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work.”
    “I had no intention of offending you the other night,” she said stiffly. “It was only that—”
    “You can’t conceive of a grown man making a living writing comic books.”
    Hester remained silent as she measured out water. “It’s none of my business how you make your living.”
    “That’s right.” Mitch took a long sip of wine before he attacked the celery. “In any case, I want you to know that Rad can come see me whenever he likes.”
    “That’s very nice of you, but—”
    “No buts, Hester. I like him. And since I’m in the position of calling my own hours, he won’t bother me. What do I do with the mushrooms?”
    “Slice.” She put the lid on the rice before crossing over to show him. “Not too thin. Just make sure . . .” Her words trailed off when he closed his hand over hers on the knife.
    “Like this?” The move was easy. He didn’t even have to think about it, but simply shifted until she was trapped between his arms, her back pressed against him. Giving in to the urge, he bent down so that his mouth was close to her ear.
    “Yes, that’s fine.” She stared down at their joined hands and tried to keep her voice even. “It really doesn’t matter.”
    “We aim to please.”
    “I have to put on the chicken.” She turned and found herself in deeper water. It was a mistake to look up at him, to see that slight smile on his lips and that calm, confident look in his eyes. Instinctively she lifted a hand to his chest. Even that was a mistake. She could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart. She couldn’t back up, because there was no place to go, and stepping forward was tempting, dangerously so. “Mitch, you’re in my way.”
    He’d seen it. Though it had been free briefly and suppressed quickly, he’d seen the passion come into her eyes. So she could feel and want and wonder. Maybe it was best if they both wondered a little while longer. “I think you’re going to find that happening a lot.” But he shifted aside and let her pass. “You smell good, Hester, damn good.”
    That quiet statement did nothing to ease her pulse rate. Humoring Radley or not, she vowed this would be the last time she entertained Mitch Dempsey. Hester turned on the gas under the wok and added peanut oil. “I take it you do your work at home, then. No office?”
    He’d let her have it her way for the time being. The minute she’d turned in his arms and looked up at him, he’d known he’d have it his way—have her his way—before too long. “I only have to go a couple of times a week. Some of the writers or artists prefer working in the office. I do better work at home. After I have the story and the sketches, I take them in for editing and inking.”
    “I see. So you don’t do the inking yourself?” she asked, though she’d have been hard-pressed to define what inking was. She’d have to ask Radley.
    “Not anymore. We have some real experts in that, and it gives me more time to work on the story. Believe it or not, we shoot for quality, the kind of vocabulary that challenges a kid and a story that entertains.”
    After adding chicken to the hot oil, Hester took a deep breath. “I really do apologize for anything I said that offended you. I’m sure your work’s very important to you, and I know Radley certainly appreciates it.”
    “Well said, Mrs. Wallace.” He slid the vegetable-laden chopping block toward her.
    “Josh doesn’t believe it.” Radley bounced into the room, delighted with himself. “He wants to come over tomorrow and see. Can he? His mom says okay if it’s okay with you. Okay, Mom?”
    Hester turned from the chicken long enough to give Radley a hug. “Okay, Rad, but it has to be after noon. We have some shopping to do in the morning.”
    “Thanks. Just wait till he sees. He’s gonna go crazy. I’ll tell him.”
    “Dinner’s nearly ready. Hurry up and wash your hands.”
    Radley rolled his eyes at Mitch as he raced from the room