“A few dog germs won’t kill you,” Jesse said softly.
Maura narrowed her eyes and stared at Boopsy. The dog laughed up at her, and Maura gave the dog another cautious pat, staying out of the reach of her tongue.
Jesse shook his head. He’d almost bet she’d never had a pet. Probably too messy and undisciplined for her.
His boss-lady glanced back his way, assessingly. He guessed that lounging on the grass and playing with dogs probably didn’t count as community service. “Goin’ to need those bedding plants soon,” he told her, getting to his feet.
“I’d better head home,” Mrs. Wolchuk said. “There’s a bingo game and potluck dinner at the Polish Community Center tonight, and I need to make pyrogies.” She glanced at Jesse. “If you’re looking for good food, come along as my guest. I owe you, for looking after Boopsy.”
“You don’t owe me,” he mumbled as Maura said, “I’m sure Jesse has other plans.”
In fact, he’d planned to ask Gracie, the bubbly redheaded receptionist, out tonight, but it turned out she had Sundays and Mondays off.
Maura escorted the old lady to the door of the building, then returned, pulling her notepad and pen from the pocket of her cardigan. She clicked the pen, opened the pad, and handed it to him. “Is there anything you want to add?”
He glanced down at the white page with its blue lines and her written notes. She had neat handwriting, and if he worked hard at it, he could probably figure out most of these words. But it would take too long, the effort would be too obvious. He handed it back. “Think that’s it. Wanna go now?”
Her jaw firmed, and he guessed that being alone with him was pretty much the last thing she wanted. But he was getting to know her. She had a strong sense of duty.
“We’ll take the Cherry Lane minivan,” she said.
“I’ll go wash up. Just be a sec.” He headed for the door into the building. He’d expected her to follow, but when he glanced back she was still standing there. For a practical woman, she sure did go off into la-la land on a regular basis.
He yanked off the sweatband that held his hair out of his eyes and stepped through the door.
Maura watched Jesse go, the slanting sun dazzling her eyes, blurring her vision . . .
He was going to wash up. Straightforward words for simple actions. Wash up . . .
He pulled off that Rambo sweatband and . . .
Dark curls tumbled free . . .
He shook them back, and the movement was a strong, proud one. Almost arrogant, yet unselfconscious.
He was standing at the sink now, washing his hands. Squirting on lots of soap, working up a lather, his hands moving sensuously against each other.
He held them under the tap and the suds rinsed away, leaving his skin wet and gleaming, his hands brown and strong. Hands that would fascinate a sculptor or painter.
Hands that would seduce any woman who laid eyes on them.
He leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face, then straightened. Drops tangled in his long eyelashes, ran down his cheeks, dripped off his chin, darkened the gray tank top that was already damp from his sweat. Lit on his shoulders, muscular brown shoulders that flexed as he moved.
He leaned down again and this time splashed water on his hair, soaking it, letting the water sluice over his head. He moaned with pleasure, then ran his hands over his wet hair, squeezing out moisture. He straightened and shook his head, in a lazy, slow motion. Droplets flew out like the spray from the rickety sprinkler in the garden, and he laughed. His laugh was a husky, delighted rumble, and there were sparkly golden lights in his hazel eyes.
His tank top was quite wet now over his shoulders and chest. It clung to his body, highlighting the muscles underneath. Muscles developed through hard work. Lean and sculpted, not the gross, overdeveloped ones of a body builder. Muscles that, if she touched them, would feel—
“You ready?” Jesse called.
Ready? Ready to touch him? No, wait. Maura jolted out of her trance. Good God, she was still standing in the courtyard, and he was at the door, calling to her. She growled with exasperation. She was losing her flipping mind.
It was bad enough to have sensual dreams when she was sound asleep. Having sex fantasies in the middle of a bright, sunny day was simply unacceptable.
As she hurried toward Jesse, she took in the damp hair, face, shoulders. The way the tank top clung to the muscles of his chest. Under it she could see the buds of his nipples, hard against the soft cotton.
Her own nipples tightened in reaction, and she barely managed to hold back a gasp as she forced herself to walk past him. “I’ll get the keys and meet you at the front door.”
Chapter 7
H
er hip bumped the door frame and she rubbed the sore spot absentmindedly as she hurried to her office. This was absurd. She’d never had these kinds of thoughts in her life. Well, not since she was in high school, with Sally egging her on. Wicked thoughts, but even then, they’d been more romantic than explicitly sexual.
Teenagers were supposed to be ruled by hormones, but she hadn’t been. In her twenties, she’d had two lovers and barely felt aroused. Now, she was making up for lost time. She’d heard that women reached their sexual peak in their thirties. She had guessed she might be frigid, but maybe not. Maybe she just hadn’t reached her peak.
So these strange physical symptoms and sexual fantasies might be perfectly natural. She bit her lip. It would be nice to be able to ask someone. She couldn’t imagine talking to Agnes—to think of her adoptive mother and sex in the same breath made her grimace—and definitely not the staid old family doctor. As usual, she’d do her learning from books.
If Sally had still been in her life, she’d have had a friend to ask about this.
No, if Sally had been in her life, her life would be very different from what it was today. Quite possibly, she’d have ended up in jail—or doing community service like Jesse Blue.
The thought gave her pause, and again she wondered what crime the man had committed. Street racing, automobile theft, a brawl? Surely nothing really dangerous or despicable, or Louise would never have agreed to let him work at Cherry Lane. Indecent exposure, like having sex on a public beach? Now that, she could clearly envision . . .
Jesse’s brown body, naked against pale sand—
No! No, she absolutely wasn’t going to fantasize again.
Where had Louise put the file? Quickly, Maura phoned Ming-mei. “Has Louise called in? Yesterday, it looked like their birth mom was going into labor.”
“No, she hasn’t. I hope everything’s all right.”
“So do I. If she does call, would you ask if there’s a file on Jesse Blue? I can’t find it.”
“Of course.”
Maura unlocked a desk drawer and took out the Cherry Lane charge card and the keys to the minivan, then grabbed her purse and went to get Jesse.
He was waiting for her outside the main entrance, leaning against a cherry tree. When he saw her coming, he moved toward her, running his hand through his hair. There’d be no stray cherry blossoms today.
She led the way to the minivan, which was equipped for transporting people with wheelchairs. She couldn’t imagine sharing her tiny silver Smart Car with Jesse. It would be too close, too intimate.
Awkward in her pencil skirt—why hadn’t she worn pants?—she clambered into the driver’s seat of the minivan as Jesse vaulted easily into the passenger seat. Even in the roomy van, he took up way too much room. It wasn’t that he was huge, just that he was so . . . present. So male and physical.
As she put the van into Drive, she noted his bare arm. He seemed so much more naked today, in the tank top. Not to mention the old jeans. She glanced across, seeing skin peep through a series of rips across his left thigh. He did up his seat belt and shifted position, getting comfortable, wriggling his hips deeper into the seat.
Her eyes traveled up his thigh. The jeans weren’t exactly tight but they were snug enough—or he was well endowed enough—that she had a disturbing sense of what lay beneath them. It had been a long time since she’d seen a naked man, but she got the impression Jesse’s male equipment was something rather special.
A fact she was sure many women appreciated. It irked her that she was one of them.
“Waitin’ for something?” he asked.
Maura dragged her gaze up to meet Jesse’s and faked an excuse for her wool-gathering. “I’m trying to decide where to go. There’s a nursery out by the big discount food store, isn’t there?”
“Not there. I know a place.”
Oh, well then. Obviously they’d go to the place
he
knew. Lord but the man could be exasperating.
She jerked the van away from the curb. She rarely drove it, didn’t like driving it, and it seemed ten times the size of her car.
Jesse gave her directions and she followed them, feeling self-conscious. On the highway, she settled into the right-hand lane, trying to ignore the cars that zipped past. She always drove just under the speed limit, and today it seemed as if they were crawling. He hadn’t asked to drive—not that she’d have let him—but she guessed he was dying to take the wheel and stomp down on the gas pedal. Burn rubber. Yes, he was probably one of those guys who burned rubber. A stupid habit. For some reason, they seemed to think it made them sexy.
Or maybe he wouldn’t do that. Maybe he was confident enough of his own sexuality—God knows, he had enough reason to be—that he didn’t need to posture about it.
The cell phone rang, from deep inside the purse she’d tossed on the back seat. Few people called her cell, but it might be Ming-mei. Though the girl was diligent, she was much better at soliciting instructions than in using her initiative to find solutions.
“I need to get that.” Maura flicked on the right turn signal and pulled hurriedly onto the shoulder of the highway. “Can you grab my bag?”
She shifted into Park and turned toward Jesse. As he handed her the purse, his arm brushed hers, making her jump at the contact even through her sweater.
Her phone was set to go to voice mail after eight rings, so she scrabbled it hurriedly from her bag and answered.
“Yes?”
“Hello? Maura?” It was a male voice, one she didn’t recognize.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Edward Mortimer. From last night?”
She rolled her eyes at the last bit. Yes, he was the unmemorable perfect spy, but it had only been a few hours ago. “Good morning.”
“I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed meeting you. It was a very pleasant evening, and particularly nice for an out-of-towner to meet someone, uh, nice.”
“Thanks. I enjoyed the evening, too.” It was only a white lie, and he did seem like a
nice
guy, even if he was unexciting. But then, the same could certainly be said of her.
“I hope you don’t mind, but your father gave me your cell number.”
Obviously, Timothy figured she would come to no harm in Edward’s hands. And, she feared, no great pleasure, either.
Edward was going on, but his words were lost in the roar of a big truck passing far too close. The minivan, sizable though it was, rocked on its wheels.
Jesse was saying something, too, his expression urgent, but she didn’t catch his words, either. When the truck had passed, she said to him, “Excuse me?”
Edward’s voice in her ear said, “I was saying that—”
“Not you. I was speaking to someone else. Could you hold on a minute, please?”
She frowned at Jesse, who’d been rude enough to interrupt. “What?”
“You shouldn’t park here. It’s dangerous. We could get sideswiped.”
He was right, and she hated that he was right.
She said into the phone, “I’m sorry, Edward, I’m in the middle of something and this isn’t a good time. Could you call this afternoon?”
“Oh, I’ll only be a minute. There’s a lecture tomorrow evening that promises to be quite intriguing.”
What part of “this isn’t a good time” hadn’t he heard?
He went on. “Professor Merrymont from Oxford has done a fascinating bit of research on—”
Another truck roared by, drowning his words and making the minivan shake. Research? He should date her parents. “I can’t,” she snapped into the phone. “Thanks anyhow.” She flipped the phone shut and handed it to Jesse.
“Yikes,” he said. “Poor bastard.”
She glared at him. “I’d appreciate your not using that language around me.”
“I’d appreciate your not endangering my life by parking somewhere you shouldn’t, just so you can conduct your busy social life,” he snapped back.
She gripped the wheel with both hands, fuming. How could he have the audacity to suddenly turn articulate, just to criticize her so . . . justifiably!
Maura grimaced. Fair was fair. “You’re right.” She started the engine, shifted into Drive, and checked oncoming traffic. As she pulled out cautiously, she said, “I’m not used to driving the van. And I thought the call was from Cherry Lane, and I’m in charge so I wanted to answer. But I shouldn’t have.”
“Oh.” He sounded surprised and said nothing more for a few seconds. Then, “Sorry I swore.”
An apology. How about that? “Apology accepted.”
“Shouldn’t have commented on your personal life, either.”
Her eyebrows flew up. She’d just stopped at a stop sign so it was safe to turn and study his face.
He gave her a grin and for once it seemed genuine, not cocky.
It disarmed her. As she pulled away from the stop sign she found herself saying, “When you go out on dates, what do you do?” She was sure that other people had more interesting dates than attending academic lectures.
He didn’t answer and she glanced toward him. The insolent, teasing look was back. She replayed her question and gave a little gasp. “I didn’t mean . . .” She could guess how his dates ended. With hot sex. There was no way to stop the blush that flamed her cheeks.
He chuckled, a knowing, confident sound.
Quickly she said, “I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life, I was just wondering what . . .” She didn’t know how to finish that thought.
“What normal folks do on a date?” he asked dryly.
She thought of
Camelot,
of Arthur and Guinevere singing,
“What do the simple folk do?”
Was she coming across as a horrible snob? “Honestly, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just, this man I met last night asked me to a lecture, some academic thing, and I’m sure it would be very interesting . . .” It would. An interesting lecture, in the company of a nice man. What more could a woman like her possibly want?
“But it’s not every guy’s idea of a hot date?”
A hot date?
She
wasn’t any guy’s idea of a hot date. “Somehow I don’t think so.”
“What’s your idea of a hot date, Ms. Maura Mahoney?” He drawled out her name in that sexy way of his.
Maura gulped, trying to ignore the sultry gravel of his voice. A hot date? Her few-and-far-between dates often did involve lectures, or meals with families and colleagues, and occasionally the symphony. If she could go on the perfect date, what would it be? Drawing inspiration from the movies, she murmured, “Dinner and dancing. Somewhere elegant, with a view. All dressed up. Champagne.”
“Caviar and truffles,” he suggested.
“Yes!” She was warming to this now, building the image in her head. “Fresh flowers on the table. Live music, maybe a piano and saxophone.” She half-closed her eyes, imagined dancing to that music. The only problem was, the man in the tux who swept her around the dance floor was Jesse Blue. How ridiculous. “So, that’s mine.” And not one she was ever likely to experience anywhere other than in her imagination. “Will you answer my question now?”
“Jeez, my dates are nothin’ like that. We’ll go see a movie. Go for a ride in the country, on the bike. Have a drink or two. Get a bite to eat, but not at that ritzy place with the champagne and fish eggs. Just, you know, pizza or something.” He tugged on the frayed edge of one of the rips on his thigh.
How was she expected to keep her eyes on the road when he did that?
“Guess we got different tastes,” he said.
“I guess.” But the truth was, the activities he’d suggested sounded like fun. She
loved
pizza, darn it! And she’d never in her life ridden on a motorcycle, but she’d bet it was wild and exciting, sitting behind a man like Jesse, holding on tight as they swept around curves. As for movies, no one even knew she liked them because she’d been too . . .
repressed
to be honest about it. So, because she hated to go to the movies alone, she watched shows on Netflix or one of the TV movie channels.
Popular movies are junk food for the brain,
she remembered Agnes saying. And though pizza wasn’t junk food, it wasn’t exactly health food, either. As for motorcycles, they could be downright dangerous.
She should be glad Edward had invited her to that lecture. The truth was, she rarely got asked out by any man, to do anything. She’d always been the odd one out, the awkward one who couldn’t relate to girls her own age, much less boys. The only person who’d ever seen anything special in her was Sally, and look how that had ended up.
“Up there,” Jesse said, pointing, diverting her from her depressing thoughts. “See that big green sign?”
“Sunnyside Nursery,” she read, turning where he indicated.
When she’d parked in the large lot, they both climbed out and headed for the entrance.
Maura had never been in a garden center before, and she looked around curiously as she followed Jesse. The place bustled with activity and she guessed Sunday was their busiest day. Even so, it felt peaceful with all the greenery and pretty flowers. It smelled wonderful too, a fresh, heady scent.