Adding Heat Read online

  Heck, she’d been so busy eyeballing this cougar bait she realized she’d read the same page several times. Oh well, she’d finish the book tonight. And have a real-life hunk to imagine as the hero.

  “I’ll have my associate input all the data into our system. It’s a further check against my calculations. It’s not a complicated return, I could probably have a final for you to sign by Saturday afternoon. So I could either overnight it to you or—”

  “Or Giselle can drive me back here to sign it.”

  “Not here, Mrs. Archer. I’m only here on Thursdays and you’ll want it in the mail before next Thursday. My office is on the other side of town.”

  Giselle couldn’t hide her wince. Granted, Doylestown wasn’t that big as cities went, but Saturdays drew tourists to the nearby Michener Museum and Fonthill. Plus, this was planting season and her guys worked Saturdays in April. Besides, they were twenty miles south of the town limits, out in the most rural area of Bucks County.

  “Tell you what,” he said, obviously noticing her grimace. “The Post Office will probably be closed by the time I’m done, so you wouldn’t be able to get it in the mail until Monday anyway. Why don’t I plan to deliver it some time Sunday? To either your home or…” He turned to Giselle and his dimple winked when he smiled at her. “To yours, Ms. Sheridan, if that’s easier.”

  Oh God, this was the moment of truth. Was he hinting at seeing her for a more personal reason?

  Taking a deep breath for a shot of courage, and seeing in her mind the blogging high-fives she’d get from all the cougars, she withdrew from her satchel one of the folded pamphlets she always carried with her. “Here’s a brochure about my company, Stonehedge Landscapes. I live on the premises. There’s a map on the back. Can you drop it off around three o’clock Sunday afternoon?”

  His dimple deepened. “That’s great. Would you like to go for a bike ride then? It’s supposed to be sunny all weekend.”

  She blinked. Okay, he didn’t look like the motorcycle type, but she’d always wanted to go tooling around behind a guy on a big bike, feel the throb of its engine between her outspread legs…

  Down, girl. “I’d love to.”

  Watching Esme take the arm he offered, Giselle could have sworn her aunt had a smirk on her face.

  Chapter Two

  Had she actually accepted a date? It was only 2:45 and she was inspecting herself in her bedroom mirror, in her snuggest jeans, leather ankle boots with a two-inch heel, a cream-colored T-shirt with embroidered flowers around the neck and a couple of jackets at the ready. The temperature gauge read seventy-two, but she wasn’t sure where he’d take her and how fast they’d go. And if they made it all the way up to the Poconos, it’d be cooler in the mountains, so the wind chill factor would come into play—

  Good grief, she was acting like a teenager on her first date. He was merely delivering Aunt Esme’s tax return, for crying out loud!

  Still, she’d fussed with her hair but decided if they were riding a hog, she’d better keep her ponytail, especially since she’d probably be wearing a helmet. Although she did stroke on some tinted lip gloss.

  She’d gotten an earful about Con Junior from her aunt. His family was salt of the earth, he was up and coming, blah blah. Sounded as though he might be too goody-goody for her. If she was planning to take up the cougar challenge, she wanted hot sex, not a man with a PG rating who passed muster with her relatives.

  But would he want hot sex with her? Sure, she was in great shape for her age, burning so many calories on the job she didn’t have to worry about dieting, but still, time and gravity were inexorably reminding her she was no longer in her twenties. Or hell, even her thirties.

  The growl of a heavy engine broke into her thoughts. She went to the window in the upstairs hallway that overlooked the driveway, and saw a large black truck coming to a stop at the front door. She dashed downstairs wondering, why did he have to put the motorcycle in back of the truck?

  She opened the front door as he got out of the truck, wearing—

  Biking shorts?

  Could he be any more goody-goody than thinking a bicycle ride was an appropriate first date?

  The dimple in his smile as he waved hello didn’t catch her interest this time. She was angry that she’d been hoodwinked. No, that wasn’t fair. It was her own fault she’d misunderstood.

  But oh lord, when he walked to the back of the truck, her eyes popped at the finest, tightest, roundest ass she’d ever seen. Come to think of it, his thighs were more muscular than she’d imagined when she’d seen him in loose-fitting dress pants at the Senior Center.

  And his belly. It was concave under the spandex. His clothes looked painted on, and every step showed the flex and flow of his muscles. Not an ounce of fat. Anywhere. She could just imagine the type of woman he probably dated. No way was she in anywhere near the shape of those twenty- and thirty-somethings with hard bodies and unlined skin who rode in biking marathons.

  He looked like one of her employees, young and buff and…

  She gulped. Was he actually being a tease? Or was she just acting like the dirty old lady Larry had accused her of being?

  Larry. Good grief. She’d consciously avoided him, avoided the upcoming confrontation, since the other morning when they’d shared that unexpected kiss. She’d always considered Larry in the context of an employee, not a man, although he was tall and burly and masculine down to his big workboots. But his kiss was as manly as any she’d ever experienced. She’d probably be smart to consider dating Larry and leaving Con to the younglings.

  “You might get a little warm and sweaty in those jeans,” Con said as he rolled out one of the bikes and leaned it against the porch railing. “And you might want to wear sneakers.”

  Was this guy really a nerd? Or was this his way of trying to impress her?

  Okay, she’d show him. Without a word she marched back upstairs and a few minutes later walked back out wearing a brand-new outfit she’d bought for wintertime exercise at a health club she never got around to joining—tight, mid-thigh, spandex workout shorts and sports bra that lifted her ample breasts and maximized her cleavage. The get-up showed a fair amount of skin between garments and she was gratified that his mouth actually dropped open as he rolled the second bike to a stop.

  “Is this better?” she cooed. And smiled at the instant bulge his molded shorts couldn’t hide.

  Instead of turning to hide his erection, as she’d expected a goody-goody to do, his eyes shot lightning bolts and he strode purposefully toward her.

  “I‘ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he murmured as he cradled her head between his palms. His mouth touched hers and all hell broke loose inside her.

  He shifted his stance, bringing her in closer contact with all his bumps and ridges. She found herself responding, not just to the feel of his lips, firm yet featherlight as they teased her mouth, but to the heady sense of being enveloped in a cocoon of testosterone as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Then he spun them around so her back was against the driver’s-side door and he sandwiched her between it and that hard, wiry body whose firm texture took her by surprise.

  Oh God, it had been so long since a man had rubbed against her in such a sexual way. Her pussy tightened. Her nipples jumped to attention. Of their own volition, her arms encircled his waist and her hands began stroking that muscled back.

  Suddenly it wasn’t enough. Something inside her reared up, something frustrated and hungry and ignored too long. Grabbing the stretchy fabric, she yanked his shirt from his waistband to feel smooth, warm skin, like silicone over iron. She wanted to lick him all over, wanted her naked body rubbing against his. She wanted to see, to taste the cock that was poking into her belly like a shovel handle.

  Her mouth captured his tongue, sucked it in like a Popsicle. Her hands moved to map the curvature of his waist then delved upward to follow the ridges of his abs to search for those flat nipples she loved to scratch, like pushin
g buttons, to make a man jump to her beat.

  “Giselle,” he murmured, wrenching his head back. “Stop.”

  Somewhere amid all the jumbled emotions, her brain began functioning, then tossed out a bitter thought. He was calling a halt because he was embarrassed. She had to be a dozen years older than him. And yeah, he’d reacted to her blatant display of curves and skin, and she’d been thrilled that he seemed attracted to her, but now he’d come to his senses with a vengeance.

  She went rigid against the truck, let her hands drop. Felt him step back and watched as he tucked in his shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” she said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t mean to make you—”

  “We have company.”

  “Uncomfortable— What?”

  “Someone’s coming down your driveway. See that plume of dust?”

  “Dust?”

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t want anyone to see you in a compromising position.”

  With difficulty, Giselle focused on the approaching vehicle. A truck. A very familiar truck.

  “Larry,” she said in a disbelieving voice. “Larry?” she said again when he stopped right behind Con’s truck. “What’s the matter? Is everything okay?”

  The grizzled man stepped down to the ground and hitched up his jeans. He wore a muscle shirt that displayed beefy biceps and huge shoulders and minimized his thick waistline. “That’s what I came down to find out. I happened to be passing by and saw a honkin’ big truck I didn’t recognize. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Larry’s possessive attitude reminded her of their kiss. Did he actually feel he had a claim on her? That she couldn’t date anyone?

  “That’s so sweet of you, Larry. Thank you for your concern. But it’s okay. This is Conlan Trowbridge. He brought Aunt Esme’s tax returns for her to sign. You know, from the Senior Citizens’ Center? Con, this is Larry Pulaski, my valued foreman.”

  They shook hands briefly, but to Giselle’s eye it looked like a mongoose and a snake sizing each other up. She blinked to clear such an unlikely image from her brain. Con’s kisses had bumfuzzled her.

  “He selling bicycles too?” Larry eyed the two bikes then switched his gaze to Con, who had lifted one of the helmets hanging from the handlebars, then to Giselle, lingering on her bare skin between bra and shorts until she felt uncomfortable.

  “He asked me if I wanted to go for a bike ride, and I accepted.”

  Larry’s gaze lifted slowly from her waist to her cleavage, then to her eyes. It felt as if he were devouring her. “Anything happens to you, he’ll have to answer to me.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Larry, I know these roads like the back of my hand.”

  “I’m not worried about you getting lost.”

  “Larry, I’m forty-four years old. I’m accustomed to making decisions for the business and I can certainly make them for my personal life. I thank you for stopping by, but we’re ready to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning at seven, okay?”

  She turned toward the house, unwilling to make a scene that would give more credence to their kiss than was warranted. “I’ll just lock the door and we can be off, okay, Con? Let’s take advantage of this lovely afternoon.”

  A moment later she slipped the key inside a small fanny pack and accepted the helmet Con held out to her.

  “Really, Larry, it’s okay.” To emphasize her point, she rolled the smaller bike between the two trucks, slung a leg over the bar and fitted her sneakered feet to the pedals. The breeze felt good on her face as she accelerated. On making the turn onto the paved road she glanced back. Larry still stood watching them, hands on hips. She’d have to have that talk with him tomorrow morning. He wasn’t her father, to be vetting her dates as though she were sixteen. Still, he was correct in that they were both of an age, and his experience on the job had kept the business afloat until she’d been able to grasp the rudder. She needed Larry in her life. He was calm and stable and he knew her better than anyone else did.

  Then her words replayed in her brain and she chewed on her upper lip. She’d out-and-out admitted her age in Con’s hearing. Was he even now having second thoughts knowing how much older she was than him? Maybe Larry was right and she should try to act her age.

  * * * * *

  As they leisurely made their way over mildly rolling hills, Con noticed some fields awaited the plow and some had already been turned, exuding the unmistakably fecund smell of the rich Bucks County soil. But only half his brain was appreciating rural delights. The less relaxed half decided that Larry Pulaski was going to be trouble. A couple inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Con, the foreman had scrutinized Giselle as though she was a marble goddess come to life in a museum. He’d damn near seen drool seep out of the older man’s mouth, and he couldn’t blame him. The sight of Giselle Sheridan in tight spandex had brought whips and blindfolds to mind and sent blood straight to his cock, enough that the other man had noticed.

  And he’d been ready to jump her bones with just the slightest encouragement. Which encouragement his testosterone-drenched brain thought he’d detected in the way she’d all but ripped off his shirt while they’d kissed. Hell, the luscious feel of her sandwiched between him and the truck had pushed him to the edge of his control.

  It was so unlike him to lose it like that. But his companion epitomized his dream woman. Petite but possessed of curves luscious enough to make the devil weep. Skin so glowingly healthy from the sun she couldn’t possibly be wearing makeup. Eyes like a bottomless bowl of chocolate sauce.

  Why on earth he hadn’t suggested, say, bringing some chick flicks to watch while snuggling together on her sofa and sipping a good shiraz, he couldn’t answer. She’d simply pole-axed his brain the day they’d met at the Senior Center. He’d been a little surprised when she’d offhandedly mentioned her age—she sure didn’t look forty-four—but his cock certainly didn’t care about their dozen-year age difference. He hoped she was broad-minded enough to feel the same.

  A glance at his watch told him they’d been at it for a half hour. How the hell could he have thought biking was a good idea? He’d dropped back every now and again for the sublime pleasure of watching her ass cheeks flex as she pedaled. He was getting more aroused by the minute.

  Just as he was about to suggest turning back, he recognized the street they had turned onto. She’d led him in a long square and they were heading for her property.

  And in the slanting late-afternoon sun, her sweat-kissed skin shimmered golden. A picture of her lounging sweaty and smiling—and naked—between his navy-blue sheets instantly made more blood pool between his legs.

  Whoa, cock. Down. He’d have to get off the bike and stand pretty soon, and he’d better not look like an adolescent with his first surreptitious copy of Hustler.

  He followed her down the long, dusty driveway, the lush smell of burgeoning spring swirling around him. They alit at the rear of his SUV. She rested her bike against the back bumper then made a small sound of distress.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Con reached out, ready for any excuse to touch her.

  She lifted one racer back strap a few inches off her shoulder. A delicately pale stripe bisected a rather bright red curve of skin. “I figured the shade trees along the road would protect me. I should have slathered on some SPF.”

  “Oh my,” he murmured. “It looks painful.”

  “I’ve survived worse. It’s just, I spend a lot of time outdoors in the nursery or on the job and I should have known better.”

  “I keep some aloe vera gel in my biking kit.” He bent forward to unbuckle the kit from behind the back seat of his bicycle and rooted around. He dearly wanted to stroke her skin himself, but the gentleman in him forced him to say, “Here’s the tube. The label says to apply lavishly.”

  Instead of reaching for it, Giselle said, “I should probably wash the sweat off first, you know, so it would absorb better.”

  Con blinked. Stood stock-still, trying not to picture her doing
just that, suds dripping down those firm, heavy breasts. He fought to keep control of his nether regions.

  “Do you think you could help me?” Without meeting his eye, she turned and climbed the three steps to her porch, pulling out her key from her fanny pack and unlocking the door.

  Was she thinking along the same lines as he? Or was it only his cock seeing what it wanted to see? With an effort, Con snapped his jaw shut and, clutching his kit, followed her into a two-story house he judged to be 1920s Craftsman style.

  He entered her front hallway and spared a glance through an archway leading to a cozy living room filled with plump chairs and a loveseat grouped around a fireplace. But his gaze was focused on that luscious round rump as she climbed the uncarpeted stairway. He noted she’d kicked off her sneakers and Peds. He did the same then followed her into a spacious bathroom. Trying to distract his thoughts from that fine ass of hers, he noted an old-fashioned claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, both with a patina that led him to think they were original to the house.

  All thoughts of architecture and décor fled as she reached behind her to unhook the back clasp of her bra, then turned around to look over her shoulder into the mirror. The bike kit slipping from his fingers, he barely noticed her little moue of distress. He was holding his breath, wondering if she’d forgotten he was there, and wishing her next move might be to remove the bra entirely.

  “Con.” She lifted her gaze to him and he hoped she hadn’t caught him staring. “I need to take a tepid bath. And I really would like you to stay and help me. Because look at my back. And I’ll bet my thighs are also…” Bending down, she lifted the tight hem of her spandex shorts. “Ugh. I thought so. Just call me Checkerboard Charlie.”

  No one would ever mistake you for a Charlie, was on the tip of his tongue, but he trapped it behind his teeth. “I’ll do anything you need me to do.”

  “Would you run the water for me? I’ll just…” She trailed off.

  Okay, don’t spook her. Keeping his gaze firmly on the faucet, he jockeyed both handles open. When the temperature approximated his concept of tepid, he plugged the drain and let the tub fill. He could feel his heart pounding double-time, echoing the throb of his cock. Would she come naked to the tub? Wrap herself in a robe and consign him to the hallway while she stepped in and soaked?