“No, of course not. But . . .” She sighed. “It’s so kind of you, but it’s just a Band-Aid, isn’t it?” Her voice was sad. “She’ll need more repairs over the years. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
He nodded. “Sure. But it could buy her another few years. In her own house, with Boopsy.”
This time neither of them chuckled when he said the name.
Maura brightened. “You’re right. It’s a good idea, and a generous one. She’ll be so grateful. It’s sad how many people are in her situation. I could name a dozen Cherry Lane residents who came here before they were ready, just because they couldn’t keep up their homes.”
“There ought to be an organization that does that kind of thing.”
“Yes, there should.”
They were both silent a moment, then he said regretfully, “I should get to work.”
“Want to go this way?” She gestured toward the window, which was already open.
“Maura Mahoney, have you been hopping in and out through the window?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, Jesse, more and more residents are enjoying the garden, and a few more have donated funds. There’s a heated discussion going on about the type of fish to get for the pond. And Virginia says we need a compost heap.”
“Good idea. It’s great seeing folks getting involved.”
As he stepped over the high sill, he thought about how, when he’d first come here, Maura had wanted to shut him into the courtyard and keep him out of her office. When she’d ventured out herself, she’d been uncomfortable. Now, both of them were moving back and forth.
Between two worlds, he thought. The barriers were coming down. They were friends now. They’d been lovers, and he really hoped they would be again. Trying to be “just friends” with Maura was going to make for an ongoing case of blue balls.
He got to work and stayed at it while almost a dozen residents wandered out to visit. All the time, he was aware of Maura’s open window.
Dusk fell, her window glowed golden, and eventually the seniors went inside.
Jesse leaned against the rough trunk of one of the cherry trees to take a breather and wondered what Maura was doing. Maybe she was enjoying a break, too. Leaning back in her chair, brushing that fiery hair . . .
Long strokes, all the way from the roots to the ends . . .
He imagined standing at the window, watching her brush with long, sensual strokes, the way he’d seen her doing it before . . .
Her back was to him. Jesse pushed the window wider and stepped silently over the sill. Her hand paused. He guessed she was aware of his presence, but she started brushing again.
“Want a hand with that, Maura?”
She swiveled her chair to face him. “I want more than your hand.” Her tone was seductive, matching the gardenia scent in the air.
He gulped. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and she’d unbuttoned another button on her blue blouse. How come he hadn’t noticed before that the fabric was almost sheer? Through it he could see lace covering the soft swell of her breasts. Maybe the same bra she’d worn when they made love in the moonlight.
Slowly she stood and moved the few steps toward him. She placed her hands on either side of his waist.
And he realized that somehow his grubby work clothes had disappeared and he was wearing nothing but a towel. A towel that lifted at the front like it had a life of its own.
“You’re glad to see me,” she murmured throatily.
“Oh, yeah!”
“Do you want me to touch you?”
“Jesus, yeah.”
She flicked the towel open and there was his hard-on, standing up and begging for a treat.
She reached out one of those slender, delicate hands and closed it gently around him.
He’d been wanting this for so long, he groaned with relief, with pleasure.
She slid her hand up and down slowly, experimenting, testing his reactions. “Do you like this?”
“Oh, yeah.” His knees were so weak he could barely stand up. He plunked his butt into the vinyl-covered guest chair he always sat in.
She kneeled in front of him, stroking up and down his shaft. Her hair swung forward, brushing his chest with fiery fingers, and then down his belly, his thighs.
“I’d like anything you did to me, Maura Mahoney.”
“Anything?” she purred.
Her index finger was circling the head of his dick. Even so, he took a moment to think about her question. “Anything,” he confirmed. She could tie him up and torture him, and he’d be in heaven.
But what she was doing right now was just too good, and his arousal was so damned intense, he had to stop her before he embarrassed himself. A guy was supposed to have a little self-control.
So he gripped her wrist and eased her hand away. “My turn.” He unbuttoned her blouse, whipping through the buttons, then undid the one at the waistband of her pants. When he slid down her zipper, she stood and let her pants slip down until they hit the floor. She stepped out of them. She still had her shoes on—strappy sandals with heels. And a lacy bra above a tiny triangle of lace, neither of them doing much to conceal the beauty underneath.
He was so hot, he couldn’t hold back. He slid his hand between her legs.
She gasped, then clenched her thighs around him. The silky fabric was wet. Thank God she was ready for him because he was so ready he was going to burst.
He stroked her a couple of times, just to make sure, and she writhed and moaned, “Oh, Jesse.”
“You want me, Maura?” he growled.
“Yes!”
He grabbed her thong and yanked it down her legs. He hadn’t planned on waiting for her to step out of her panties, but this was Maura. She wasn’t going to make love with underwear tangled around her ankles.
She rested her hands on his shoulders for balance and, one foot at a time, carefully freed herself. Then she gazed at him with those vivid ocean eyes and said, “Where?”
Was she thinking he could produce a bed out of thin air? All he cared about right now was getting inside her. That would be plenty special for him. But no doubt she wanted something fancier.
Her desk was tempting—he’d love to shove all those file folders and papers aside—and screw her brains out right beside that silly little clicking pen. But the wood surface looked awfully hard. He didn’t want her to get hurt.
“Jesse?”
“Right here. Sit down.”
“What?”
He grasped her at the waist and she gave one of her cute little squeaks as he hauled her down on his lap, facing him.
“Oh,” she murmured, gazing down at his dick, standing tall between them.
He grabbed her butt, dimly aware that those creamy curves deserved better treatment, and lifted her. Then he eased her down and she gasped when the head of his dick probed her wet folds, seeking entry.
He gritted his teeth, holding back, not wanting to hurt her.
“Jesse, yes.” Her stunning eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips were only inches away. “I want you. Now.”
“Oh, yeah, Maura.”
He gave a giant thrust and she hollered—
“Jesse? Are you still out there?”
What? What the fuck? Slowly, he came to his senses.
Jesus Christ, he was humping a cherry tree and he was about to explode inside his jeans. Shit. Anyone could be watching. No, it was too dark for them to see anything, thank God. He struggled for control.
“Jesse?”
“I’m here,” he croaked.
“Oh, good. Would you mind coming to see me before you leave?”
“Sure.”
“Are you all right? Your voice sounds strange.”
“I’m fine,” he bellowed, frustration fueling his voice.
He was more than halfway tempted to yank down his fly, stick his hand inside, and finish the job. No one could see. He’d be the only one who knew. But with her inside her office across the courtyard, it didn’t feel right.
So he stuck his hands under the garden tap, washed them, and splashed cold water on his face. If only he could pour a bucket of it down his jeans.
Eventually, his hard-on subsided and he was left with nothing but an ache. He tidied up the garden and walked to her window.
She’d said she fantasized about him, too. He wondered if she was still doing it, now that she’d decided they could only be friends. He sure hoped so.
Right now, she had her head down and was clicking her pen. Good. That was the one thing she did that annoyed him. It’d keep him from drifting off into any more steamy fantasies. He knocked on the frame of the open window.
She looked up with a smile. “Come in, Jesse.”
He stepped over the sill. “Hi, Maura.”
“Have a seat.” She gestured toward his usual vinyl chair.
Nope, he wasn’t going to sit there again, not after what he’d just been imagining. He plunked down in the other one.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Cherry Lane’s lawyer has drafted a waiver. So the next time you want to take Fred—or one of the others—for a ride, please make sure they sign the form first.”
“You bet.” He wasn’t surprised Maura had moved quickly on this, but he’d figured a lawyer would take days messing about. “And I’ll make sure they’re fit enough, and tell them how to ride.”
Mischief tilted her lips. “The same rules you gave me?”
He chuckled, glad she was no longer trying to pretend—or forget—that they’d had sex. “Maybe phrased a little different.”
“I certainly hope so,” she said with mock primness. Then her eyes started to glaze, and he guessed she was remembering. Perhaps drifting off into a fantasy.
She gave a little jerk and clicked her pen a couple of times. Briskly, she said, “Also, I was thinking, if you find a reading program and want to get started, you don’t have to wait until the community service has ended. We can adjust the schedule so you work here fewer hours, but for a longer period of time.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Staying here longer?” She frowned, looking disappointed. “You don’t want to?”
Only long enough to figure out how he felt about her. If they were just going to be friends, they could see each other away from Cherry Lane. If he wanted to talk about long-term and she wanted to listen, then the quicker she stopped being his boss, the better. He couldn’t exactly tell her all that stuff. “Want to get the community service finished and clean up my record.”
She nodded quickly. “Of course.”
“But thanks for the offer. If we can juggle the schedule so I can take courses and work longer hours some days to make up the time, that’d be great.”
“You’re going to be a busy guy. Your job, your work here, helping Mrs. Wolchuk, and taking courses.”
He shrugged. “It’s good to be busy.”
She was studying him again, this time not like she was going into a trance, but with narrowed eyes. Now what was on her mind?
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She bit her lip. “I’m not sure if I should say this.”
“Go ahead.”
“You mentioned your record. And now that I’m getting to know you, now that we’re friends”—she colored slightly—“I really have trouble imagining you beating up that man.”
Was this another reason she didn’t want to get involved with him? Did she have a picture in her head of him with bloody fists, beating up Gord Pollan? Well, it was true. That was part of who he was, just as much as the part that wanted to help old Mrs. Wolchuk keep her house and dog.
“I did.” How could he make her understand?
He thought about a movie he liked, that he’d watched again a few days ago. “There’s this movie. Near the end, this bad guy attacks a couple of kids. They’re in the woods, all alone. He’s maybe going to kill them. But this other guy, I think he’s kind of been looking out for the kids, and he comes along and—”
“Are you talking about
To Kill a Mockingbird
? I love that movie. I just watched it again last week.”
“Yeah, me, too.” So they’d both been alone, watching that movie. Like in
When Harry Met Sally.
It’d be way more fun to watch together. They were friends now. They could do that. Except, if he watched a movie with her, he wasn’t going to want the night to end with the movie.
Then he remembered something. “Hey, I thought you didn’t like movies.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I lied. I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” Maura, who hated dishonesty, had lied about whether she liked movies? “How come?”
“My parents think movies and TV—except documentaries—are a waste of time. They were banned in our house. But I always had a secret craving, and when I moved out on my own I indulged it. I know there’s really no reason to be embarrassed about it but yet . . .”