Body Heat

by Susan Fox

  He was damned sure she rarely saw grime and calluses. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he said, “I’m okay.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Her gaze switched to his face and the frown line deepened. “You may think you’re being macho, but I’m not impressed.”

  “Not trying to impress you.” He kind of was, but he wasn’t about to let on. He also enjoyed winding her up.

  “I didn’t mean it that way!”

  Those ocean eyes glittered with annoyance and he decided to let her alone. “Gloves would be great. Twenty bucks ought to do it. I’ll bring back the change.” While she was being semi-civil, he said, “Got a place I can put my jacket? Don’t want it to get wet.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  He retrieved it from the corner where he’d tossed it. “Thanks.” He watched to see if she’d treat his prized leather like a dead rat. Instead, she draped it neatly over top of the book with more respect than she’d shown Jesse himself.

  She headed in and he waited a moment, then guessed he was supposed to follow. He trailed a few steps behind, down a couple of corridors and into a small room that must be her office. There were filing cabinets and bookshelves laden with binders, everything as orderly as he would expect. No photographs or personal stuff except for an orchid with a spray of vivid purple blossoms. That plant didn’t go with her prissy style, but he’d just bet Ms. Warm Honey had a sensual side beneath all those buttons.

  Behind her desk was a courtyard window. She could watch him any time she pleased. Fine. He was a hard worker with nothing to hide. Nothing but the fact that she turned him on something fierce.

  Her back still to him, she placed the book neatly on a stack of a half dozen atop a cabinet and hung his jacket on the back of a chair, spreading it with gentle fingers, almost caressing it. He imagined those fingers on his own skin, and shivered.

  She went behind the desk, turned around, and jumped a foot in the air, pressing her hand to her throat. “I didn’t know you were there. You sure walk quietly.”

  “Sorry. Thought you meant for me to come and get the money.”

  “I was going to bring it to you.”

  He shrugged.

  She glanced around nervously, making it clear she didn’t want him in her office. What did she think? He was going to punch her out? Steal her purse? Rape her?

  His jaw clenched and he forced himself to relax it. This woman knew he’d beaten up on Gord Pollan. Made sense she’d be scared. He shouldn’t take it personally. He stepped back so he was just outside her door, in the hallway.

  Keeping an eye on him, she picked up her phone and punched a button. “Gracie, could you get twenty dollars from petty cash?”

  She waited a moment, then said, “Good. I’m going to send Mr. Blue out to you. Would you give it to him, please?”

  Another pause. “You’re welcome,” she muttered dryly.

  She directed him to the cute redhead at the reception desk, where he passed a pleasant couple of minutes. Gracie, just like Fred and Virginia, made him feel welcome. She also made it clear she wouldn’t say no if he asked her out.

  He thought about that as he walked out of the building. She was pretty, curvy, nice, funny. Had curly hair, huge, sparkly eyes, and arched eyebrows like Lucille Ball, his all-time favorite comedienne. Maybe he’d ask her for pizza and a movie one night. If he could only get his mind off Maura Mahoney.

  Maura hated movies; he’d bet she hated pizza, too, and she’d think I Love Lucy was slapstick and unsophisticated.

  Who the hell wanted to be sophisticated anyhow? Cussing under his breath, Jesse crossed the street in search of a burger.

  Now reminded that it was past lunchtime, Maura realized she was hungry. She had a tendency—learned from Agnes and Timothy—to get so involved in a task that she forgot about mundane matters such as meals.

  The Cherry Lane dining room closed at two o’clock, so she was too late to join the seniors. Staff at the residential facility were given one meal a day as part of their benefits package, and encouraged to mingle with the residents. The seniors enjoyed a break from each other’s company, and Maura truly enjoyed talking to them. Growing up with parents who’d been forty-eight and fifty when they adopted her at age six, she was more at ease with older people. The seniors were the closest thing she had to friends.

  She headed for the kitchen and put together a tray with leftover salads, a whole-wheat roll, and a glass of club soda, then returned to her office. As she nibbled, she thought ahead to dinner with her parents. Over the years, they’d always given her a birthday present, but it was rare for the three of them to be together. Agnes, the archaeology prof, was usually away at some dig in the summer, but since she’d turned seventy, she’d been spending less time traveling and was showing a disconcerting tendency to be more domestic and maternal.

  Maura realized that, distracted by the unexpected arrival of Jesse Blue, she never had phoned to make sure it would be just the three of them for dinner. She was reaching for the phone when Gracie popped through the doorway.

  “Maura, I’ve been hunting but I can’t find Jesse’s file anywhere. It’s not in any of the filing cabinets under any kind of name that makes sense. I could call Louise, but . . .” She trailed off.

  “No, this is her big day, becoming a mom.” A pair of adoptive parents had found out they were pregnant themselves, and backed out on an adoption at the last minute. Offered the sudden opportunity, Louise and Don had rushed off to the teenage mom’s hometown to bond with her and be there for the birth. “But if she does happen to call in, don’t forget to ask her about Jesse.”

  “Not likely I’d forget about him!”

  Maura gritted her teeth as Gracie headed off. The girl ought to have better sense. Jesse Blue was trouble with a capital T, and that rhymed with B, and that stood for Blue. She hummed a few bars from The Music Man, then glanced at the leather jacket. Yes, she had a suspicion they had trouble, right here in Cherry Lane.

  She glanced into the courtyard. He had come back, toting a bag with the McDonald’s arches. She shuddered at the thought of all that cholesterol. He would die young. She gave a small chuckle. If not of hardening of the arteries, then on that motorcycle. Or maybe he’d continue his life of crime. Street racing? Was Gracie right about that? It fit better than shoplifting. And, though street racing was indeed dangerous, obviously Jesse hadn’t hurt anyone or he’d be in jail rather than sprawling on the grass outside her window.

  He opened the bag and got to work on a hamburger, accompanying it with French fries and a drink. When he glanced toward her window, she ducked back.

  She picked at her own healthy, boring lunch. Across the desk, his jacket was a foreign object, all black and masculine hanging on the spare chair, very much a contrast to the spray of purple orchids on the bookcase beside it. The plant had been an impulse buy, one gray day when she’d been feeling just a touch lonely and depressed. The vivid color had struck her fancy, as had the exuberance of the tall curving stalk with its dozen blooms, and the shape of the flowers with their butterfly-wing petals and full, pouty mouths.

  She wandered over to mist the plant and couldn’t resist stroking Jesse’s jacket, confirming her earlier impression that it was excellent quality leather. Buttery smooth under her fingers. Just like the couch and chairs in her parents’ sitting room. While Timothy didn’t care about his surroundings, Agnes, who roughed it on field trips, liked her creature comforts at home. Thanks to a sizable inheritance, she had the money to indulge herself.

  Hmm. Maura had been assuming Jesse was poor, but maybe he was a spoiled rich kid, with his expensive leather and his classic motorcycle. Or maybe a woman had bought him the toys. A lover. Maybe a rich older woman. A Mrs. Robinson, sleek and sophisticated and sexy. Smoking a cigarette held in one of those long holders, crooking a finger and beckoning Jesse over for a little afternoon delight.

  She glanced into the hallway, checking that it was deserted, then bent to inhale. No cigarette smoke, but yes,
of course there was a hint of perfume, more flamboyant than subtle.

  She abandoned the Mrs. Robinson scenario and imagined Jesse with a curvy, vivacious blonde draped all over him. The girl would be wearing a skin-tight mini-skirt and a low-cut leopard-print top. In that outfit she’d be all hips and breasts, curly peroxided hair, and a toothpaste-ad smile. Yes, that would be Jesse Blue’s type of woman. Her IQ would probably be right around her bra size, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. She’d seen the horror on his face when Virginia Canfield handed her The Time Traveler’s Wife, and when Maura asked if he liked to read.

  Grinding her teeth, she went back to her chair and looked at the plate of unfinished food. She shoved it aside and yawned. She shouldn’t have stayed up so late, but she’d gotten hooked watching Rebel Without a Cause. No wonder she’d been thinking of James Dean this morning. Though there was really very little comparison. Jesse was taller, better built, his voice was deeper, he was definitely more masculine. Sexier.

  Had he had an unhappy home life, like Dean’s character in the movie?

  Guiltily, she remembered that she had out and out lied to Jesse Blue. While she truly believed in honesty, she couldn’t confess to being a TV and movie addict. Her parents had raised her to believe such things were a pure waste of time. The television in their house had been solely for watching documentaries and other educational programs, and woe betide her if she ever got caught watching a movie or sitcom. Maura, find something worthwhile to occupy your time. Movies were for people like Jesse, who wanted superficial entertainment.

  She yawned again, then forced her drooping eyes open and glanced out the window once more. He had finished eating and was lying on his back on the grass. Had he been up late, too? Probably not watching movies by himself. More likely, creating his own sex scenes with some gorgeous female.

  He looked so peaceful, lazing in the sun on his lunch break. Like a cat, a giant cat, dozing in a sunny spot. Jesse seemed as natural and unselfconscious as a cat, too.

  Maura was never unselfconscious, except when she was absorbed in working with numbers. She was always aware of trying to please people, to impress them, to be accepted. She’d heard that orphans were often like that.

  It would be nice to be different. To be like Jesse. To not have to put on a poised façade but to be natural, confident. . .

  She studied the man lying on the rough grass . . .

  Confident . . . She could imagine being more confident. . .

  She could imagine . . .

  Chapter 4

  This time, when Jesse glanced toward her window, Maura didn’t move away. What would he do once he knew she was watching?

  He rose in that cat-like way of his, taking his time. He stood, stretched lazily, ran his fingers through those long curls. Then he began to walk. Straight toward her.

  She didn’t step back from the window. Instead, she reached out and unlatched it. It was a tall window, starting a couple of feet above the floor and stretching almost to the ceiling. When she pushed it open, fresh air streamed in and she smelled the perfume of the cherry trees.

  He reached the window and she stood aside. He didn’t stop, just vaulted easily over the wooden frame, and suddenly her office was filled with his presence. The smell of earth and male exertion was intoxicating.

  Those tawny eyes glowed with fire and, though she’d never seen passion up close and personal, she recognized it from movies. She knew her own eyes were sending the same message.

  He reached out a hand and held it beside her cheek, close but not quite touching. Boldly she leaned toward him, fitting herself to the curve of his palm. He smiled then, a quick dazzle of white in his dark face, and caressed her heated skin. That strong, capable hand was unbelievably gentle, absolutely tantalizing. His palm was hot and dry, rough with calluses. It abraded ever so slightly, and she quivered at the sensation.

  He slipped his hand away, then returned with one finger, tracing the outside line of her top lip, then her bottom lip.

  She trembled.

  His finger teased the crease that separated her lips.

  Involuntarily, her lips parted.

  He gave a rough chuckle, a satisfied masculine sound.

  Then he tipped his head down and his lips touched hers, so soft after the roughness of his fingertip. So gentle. It was disarming, from a man so rugged and male. Again she opened to him and he accepted her invitation, slipping his tongue between her lips, exploring, flirting, seducing her own tongue.

  She moaned softly. His lips pressed more firmly as he deepened the kiss, quickened the dance.

  His arms came around her, one just below her shoulders and one at the base of her spine. Slowly but inexorably he pulled her toward him and she went willingly, her body yearning to learn the feel of his.

  Her chest met his, her breasts softening against the cotton of his T-shirt even as her nipples peaked. He eased her hips forward, and she felt the roughness of denim and then, as a shock, the hardness that told her he was fully aroused. From just one kiss with her.

  She nestled her hips closer. He pulled his mouth away from hers and groaned, then whispered, “Maura . . .”

  “Maura? Ms. Mahoney?”

  Gracie’s voice penetrated her brain and Maura jerked awake. What? Had she been dozing? Had she actually had a sex dream? About Jesse Blue?

  Cheeks burning, she swung her chair to face the door. Gracie stood there, looking puzzled. How many times had she called Maura’s name?

  “Yes, Gracie? Sorry. I was, er, working out some budget scenarios.” And now she was lying to Gracie. Turning thirty had warped her entire personality.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” The redhead made her rueful-apology face again. “Been doing that all day, haven’t I? Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you I’m going for the day. Unless you, like, need anything else?”

  Need. Maura squeezed her thighs together against an unfamiliar ache. Oh, yeah, she needed something, but Gracie sure couldn’t provide it. “No, nothing,” she mumbled, cheeks burning. Good God, she’d never felt so . . . hot and wet, so swollen and achy, when she’d made love with the only two boyfriends she’d ever had sex with. Uninspired sex; sex that hadn’t given her what she needed, either. Let’s face it, her little sex dream, drawn more from movies and books than her own experience, had been sexier than lovemaking with either Bill or Winston.

  When Gracie had departed with another quizzical glance, Maura groaned. A sex dream? A little daylight sex fantasy? What was wrong with her? The only time she’d ever before imagined a guy kissing her was back in grade twelve.

  Troy Offenbacher, the captain of the debate team. He hadn’t been every girl’s idea of cute, but she’d admired his brain and those big blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. They’d studied together, she’d fallen in love, and he’d asked her to the prom. She’d bought a dress, got her hair styled, done the whole mani-pedi thing with her girlfriend Sally.

  The two of them had giggled and fantasized, her about Troy and Sally about her football-star boyfriend, and for once Maura had felt like a normal teenaged girl rather than the plain, serious one who never fit in. She’d felt pretty. Even desirable. Until the night of the prom, when a cheerleader named Nicki had too much to drink and came onto Troy. Maura guessed it was due to a bet or a mean joke.

  Troy didn’t give a damn about the reason.

  So there was Maura, the girl who worked so hard to avoid being rejected, dumped at her own high school prom by the boy she loved.

  Shattered, she’d done something really stupid. She’d let Sally—a girl who definitely had a wild side—convince her that getting drunk would make her feel better. Sally’s football hero had a bottle of tequila, and the three of them had gone down to the beach. The police had caught them and, thank God, not pressed charges. But parents had been called.

  Maura had received a “we’re very disappointed in you” lecture, the kind she hadn’t heard since she was ten and Timothy had come home from work with the flu and caught her watc
hing I Love Lucy reruns.

  A brand-new high school graduate, she’d been grounded for the summer. Not that the grounding mattered, because she was also forbidden from seeing Sally, and Sally had been her only social life. Maura was disappointed in herself, too, and scared by what she’d done, by the way she’d let Sally’s wildness overcome her own better judgment. She’d agreed that the girl was a bad influence.

  She’d lost her first love and her one-and-only best friend in one fell swoop—and learned that, as Sally would put it, her own judgment sucked big-time.

  Maura gave a snort of disgust and shook her head. The past. Why was she even thinking about this?

  A glance into the garden, where Jesse was now hard at work, reminded her. She’d been thinking about sexy fantasies.

  How completely ridiculous to have them about Jesse. He was edgy and crude, hated books, and was a petty criminal. He was the opposite of what she wanted in a man.

  Even if that weren’t true, and she was insane enough to be interested in him, he was way too handsome and sexy to ever be attracted to a woman like her. There were a couple of times she’d wondered if he was checking her out, but if so, it was just a natural male instinct to look at breasts and hips. It wasn’t attraction. If geeky Troy had blown her off for a cheerleader, she’d never stand a chance with Jesse. Not that she wanted one. She definitely didn’t.

  Oh, Lord, why on earth was she having wicked thoughts about him?

  Wicked thoughts. Her lips twisted in a smile. The phrase was pure Sally. The two of them had really had fun together in grade twelve, when Sally’s wealthy parents had moved her from public school to the Wilton Academy in hopes of settling her down and making her apply herself, academically.

  Maura had helped her with schoolwork, but it wasn’t in Sally to settle down. She’d unsettled Maura, bringing out a side of her she’d barely known existed.