Local Hero

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