Body Heat

by Susan Fox

  That was fine by him. Anything would be sexy, on her.

  Very slowly, he peeled the edges of the sweater back, starting at the neck. His pulse thudded as he revealed the pale top curves of her breasts and—

  A blast of horns brought him back to reality. Now he ached in two places: his stomach and farther south.

  He could fix one of the aches easily. He swung into a parking lot. The Colonel would deal with his hunger pangs. As for his lust pangs . . . He was on his own there.

  Maura Mahoney was his fantasy, and she’d never be a real part of his life.

  In reality, she wouldn’t climb on the back of his Harley, visit with Con and Juanito, stop for a beer with the guys, shoot a game of pool, pick up pizza or KFC to take home for an evening in front of the TV—much less let him unbutton all of those buttons.

  Oh, hell, she wasn’t the only female in the world. He could phone someone. There’d been women he hooked up with, who just enjoyed a good time. Hadn’t seen any of them in a while. Nah, none of them appealed.

  Tuesday he’d see Gracie and ask her out. She was pretty, sparkly, and he could see her fitting into his world.

  He picked up three pieces of extra-crispy and large orders of fries and slaw, and rode back to his apartment. There, he peeled off his dirty jeans and tee. Dinner first, shower later. He cracked open a beer and settled in his battered leather recliner, clad in black boxer-briefs. The joys of living alone. No one to care how he looked or smelled.

  Who needed women anyhow?

  Maura lugged the heavy hanging basket out to her balcony and gazed up. No hook. Oh, well, she was off tomorrow so she’d have a chat with the building manager. He was an older man, a widower, and enjoyed doing fix-up tasks for the residents.

  She set her pink geranium and herbs on the windowsill and smiled. The kitchen looked much cheerier. Why hadn’t she thought of this years ago, when she moved out on her own? Maybe next, she’d get a bird.

  Now, before she did anything else, she had to phone Edward. Had it just kept skipping her mind, or had she been putting it off? She checked her cell for the number he’d called from.

  When he answered, she said, “Edward, it’s Maura. I’m sorry for being abrupt this morning. I’d pulled off on the side of the highway and it was too dangerous to stay there.”

  “No problem. I’m sorry you can’t attend the lecture tomorrow.”

  It would be good to spend time together, if she was considering inviting him to the reunion. She opened her mouth to tell him her plans had changed, when he said, “Fortunately, your parents and one of Timothy’s colleagues decided to come along.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s good then.” No, she didn’t want to hang out with that group. What should she say now? “You’re enjoying your visit here?”

  “Yes, though it always takes a while to get the feel of a new place.”

  “You’ve traveled a lot?” She’d never had anyone to go with, and exploring a new place on her own didn’t appeal.

  “My father was in the military. Then I did my post-secondary schooling at four different universities, and I’m still on the move.”

  “That’s unusual for an academic, isn’t it?”

  He chuckled. “You’re right. You can’t get tenure when you don’t stay in one spot. As your father’s been reminding me.”

  “I guess all professors want tenure.”

  “I’m not sure I’m there yet. But who knows, this may be the place I want to settle. I do want a family, and I suppose that’ll mean landing in one spot. It’s tough on a spouse and kids, always moving around.”

  Hmm. Edward was more interesting tonight, talking just to her, not getting caught up in her parents’ intellectual discourses. They chatted for a few more minutes, and she liked that he didn’t go on and on about himself, but asked her about her job, and whether she enjoyed travel.

  “Well, I’m afraid I must go,” he said finally. “One of the professors has invited me to his house for dinner. But Maura, I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Since tomorrow night doesn’t work for you, is there some other time we could get together?”

  “I’d like that. I’m working most evenings.” Her schedule was crazy, what with filling in for both Louise and the general manager, not to mention supervising Jesse. “I’ll be free on Friday.” And, hopefully, the Board would approve her budget at the afternoon meeting and she’d be in a good mood.

  “Then it’s a date.”

  She’d see how things went, then decide about the reunion. As she hung up the phone, she felt optimistic.

  Quickly she tossed together a chicken and veggies stir-fry, using some of her fresh herbs, and ate it at the kitchen table along with a glass of a BC Ehrenfelser wine that she loved. After tidying up, she took the library book to her reading chair. She needed to find out why she’d gone from pretty much frigid to having hotter-than-sin fantasies, virtually overnight.

  Her best guess to explain her odd sexual urges and fantasies was a hormonal change related to turning thirty, so she turned first to that section of the book.

  Hmm, yes, there could be hormonal changes, it said, like loss of testosterone, and that could lead to . . . lowered sex drive? Well, that certainly didn’t apply to her.

  Maybe this next part did. She read that many women in their thirties felt more sexual and enjoyed their sex lives more, because—oh. Those women were more experienced, more confident, more knowledgeable about what turned them on. Maura snorted. That sure as heck didn’t apply to her, either. What turned her on seemed to be fantasies about a completely inappropriate man.

  When it came to the men she’d dated, including her two lovers, her sexual response had been lukewarm. Was there any hope she’d ever be aroused by a suitable man—a man like Edward?

  Sighing, she flipped to the chapter on sexual dysfunction, including frigidity.

  To her surprise, she found that she wasn’t alone. The book said that a lot of women didn’t have orgasms, and many considered themselves frigid. Her eyes widened as she read on. Often, it was because their partners didn’t have much of a clue how to arouse them. Nodding, she tapped her pen against the book. Yes, that did apply to her lovers and dates. Jesse, though . . . Oh, my, the touch of his hand, even the sight of him, made her body tingle and yearn.

  He was experienced, sexually confident, very physical. He must have some special knack that the men she dated hadn’t. With a lover like him, surely any woman would experience sexual bliss.

  He could teach her . . .

  No, that was ridiculous. Not only was he all wrong for her, but she certainly wasn’t going to risk her job for the sake of a sexual experiment.

  She turned back to the book and read on. The authors said that women often didn’t know their bodies well enough to know what aroused them, so they couldn’t guide their partners. Although Maura couldn’t imagine telling a man what to do to please her, the truth was that she’d have no idea what to say.

  The book used the M word. The word that was never actually said in that “master of my domain” Seinfeld episode about the contest where the characters challenged each other to see who could go the longest without masturbating. Maura had never been able to relate to that episode.

  The book said women should experiment with their own bodies to understand the process of orgasm and how they best achieved it. It said most girls did this in their teens and it was perfectly natural.

  So, in this area of her life, her development was stunted. Yes, a few times while watching a particularly sexy movie, she’d touched herself, but she’d always stopped. The thought of trying to manipulate her own body to pleasure just made her feel more deficient. Pathetic. Besides, she’d had no reason to believe it would work.

  Still, the authors stressed the importance of this kind of experimentation. They recommended that women overcome their inhibitions, and they’d learn a lot.

  Inhibitions. There was that word again. She thought of herself as practical—like when she avoided social situations where
she knew she’d just feel uncomfortable and not make friends. But sometimes did she cross over the line to being inhibited and repressed? Had that held her back from having fun—and great sex?

  The authors of this book seemed positive that inhibitions were more of an obstacle to a satisfying sex life than frigidity. So perhaps she ought to . . . loosen up. Often, she heard her parents’ voices in her head, but now there was a different chorus: her old friend Sally, Sophie Rudnicki, Jesse.

  Let down your hair, Maura.

  In the safety of her own home, what would it hurt?

  She reached up and began to pull the pins from her hair as she read on. The authors said that, to break through the barrier of inhibition, a woman had to relax and open herself to the possibility of orgasm. The possibility of being a sensual, sexual creature.

  The authors had recommendations, like wine and candlelight, a bubble bath. Maura made a list, then began to work through it.

  She found candles on the top shelf of the hall cupboard, red ones left over from a holiday dinner. Not scented, but she’d sprinkle perfume in the bath water. Though she rarely wore perfume, there was an unopened bottle that had been an impulse buy, like the orchid in her office. The scent made her think of sultry southern nights. Gardenia, she read on the bottle.

  She didn’t have bubble bath, so instead used a milk bath Aunt Evelyn, her dad’s sister, had given her. What would her prim and proper unmarried aunt say if she knew how her gift was being used?

  For music, Maura chose an album of light jazz with lots of saxophone, music that matched the sultry gardenia scent. Next on the list was wine. Supposedly a relaxer of inhibitions, which was why she rarely had more than one glass. Tonight, she poured a second glass of Ehrenfelser.

  Then, leaving her glasses on so she’d be able to read, she stripped off her clothing and stepped into the heated water, book in hand.

  Relax, the book said. Savor all the sensations, concentrate on each sense individually, and then let them all slip together into one overall feeling of sensuality.

  Okay, the senses. Sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, and focused, moving the book aside. Oh, yes, she enjoyed the mellow flicker of the candles, that creamy glaze on the top of the water, the sparkles of gold as the light caught tiny bubbles. She lifted one knee, noting how the milky surface parted and the bubbles drifted away. Water ran down her leg and her skin looked satiny and slick.

  Moving on to another sense, she touched her leg, smooth and slippery from the milk bath. What else did her sense of touch tell her? That the tub was hard under her bottom and the angle of the back put a strain on her neck. She pulled a towel off the rack and folded it under her neck, which felt much better.

  Stretching back, she closed her eyes and felt her muscles relax. The air smelled flowery in a way that made her think of Elizabeth Taylor with a creamy gardenia tucked into her dark hair, sultry and, yes, sensual.

  With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine she was in a swimming pool with gardenias floating on the top. Mmm-hmm . . .

  Floating in silky smooth water, with that exotic scent making her feel all sultry and feminine . . .

  A pity she was all alone in this pool . . .

  But wait, the flowers were bobbing up and down, stirred by some kind of activity in the water. “Maura Mahoney,” Jesse’s voice drawled in that sexy way of his.

  And then he was there in front of her, his face illuminated by moonlight. Drops of water gleamed on his bare shoulders.

  She should have felt embarrassed because she was naked, but somehow it didn’t matter. Maybe it was because, under the water, she was invisible. As was he.

  She was treading water, and so was Jesse. His leg brushed hers and slipped away. Then his hands clasped her waist, tugging her body close to his. Those hands were so strong, yet so gentle against her bare skin. Stunned by sensation, she lost her sense of balance and reached out for him. One arm grazed his hip. A naked hip.

  Heavens, he was as naked as she was.

  He pulled her closer, and her breasts pressed against his chest. Their legs, as they treaded water, touched and then moved away, touched again, and still he pulled her closer. Her hips were gliding through the water toward his, and any moment now, she would be pressed against—

  “Aagh!” Maura made a quick grab for the library book as it began to slip from her fingers, catching it just before it hit the water.

  She shook her head impatiently. Must Jesse Blue distract her from everything she tried to do? She couldn’t even conduct this experiment without drifting off into thoughts of him. But, hmm . . . She squeezed her thighs together, feeling an ache between them. Maybe the experiment was working.

  She straightened her glasses and stared at the book. Where was she? Oh, yes, concentrating on each sense. She’d done sight, touch, and smell, which left hearing and taste.

  The jazz, muted as it drifted in from the living room, was as sultry as the scent of the moist, warm air. As for taste, she picked up her glass and took a sip, then another. A generalized fruity taste, kind of tropical, a little citrusy. Delicious, and definitely one of her favorite wines. She remembered that this was her last bottle, so picked up her notebook, turned to the page with her current shopping list, and added wine.

  A yawn snuck up on her. The tingle between her thighs had faded, and soon the water would cool off. She’d better hurry up.

  She ran a finger down the page of the library book. Then she wrinkled her nose. Of course she’d known this part was coming. She was supposed to touch her own body, all over. Run her hands across her breasts, tease the nipples between finger and thumb, experiment to find the kind of touch that caused the most pleasant sensations.

  She gazed down at her breasts, partially submerged in water. It wasn’t that she never touched them. She did a thorough self-exam once a month. She shouldn’t be squeamish about this.

  Chapter 11

  Holding the book in one hand, Maura ran the other cautiously over a breast. Nothing happened except that she felt silly. She tweaked a nipple. Ouch. Too hard. She tried it more gently, repeating the motion until her nipple began to bead up. This was odd. Her breast was reacting but she felt nothing that she’d label arousal. Nothing like she felt just looking at Jesse Blue . . .

  “Concentrate,” she chastised herself.

  She was supposed to caress her arms very slowly, feeling the softness of the skin and the firmness underneath. Then go back to her breasts. Then slide her hands down her rib cage, marveling at the structure of the bones beneath the skin. Then to her waist and hips, reveling in the feminine curves.

  She obeyed the instructions, though she had some trouble with the idea of “reveling.” She just wasn’t getting the hang of this. Her body felt fine, there was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t exactly responding to all these caressing touches. She persisted, stroking her legs, her thighs. And now came the part she felt especially squirmy about. After a hearty slug of wine, she blew out the candles.

  Remembering what the book had suggested, she gingerly pressed a palm between her legs, which at least had the virtue of feeling warm. But the sensation wasn’t one she’d call arousal. She tried long, slow strokes with one finger, varying the pressure. Her finger got tired but that was all that happened. She went exploring for the famed clitoris that was supposed to be the center of sensation. She knew the darned thing was small, but hers must be absolutely minuscule. Hmm. Maybe that was the problem. She was anatomically deficient and that’s why she’d never been aroused during sex.

  Men could have penile implants. Was there a comparable procedure for a woman?

  Now she was supposed to insert a finger inside her body. She tried, but her opening was tight. She poked, maneuvered. How did her doctor get a speculum in there? How had her lovers ever . . . As for a man built like Jesse, would it even be possible?

  Drat, she was freezing to death and this whole experiment was horrible. She’d proven that she was frigid, just as she’d suspect
ed. Resolution was supposed to be a good feeling, but she felt rotten.

  She sat up, pulling the towel from behind her head. But wait a minute. If she was frigid, why had she been having those weird steamy thoughts about Jesse Blue? The book said sex was a complex thing, relying on mental and emotional factors as well as physical ones. So it seemed her mind could get aroused, and sometimes her body would even tingle and ache in a needy, pleasant way . . .

  She flipped to the next page in the book. And now they told her that for a lot of women, the masturbation experiment wouldn’t work the first time. Their recommendation was to have fun with it, and keep trying.

  Fun. No, it didn’t compare to a good novel or movie.

  She put on fresh pajamas, tidied the bathroom, and brushed her teeth. It had been a stressful day, and she was exhausted.

  Yawning, Maura slid under the covers and turned out the light. The sheets felt smooth and slippery, like the water in her last little fantasy. She could even smell gardenias. She lifted an arm and sniffed languidly, then closed her eyes and yawned again . . .

  Lazily, she stroked a hand down her arm. Her skin felt silky, soft . . .

  Just as it had in the gardenia pool . . .

  That seductive scent teased her nostrils . . .

  She and Jesse were still languidly treading water, his hands at her waist.

  He let go with one hand and reached out to touch her shoulder, then he slid his hand down her arm in a long, lingering caress that ended at her fingers. He entwined his hand with hers and held them together, looking down at them.

  She gazed down, too, and saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight, his large brown fingers alternating with her slender pale ones.

  He released her hand and began his journey back up her arm, moving on across her collarbone, framing her throat for a moment, then slipping down the center of her body.

  She sucked in a breath when he cupped one breast, lifting it, pressing it upward. He ran his palm back and forth, his touch gentle, yet provocative.