Local Hero (14 page)

Her smile was cautious. “Are you going to ask me to go steady?”

It wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but he could see by the look in her eyes that he'd better go slowly. “I could probably find my class ring if you want.”

She looked down at her hand, which was resting so naturally on his heart. Was it foolish to be so moved? If not, it was certainly dangerous. “Maybe we can just leave it that there's no one else I want to be with this way, either.”

He started to speak, then stopped himself. She needed time to be sure that was true, didn't she? There had only been one other man in her life, and she'd been no more than a girl then. To be fair, he had to give her room to be certain. But he didn't want to be fair. No, Mitch Dempsey was no self-sacrificing Commander Zark.

“All right.” He'd devised and won enough wars to know how to plan strategy. He'd win Hester before she realized there'd been a battle.

Drawing her down to him, he closed his mouth over hers and began the first siege.

***

It was an odd and rather wonderful feeling to wake up in the morning beside a lover—even one who nudged you over to the edge of the mattress. Hester opened her eyes and, lying very still, savored it.

His face was buried against the back of her neck, and his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist—which was fortunate, as without it she would have rolled onto the floor. Hester shifted slightly and experienced the arousing sensation of having her sleep-warmed skin rub cozily against his.

She'd never had a lover. A husband, yes, but her wedding night, her first initiation into womanhood, had been nothing like the night she'd just shared with Mitch. Was it fair to compare them? she wondered. Would she be human if she didn't?

That first night so long ago had been frenzied, complicated by her nerves and her husband's hurry. Last night the passion had built layer by layer, as though there'd been all the time in the world to enjoy it. She'd never known that making love could be so liberating. In truth, she hadn't known a man could sincerely want to give pleasure as much as he desired to take it.

She snuggled into the pillow and watched the thin winter light come through the windows. Would things be different this morning? Would there be an awkwardness between them or, worse, a casualness that would diminish the depth of what they'd shared? The simple fact was she didn't know what it was like to have a lover—or to be one.

She was putting too much emphasis on one evening, she told herself, sighing. How could she not, when the evening had been so special?

Hester touched a hand to his, let it linger a moment, then shifted to rise. Mitch's arm clamped down.

“Going somewhere?”

She tried to turn over, but discovered his legs had pinned her. “It's almost nine.”

“So?” His fingers spread out lazily to stroke.

“I have to get up. I need to pick Rad up in a couple of hours.”

“Hmmm.” He watched his little dream bubble of a morning in bed with her deflate, then reconstructed it to fit two hours. “You feel so good.” He released his hold, but only so he could turn her around so they were face-to-face. “Look good, too,” he decided as he studied her face through half-closed eyes. “And taste”—he touched his lips to hers, and there was nothing awkward, nothing casual—“wonderful. Imagine this.” He ran a hand down her flank. “We're on an island—the South Seas, let's say. The ship was wrecked a week ago, and we're the only survivors.” His eyes closed as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We've been living on fruit and the fish I cleverly catch with my pointed stick.”

“Who cleans them?”

“This is a fantasy; you don't worry about details like that. Last night there was a storm—a big, busting tropical storm—and we had to huddle together for warmth and safety under the lean-to I built.”

“You built?” Her lips curved against his. “Do I do anything useful?”

“You can do all you want in your own fantasy. Now shut up.” He snuggled closer and could almost smell the salt air. “It's morning, and the storm washed everything clean. There are gulls swooping down near the surf. We're lying together on an old blanket.”

“Which you heroically salvaged from the wreck.”

“Now you're catching on. When we wake up, we discover we'd tangled together during the night, drawn together despite ourselves. The sun's hot—it's already warmed our half-naked bodies. Still dazed with sleep, already aroused, we come together. And then . . .” His lips hovered a breath away from hers. Hester let her eyes close as she found herself caught up in the picture he painted. “And then a wild boar attacks, and I have to wrestle him.”

“Half naked and unarmed?”

“That's right. I'm badly bitten, but I kill him with my bare hands.”

Hester opened her eyes again to narrow slits. “And while you're doing that, I put the blanket over my head and whimper.”

“Okay.” Mitch kissed the tip of her nose. “But afterward you're very, very grateful that I saved your life.”

“Poor, defenseless female that I am.”

“That's the ticket. You're so grateful you tear the rags of your skirt to make bandages for my wounds, and then . . .” He paused for impact. “You make me coffee.”

Hester drew back, not certain whether to be amazed or amused. “You went through that whole scenario so I'd offer to make you coffee?”

“Not just coffee, morning coffee, the first cup of coffee. Life's blood.”

“I'd have made it even without the story.”

“Yeah, but did you like the story?”

She combed the hair away from her face as she considered. “Next time I get to catch the fish.”

“Deal.”

She rose and, though she knew it was foolish, wished that she'd had her robe within arm's reach. Going to the closet, she slipped it on with her back still to him. “Do you want some breakfast?”

He was sitting up, rubbing his hands over his face when she turned. “Breakfast? You mean likes eggs or something? Hot food?” The only time he managed a hot breakfast was when he had the energy to drag himself to the corner diner. “Mrs. Wallace, for a hot breakfast you can have the crown jewels of Perth.”

“All that for bacon and eggs?”

“Bacon, too? God, what a woman.”

She laughed, sure he was joking. “Go ahead and get a shower if you want. It won't take long.”

He hadn't been joking. Mitch watched her walk from the room and shook his head. He didn't expect a woman to offer to cook for him, or for one to offer as though he had a right to expect it. But this, he remembered, was the woman who would have sewed patches on his jeans because she'd thought he couldn't afford new ones.

Mitch climbed out of bed, then slowly, thoughtfully ran a hand through his hair. The aloof and professional Hester Wallace was a very warm and special woman, and he had no intention of letting her get away.

***

She was stirring eggs in a skillet when he came into the kitchen. Bacon was draining on a rack, and coffee was already hot. He stood in the doorway a moment, more than a little surprised that such a simple domestic scene would affect him so strongly. Her robe was flannel and covered her from neck to ankle, but to him Hester had never looked more alluring. He hadn't realized he'd been looking for this—the morning smells, the morning sounds of the Sunday news on the radio on the counter, the morning sights of the woman who'd shared his night moving competently in the kitchen.

As a child, Sunday mornings had been almost formal affairs—brunch at eleven, served by a uniformed member of the staff. Orange juice in Waterford, shirred eggs on Wedgwood. He'd been taught to spread the Irish linen on his lap and make polite conversation. In later years, Sunday mornings had meant a bleary-eyed search through the cupboards or a dash down to the nearest diner.

He felt foolish, but he wanted to tell Hester that the simple meal at her kitchen counter meant as much to him as the long night in her bed. Crossing to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to her neck.

Strange how a touch could speed up the heart rate and warm the blood. Absorbing the sensation, she leaned back against him. “It's almost done. You didn't say how you liked your eggs, so you've got them scrambled with a little dill and cheese.”

She could have offered him cardboard and told him to eat it with a plastic fork. Mitch turned her to face him and kissed her long and hard. “Thanks.”

He'd flustered her again. Hester turned to the eggs in time to prevent them from burning. “Why don't you sit down?” She poured coffee into a mug and handed it to him. “With your life's blood.”

He finished half the mug before he sat. “Hester, you know what I said about your legs?”

She glanced over as she heaped eggs on a plate. “Yes?”

“Your coffee's almost as good as they are. Tremendous qualities in a woman.”

“Thanks.” She set the plate in front of him before moving to the toaster.

“Aren't you eating any of this?”

“No, just toast.”

Mitch looked down at the pile of golden eggs and crisp bacon. “Hester, I didn't expect you to fix me all this when you aren't eating.”

“It's all right.” She arranged a stack of toast on a plate. “I do it for Rad all the time.”

He covered her hand with his as she sat beside him. “I appreciate it.”

“It's only a couple of eggs,” she said, embarrassed. “You should eat them before they get cold.”

“The woman's a marvel,” Mitch commented as he obliged her. “She raises an interesting and well-balanced son, holds down a demanding job, and cooks.” Mitch bit into a piece of bacon. “Want to get married?”

She laughed and added more coffee to both mugs. “If it only takes scrambled eggs to get you to propose, I'm surprised you don't have three or four wives hidden in the closet.”

He hadn't been joking. She would have seen it in his eyes if she'd looked at him, but she was busy spreading butter on toast. Mitch watched her competent, ringless hands a moment. It had been a stupid way to propose and a useless way to make her see he was serious. It was also too soon, he admitted as he scooped up another forkful of eggs.

The trick would be first to get her used to having him around, then to have her trust him enough to believe he would stay around. Then there was the big one, he mused as he lifted his cup. She had to need him. She wouldn't ever need him for the roof over her head or the food in her cupboards. She was much too self-sufficient for that, and he admired it. In time, she might come to need him for emotional support and companionship. It would be a start.

The courting of Hester would have to be both complex and subtle. He wasn't certain he knew exactly how to go about it, but he was more than ready to start. Today was as good a time as any.

“Got any plans for later?”

“I've got to pick up Rad around noon.” She lingered over her toast, realizing it had been years since she had shared adult company over breakfast and that it had an appeal all its own. “Then I promised that I'd take him and Josh to a matinee.
The Moon of Andromeda.
”

“Yeah? Terrific movie. The special effects are tremendous.”

“You've seen it?” She felt a twinge of disappointment. She'd been wondering if he might be willing to come along.

“Twice. There's a scene between the mad scientist and the sane scientist that'll knock you out. And there's this mutant that looks like a carp. Fantastic.”

“A carp.” Hester sipped her coffee. “Sounds wonderful.”

“A cinematic treat for the eyes. Can I tag along?”

“You just said you've seen it twice already.”

“So? The only movies I see once are dogs. Besides, I'd like to see Rad's reaction to the laser battle in deep space.”

“Is it gory?”

“Nothing Rad can't handle.”

“I wasn't asking for him.”

With a laugh, Mitch took her hand. “I'll be there to protect you. How about it? I'll spring for the popcorn.” He brought her hand up to his lips. “Buttered.”

“How could I pass up a deal like that?”

“Good. Look, I'll give you a hand with the dishes, then I've got to go down and take Taz out before his bladder causes us both embarrassment.”

“Go on ahead. There isn't that much, and Taz is probably moaning at the door by this time.”

“Okay.” He stood with her. “But next time I cook.”

Hester gathered up the plates. “Peanut butter and jelly?”

“I can do better than that if it impresses you.”

She smiled and reached for his empty mug. “You don't have to impress me.”

He caught her face in his hands while she stood with her hands full of dishes. “Yes, I do.” He nibbled at her lips, then abruptly deepened the kiss until they were both breathless. She was forced to swallow when he released her.

“That's a good start.”

He was smiling as he brushed his lips over her forehead. “I'll be up in an hour.”

Hester stood where she was until she heard the door close, then quietly set the dishes down again. How in the world had it happened? she wondered. She'd fallen in love with the man. He'd be gone only an hour, yet she wanted him back already.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down again. She had to keep herself from overreacting, from taking this, as she took too many other things, too seriously. He was fun, he was kind, but he wasn't permanent. There was nothing permanent but her and Radley. She'd promised herself years ago that she would never forget that again. Now, more than ever, she had to remember it.

Chapter 9

“Rich, you know I hate business discussions before noon.”

Mitch sat in Skinner's office with Taz snoozing at his feet. Though it was after ten and he'd been up working for a couple of hours, he hadn't been ready to venture out and talk shop. He'd had to leave his characters on the drawing board in a hell of a predicament, and Mitch imagined they resented being left dangling as much as he resented leaving them.

“If you're going to give me a raise, that's fine by me, but you could've waited until after lunch.”

“You're not getting a raise.” Skinner ignored the phone that rang on his desk. “You're already overpaid.”

“Well, if I'm fired, you could definitely have waited a couple of hours.”

“You're not fired.” Skinner drew his brows together until they met above his nose. “But if you keep bringing that hound in here, I could change my mind.”

“I made Taz my agent. Anything you say to me you can say in front of him.”

Skinner sat back in his chair and folded hands that were swollen at the knuckles from years of nervous cracking. “You know, Dempsey, someone who didn't know you so well would think you were joking. The problem is, I happen to know you're crazy.”

“That's why we get along so well, right? Listen, Rich, I've got Mirium trapped in a roomful of wounded rebels from Zirial. Being an empath, she's not feeling too good herself. Why don't we wrap this up so I can get back and take her to the crisis point?”

“Rebels from Zirial,” Skinner mused. “You aren't thinking of bringing back Nimrod the Sorceror?”

“It's crossed my mind, and I could get back and figure out what he's got up his invisible sleeve if you'd tell me why you dragged me in here.”

“You work here,” Skinner pointed out.

“That's no excuse.”

Skinner puffed out his cheeks and let the subject drop. “You know Two Moon Pictures has been negotiating with Universal for the rights to produce Zark as a full-length film?”

“Sure. That's been going on a year, a year and a half now.” Since the wheeling and dealing didn't interest him, Mitch stretched out a leg and began to massage Taz's flank with his foot. “The last thing you told me was that the alfalfa sprouts from L.A. couldn't get out of their hot tubs long enough to close the deal.” Mitch grinned. “You've got a real way with words, Rich.”

“The deal closed yesterday,” Rich said flatly. “Two Moon wants to go with Zark.”

Mitch's grin faded. “You're serious?”

“I'm always serious,” Rich said, studying Mitch's reaction. “I thought you'd be a little more enthusiastic. Your baby's going to be a movie star.”

“To tell you the truth, I don't know how I feel.” Pushing himself out of the chair, Mitch began to pace Rich's cramped office. As he passed the window, he pulled open the blinds to let in slants of hard winter light. “Zark's always been personal. I don't know how I feel about him going Hollywood.”

“You got a kick out of when B. C. Toys made the dolls.”

“Action figures,” Mitch corrected automatically. “I guess that's because they stayed pretty true to the theme.” It was silly, he knew. Zark didn't belong to him. He'd created him, true, but Zark belonged to Universal, just like all the other heroes and villains of the staff's fertile imaginations. If, like Maloney, Mitch decided to move on, Zark would stay behind, the responsibility of someone else's imagination. “Did we retain any creative leeway?”

“Afraid they're going to exploit your firstborn?”

“Maybe.”

“Listen, Two Moon bought the rights to Zark because he has potential at the box office—the way he is. It wouldn't be smart businesswise to change him. Let's look at the bottom line—comics are big business. A hundred and thirty million a year isn't something to shrug off. The business is thriving now the way it hasn't since the forties, and even though it's bound to level off, it's going to stay hot. Those jokers on the coast might dress funny, but they know a winner when they see one. Still, if you're worried, you could take their offer.”

“What offer?”

“They want you to write the screenplay.”

Mitch stopped where he was. “Me? I don't write movies.”

“You write Zark—apparently that's enough for the producers. Our publishers aren't stupid, either. Stingy,” he added with a glance at his worn linoleum, “but not stupid. They wanted the script to come from in-house, and there's a clause in the contract that says we have a shot. Two Moon agreed to accept a treatment from you first. If it doesn't pan out, they still want you on the project as a creative consultant.”

“Creative consultant.” Mitch rolled the title around on his tongue.

“If I were you, Dempsey, I'd get myself a two-legged agent.”

“I just might. Look, I'm going to have to think about it. How long are they giving me?”

“Nobody mentioned a time frame. I don't think the possibility of your saying no occurred to them. But then, they don't know you like I do.”

“I need a couple of days. There's someone I have to talk to.”

Skinner waited until he'd started out. “Mitch, opportunity doesn't often kick down your door this way.”

“Just let me make sure I'm at home first. I'll be in touch.”

When it rains it pours, Mitch thought as he and Taz walked. It had started off as a fairly normal, even ordinary new year. He'd planned to dig his heels in a bit and get ahead of schedule so that he could take three or four weeks off to ski, drink brandy and kick up some snow on his uncle's farm. He'd figured on meeting one or two attractive women on the slopes to make the evenings interesting. He'd thought to sketch a little, sleep a lot and cruise the lodges. Very simple.

Then, within weeks, everything had changed. In Hester he'd found everything he'd ever wanted in his personal life, but he'd only begun to convince her that he was everything she'd ever wanted in hers. Now he was being offered one of the biggest opportunities of his professional life, but he couldn't think of one without considering the other.

In truth, he'd never been able to draw a hard line of demarcation between his professional and personal lives. He was the same man whether he was having a couple of drinks with friends or burning the midnight oil with Zark. If he'd changed at all, it had been Hester and Radley who had caused it. Since he'd fallen for them, he wanted the strings he'd always avoided, the responsibilities he'd always blithely shrugged off.

So he went to her first.

Mitch strolled into the bank with his ears tingling from the cold. The long walk had given him time to think through everything Skinner had told him, and to feel the first twinges of excitement. Zark, in Technicolor, in stereophonic sound, in Panavision.

Mitch stopped at Kay's desk. “She had lunch yet?”

Kay rolled back from her terminal. “Nope.”

“Anybody with her now?”

“Not a soul.”

“Good. When's her next appointment?”

Kay ran her finger down the appointment book. “Two fifteen.”

“She'll be back. If Rosen stops by, tell him I took Mrs. Wallace to lunch to discuss some refinancing.”

“Yes, sir.”

She was working on a long column of figures when Mitch opened the door. She moved her fingers quickly over the adding machine, which clicked as it spewed out a stream of tape. “Kay, I'm going to need Lorimar's construction estimate. And would you mind ordering me a sandwich? Anything as long as it's quick. I'd like to have these figures upstairs by the end of the day. Oh, and I'll need the barter exchange transactions on the Duberry account. Look up the 1099.”

Mitch shut the door at his back. “God, all this bank talk excites me.”

“Mitch.” Hester glanced up with the last of the figures still rolling through her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Breaking you out, and we have to move fast. Taz'll distract the guards.” He was already taking her coat from the rack behind the door. “Let's go. Just keep your head down and look natural.”

“Mitch, I've got—”

“To eat Chinese takeout and make love with me. In whatever order you like. Here, button up.”

“I've only half finished with these figures.”

“They won't run away.” He buttoned her coat, then closed his hands over her collar. “Hester, do you know how long it's been since we had an hour alone? Four days.”

“I know. I'm sorry, things have been busy.”

“Busy.” He nodded toward her desk. “No one's going to argue with you there, but you've also been holding me off.”

“No, I haven't.” The truth was she'd been holding herself off, trying to prove to herself that she didn't need him as badly as it seemed. It hadn't been working as well as she'd hoped. There was tangible proof of that now as she stood facing him with her heart beating fast. “Mitch, I explained how I felt about . . . being with you with Radley in the apartment.”

“And I'm not arguing that point, either.” Though he would have liked to. “But Rad's in school and you have a constitutional right to a lunch hour. Come with me, Hester.” He let his brow rest on hers. “I need you.”

She couldn't resist or refuse or pretend she didn't want to be with him. Knowing she might regret it later, she turned her back on her work. “I'd settle for a peanut butter and jelly. I'm not very hungry.”

“You got it.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking into Mitch's apartment. As usual, his curtains were open wide so that the sun poured through. It was warm, Hester thought as she slipped out of her coat. She imagined he kept the thermostat up so that he could be comfortable in his bare feet and short-sleeved sweatshirts. Hester stood with her coat in her hands and wondered what to do next.

“Here, let me take that.” Mitch tossed her coat carelessly over a chair. “Nice suit, Mrs. Wallace,” he murmured, fingering the lapel of the dark blue pinstripe.

She put a hand over his, once again afraid that things were moving too fast. “I feel . . .”

“Decadent?”

Once again, it was the humor in his eyes that relaxed her. “More like I've just climbed out my bedroom window at midnight.”

“Did you ever?”

“No. I thought about it a lot, but I could never figure out what I was supposed to do once I climbed down.”

“That's why I'm nuts about you.” He kissed her cautious smile and felt her lips soften and give under his. “Climb out the bedroom window to me, Hester. I'll show you what to do.” Then his hands were in her hair, and her control scattered as quickly as the pins.

She wanted him. Perhaps it had a great deal to do with madness, but oh, how she wanted him. In the long nights since they'd been together like this, she'd thought of him, of how he touched her, where he touched her, and now his hands were there, just as she remembered. This time she moved faster than he, pulling his sweater up over his head to feast on the warm, taut flesh beneath. Her teeth nipped into his lip, insisting, inciting, until he was dragging the jacket from her and fumbling with the buttons that ranged down the back of her blouse.

His touch wasn't as gentle when he found her, nor was he as patient. But she had long since thrown caution aside. Now, pressed hard against him, she gripped passion with both hands. Whether it was day or night no longer mattered. She was where she wanted to be, where, no matter how she struggled to pretend otherwise, she needed to be.

Madness, yes, it was madness. She wondered how she'd lived so long without it.

He unfastened her skirt so that it flowed over her hips and onto the floor. With a groan of satisfaction he pressed his mouth to her throat. Four days? Had it only been four days? It seemed like years since he had had her close and alone. She was as hot and as desperate against him as he'd dreamed she would be. He could savor the feel of her even as desire clamped inside his gut and swam in his head. He wanted to spend hours touching, being touched, but the intensity of the moment, the lack of time and her urgent murmurs made it impossible.

“The bedroom,” she managed as he pulled the thin straps of her lingerie over her shoulders.

“No, here. Right here.” He fastened his mouth on hers and pulled her to the floor.

He would have given her more. Even though his own system was straining toward the breaking point, he would have given her more, but she was wrapped around him. Before he could catch his breath, her hands were on his hips, guiding him to her. She dug her fingers into his flesh as she murmured his name, and whole galaxies seemed to explode inside his head.

When she could think again, Hester stared at the dust motes that danced in a beam of sunlight. She was lying on a priceless Aubusson with Mitch's head pillowed between her breasts. It was the middle of the day, she had a pile of paperwork on her desk, and she'd just spent the better part of her lunch making love on the floor. She couldn't remember ever being more content.

She hadn't known life could be like this—an adventure, a carnival. For years she hadn't believed there was room for the madness of love and lovemaking in a world that revolved around responsibilities. Now, just now, she was beginning to realize she could have both. For how long, she couldn't be sure. Perhaps one day would be enough. She combed her fingers through his hair.

“I'm glad you came to take me to lunch.”

“If this is any indication, we're going to have to make it a habit. Still want that sandwich?”

“Uh-uh. I don't need anything.” But you. Hester sighed, realizing she was going to have to accept that. “I'm going to have to get back.”

“You don't have an appointment until after two. I checked. Your barter exchange transactions can wait a few more minutes, can't they?”