Local Hero

by Nora Roberts

  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 l
ovely.”

  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 wit
h loans? Do you get the same feeling when you turn down an application as you do when you approve one?”

  “No, of course not.”