, the most precious thing I'd ever seen. He changed my life. He didn't change Allan's.”

She toyed with the stem of her glass and tried to work out in her mind what she hadn't allowed herself to think about for a very long time. “I couldn't understand it at the time, but Allan resented having the burden of responsibility. He hated it that we couldn't just stroll out of the apartment and go to the movies or go dancing whenever we chose. He was still unbelievably reckless with money, and because of Rad I had to compensate.”

“In other words,” Mitch said quietly, “you grew up.”

“Yes.” It surprised her that he saw that so quickly, and it relieved her that he seemed to understand. “Allan wanted to go back to the way things were, but we weren't children anymore. As I look back, I can see that he was jealous of Radley, but at the time I just wanted him to grow up, to be a father, to take charge. At twenty he was still the sixteen-year-old boy I'd known in high school, but I wasn't the same girl. I was a mother. I'd gone back to work because I'd thought the extra income would ease some of the strain. One day I came home after picking Radley up at the sitter's, and Allan was gone. He'd left a note saying he just couldn't handle being tied down any longer.”

“Did you know he was leaving?”

“No, I honestly didn't. In all probability it was done on impulse, the way Allan did most things. It would never have occurred to him that it was desertion, to him it would've meant moving on. He thought he was being fair by taking only half the money, but he left all the bills. I had to get another part-time job in the evenings. I hated that, leaving Rad with a sitter and not seeing him. That six months was the worst time of my life.”

Her eyes darkened a moment; then she shook her head and pushed it all back into the past. “After a while I'd straightened things out enough to quit the second job. About that time, Allan called. It was the first I'd heard from him since he'd left. He was very amiable, as if we'd been nothing more than passing acquaintances. He told me he was heading up to Alaska to work. After he hung up, I called a lawyer and got a very simple divorce.”

“It must have been difficult for you.” Difficult? he thought—he couldn't even imagine what kind of hell it had been. “You could have gone home to your parents.”

“No. I was angry for a long, long time. The anger made me determined to stay right here in New York and make it work for me and Radley. By the time the anger had died down, I was making it work.”

“He's never come back to see Rad?”

“No, never.”

“His loss.” He cupped her chin, then leaned over to kiss her lightly. “His very great loss.”

She found it easy to lift a hand to his cheek. “The same can be said about that woman in New Orleans.”

“Thanks.” He nibbled her lips again, enjoying the faint hint of champagne. “Dessert?”

“Hmmm?”

He felt a wild thrill of triumph at her soft, distracted sigh. “Let's skip it.” Moving back only slightly, he signaled the waiter for the check, then handed Hester the last of the champagne. “I think we should walk awhile.”

The air was biting, almost as exhilarating as the wine. Yet the wine warmed her, making her feel as though she could walk for miles without feeling the wind. She didn't object to Mitch's arm around her shoulders or to the fact that he set the direction. She didn't care where they walked as long as the feelings that stirred inside her didn't fade.

She knew what it was like to fall in love—to be in love. Time slowed down. Everything around you went quickly, but not in a blur. Colors were brighter, sounds sharper, and even in midwinter you could smell flowers. She had been there once before, had felt this intensely once before, but had thought she would never find that place again. Even as a part of her mind struggled to remind her that this couldn't be love—or certainly shouldn't be—she simply ignored it. Tonight she was just a woman.

There were skaters at Rockefeller Center, swirling around and around the ice as the music flowed. Hester watched them, tucked in the warmth of Mitch's arms. His cheek rested on her hair, and she could feel the strong, steady rhythm of his heart.

“Sometimes I bring Rad here on Sundays to skate or just to watch like this. It seems different tonight.” She turned her head, and her lips were barely a whisper from his. “Everything seems different tonight.”

If she looked at him like that again, Mitch knew he'd break his vow to give her enough time to clear her head and would bundle her into the nearest cab so that he could have her home and in bed before the look broke. Calling on willpower, he shifted her so he could brush his lips over her temple. “Things look different at night, especially after champagne.” He relaxed again, her head against his shoulder. “It's a nice difference. Not necessarily steeped in reality, but nice. You can get enough reality from nine to five.”

“Not you.” Unaware of the tug-of-war she was causing inside him, she turned in his arms. “You make fantasies from nine to five, or whatever hours you choose.”

“You should hear the one I'm making up now.” He drew another deep breath. “Let's walk some more, and you can tell me about one of yours.”

“A fantasy?” Her stride matched his easily. “Mine isn't nearly as earthshaking as yours, I imagine. It's just a house.”

“A house.” He walked toward the park, hoping they'd both be a little steadier on their feet by the time they reached home. “What kind of house?”

“A country house, one of those big old farmhouses with shutters at the windows and porches all around. Lots of windows so you could look at the woods—there would have to be woods. Inside there would be high ceilings and big fireplaces. Outside would be a garden with wisteria climbing on a trellis.” She felt the sting of winter on her cheeks, but could almost smell the summer.

“You'd be able to hear the bees hum in it all summer long. There'd be a big yard for Radley, and he could have a dog. I'd have a swing on the porch so I could sit outside in the evening and watch him catch lightning bugs in a jar.” She laughed and let her head rest on his shoulder. “I told you it wasn't earthshaking.”

“I like it.” He liked it so well he could picture it, white shuttered and hip roofed, with a barn off in the distance. “But you need a stream so Rad could fish.”

She closed her eyes a moment, then shook her head. “As much as I love him, I don't think I could bait a hook. Build a tree house maybe, or throw a curveball, but no worms.”

“You throw a curveball?”

She tilted her head and smiled. “Right in the strike zone. I helped coach Little League last year.”

“The woman's full of surprises. You wear shorts in the dugout?”

“You're obsessed with my legs.”

“For a start.”

He steered her into their building and toward the elevators. “I haven't had an evening like this in a very long time.”

“Neither have I.”

She drew back far enough to study him as they began the ride to her floor. “I've wondered about that, about the fact that you don't seem to be involved with anyone.”

He touched her chin with his fingertip. “Aren't I?”

She heard the warning signal but wasn't quite sure what to do about it. “I mean, I haven't noticed you dating or spending any time with women.”

Amused, he flicked the finger down her throat. “Do I look like a monk?”

“No.” Embarrassed and more than a little unsettled, she looked away. “No, of course not.”

“The fact is, Hester, after you've had your share of wild oats, you lose your taste for them. Spending time with a woman just because you don't want to be alone isn't very satisfying.”

“From the stories I hear around the office from the single women, there are plenty of men who disagree with you.”

He shrugged as they stepped off the elevator. “It's obvious you haven't played the singles scene.” Her brows drew together as she dug for her key. “That was a compliment, but my point is it gets to be a strain or a bore—”

“And this is the age of the meaningful relationship.”

“You say that like a cynic. Terribly uncharacteristic, Hester.” He leaned against the jamb as she opened the door. “In any case, I'm not big on catchphrases. Are you going to ask me in?”

She hesitated. The walk had cleared her head enough for the doubts to seep through. But along with the doubts was the echo of the way she'd felt when they'd stood together in the cold. The echo was stronger. “All right. Would you like some coffee?”

“No.” He shrugged out of his coat as he watched her.

“It's no trouble. It'll only take a minute.”

He caught her hands. “I don't want coffee, Hester. I want you.” He slipped her coat from her shoulders. “And I want you so bad it makes me jumpy.”

She didn't back away, but stood, waiting. “I don't know what to say. I'm out of practice.”

“I know.” For the first time his own nerves were evident as he dragged a hand through his hair. “That's given me some bad moments. I don't want to seduce you.” Then he laughed and walked a few paces away. “The hell I don't.”

“I knew—I tried to tell myself I didn't, but I knew when I went out with you tonight that we'd come back here like this.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, surprised that it was tied in knots. “I think I was hoping you'd just sort of sweep me away so I wouldn't have to make a decision.”

He turned to her. “That's a cop-out, Hester.”

“I know.” She couldn't look at him then, wasn't certain she dared. “I've never been with anyone but Rad's father. The truth is, I've never wanted to be.”

“And now?” He only wanted a word, one word.

She pressed her lips together. “It's been so long, Mitch. I'm frightened.”

“Would it help if I told you I am too?”

“I don't know.”

“Hester.” He crossed to her to lay his hands on her shoulders. “Look at me.” When she did, her eyes were wide and achingly clear. “I want you to be sure, because I don't want regrets in the morning. Tell me what you want.”

It seemed her life was a series of decisions. There was no one to tell her which was right or which was wrong. As always, she reminded herself that once the decision was made, she alone would deal with the consequences and accept the responsibility.

“Stay with me tonight,” she whispered. “I want you.”

Chapter 8

He cupped her face in his hands and felt her tremble. He touched his lips to hers and heard her sigh. It was a moment he knew he would always remember. Her acceptance, her desire, her vulnerability.

The apartment was silent. He would have given her music. The scent of the roses she'd put in a vase was pale next to the fragrance of the garden he imagined for her. The lamp burned brightly. He wouldn't have chosen the secrets of the dark, but rather the mystery of candlelight.

How could he explain to her that there was nothing ordinary, nothing casual in what they were about to give each other? How could he make her understand that he had been waiting all his life for a moment like this? He wasn't certain he could choose the right words or that the words he did choose would reach her.

So he would show her.

With his lips still lingering on hers, he swept her up into his arms. Though he heard her quick intake of breath, she wrapped her arms around him.

“Mitch—”

“I'm not much of a white knight.” He looked at her, half smiling, half questioning. “But for tonight we can pretend.”

He looked heroic and strong and incredibly, impossibly sweet. Whatever doubts had remained slipped quietly away. “I don't need a white knight.”

“Tonight I need to give you one.” He kissed her once more before he carried her into the bedroom.

There was a part of him that needed, ached with that need, so much so that he wanted to lay her down on the bed and cover her with his body. There were times that love ran swiftly, even violently. He understood that and knew that she would too. But he set her down on the floor beside the bed and touched only her hand.

He drew away just a little. “The light.”

“But—”

“I want to see you, Hester.”

It was foolish to be shy. It was wrong, she knew, to want to have this moment pass in the dark, anonymously. She reached for the bedside lamp and turned the switch.

The light bathed them, capturing them both standing hand in hand and eye to eye. The quick panic returned, pounding in her head and her heart. Then he touched her and quieted it. He drew off her earrings and set them on the bedside table so that the metal clicked quietly against the wood. She felt a rush of heat, as though with that one simple, intimate move he had already undressed her.

He reached for her belt, then paused when her hands fluttered nervously to his. “I won't hurt you.”

“No.” She believed him and let her hands drop away. He unhooked her belt to let it slide to the floor. When he lowered his lips to hers again, she slipped her arms around his waist and let the power guide her.

This was what she wanted. She couldn't lie to herself or make excuses. For tonight, she wanted to think only as a woman, to be thought of only as a woman. To be desired, enjoyed, wondered over. When their lips parted, their eyes met. And she smiled.

“I've been waiting for that.” He touched a finger to her lips, overcome with a pleasure that was so purely emotional even he couldn't describe it.

“For what?”

“For you to smile at me when I kiss you.” He brought his hand to her face. “Let's try it again.”

This time the kiss went deeper, edging closer to those uncharted territories. She lifted her hands to his shoulders, then slid them around to encircle his neck. He felt her fingers touch the skin there, shyly at first, then with more confidence.

“Still afraid?”

“No.” Then she smiled again. “Yes, a little. I'm not—” she looked away, and he once more brought her face back to his.

“What?”

“I'm not sure what to do. What you like.”

He wasn't stunned by her words so much as humbled. He'd said he'd cared for her, and that was true. But now his heart, which had been teetering on the edge, fell over into love.

“Hester, you leave me speechless.” He drew her against him, hard, and just held her there. “Tonight, just do what seems right. I think we'll be fine.”

He began by kissing her hair, drawing in the scent that had so appealed to him. The mood was already set, seduction on either side unnecessary. He felt her heart begin to race against his; then she turned her head and found his lips with her own.

His hands weren't steady as he drew down the long zipper at her back. He knew it was an imperfect world but needed badly to give her one perfect night. No one would ever have called him a selfish man, but it was a fact that he'd never before put someone else's needs so entirely before his own.

He drew the wool from her shoulders, down her arms. She wore a simple chemise beneath it, plain white without frills or lace. No fantasy of silk or satin could have excited him more.

“You're lovely.” He pressed a kiss to one shoulder, then the other. “Absolutely lovely.”

She wanted to be. It had been so long since she'd felt the need to be any more than presentable. When she saw his eyes, she felt lovely. Gathering her courage together, she began to undress him in turn.

He knew it wasn't easy for her. She drew his jacket off, then began to unknot his tie before she was able to lift her gaze to his again. He could feel her fingers tremble lightly against him as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“You're lovely, too,” she murmured. The last, the only man she had ever touched this way had been little more than a boy. Mitch's muscles were subtle but hard, and though his chest was smooth, it was that of a man. Her movements were slow, from shyness rather than a knowledge of arousal. His stomach muscles quivered as she reached for the hook of his slacks.

“You're driving me crazy.”

She drew her hands back automatically. “I'm sorry.”

“No.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded like a groan. “I like it.”

Her fingers trembled all the more as she slid his slacks over his hips. Lean hips, with the muscles long and hard. She felt a surge that was both fascination and delight as she brought her hands to them. Then she was against him, and the shock of flesh against flesh vibrated through her.

He was fighting every instinct that pushed him to move quickly, to take quickly. Her shy hands and wondering eyes had taken him to the brink, and he had to claw his way back. She sensed a war going on inside him, felt the rigidity of his muscles and heard the raggedness of his breathing.

“Mitch?”

“Just a minute.” He buried his face in her hair. The battle for control was hard won. He felt weakened by it, weakened and stunned. When he found the soft, sensitive skin of her neck, he concentrated on that alone.

She strained against him, turning her head instinctively to give him freer access. It seemed as though a veil had floated down over her eyes so that the room, which had become so familiar to her, was hazy. She could feel her blood begin to pound where his lips rubbed and nibbled; then it was throbbing hot, close to the skin, softening it, sensitizing it. Her moan sounded primitive in her own ears. Then it was she who was drawing him down to the bed.

He'd wanted another minute before he let his body spread over hers. There were explosions bombarding his system, from head to heart to loins. He knew he had to calm them before they shattered his senses. But her hands were moving over him, her hips straining upward. With an effort, Mitch rolled so that they were side by side.

He brought his lips down on her, and for a moment all the needs, the fantasies, the darker desires centered there. Her mouth was moist and hot, pounding into his brain how she would be when he filled her. He was already dragging the thin barrier of her chemise aside so that she gasped when her breasts met him unencumbered. As his lips closed over the first firm point, he heard her cry out his name.

This was abandonment. She'd been sure she'd never wanted it, but now, as her body went fluid in her movements against his, she thought she might never want anything else. The feelings of flesh against flesh, growing hot and damp, were new and exhilarating. As were the avid seeking of mouths and the tastes they found and drew in. His murmurs to her were hot and incoherent, but she responded. The light played over his hands as he showed her how a touch could make the soul soar.

She was naked, but the shyness was gone. She wanted him to touch and taste and look his fill, just as she was driven to. His body was a fascination of muscle and taut skin. She hadn't known until now that to touch another, to please another, could bring on such wild waves of passion. He cupped a hand over her, and the passion contracted into a ball of flame in her center that abruptly, almost violently, burst. Gasping for breath, she reached for him.

He'd never had a woman respond so utterly. Watching her rise and peak had given him a delirious thrust of pleasure. He wanted badly to take her up and over again and again, until she was limp and mindless. But his control was slipping, and she was calling for him.

His body covered hers, and he filled her.

He couldn't have said how long they moved together—minutes, hours. But he would never forget how her eyes had opened and stared into his.

***

He was a little shaken as he lay with her on top of the crumpled spread with drops of freezing rain striking the windows. He turned his head toward the hiss and wondered idly how long it had been going on. As far as he could remember, he'd never been so involved with a woman that the outside world, and all its sights and sounds, had simply ceased to exist.

He turned away again and drew Hester against him. His body was cooling rapidly, but he had no desire to move. “You're quiet,” he murmured.

Her eyes were closed. She wasn't ready to open them again. “I don't know what to say.”

“How about ‘Wow'?”

She was surprised she could laugh after such intensity. “Okay. Wow.”

“Try for more enthusiasm. How about ‘Fantastic, incredible, earth-shattering?' “

She opened her eyes now and looked into his. “How about beautiful?”

He caught her hand in his and kissed it. “Yeah, that'll do.” When he propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her, she shifted. “Too late to be shy now,” he told her. Then he ran a hand, light and possessively, down her body. “You know, I was right about your legs. I don't suppose I could talk you into putting on a pair of shorts and those little socks that stop at the ankles.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Her tone had him gathering her to him and covering her face with kisses. “I have a thing about long legs in shorts and socks. I drive myself crazy watching women jog in the park in the summer. When they color-coordinate them, I'm finished.”

“You're crazy.”

“Come on, Hester, don't you have some secret turn-on? Men in muscle shirts, in tuxedos with black tie and studs undone?”

“Don't be silly.”

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed, she thought, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, there is something about jeans riding low on the hips with the snap undone.”

“I'll never snap my jeans again as long as I live.”

She laughed again. “That doesn't mean I'm going to start wearing shorts and socks.”

“That's okay. I get excited when I see you in a business suit.”

“You do not.”

“Oh, yes, I do.” He rolled her on top of him and began to play with her hair. “Those slim lapels and high-collar blouses. And you always wear your hair up.” With it caught in his hands, he lifted it on top of her head. It wasn't the same look at all, but one that still succeeded in making his mouth dry. “The efficient and dependable Mrs. Wallace. Every time I see you dressed that way I imagine how fascinating it would be to peel off those professional clothes and take out those tidy little pins.” He let her hair slide down through his fingers.

Thoughtful, Hester rested her cheek against his cheek. “You're a strange man, Mitch.”

“More than likely.”

“You depend so much on your imagination, on what it might be, on fantasies and make-believe. With me it's facts and figures, profit and loss, what is or what isn't.”

“Are you talking about our jobs or our personalities?”

“Isn't one really the same as the other?”

“No. I'm not Commander Zark, Hester.”

She shifted, lulled by the rhythm of his heart. “I suppose what I mean is that the artist in you, the writer in you, thrives on imagination or possibilities. I guess the banker in me looks for checks and balances.”

He was silent for a moment, stroking her hair. Didn't she realize how much more there was to her? This was the woman who fantasized about a home in the country, the one who threw a curveball, the one who had just taken a man of flesh and blood, and turned him into a puddle of need.

“I don't want to get overly philosophical, but why do you think you chose to deal with loans? Do you get the same feeling when you turn down an application as you do when you approve one?”

“No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he repeated. “Because when you approve one, you've had a hand in the possibilities. I have no doubt that you play by the book, that's part of your charm, but I'd wager you get a great deal of personal satisfaction by being able to say, ‘Okay, buy your home, start your business, expand.'”

She lifted her head. “You seem to understand me very well.” No one else had, she realized with a jolt. Ever.

“I've been giving you a great deal of thought.” He drew her to him, wondering if she could feel how well their bodies fit. “A very great deal. In fact, I haven't thought about another woman since I delivered your pizza.”

She smiled at that and would have settled against him again, but he held her back. “Hester . . .” It was one of the few times in his life he'd ever felt self-conscious. She was looking at him expectantly, even patiently, while he struggled for the right words. “The thing is, I don't want to think about another woman or be with another woman—this way.” He struggled again, then swore. “Damn, I feel like I'm back in high school.”