Adding Heat

by Cris Anson

  Silence surrounded him. His brain began to function. What had she been doing here? She’d worn jeans, yes, but not the clunky workboots she’d said she used around jobs or the nursery. She had come a-calling in ankle boots and a classy linen jacket.

  The thought pleased him inordinately.

  But then where was she? “Giselle?” He wandered through each of the five rooms, his mind sifting through facts and ideas. Maybe she’d been worried about him, knowing he’d been under the gun. She had more questions about Aunt Esme’s tax return. Or maybe she just wanted more of what they’d given each other the other day. And night.

  That thought perked him up considerably, and suddenly eating breakfast clunked to the bottom of his to-do list. His cock roared to life.

  After a few more minutes he accepted the fact that no one shared his office space. Then he noticed the manila envelope on the counter near the coffeepot.

  So she did come on business. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He hadn’t thought he was inadequate in the sexual department, but now he wondered if a woman with so much self-assurance would think he’d been experienced enough, sophisticated enough. As much as, perhaps, her foreman, who had acted as though he had some personal claim on her.

  With a scowl he shoved his doubts into a corner of his mind and reached for the note clipped to the envelope.

  Sorry to wake you. Catch up on your sleep. When you have time, maybe you can look this over. Thanks.

  No signature, no “I had a great time”. Well, she was probably too shy to put anything in writing. He opened the envelope and began to peruse its contents. Two tax returns, her personal one and the business one. Ever intrigued by numbers, he sat down to check them out.

  * * * * *

  Halfway down the Stonehedge Landscapes driveway, Con had to pull onto the verge to make room for an empty semi rattling up in the opposite direction, then eased to a stop near a huge hill of mulch that had obviously just been dumped into the holding area. Bits of bark and dust shimmered in the air currents above the pile.

  He took a moment to appreciate Giselle’s curvaceous body as she surveyed the delivery, unaware of being observed through his windshield. Snug jeans, check. Outstanding ass, check. Flyaway curly hair escaping her ponytail, check. Slanting late-afternoon sunlight giving her skin the rosy glow of a well-fucked woman…

  Down, boy!

  She might be a dozen years older, but damn, she looked good to him. And felt even better snugged against him. He would make it his business to convince her to think the same thing.

  Shaved, showered and ready for public discourse again, he killed the engine and stepped out. The potent smell of fresh pine bark surrounded him, sweet and pungent, almost like a narcotic.

  “Wow, that must be a whole year’s supply.”

  She turned, eyes leaping with sparks before banking into something he interpreted as caution. “Close to four hundred cubic yards. If we have a good year, we’ll need to order more before planting season ends.”

  Con let his gaze rove around the holding area, something he’d ignored last Sunday when he’d been too busy ogling Giselle in her tight biking shorts. Neat rows of potted shrubs and ground cover, larger shrubs and trees whose root balls were wrapped in burlap and heeled in, everything looking healthy and well tended. A three-bay barn converted to accommodate company trucks. Smaller holding pens for decorative gravel and stones of various colors and sizes.

  “Huh. I’d have thought you’d have as much stone supply as you do mulch.”

  “Why?” She began to walk toward the office.

  Matching her stride, he waved the manila envelope he’d brought with him. “I browsed through your tax returns. Just seemed like stones and paving should have been your biggest inventory.”

  “Actually,” she said, stopping at the door to the office and giving him a thoughtful gaze. “If a client wants too much paving or stonework, we subcontract that out. Felix specialized in artistic placement of greenery, and I just built on that reputation. I love the asymmetry, the irregularity of nature. I hate to see a row of Euonymus or boxwood against the front of a house. Boring.”

  Nothing about Giselle Sheridan was boring, Con thought as he swiveled to watch a staff truck bounce down the long driveway. “Well, looks like your crews are coming home to roost. I’d be happy to offer my observations about these documents—” He handed over the manila envelope. “But not when you’re so busy. Maybe we can talk about it over dinner some evening.” He yanked out his PDA. “Or, since we’re both professionals, maybe we should make an appointment. Let’s see, I’m free on…”

  Giselle’s warm laugh made the calendar function blur. “Actually, tonight’s good. Just give me an hour to check each crew’s progress, print out tomorrow’s service schedules and shower off all this grit. I feel like casual and close by. Seven-thirty? Meet you at the Rib ‘N Draft?”

  “I know where it is. Sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

  But she was already turning to greet her crew and Con saw another truck pulling in. He wouldn’t argue the point. He’d wait for her at the Rib ‘N Draft while catching up on his emails. The cozy pub and rib joint was only a mile or so from her home. Nothing like eating with your fingers and sucking off the juices to aid in a seduction.

  * * * * *

  “You let that guy see your tax returns?”

  “Oh, hi, Larry. I didn’t know you were inside already. I thought you might be checking out the black smoke coming out of the stake body.” Giselle had just entered the office to find her foreman at the second computer, off to the side at a smaller desk. She stiffened, bracing for a confrontation.

  Instead, he merely said, “It’s fixed. Oil change, new filter. Just making the notations now. I ran off a batch of checks for you to sign. I saw the deposit slip from yesterday’s bank run, so I figured we could pay some of those bills nearing the end of the net-thirty cycle.”

  “Thanks. That was on my to-do list this weekend. You’re a mind reader.”

  Larry shrugged as though it was no big deal, although she knew it was. She relied on him for so much. Too much?

  “I’ve been reading your mind for years, ’Zelle. Comes from working together so closely for so long. And knowing you so well.”

  He signed off the computer and darkened the screen. “One thing I will say to you, though. That Trowbridge guy? You better take anything he says with a grain of salt.”

  Standing to his full height, he loomed over her as she sat down at her own desk and logged on. “The name rang a bell, so I dug into my memory bank until I came up with it. They had some big lawsuits thrown at them for malfeasance a couple of years ago. Wasn’t just any piddling misappropriation of funds, either. It was some big-deal corporate scandal.”

  Larry leaned down across the desk, planting his scowling face a little too close to hers. “You better be careful of him. And that’s not just a suggestion. It’s a warning.”

  Giselle took a startled breath at his vehemence. She remembered no such scandal, but perhaps it had been around the time Felix had died, a long stretch when she paid no attention to newspapers or TV.

  “And just so you know,” he said before walking out the office door to deal with the crews, “I like Broadway musicals.”

  She stared after him. Broadway musicals? Who’d have thought rough, gruff Larry Pulaski liked to sing and dance?

  Which begged the question, shouldn’t she give him a chance to show her his softer side?

  She’d think about that tomorrow. She had other things on her mind tonight.

  Chapter Five

  Gawd, did this place bring back memories of the early days, when she and Felix had more brass than cash. When they thought they could conquer the world. Now he was gone and, while her clients loved her work, she knew she hadn’t reached his level of experience and savvy.

  On the bright side, Con Trowbridge was sitting next to her, sucking his fingers with his eyes closed as if he were in heaven. Giselle watched h
is thick tongue lap up barbecue juices from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger.

  And remembered the feel of that educated tongue on her clit.

  A delicate shudder went through her. She wanted more of it, more of his tongue stroking her, his arms holding her captive, his cock pounding into her. Oh yeah, her inner cougar had perked up when they’d met and she was ready to growl and bite and pounce.

  But cougar or no, she still worried that he was too young for her. So, she firmly chastised herself, get it while you can. And when that younger hunk has gone back to his younger crowd, there’ll be enough time to decide about Larry.

  They sat at right angles at a table in the rear of a large dining room, their knees touching as they sipped their draft beers, halfway through a large plate of barbecued beef short ribs. She’d worn flats with a flaring, lettuce-hemmed skirt and a cream T-shirt emblazoned with oak leaves. She’d resisted the temptation to go commando. He might want to rip off her panties.

  The exact instant the thought took hold of her, Con’s gaze snagged hers, as though she’d said it aloud. He leaned over to her and licked the corner of her mouth.

  “Sloppy eater. Mmm, and here’s another spot your napkin missed.” He swiped his tongue across the bow of her upper lip.

  “Con,” she whispered. Misgivings or no about the future, she wanted this man. Now. “Doggy bag. Home.”

  His eyes flared as he sat back and raised his arm for the waiter. In minutes they’d been given two wet-napkin packets and a flip-top takeout box stuffed with leftovers. They quickly cleaned the grease from their hands. Con flicked two twenties on the table and grasped Giselle’s elbow to steer her through the maze of diners and out into the parking lot where she’d found a space to park her truck just two slots away from his.

  She unlocked her door and bent forward to toss the doggy bag onto the passenger side. Before she could climb into the driver’s seat, he spun her around and kissed her as though the world were ending tomorrow.

  Her knees buckled under the onslaught of his hunger and her misgivings evaporated like smoke in a breeze. He slammed her against the side of the extended cab, held her there with his body. It was every bit as hot and hard as she remembered, and she gloried in his ravaging kisses, his hands sliding under her T-shirt to feel skin on skin, the hot poker inside his trousers rubbing against her belly.

  Vaguely she wondered if he’d parked here in the dark last row with forethought, or if it was just happenstance. When he grabbed handfuls of her skirt and yanked upward, it no longer mattered. Juices were flowing down her legs and she needed his questing hands, his hungry mouth right—

  Yes! He’d gone to his knees and she felt his mouth on her wet bikini panties. Instinctively she spread her legs to allow greater access. He took instant advantage, tonguing and sucking on her pussy lips through the sodden material. She clutched fistfuls of his hair, jerking with his every stroke. Voices sounded behind her but Giselle was beyond modesty. She needed to come. Now!

  As if he’d been making love to her forever, Con read her body language and, pressing her clit with his thumb, pulled her sodden panties aside to thrust two then three fingers inside her pussy, curling them to zero in on the spot that pushed her over the edge. She bit her tongue in an effort not to cry out her orgasm, allowing only a few desperate whimpers to escape.

  A car door slammed, an engine revved, a horn tooted. A semblance of awareness returned to Giselle and she wondered if someone had recognized her face, or just saw agitated shadows and heard her feline yowls and was giving her an aural high-five.

  Weak-kneed and temporarily sated, she could muster no shame for her wanton behavior. She’d have loved to reciprocate, but wasn’t sure her knees were functioning enough to bend down.

  “Holy abacus, Giselle, you make me so horny I can’t keep my hands off you.” Con slowly rose to his feet, kissing his way up through layers of clothing, lingering at her tingling breasts. “I must have been a good boy this year, because Santa’s given me my top-of-the-list present a few months early.”

  Her laugh was throaty, languid, not at all like the Giselle she’d been the past few years. She’d become a sexual being again and she gloried in it, as if she were a queen and it was her due. She would enjoy it as long as it lasted.

  Con nibbled his way from her breasts to her shoulder, her throat, taking tiny nips until he reached her ear. “I swear, I could take you right here, right now. Whaddaya say? Would you like me to fuck you against the truck in the parking lot of Rib ‘N Draft? I’d happily serve the jail time if we were caught.”

  Jail time. Crap, she had a dozen employees depending on her. What had she been thinking?

  You haven’t been thinking, she chastised herself.

  But oh boy, wouldn’t the Tempt the Cougar ladies be proud of her?

  “Home,” she managed to squeak.

  * * * * *

  Con couldn’t believe this sexy babe was hot for a nerd like him. All his life he’d fantasized about an amply endowed woman, starting with Sophia Loren and Raquel Welch when he’d first noticed that women had breasts. Not a Marilyn Monroe-type, though, not a blonde sexpot. He wanted a dark-eyed, dark-haired, earthy temptress, and by golly, in Giselle Sheridan he had a tigress he wanted to tame.

  Or not. She made him harder, hotter than he’d ever been with a woman. Was it her lush body? Her sexual hunger? Or simply Giselle herself that had his insides tied up in knots? Whatever, he was going to make damn sure she didn’t see him as too young and inexperienced for her.

  Following her down her long driveway, he stopped at her front porch. She kept going and he realized she was headed for the detached garage a few dozen feet from the house.

  Hell, he couldn’t wait another minute to hold her, to taste her. He jogged to the garage and caught her as she was alighting. Hauling her up against the door of her truck, caging her against his body, he repeated his earlier question, with one minor change. “Would you like me to fuck you against the truck in the garage of Stonehedge Landscapes?”

  “Yes. Now. Hurry!” As he’d hoped, she was with him a hundred percent, her arms clamping around his neck and her mouth seeking his, one leg lifting to cling to the backs of his thighs to allow him total access to her sweet core.

  He fumbled his zipper open and freed his cock, hard and hot and hungry for her. Sliding the flimsy scrap of her still-wet panties aside, he bent his knees for leverage and thrust home into the scorching heat of her wet pussy.

  Immediately he felt her inner muscles spasm, squeezing his cock. Holy shit, he’d never felt anything so sublime as steeping himself in Giselle’s essence. He wanted to reside there, die there. He wanted to fuck her until the force of their lovemaking dented the truck. He wanted to come inside her—

  Dammit! “Giselle,” he gasped, going motionless from tip to toe. “I’ve got to stop. God, I want you so much I can’t think straight. I should have been better prepared.” He rested his forehead against hers, took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You made me so horny I forgot a condom.”

  With a strength of will he didn’t think he had, he pulled his cock out of the sweetest pussy he’d ever known and gently settled her leg back on the floor.

  “I’m clean, Giselle, honest, I had my annual physical in, um, February, yeah, it was after Presidents’ Day, and I haven’t had any other, er…”

  Oh, sweet Jesus, did he have any condoms in his wallet or were they all in the super-size box he’d bought this afternoon that was probably on the floor of the truck? He groped blindly behind him, feeling for the back pocket where his wallet was, his cock bobbing and throbbing between them.

  “We’ll worry about condoms later,” she gasped. Wrapping her fingers around him, she sank to her knees on the concrete floor. “I’m so hungry for your cock I want to give you what you gave me in the parking lot. ”

  In an eyeblink she surrounded him with her mouth. His knees did a shimmy. This wasn’t right, her servicing him like
a streetwalker, his pecker jutting out of his pants as if he were a john in a dark urban alleyway, a furtive, almost forbidden feel to it. But holy hell, she worked him like a pro, lips and tongue and fingers all over him, eager and hungry for his cock, and he couldn’t stop the lava about to erupt, gathering at the base of his balls and gushing into her mouth until he felt as drained as a balloon that had lost all its helium.

  When sentience returned, he realized he was still hunched over her, his legs barely holding him upright, and she still held his limp cock in her mouth.

  “Giselle,” he gasped, his brain searching for the synapses that would make his arms lift her to her feet. “Your knees…”

  “Didn’t even feel them,” she said, rising effortlessly to meet his gaze. With a wicked grin she licked her lips. “That was fun. Almost better than chocolate.”

  He blinked then joined in her laughter, and something huge lodged in his heart—the idea that he wanted to keep Giselle laughing for a long, long time.

  From Giselle: Oh boy, he went down on me right in the parking lot of the Rib ‘N Draft. This guy is unbelievably hawt! I’m walking on air. Well, that’s not quite true, I’m walking on caffeine. It’s Saturday morning and I just sent two crews out at time-and-a-half, and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. But hoo-eee, it’s a great kind of tiredness! Whether he sticks around or not, I can’t thank you all enough for allowing me to join you and to encourage me to find my inner cougar.

  * * * * *

  “That truck you drove Friday night to the Rib ‘N Draft. Is that your personal vehicle? Or do you use it for the business?”

  The offhand reference to Friday night made Giselle’s belly do a little cartwheel, but Con was strictly business today, all refreshed and alert after his gonzo week. It was Sunday afternoon and she sat in the client chair at his polished walnut desk. Con alternately swiveled to face her and keyed numbers into one of the two computers on the matching credenza behind his desk.

  She answered in the same businesslike fashion, sitting on his businesslike chair in her businesslike jeans and button-down silk blouse.