Body Heat (23 page)

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Authors: Susan Fox

BOOK: Body Heat
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“Not Friday, I have plans.” Apparently Edward hadn’t mentioned their date. Points to him, and Maura sure wasn’t going to bring it up and have Agnes gloat, and get her hopes up.
Now Agnes was on about the dratted Academy reunion.
Maura gazed at Jesse from under her eyelashes. His jeans fly was pointing right at her again, making it impossible for her to not notice the bulge beneath.
When he’d first come to her office tonight, he’d obviously been only a few minutes out of the shower. Damp hair, clean clothes. Now his clothes were grubby and there was a smear of dirt on his arm. His face was clean, though, and she realized that the dampness on it, and in his hair, wasn’t sweat but water. He’d washed up before coming to see her. For all his rough edges, he could be considerate. And, clean or sweaty, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
Agnes was rattling on. “Why don’t you and your date”—a blatant pause while she waited for Maura to supply a name, then a sigh—“whomever that might be, get together with us for dinner first, then we can all go together.”
Edward would probably be happy to do that, if Maura did invite him to the reunion. Her, not so much. She played back her fantasy about attending with Jesse Blue, and stifled a grin. If either Agnes or Jesse knew what she was thinking, they’d be appalled.
“Thanks,” Maura hedged, “but I’m not sure that would work. I’ll let you know next week.” She was a big girl. Why did she always feel a sour twinge of guilt at disappointing her parents? And why did they so often ask things of her that she really didn’t want to give?
“You do that.” It sounded like an order, with only one possible outcome. Then Agnes said, “Now, as for that recipe I want to try, how about this Thursday?”
“Sorry, I have to work then.” Jesse would be here on Wednesday and Thursday. Technically, Maura could probably let Nedda record his time. He would put in more than his required hours whether she was there or not. He wouldn’t hurt anyone unless he had a very strong reason, and the seniors sure weren’t likely to give him one. Still, she wanted to be here when Jesse was working, for reasons she didn’t want to analyze.
Right now, she was holding him up. He probably wanted to hurry home for a shower, then get together with a girlfriend. “Speaking of work,” she said into the phone, “there’s someone in my office now, Agnes. I have to go.”
She hung up, noting an expression of surprise on Jesse’s face. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I swear, she thinks I don’t have a life.”
“Thought you were talking to that lecture guy,” he said. “Uh, who’s Agnes?”
“My mother.”
“Oh.” He digested that, then said mildly, “Seems to me you’re old enough to be running your own life.”
She squinted at him. “If that’s your way of saying I’m almost middle-aged . . .”
He gave a surprised laugh. “Middle-aged? You kidding?”
“Oh! Well, thanks.” His comment had sounded spontaneous and genuine, and she felt her cheeks growing rosy. “My parents don’t really try to run my life.” Except that they’d wanted her to choose one of their professions, they’d put a stop to her friendship with Sally, they’d made her feel so guilty about watching movies that she hid it like an addiction. “Well, of course they’ve always, uh, offered guidance on the important things, but mostly they were too busy to care about the rest.”
And now they were match-making and Agnes wanted to try out recipes on her. “It seems they have a belated urge to do some parenting, for whatever reason.”
He tilted his head questioningly. “A belated urge?”
It dawned on her that they were having a pretty personal conversation. She’d opened the door to that. This probably wasn’t appropriate between supervisor and . . . whatever he was. Besides, he couldn’t really be interested in her boring little life. “I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure there’s someplace you need to be. A girlfriend waiting for you?” Now why had she asked? It was none of her business.
Chapter 13
J
esse shrugged casually. “No girlfriend these days. And nope, nowhere I need to be. So go on, tell me about the parent thing.”
No girlfriend? Seriously? A guy like him? And did he actually want to have a conversation about her boring life?
Yet they had, more than once, kind of connected.
She studied him, lounging across from her. Purely masculine, infinitely sexy, and yes, he made her blood tingle and an achy pulse beat between her thighs. But, maybe even more than that, she was coming to like him. Hard to imagine they’d ever be friends—they were way too different for that—but moments like this were precious.
Wanting to prolong this one, she said, “They’re my adoptive parents. My birth parents were killed in a car accident when I was six.”
“Sorry.”
“Me, too. They were great. I treasure the memories.” She still felt the pain, too, though she’d learned not to show it.
A stiff upper lip, Maura, that’s what’s called for,
Timothy and Agnes had lectured. “They didn’t have many relatives. My dad’s uncle Timothy and his wife Agnes agreed to adopt me. They were considerably older than my parents, and their lives were already set.”
“Set?”
She nodded. “He’s a history professor and he was mostly at the university or hidden away in his den. She’s an archaeologist, so she taught during the school year and was away on digs in the summer. They were so wonderful to squeeze me into their lives.” They’d been the only ones willing to do so. But for them, she’d have ended up in foster care like Jesse. She’d always been totally aware of the debt she owed them and had tried so hard to live up to their expectations.
“An archaeologist and a historian? So conversation at your dinner table was about dead people.”
She gave a surprised laugh. “I guess that’s true.” And it still was, unless they were nagging her about her career or single state.
His eyes gleamed wickedly. “You’ve come a long way, baby.”
That “baby” made her heart clutch. No man had ever called her “baby,” but she realized it was just a phrase. “A long way? How do you mean?”
“They work with dead people. Your people are alive, just pretty old.”
She smiled. “I never thought of it that way.” Following the natural progression of the idea, “And if I ever have a child, she’ll probably work with middle-aged people.”
“She?”
“Or he.” Though she’d always envisioned one quiet little girl, a miniature of herself. But prettier, socially skilled, popular. The girl she wished she’d been—and might have been, had her birth parents not died.
Now, though, a foreign image flashed into her mind. A little boy with curly black hair, a real hell-raiser of a kid. Heat crept up her neck.
“
If
you have a kid?” he asked.
“I may not.” Sad, but true—though her hopes were a little higher now, since that last pleasant chat with Edward.
Jesse cocked his head. “You don’t like kids?”
“I do, though I don’t know much about them. Our house wasn’t exactly kid-friendly.” Her adoptive parents hadn’t had friends with children, and Maura hadn’t made friends of her own. She’d rarely even felt like a kid.
An insight struck her: Agnes and Timothy had never wanted children and so when their sense of responsibility led them to adopt her, they’d tried to turn her into an adult. They’d put their needs ahead of hers. “If you’re going to have children, you ought to do it right.” The words flew out without thought.
Ashamed, she clapped her hands to her cheeks, feeling them heat. “No, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Your adoptive parents didn’t do it right.” It was a statement, not a question, and there was sympathy in his tawny eyes.
“They did,” she protested. Agnes and Timothy had given her everything. “Really.”
“But?”
She shook her head vigorously.
“You’re loyal. I get that.” The corners of his mouth curved a little. “But there’s a ‘but.’ Come on, spill.”
An urge she didn’t understand compelled her to tell this man—this utterly masculine, physical, sexy guy with the warm hazel eyes—things she’d never said before. “They took me when no one else would, and they really were good to me. But they hadn’t wanted a child. I was an interference. They weren’t parental, and they were too set in their ways to adjust. They wanted me to be a small adult, mature and self-sufficient. No dolls, no play dates, no tears over my parents’ death.”
Once she’d started, words she’d not even dared think before spilled out of her mouth. “It seemed like they were never
there
. Even when Agnes was in town, even when Timothy emerged from his study, they weren’t really there. Their heads were somewhere else, in ancient times.”
“Sounds rough.”
Those simple words brought her to her senses. Rough? She thought
her
life had been rough? “Oh, my gosh, I’m terrible. Being ungrateful to Agnes and Timothy, and complaining about my childhood when you grew up in foster homes. My home was great. I was always well fed, clothed, educated. I had academic enhancement classes, private school, a top-of-the-line computer, reference books, whatever I needed.”
“Reference books.” He grimaced. “What you wanted was their attention.”
Embarrassed, she shrugged. “It’s such a small thing to complain about.”
He shook his head. “Kids should have attention. And love.”
“Yes!” She nodded firmly. “I absolutely agree. But so many don’t get either one.” Warmth filled her. The way she and Jesse were talking, it was almost as if they were friends. This felt so good. It was much better than those bizarre sexual fantasies.
Though, even better . . . She imagined the two of them naked under the covers, satiated after wonderful lovemaking, having this kind of conversation . . .
“Did you ask for it?” His tone was mild, curious.
“Ask for . . . ?” Wonderful lovemaking? Now she’d lost the thread of the conversation. She was so bizarrely sex-obsessed these days.
“Attention. I’m guessing you didn’t ask for it.”
“I did, in my own way. I tried to be perfect: neat and tidy, quiet, obedient, top of my class. I wanted them to notice me, to tell me how good I was.” To not regret taking her in. She’d have done anything to win a smile, a word of praise. Eventually, she’d come to understand that, in their fashion, they did care for her, but it wasn’t in their nature to hand out words or demonstrations of love.
“Bet you were a good little girl. Me, when I first went into foster care, I was four. Even if I tried to behave, I’d forget in, like, a nanosecond.”
“Four. Oh, Jesse.” Her heart ached for the boy that he’d been. “What happened to your parents?”
A pause. “Never had a dad. My mom said he was just some Indian guy she met in a bar.” Another pause. “She was an addict. Died of an OD.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her own birth parents had been wonderful. She’d had such a happy family for those six short years.
Jesse shrugged. “I went into foster care. And sometimes, I did try to be good. But you know what happens then, right? You become background. If you don’t make waves, they don’t see you. They take you for granted.”
She nodded slowly. “You made waves.” Remembering herself as a child, she tried to imagine what that little girl might have done to “make waves.” Boy, she was so darned boring she couldn’t visualize mischief, much less commit it.
“Oh, yeah, I acted out.”
“How?” Jesse could tell her what childish mischief looked like.
“You really wanna hear this?”
“Yes.” She wanted to know everything about him. He was the most fascinating person she’d ever met, and it went way beyond the fact that he was pure sex, walking. Or, at the moment, sitting. Sitting, talking to her like he was truly interested. Like she mattered. Warmth filled her—arousal, yes, but something else, too. Affection?
He shrugged. “You won’t like it. I beat up on other kids, broke things, stole things.”
Her mouth opened in a silent “O.” That went way beyond mischief. And yet he’d done them so someone would notice him. And also, she was sure—even if Jesse didn’t want to admit it—because he was frustrated and angry and hurt. Poor little boy. She really, really wanted to hug him. “I imagine that didn’t work, either. Yes, you’d get noticed, but . . .”
“Yeah. As a troublemaker. They’d kick me out of the house, back into the system. I’d get shuffled off to another foster home.” He sounded perfectly resigned, reciting the facts of a childhood that horrified her.
He gave a rueful, twisted grin. “Kid like you, acts perfect, but no one notices her. Kid like me, acts out, gets noticed—then gets booted.”
Agnes and Timothy had never given her the easy, demonstrative affection her birth parents had, but at least she hadn’t been booted—whether that was due to her own good behavior or their sense of duty.
Studying Jesse, she thought that even though they were so very different, she felt an amazing sense of empathy. One that made her want to go over to him and take his hand. If she did, he’d think she’d gone crazy. But she did say, “When we first met, I didn’t think we had anything in common.” A smile twitched her lips. “I wasn’t even sure you could communicate beyond single words or grunts.”
 
Jesse sure as hell didn’t talk this way with his guy friends, but his longtime friendship with Con had taught him that women wanted something different. Still, communicating had never felt so natural with his girlfriends as it did with Maura.
He grinned back at her. “I thought you were a buttoned-up ice queen who—” Nope, he couldn’t tell her about his Victoria’s Secret fantasy. “Didn’t figure we’d ever be talking like this.”
“When I heard Louise had arranged community service, I expected a juvenile delinquent. You were a surprise. At first, I thought you were my worst nightmare.”
“And now?”
Those blushes of hers were so feminine, so sexy. Man, he wanted this woman. It was all he could do to keep his body under control. Every time he was with her, he wanted her more. Tonight, she’d opened up. Shared parts of herself that he’d bet the reserved Maura rarely shared. The woman sitting across from him might have the buttons on her shirt done up and her hair pinned tight, but she wasn’t acting like an ice queen.
“Now,” she said softly, “I’m really glad you’re here.”
He wanted her, and for the first time he sensed she might be open to that. She didn’t see him as a charity case, or some guy to fuck in secret. Maybe it was crazy to get involved with her, but hell, he’d never backed down from crazy.
He’d have told her he was doubly glad he’d whaled on Pollan since it had landed him here with her, but he figured that approach wouldn’t go over so well. Instead, he gave her his best smile and said, “And I can think of places I’d rather be.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes, and he quickly went on. “Like, on my Harley, with you on behind me. What’cha say, Maura Mahoney? Wanna come for a ride?” It was a test. She could back off, rebuild the walls between them. Put him in his place. He sure hoped she wouldn’t.
The hurt vanished in an instant, replaced by a sparkle. “A ride? On your bike? Me?”
“You haven’t lived ’til you’ve been on a bike on a warm summer night.”
“Then I definitely haven’t lived.” Her words, which might have been teasing, sounded weighted, as if she really meant them.
He stood and walked with slow deliberation around her desk. Looming over her, he held out his hand. “Then let down your hair and live a little.”
She gazed up at him, expression unreadable. Then, also slowly and deliberately, she put her hand in his.
Feeling a sizzle of heat, a surge of elation, he gripped her slim fingers and tugged her to her feet. Trying to hide how much this meant—her acceptance of him and of this change in their relationship—he joked, “There’s one thing you gotta do first.”
She glanced around. “What?”
“Sign a waiver.”
She gaped at him, then must’ve seen the twinkle in his eyes, because she laughed. “I think I’ll just trust you. I’ll put myself in your hands.”
He grinned. “I’m good with my hands.”
Her cheeks went pinker, but she came back with, “I’ve noticed that.”
Hell, yeah, she was into him, just like he was into her. This was going to be one fine ride.
As she collected her purse, he got his jacket. When he’d arrived at Cherry Lane, he’d just tossed it on the spare chair, but she’d draped it neatly over the back.
When she walked toward the door, he rested a confident hand on her lower back.
She jumped like she wasn’t used to a man’s touch, then gave a tiny, approving sigh. But then she gasped, stepped away, and turned to face him. “No, wait. What are we thinking?”
He was thinking of her on the bike behind him, arms wrapped tight, body plastered against his. Of riding into the night, finding a place to stop, kissing her in the moonlight and seeing where that led. His blood pulsed and his groin ached at the thought. Tonight, maybe one of his sex dreams would become reality.

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