Local Hero

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.”
    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