by Susan Fox
Jesse led her to a section labeled BEDDING PLANTS, and an image flashed into her mind of ivory sheets and embroidered pillowcases with red rose petals strewn across them. Of a dark, muscular man with longish hair and a gold earring—
She stumbled and knocked against a ceramic pot overflowing with abundant growth.
Jesse reached out one hand to steady the pot and the other to grip her arm.
Flustered, she pulled away from the seductive warmth of his touch. “I’m a klutz.”
Something flashed in his eyes—annoyance? hurt?—before he said, “Yeah,” and turned away from her to examine plants.
Not speaking, he moved from one table to the next.
She followed and finally asked, “What shall we get?”
“Plants like this.” He gestured to flowers with orange, red, pink, and purple blossoms that were almost fluorescent.
She frowned. “They’re awfully bright. How about something more subtle, like these.” She pointed to decorous blossoms in white, mauve, and a delicate pale pink.
He snorted disapproval. “Your residents are old, not dead.”
“What, exactly, do you mean?” she demanded.
“They don’t want funeral flowers. They want something lively.”
Just who did he think he was? Huffily, she responded, “I think I know our residents better than you do.”
He breathed out air through his nose. “We’ll get both.”
He moved around confidently, picking up the little black plastic containers and checking the plants. His hands seemed huge next to the delicate blossoms, yet he handled the plants gently. Oh, yes, he was good with his hands . . .
She gulped and drew her mind back to business. “Should we make a list?”
“Nah.”
She trailed him, feeling useless, hating being in a situation where she was ignorant. Grudgingly, she said, “You seem to know a lot about this.”
He glanced up in surprise and flashed a smile that knocked the breath out of her. “Did some work with a landscape gardener. But it goes back further than that. One of my foster moms worked in a nursery. She took me along on the weekend, let me help out.”
He’d said “let” not “made” him help out. Maura suspected most kids would have thought of it as a chore. But this foster child had clearly considered it a privilege to be allowed to assist his foster mother. Just as Maura had felt flattered when Agnes or Timothy—who’d saved her from a foster home—had let her help with some important project of theirs.
But he’d said . . . “One of your foster mothers?”
He put down the pot of yellow flowers he’d been inspecting and muttered, “I had a few.”
Raised in foster homes. From what age? Was that upbringing partially responsible for whatever criminal behavior had landed him in court?
She realized Jesse had walked across to another table, and she trailed behind, still musing. But the sight of the plants on the table wiped everything else from her mind. “Geraniums.” The word burst out spontaneously, with a childlike excitement that embarrassed her.
He gave a sardonic grin. “That’s one for you.”
She flushed. “We had a housekeeper when I was a little girl who kept a couple of pots of geraniums on the kitchen windowsill.”
“Mmm.”
She remembered Mrs. Eggleston fondly. The housekeeper had worked afternoons. Maura’s newly acquired adoptive parents had spent long hours at the university, and Mrs. Eggleston had been the one to pick her up from school when she was in grades one through three. They’d sat together in the kitchen with milk and digestive biscuits, and Maura had chattered about her day. It had felt homey. Not as good as being with her real parents, who she still missed like crazy, but definitely one of the best things about her new home.
Then, when Maura was in grade four, Agnes and Timothy sent her to an after-school academic enrichment program and she hardly ever saw Mrs. Eggleston anymore.
“We should get some geraniums,” she told Jesse.
“Sure. They’d be good there. They like sun.”
Didn’t all plants like sun? She brushed the thought away. “How are we going to do this? We really should make a list.”
“Nah, I’ll figure it out in my head. We’ll order the plants and get most of them delivered this afternoon. Take a few with us to keep me going.” He headed inside, passing under some lushly overflowing hanging baskets.
Maura stopped, entranced. “Jesse? These would look good by the front door.”
He came back, looked up. “Pick the two you like best. I’ll take them in and pick up plant hangers.”
She deliberated for some time, looking at the baskets from all sides. Her first impulse was to go with a delicate pink and white one, but remembering what Jesse had said about the residents liking something lively, she instead chose ones with a mix of vivid colors. When she pointed them out, Jesse raised an eyebrow and she sensed an “I told you so” coming, but he held his tongue.
He stretched up to hook the baskets down, and the tank top pulled out of his jeans. There was a smudge of dirt on the brown skin of his back, just above his waist. At some point, he must have used a grubby hand to tuck his shirt in. She imagined her hand, sliding down inside those jeans, and had the most outrageous thought. What kind of underwear did he wear?
Did he even wear underwear?
Surely he must. It would be uncomfortable, that rough denim against sensitive naked skin. Wouldn’t it?
For a moment, she closed her eyes, wondering what that naked skin would feel like. Firm, definitely. Velvet skin over solid muscle. Warm, because he gave off heat she could feel even when she stood a foot away.
Except . . . that heat had disappeared.
She opened her eyes. No Jesse.
Oh, there he was, inside the building already, plunking the baskets she’d chosen on the floor by the cashier’s counter.
A blond woman in a green apron was helping a customer, but she favored Jesse with a big smile.
He began to roam about the store, collecting mysterious bags and bottles.
Maura gazed up at the baskets again. It would be nice to have one on the balcony of her apartment. And a geranium for her own kitchen window.
On her way to the geranium section, a fresh, tangy scent made her pause at a display of herbs. She read the names, rubbed a leaf of rosemary between her fingers and inhaled, then picked up a pot of basil. She loved those Italian caprese salads with basil, tomatoes, and bocconcini cheese. Some Thai dishes used basil, too. And here was parsley for garnish. Mint for her peas, or maybe to go in a glass of club soda.
She found a cardboard flat and began to fill it with little pots.
When she was finished, she put her box down under the hanging baskets and reached up to the one she had decided on. It was heavy and she was afraid she might drop it, so she glanced inside to enlist Jesse’s help.
He stood at the cash register, laughing with the blonde. And Blondie—who was older than Maura by more than a few years, and looked a lot like Cameron Diaz—was smiling and laughing like he was the only man in the world. Jesse was flirting, when he was supposed to be working. And no, of course she wasn’t jealous, just annoyed.
He turned and caught her watching. He beckoned her over. “Need your card.”
Oh, fine, now he needed her—for her money. She handed him her notebook. “Are you sure you’ve got everything on the list we made yesterday?”
“Yup.” He handed it back unopened.
She ground her teeth and gave the Cherry Lane credit card to the cashier. When the blonde handed her the slip, she saw that the total wasn’t as high as she’d feared. With relief, she signed her name. “We’ll need most of this delivered. Today, if possible.”
The cashier smiled brightly. “Jesse and I’ve got that all arranged.”
Maura would just bet that wasn’t all they’d arranged. The cashier knew his name and he likely had her number, in more ways than one. Of course it was none of Maura’s bu
siness if this middle-aged woman made a fool of herself with Jesse.
She remembered her own agenda. “Jesse, could you get another basket down for me? I want to take one home.”
“ ’Kay.” He followed her over and unhooked the one she pointed out.
When she picked up the flat that held her own herbs and pink geranium, his mouth kinked up at one corner. “Kitchen windowsill?”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t resist.”
He gave her a warm smile that went a ways to restoring her good spirits, then carried the basket over to the blonde. When the woman began to ring up the purchases, Jesse said to Maura, “Give me the key and I’ll start loading the van.”
Give the key to a man who’d been in trouble with the law?
Their gazes met, a challenge in his.
She reached into the side pocket of her purse and handed over the key, which he took with a nod. Likely he knew this didn’t mean she trusted him, only that she didn’t believe he was idiot enough to make off with the van.
He squatted beside a couple of big bags of fertilizer, getting his arms around them. His butt pressed tight against his jeans until Maura wondered if the ancient seams—or her own blood pressure—might explode. Then he stood, and his shoulder muscles strained as he balanced the weight, one bag on each shoulder. Maura tried to imagine Edward Mortimer lifting even one of those bags, and suppressed a giggle.
The giggle died abruptly when she turned back to the counter and realized the cashier had been watching her watch Jesse.
There was amusement in her eyes. She was probably thinking how pathetic it was for a woman like Maura to ogle a guy like Jesse. Fortunately, when she spoke she was businesslike. “This stuff goin’ to the same place? That seniors place?”
“No, this is just for me.”
The woman gave her the total, and Maura paid with her credit card as Jesse collected more of their purchases. When she followed him to the van, it looked cheerful with colorful blossoms from the hanging baskets poking out here and there.
She climbed into the driver’s seat and he jumped in beside her. As he reached close to her to fasten his seat belt, she noticed that his skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. She hadn’t seen as much sweat in her entire life as she had the last two days. The men in her life simply didn’t sweat. She didn’t recall either of her two lovers breaking a sweat, even when they made love. Nor had they raised one from her, when it came to that.
In bed with Jesse Blue, a woman would sweat. Maura was sure of that. In fact she was beginning to sweat right now, just thinking about it. She rolled down her window and pulled off her cardigan, then fastened her seat belt. She was about to turn the key in the ignition when her cell phone rang.
Jesse watched Maura fumble in her bag for her phone—a different cell this time. “Good timing,” he told her. She’d scared him earlier, when she put them in danger of being sideswiped by a semi.
She answered, then said, “Oh! Cindy, I didn’t expect—”
He heard an animated female voice break in, but couldn’t make out actual words. Should he get out of the van, give Maura some privacy? Nah. If she wanted him to, she’d say so. He leaned back against his open window and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was acting flustered and he was curious.
“Oh,” she said, “didn’t I send that in?”
Her right hand clenched on the steering wheel. “Well, actually, I’m not sure I can. My schedule’s pretty busy and—”
The other woman sure wasn’t letting her finish a sentence. Though he still couldn’t hear actual words, he got the impression of a high-powered sales pitch.
“No, I realize a lot of planning’s gone into it,” Maura said, finally managing a complete sentence.
Aha. Yet another person was issuing her an invitation she didn’t want to accept. Earlier, he’d almost felt sorry for the poor schmuck Edward whom she’d rebuffed. But what a loser, asking her to a dull lecture when she was used to champagne and dancing.
He glanced at the long slender fingers tapping the steering wheel, the long shapely legs. He’d bet she was a fine dancer . . .
He flashed back to what he’d imagined last night, him and Maura dirty dancing. The kind of dancing that was like fucking standing up. His dick stirred to life and he shifted uncomfortably.
Maura glanced his way and he dropped an arm across his lap.
She refocused out the windshield. “Cindy, this isn’t a good time.”
A pause, then, “I do not have my head in a book. I’m with someone and—”
Her back went ramrod straight. “No, not my parents. As a matter of fact it’s a man.”
This time he caught the other woman’s words, because they pretty much screeched out of the phone. “A man?”
“Yes, a man.” A muscle twitched in Maura’s cheek. “A very attractive man, in fact.”
He started with surprise.
Her cheeks deepened from pink to red, all those cute freckles hidden by her blush now, as she stared straight ahead, listening. “Maybe I will,” she said. The muscle twitched again. “Fine, I’ll be there.” A moment later, she exclaimed, “Yes, put me down as a plus one!” She slammed the flip-phone closed and buried her face in her hands.
Jesse had no idea why she was upset, but it was weird seeing his usually poised boss lose her cool. Cautiously, he said, “Sorry for eavesdropping, but did you just make me your plus one?” He must’ve got things wrong.
She raised her head and stared at him, face on fire. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I . . . well, yes, I used you. I was so annoyed at Cindy. ”
“Yeah. I got that.” He was pretty sure she didn’t really mean for him to be her date, but did she really find him attractive, or had she just said it to piss off this Cindy person? “Hey, it’s okay.” With a hint of sexual innuendo, he said, “You can use me anytime you want.”
Her eyes widened, then she gave a splutter of laughter and banged her forehead with her fist. “I can’t do anything right today. I can’t even apologize properly.” Her cheeks were still rosy, her eyes gleamed with humor, and he wanted to grab her face and plant a kiss on those smiling lips.
Fortunately, before he gave into the impulse, her lips straightened and she frowned. “Boy, have I got myself into a mess.”
Should he ask? “Yeah?” he ventured tentatively.
“It’s so silly. There’s a high school reunion. It’s next weekend and Cindy is calling all the people who haven’t RSVP’d. I really don’t want to go.”
“So don’t go.”
“I told her I would.”
“Got the impression she was pretty determined, but why’d you agree?”
She dropped her head into her hands again and groaned. “She goaded me. She basically implied . . .” Her voice dropped, and it was so muffled he didn’t catch what she said.
“What?”
Her head jerked up and she glared at him. “That I couldn’t get a date.”
Cindy was crazy. He frowned.
Maura groaned again. “See?”
“Uh, see what?”
“You agree with her!”
He shook his head, baffled. How come women never made sense? “That plus one thing? You, uh, didn’t really mean that you wanted me—”
“Oh, Jesse, no! I’m so, so sorry.”
No, she’d never want a guy like him taking her to her high school reunion. He’d known that—and he’d hate an event like that—so he shouldn’t feel pissed off.
“It was a spur of the moment thing,” she was saying, “and I know better. I should always think things out ahead of time and have a plan, not leap impulsively.”
“Sounds like a recipe for a boring life,” he snarked.
Another groan. “And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?”
“Uh . . . You lost me.”
“You know who I was in high school? President of the History Club. My adoptive father—he’s a history professor—was so proud. At the prom, my date�
��No, forget that, I’m not telling that story. Then I went to college and you know what I studied? Accounting and business admin. And where do I work? With a bunch of senior citizens. There’s not a single interesting thing about me!”
Somewhere in the middle of her rant, his mouth had fallen open.
The wind teased a tendril of fiery hair free from its knot, and it danced beside her delicate ear. Her blue-green eyes were huge and intense. Her breasts rose and fell against a light green blouse. Her neck was pale and slender and begged to be touched.
He shook his head. Was she having him on? Was this some bizarre kind of game? No, wait, women did this stuff all the time. Like, they’d say they were too fat, and you were supposed to say they looked great. Okay, he knew what she wanted. “There’s nothing wrong with you or your life.” Aside from her being uptight and snotty, but he knew better than to say that.
“You just implied I live a boring life, and you’re right.”
Did she mean that, or was it another “tell me I’m not fat” game. Cautiously, he asked, “Your job is boring?”
“Not to me. I think it’s great. But anyone else would find it boring.”
“Why?”
She raised nicely arched eyebrows. “I’m an accountant. Working with numbers isn’t most people’s idea of fun.”
“Numbers are good.” Jesse liked numbers. They didn’t give him the same trouble that letters did. Somehow, they kept their shape and stayed in place; they didn’t get all jumbled and distorted. The only subject he’d ever done decently in at school was math. He’d even helped girls with math—and other, more fun things—in exchange for their help with essays.
“Numbers are good?” she echoed. Then she flicked her head. “Oh, I get it. You’re kidding.”
He shrugged, not wanting to explain. “Bet you’re good with them.” She liked things to be orderly. “And there’s more to your job than numbers. You’ve got a way with folks like Virginia. You make them feel good. That’s important.”
Her face softened and she was truly beautiful. Not just striking, not just sexy, but totally beautiful. “Jesse, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She leaned toward him, her lips parted.