by Susan Fox
A virile, skilled, hot-as-sin man.
No, a man who was her opposite, who didn’t even like to read, whom Agnes and Timothy would hate.
Jesse had kissed her. But just because she was there. Not because he was attracted. Right? And she’d kissed him back because she was surprised and, okay, attracted, but only in a hormonal way.
He’d touched her lower back when they were leaving her office. To her, it had felt intimate. But for him, it was probably just a habit. He did it with all the women he . . . what? Dated? But this wasn’t a date.
He’d asked her for a bike ride because . . . Well, maybe because they’d been getting along, almost like friends. Or because he thought she was overreacting when she insisted on waivers and he wanted to prove that it wasn’t dangerous.
Dangerous. Hopping onto a huge, black, throbbing Harley, behind Jesse. That sounded plenty dangerous to her, and it had way more to do with the man than the motorcycle.
She brushed her teeth, took her hair down and combed it, then pulled it back up, and brushed on a touch of brown mascara and a thin coat of pink lip gloss. Afterward, she looked exactly the same as when she’d started.
Still, some purely female instinct had her dabbing gardenia perfume at her throat and into the small amount of cleavage created by the peach bra that, for some silly reason, she’d worn under her tailored shirt.
“Aagh,” she muttered to her reflection. “You’re hopeless. It’s not a date.”
All the same, it was personal, not business, and it was the first time in her life she’d had a personal engagement with a totally hot man.
By now Jesse should have a good head start. She hurried toward the front door of the building, anticipation quickening her step. A hot man, a motorcycle—this was shaping up to be the most exciting night of her life.
She rounded a corner, entered the reception area, and—“What?”
The disagreeable Nedda was at the desk, avidly watching as three other people conversed. Fred Dykstra and Lizzie Gilmore stood hand in hand, talking to Jesse. Jacket hooked casually over his shoulder, he was laughing at something one of them had said, and didn’t look in any hurry to leave.
What part of leaving separately had he failed to grasp?
Squaring her shoulders, she marched toward them. “Good evening, everyone.”
“Hey, Ms. Mahoney,” Jesse said, that wicked gleam in his eye. “I was just heading out when Fred and Lizzie came in. They were telling me about their dinner.”
“We taxied to the waterfront for a seafood dinner,” Fred said, “and ate outside. It’s a lovely evening.”
“Indeed it is,” Lizzie said. “You young people should get out there and enjoy it.” Her gaze flicked between Maura and Jesse.
Maura noted Jesse’s spontaneous grin, then glanced past him to see Nedda staring with unabashed interest.
“An excellent idea,” Maura said briskly. “I’m heading out now.”
“Jesse,” Fred said, “you walk the girl out. Make sure she gets to her car safe and sound.”
“Somehow I manage on my own every other night,” she said dryly.
“Don’t argue with a hostage negotiator,” Jesse said. “Come on, Ms. Mahoney.” He gestured toward the door.
Huffing a little, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed, she said, “I surrender.”
They all said their good nights, and she and Jesse walked away in silence.
Outside, the night air was soft and scented, the street silent. He said quietly, “You really want to meet at the mall?”
She was deliberating, when he moved closer and again rested his hand on the dip of her lower back, just above the waistband of her pants. Even through a layer of silk, she could feel his heat and it made her own skin tingle. “Uh . . .”
“Let’s just hop on and ride.” His hand left her back and she felt the loss, then a moment later he grasped her hand.
His action had the effect of banishing all rational thought. Jesse Blue was holding her hand—and not just to steer her to his bike, or he wouldn’t be linking his fingers through hers and squeezing gently. Sexy warmth pulsed up her arm and radiated through her body. Was this really happening?
When they arrived at his Harley, she realized something. “Oh, no. We can’t. I don’t have a helmet.” She should have known this was too good to be true.
“You sure do believe in following the rules, Ms. Mahoney,” he teased, giving her hand another squeeze.
“But it’s not safe,” she protested. “And it’s illegal. And—Oh,” she said as he reached over to the far handlebar and unhooked a second helmet. “You brought an extra?”
“A guy can hope. And look where it got me.”
What had he hoped? That he’d find a woman who wanted to ride with him? Or that . . . Had he actually hoped to take her, Maura, out on his bike?
He stowed her purse in a container on the bike, then held out his jacket. “This’ll keep you warm.”
She’d never in her life worn a guy’s jacket, or shirt, or anything else. “But won’t you be cold?”
He shot her an outraged look that had her smothering a giggle, then held out the jacket so she could slide her arms into it.
She wrapped the oversized leather around her, reveling in the thought of his body inside it. “Thank you.”
“Looks good on you.” He ran a finger over her cheek, his rough skin making the caress even more sensual. With a sexy smile, he went on. “But then, most things would.”
The sheer ridiculousness of that compliment made her finally realize what was happening. This was another of her sexy fantasies.
Don’t let me wake up!
“It’s a great jacket,” she told him. “Beautiful leather.”
“I’ve got three possessions that matter: my bike, my jacket, and my giant TV. That first day, I liked how you treated my jacket.”
She ducked her head and smiled, remembering how she’d smelled it. Hmm. In a fantasy, she could be bold. And so she slanted a teasing smile up at him. “That first day, I smelled your jacket.”
“You what?”
“You know. Smelled it, so I could smell you.”
Something flared in his eyes. “And now it’ll smell like you. Gardenia. You didn’t wear that perfume before.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Wonder what got you wearing perfume,” he teased. “Couldn’t have had anything to do with me, could it?”
She punched his arm. “Arrogant.” She’d done it for herself, like wearing the peach lingerie, because it made her feel feminine and sensual. But yes, Jesse had been in the back of her mind, the way he always was. “Actually,” she said airily, “I was hoping to win Fred Dykstra away from Lizzie Gilmore.”
He chuckled. “That first day, I never guessed you had a sense of humor.”
“That first day, I probably didn’t.” In fact, the real her, as compared to this Maura-in-a-fantasy, probably still didn’t. “Now, didn’t someone promise me a bike ride?” She couldn’t wait to climb up on that throbbing machine and wrap her arms around Jesse. She wanted to cram as much as possible into this fantasy before she woke up.
He passed her a helmet and helped her do it up, his fingers lingering on her skin. Then he put on his own, climbed onto the bike, and waited for her to swing on behind him. How silly to have worn pants in this fantasy. If she’d been in a skirt, she would have hiked it up her thighs, her naked flesh sandwiching Jesse’s jean-clad hips and thighs.
“You’re into rules,” he said, “so here they are.” He reached back to find her hands, where they rested on her own thighs, and tugged her arms around him.
Oh, yes, this was good. She felt his heat, his solid muscles, through his tee. And as she leaned closer, she caught the erotic scent of fresh-cut grass and hardworking male.
“Keep your arms around my waist,” he said, “and hang on tight.”
“Ooh, there’s a tough one,” said the Maura-in-a-fantasy woman, tightening her grip and pressing her breasts
shamelessly against his back.
He sucked in a breath and growled, in a fake grumbly tone, “Damn it, stop distracting me.”
She had the power to distract him? But of course she did. She was sensual Maura, wearing peach lace lingerie and gardenia perfume.
“Here’s the other thing to know,” he said. “When we take a curve, the bike’ll lean over, into the curve. Your body will want to lean in the other direction, to counterbalance it.”
She nodded. “That seems logical.”
“Maybe, but it’s wrong. You lean into the curve.”
“Lean in?” What did he mean?
“Just plaster yourself to my back and follow where my body goes.”
“I can do that.” And what woman wouldn’t be thrilled to bits to follow that rule?
Jesse could hardly believe that the prissy woman who’d looked down her nose at him was now twined around him. That she was as into him as he was into her.
That she’d smelled his freaking jacket.
Thank God he’d driven this bike so often he could do it in his sleep, because Maura was one giant distraction. At first she’d been a “little old lady” rider, stiff and cautious, but by the time they got out of the city and onto a country road, she’d loosened up. She pressed the fronts of her thighs into the backs of his and squished her breasts against his back. Her hands rested just above his belt. If she moved them down a couple of inches she’d realize what she was doing to him. But hell, she probably knew anyhow.
Now, he wanted to make her whoop. He wanted to hear the classy Ms. Mahoney let out a whoop. Knowing this road was almost always deserted at night, he whipped the bike along the straightaways and curled it deep into the curves.
She clung tight as a burr, leaning into the curves right along with him. Her helmet clunked against his as she said something he couldn’t catch. Was she asking him to slow down? “Louder,” he yelled at her.
“Faster!” she hollered back.
He laughed and the wind snatched the sound from his lips. There was a hill coming up and if he popped the bike over the top, it would fly a few yards. And so he made it happen.
Maura whooped like a banshee, and he let go with an answering one as her arms crushed his stomach. Man, he was glad he’d met this woman.
The road got twisty then, and he had to slow down. They were nearing a place where there was a pretty meadow by a stream. All you had to do was hop a wooden fence. It was someone’s private property, but no one would be hanging around at this time of night. When he got Maura in that meadow in the moonlight, he’d do his best to make his fantasies come true.
Oh, yeah, it was going to happen. The more he slowed the bike, the more touchy-feely Maura got. Her hands were roaming his chest, exploring his anatomy. Then she headed south again, resting one hand on his belt buckle.
Yeah, baby, go for it, he urged her silently, slowing the bike even more.
One finger ventured to the top of his fly. Another joined it, then the first one moved down farther. The fingers stopped. She had touched the tip of his erection.
He held his breath. The woman sure knew how to torture a guy.
As if she’d suddenly made up her mind, she moved her whole hand and cupped him with her palm.
He sucked in another breath.
She squeezed experimentally and he smothered a groan.
She took her hand away and he breathed again. Then she ran a fingernail down his fly and up again.
“Oh, Jesus,” he gasped.
She stopped. “Sorry.” Her lips were so close to his ear he felt her warm breath. Teasingly, she said, “My hand slipped.”
“Then let it slip again, would you?” He grabbed her hand and placed it, palm-down, against him.
He imagined her sliding down his zipper, extracting his dick. The cool night air, her hot hand pumping him—
Jesus Christ! Now there was a recipe for an accident. She was doing a fine job of making him lose his concentration. Regretfully, he eased her hand to safe territory, and a few minutes later he pulled off on the side of the road.
When he shut off the engine, Maura slid off, stumbling a little. He caught her arm, steadied her, then climbed off, too. He took off his helmet, experiencing the usual jolt of going from noise to silence. Although, as his ears adjusted, of course the night wasn’t silent. Leaves rustled; an owl hooted.
Maura took off her helmet, too. “Why did you stop?” Her voice sounded loud against the stillness. She hushed it down to almost a whisper. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“There’s a place I know. Think you’ll like it.” He took both their helmets, then pushed the bike off the road and hid it behind bushes.
She stood by the side of the road, stretching. Her neatly tucked hair had gotten messed up by the helmet and, without asking, he pulled out the pins until it all tumbled down in a soft, tangled mass.
She finger-combed it. “I must look a total mess.”
Out here, there was no city light in the sky, just moon and stars. Her pale face with its perfect features glowed, and her tousled hair gleamed, more silver than gold tonight. “You look beautiful.”
She ducked her head, then suddenly flicked her hair and looked back up at him. Staring straight into his eyes, she said, “So do you.”
Oh, man. Not that he liked the idea of being beautiful, but he got what she meant and loved that she’d said it.
She gazed expectantly at him, and he knew she was waiting for a kiss. And he needed to give it to her. But not here, on the side of the road where someone might come along. Not here, when what he really hoped was that once they got going, they wouldn’t want to stop.
“Come on.” He held out his hand.
She slipped hers into it like it belonged there. “Come where?”
Come all around me. And then, just when you start to relax, I’ll make you do it all over again.
Chapter 14
Struggling to control his body, Jesse said, “We’re gonna hop a fence.”
“We’re trespassing?”
“Got a problem with that?”
She reflected a moment, then gave a soft giggle. “Not if they don’t catch us.”
“I’ve created a monster. What happened to Ms. By-the-Book?”
“I’m reading a different book tonight.”
And it was the only book in the world that he’d ever liked.
He started to tug her in the direction of the fence, but she pulled back, stopping him so he turned to look at her.
“Maura?”
“Jesse?” Her eyes were huge, almost pleading. “This is a fantasy, right?”
A fantasy come true. “Damn right.”
“You won’t let it end too soon?”
God, she really was into this, as turned on as he was. “Hell, no.”
This time, when he tugged her hand, she hurried along beside him. He clambered over the fence, then helped her over. The meadow was as pretty as he remembered, the grass as soft. “Kick off your shoes,” he said, unlacing his sneakers and pulling them off, then stripping off his socks.
She slipped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes sensuously in the grass. “Oh, heaven. That feels so good. Oh, yes, I know this fantasy.” She glanced around and murmured something that sounded like, “But where’s the cat?”
He was about to ask her to repeat what she’d said, when she crossed to the bank of the stream, dipped her toes in, then quickly pulled back. “Too cool for wading.”
“I didn’t bring you here to go wading.”
“No?” she teased. “Then what did you bring me here for?”
“Oh, you know. To sit and talk,” he teased back.
“Talk?” She wandered back toward him, looking puzzled.
“You know when a guy says ‘talk,’ he really means other stuff, right?”
“Men do have their own mysterious language.”
He chuckled. “Take off my jacket, Maura. I’ll keep you warm.”
While she obeyed, he stripped o
ff his T-shirt.
She gaped, then said breathlessly, “ ‘Talk’ means taking your clothes off?”
He spread the T-shirt on the grass. “Don’t have a blanket.” He beckoned for her to hand him the jacket, and spread it, too.
Her gaze roamed all over his torso, and he could tell she liked what she saw. Women always did, but tonight Maura was the one who counted. In fact, since he’d met her, she was the only one who counted. Was he crazy to think there might be something real, something special, between them?
Jeez, what was wrong with him? He was out here alone with a gorgeous woman—a woman who’d told him not to let the fantasy end too soon, which meant not before she climaxed. And he was going all girly, thinking about feelings?
He plunked himself down on the grass and patted the cast-off clothing.
She eased herself down, looking nervous now, like he’d thrown her off balance by whipping off his shirt. But hell, if she wanted an orgasm, they had to get naked.
Still, Maura was different from other women he’d known. He knew she had a passionate side, but sometimes she seemed almost innocent. She dated guys who took her dancing and gave her champagne, yet it seemed she didn’t trust a man to give her great sex, to make her come. Don’t let the fantasy end too soon. And he’d promised it wouldn’t.
He wasn’t a champagne kind of guy, but he did know about sex. He’d make this good for her.
Despite the way she’d groped him, now she was giving off signals that said she didn’t want to be rushed. So, not touching her, he said, “I’m glad you came out with me tonight.”
“It’s been wonderful. I was wrong about bike riding.” The tip of her tongue licked her lips. “And wrong about you.”
He separated a strand of her wavy hair and curled it around his finger. Then he tugged her toward him, and she came.
He touched his lips to hers. God, she was sweet. He wanted to dive in and devour her, but forced himself to ease back. “I can’t believe you don’t have a serious boyfriend.”
“The men I meet are perfectly nice, but . . .” She shook her head. “And you, Jesse? There’s really no special woman in your life?”