But he hadn’t finished high school. Had he hated it so much that he dropped out, or been such a hell-raiser he got expelled? In either case, the more significant question was why he hadn’t gotten his GED.
He couldn’t hate books that much, could he? Enough to limit his career options for the rest of his life?
He certainly did seem to avoid the written word, and . . . Wait. Yes, he really did. He refused to read to the residents, yet was happy to talk to them. He ignored her lists, wouldn’t make one of his own, yet he retained information accurately in his head.
Maura pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart was fluttering wildly.
He couldn’t read. Was it possible?
She felt like a detective, chasing down the clues to solve a mystery that was, for some reason, incredibly important to her.
If he wasn’t stupid, and he couldn’t read, then . . . Did he have some kind of disorder or disability, like dyslexia?
She sprang to her feet, determined to know the truth.
After looking up Jesse’s address, she headed for her car, almost running down the deserted hallway, passing Nedda without a word.
She was halfway down the block before she remembered her seat belt, then she came as close as she’d ever come to exceeding the speed limit.
The GPS took her straight to his place, which she saw was a second-floor apartment in an old wooden house, not far from the school where he coached basketball. His motorcycle was outside, the lights were on, but when she took the wooden outside stairs and knocked on the door, there was no response.
She peered through the window beside the door, into a tiny kitchen. There was a beer bottle on the counter, but no other sign of life. She knocked louder.
“Hang on, I’m coming.”
She heard his voice first. Then, when she saw him, the sight took her breath away. He’d been in the shower. His black hair hung wet and tousled, drops of water beaded on his bare chest, and a navy blue towel wrapped around his waist. Bare torso, bare legs, bronzed skin. Too much naked Jesse for her to take in. Beautiful, utterly gorgeous, naked Jesse.
Pure sex, walking.
Walking right toward her. Every hormone in her body fired to life. She jerked her head back from the window but knew he’d seen her from the stunned expression on his face.
He threw open the door. “What are you doing here?”
She should say something polite, ask to come in, but she was so stunned by his appearance that all her brain could come up with was, “Can you read?”
His body froze, then he blinked once.
He was blocking the doorway, but she moved past him, into the kitchen that seemed minuscule when filled with one large, dripping, almost-naked male. A muscular, sculpted, very masculine male whom she’d had multi-orgasmic sex with.
She stared at him, trying to keep her eyes on his face, but her peripheral vision was good enough to send her hormones into overdrive. Tingles raced through her—hot or cold, she couldn’t tell—but the heavy pulse of arousal between her legs was definitely hot.
He reached past her and his arm grazed her shoulder. Burning it, even through the silk of her shirt.
She jumped back, banging her hip on the edge of a small wooden table.
He had grabbed the beer bottle and now held it to his mouth, taking long gulps.
He put the bottle down with a bang and she jumped again.
Trying to ignore her overstressed hormones, she focused on the reason she’d come. “You’re not stupid, Jesse. I know that for a fact. I’m guessing you have a problem like dyslexia that prevented you from learning how to read or write properly. If I’m wrong, then I apologize and I wish you’d forget I ever said anything. But if I’m right, then it’s the school system, your foster parents; they’re the ones who are stupid, for not diagnosing it.”
He dropped onto one of the two wooden kitchen chairs.
She glanced down as he sat and saw the towel split at the front, revealing a goodly part of a very fine thigh, where drops of water beaded in the wiry black hair. Her fingers itched to stroke his naked flesh. To part the towel farther.
How could she think about sex at a time like this?
She forced her gaze back to his face, but it was hidden, cradled in his hands as he leaned his elbows on the table.
He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t denied it. She knew she was right. As she’d driven over, the whole picture had come clear in her head.
She sat down in the other chair and told him what she saw. “You changed schools and foster families so often, no one picked up on it. Kids called you names and you struck out at them. The only way you could best them was physically, so you beat them up. But they won in the end, because you believed them. They’re the ones who were ignorant, but you accepted the labels they gave you.”
He had dropped his hands and was watching her now, expressionless.
She went on. “And you discounted all the things you do well. I’m an accountant, but I can’t do calculations in my head as quickly or accurately as you do. You’re great at organizing and planning things, and that sketch you made of the garden was brilliant. A landscape architect would have been proud of it.”
His face with its striking, utterly male features was immobile, but his hazel eyes gleamed with some emotion. Was it hope?
“I’ve learned things from you, Jesse. I’d never have involved the residents in planning the garden. That was your idea, and it was a great one. Now it’s everyone’s project and they’re feeling alive, involved, excited. Not to mention, they actually had some wonderful ideas that you and I wouldn’t have come up with. And you were right about letting them contribute financially. There’s absolutely no reason they shouldn’t, if it’s what they truly want. You’ve only been at Cherry Lane a few days, and you’ve made things better for all of us.”
His face twitched and his eyes glittered golden. He rose quickly and moved past her, to the fridge. The shower water was drying now. There were only a few drops left on that wonderful brown skin.
She longed to reach out and stroke him. Anywhere. His arm, shoulder, leg. Instead she clasped her hands tightly together.
He pulled out two bottles of beer and twisted the cap off one.
She didn’t drink beer; still, she reached for a bottle when he offered it. Their hands touched and for a moment both of them held still.
For Maura, the tension was electric. It was sexual, it was emotional. Jesse had every right to be angry at her for interfering, but he hadn’t denied a word she’d said. He hadn’t tossed her out on her ear. He had handed her a beer. She wanted to grin with excitement, yet the moment was too solemn for that.
He leaned a hip against the table, opened his own beer, and took a long swig.
She lifted her bottle to her lips and sipped cautiously. The beer was kind of bitter, but not bad. She took another sip. She was drinking beer in Jesse Blue’s kitchen. And he, more than half-naked, was within an arm’s reach.
“I can read some things.” The words came slowly and his voice rasped. “If I concentrate real hard. I know some words really well. They make pictures in my head.”
She nodded, holding her breath, immensely flattered that he was sharing this with her. She was right. Oh, God, she was right. And she was sure that, if he wanted, there were ways of helping him.
He met her eyes. “When I try to read a book, I can’t . . . put all the pictures together. With long sentences, by the time I make it to the end, it doesn’t make sense.”
She nodded. “It’s probably dyslexia.”
“It,” he repeated, passing a shaky hand across his jaw. “Just calling it
it
makes me feel so different. An
it
is . . . a problem that’s, uh, outside me, in a way. It’s not
me
who’s stupid, there’s this
it
thing that’s a problem. Does that make any sense?”
She had to touch his hand, where it rested near her on the table. It was firm, warm, as strong as he was, this man who’d survived a terrible childhood and made something of his life. She wanted to leave her hand there forever. “It makes perfect sense. Oh, Jesse, the teachers should have caught it. There are programs for dyslexic children, different techniques for learning how to read. Dyslexics aren’t stupid, in fact many are really smart. They’re just different.”
“Guess I’ve heard of dyslexia. Never paid much attention.”
“Because people called you stupid and made you believe it. Damn them! Why couldn’t they see who you really were?” Her voice broke. She never swore, but this was so
damned
unfair.
He moved abruptly and her hand fell away.
She barely had a moment to feel the loss before he gripped her shoulders, hard, pulling her up from the chair until she was standing in front of him. She gazed up at him, blinking away the moisture that glazed her eyes.
“You see, Maura.” His voice was soft, husky, intense. “You’re the only one who really sees me.”
His hands branded her, and the heat seared its way through her body. She couldn’t say a word. She couldn’t do anything but gaze spellbound into his glowing eyes. Her fingers were numb, and she barely managed to place the beer bottle on the table without dropping it. Unaccountably dizzy, she swayed toward Jesse, dropping her head, closing her eyes.
Her cheek brushed his shoulder and he was fiery hot. The man always gave out so much heat, so much magnetic energy. His pulse thudded as fast as her own was racing.
He pulled her tighter.
Her hands were trapped, resting in loose fists between her breasts and the firm hairiness of his chest. Her hips shifted forward, brushed the towel, and she felt an erection swell and lift behind it.
She pressed closer, her body craving the sweet pleasure he could give her, and her panties grew damp.
Jesse made a sound. A groan? Then his body tensed, he shifted, and he drew away.
She sighed her disappointment and gazed up—in time to let out a surprised squeak as one of his arms came under her bottom and the other around her back, and he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all. Cradled in his arms, against his bare chest, for the first time in her life she felt small, almost delicate, and very definitely feminine.
But there was no time to savor the sensation, because he strode quickly down a short hall and lowered her to his bed. Normally, she’d have been curious about his bedroom, but right now she couldn’t peel her gaze off Jesse.
Somewhere along the route, the towel had fallen off.
She barely had a chance to register the sight of all that stunning masculine nakedness, especially the forceful jut of his substantial erection, before he lay above her, his legs on either side of hers so she felt the hard press of his sex against her belly.
Why were her clothes on? He should have taken them off so they could be naked, his hard, demanding flesh meeting her moist, needy flesh. She squirmed under him, but, even with most of his weight on his knees and elbows, he pinned her firmly.
He cupped her face between his hands. “Maura.” Then he kissed her forehead, once, in a soft, lingering caress. Her nose, once. And finally, his lips met hers and she sighed with relief and hunger.
His kiss started out slow, even tender, but as she answered him with her tongue, as her hands stroked down his bare shoulders and back to squeeze the firm muscles of his behind, and her pelvis ground against his erection, the kiss grew fiery and intense.
Finally, his breathing labored, Jesse broke away, rolled off her, and started to undo her buttons, fumbling in his haste.
She batted his hand away, to work the buttons herself, and he promptly went for the waistband of her pants. Clothing went flying every which way until she was as naked as he.
He pulled her into his arms, his body heat sending fire racing through her veins, thickening her blood, making her soften and melt.
Oh, this was good. So good. A fantasy come true, just like last night.
Except . . . No, wait. Last night she’d decided . . .
What had she decided?
“No, Jesse!” Though it took every ounce of strength she possessed, Maura broke away and sat up.
His eyes, glazed with passion, blinked. “What?”
She shook her head. “We can’t do this.”
He blinked again. “What the hell?”
She reached for the closest bit of fabric—her shirt, as it turned out—and held it in front of her body.
Déjà vu
. She’d done this last night.
Being together was wrong. She knew it. How could she have let herself get carried away like this?
Jesse’s appeal, their heightened emotions, his nakedness but for that towel . . .
Excuses. Good ones. Still, this was wrong.
He sprawled beside her, naked, unmoving.
She shoved at his shoulders, strong shoulders that didn’t budge, heated brown shoulders that she’d much rather caress. “I have to go.”