by Nora Roberts
“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.”
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?”