Indecent Encounters (11 page)

For the first time, Melanie wondered if Sandy might be gay. That would explain why he’d never shown the least bit of interest in her, even five years before when she’d been a new widow, ten pounds lighter and still relatively wrinkle-free. The thought assuaged her ego just a little, but it also made her sad.
What a waste that would be!

She watched as they unloaded the riding mower and leaf blower from the back of the truck. Wes got onto the mower, fired it up, and headed for the lawn in the back yard. Sandy’s shoulder muscles bunched and rippled as he strapped on the blower. He walked in the direction of her hiding place, stopping beneath a maple that had littered her front lawn with fallen leaves. The tree was only fifteen feet beyond her window, giving her a close-up view of the brawny machine operator. The autumn sun glinted off his light hair and gave a gold sheen to his smooth skin. Melanie licked her lips, thinking that he might taste like sunshine itself, warm and sweet. Her fingers twitched, stroking along the drapery panel as if along those big, brown arms.

Then the blower screamed to life.

Melanie stumbled back in surprise, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. It was all she could do not to let out a scream herself.

And somehow—she didn’t know exactly how—her foot or her hand caught in the drape and pulled the rod out of its bracket. The whole panel came floating down, rod and all, revealing her hiding place.

There, on the other side of the window, Sandy stood, looking right in at her.

Chapter Two

A sudden movement over his right shoulder caught Sandy’s eye. He turned just in time to see the drapes in Mrs. Blaisdell’s bay window fall to the floor. And standing there in the window with her hand to her mouth was Mrs. B herself. Her big blue eyes were very wide, her pretty face all pink.

“Fine. Fine,” she yelled back, waving him away. Then she bent down and picked up the drapery rod. He watched as she struggled to lift it high over her head. He couldn’t help but notice her shirt riding up, exposing several inches of her pale stomach. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear him, he groaned under his breath. He’d been lusting after Melanie Blaisdell since the first day he saw her, and the skin on her torso was every bit as smooth and creamy as he had imagined it would be.

Now she didn’t seem to be having any luck hanging the drapery rod. She wasn’t tall enough.

“You need help?” he yelled again. He unhooked the harness of the blower, ready to set it aside. She shook her head vehemently. He watched as she hefted the rod again, admiring now the way her snug t-shirt clung to her big soft-looking breasts. He swallowed hard. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra today. He knew Mrs. B. often worked at home, so seeing her in casual dress was nothing new. But he’d never seen her body displayed quite like this before, framed in the front window where anyone—including him—could totally check her out.

“I’m coming in to help,” he called. Then he set the blower down and went to the door. He waited for what seemed an eternity, but finally she was there, turning the knob and stepping back to let him in.

“I—I didn’t mean to bother you at your work,” she said, her voice all breathy. “I just can’t quite reach high enough.” She wasn’t making eye contact. And she was still blushing.
What’s that all about?

He followed her to the dining room. As he retrieved the rod and easily popped it back into its bracket, it suddenly occurred to him that she had been standing right here when everything fell. Had Mrs. B been hiding behind the drapes, watching him? The possibility of that made him smile to himself. He glanced over at her. She was standing there by the dining table, twisting her hands together like a guilty little girl. He felt a strong rush of animal attraction to her.

Sometimes Mrs. B came across as just too sophisticated and glamorous…way out of his reach. But not today. He liked her without makeup, in her casual clothes and bare feet. He liked the tousled look of her long red hair, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. He especially liked the shy way she was acting. It stirred up strong feelings in him, made him want to put his arms around her, to take care of her in some way. At the same time, other parts of him were getting pretty excited to be standing here so close to her. He felt an undeniable response from the region below his belt.

But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Barefoot or no, Mrs. B was still out of reach, and always would be.

“Thanks for your help,” she said in a quiet voice, and turned back toward the entry.

Just then they both saw a white delivery van pull into the driveway.
Main Street
Floral,
the side panel said. A guy jumped out of the van and came up the walk with a long narrow box under his arm. Mrs. B opened the door.

“Delivery for Melanie Blaisdell,” he said.

She took the box and gave the guy a bill from her pocket. As he went back down the steps, she set the box on the hall table and lifted the top off.

“I’ll just be getting back to work then.” Sandy started to brush past her. As he did, he glanced inside the open box. There, lying among the folds of red tissue paper, was a big bunch of black roses with extra long thorns.
Whoa!
Somebody sure had a twisted sense of humor.

And just as Sandy was wondering who that twisted person might be, Mrs. B let loose with a string of swear words that stopped him in his tracks. For a moment he just stood there, watching helplessly as she shook her fist at the ceiling and damned someone named Alex to hell and back.

What should he do? Was something seriously wrong? Who was this Alex guy anyway, and why would he do something as rude as send black flowers to a nice person like Mrs. B? A fresh surge of protective feelings riffled through him.

And then suddenly all the fire seemed to go out of her. She dropped her fist and her shoulders slumped. To Sandy’s horror, tears made shiny tracks down her cheeks. She looked up at him mutely and gave a loud sniff.

“Hey,” he said, stepping forward. The next thing he knew, his arm was going around her shoulders; he just couldn’t seem to help himself. “Hey, it’s okay.” He rubbed slow circles on her back. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

He was actually touching Mrs. B! His pulse rate rocketed.

After just a moment she squared her shoulders and lifted her head, giving him a quivering smile.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” she said. “I can really use it today.” She ran her hands back through her hair, releasing an invisible cloud of woman-scent that made more crazy things happen in his groin. Mesmerized, he kept his hand on her back, circling gently.

Sandy gaped.
Forty?
This soft, sexy woman he’d fantasized about nearly every day for the last five years?

She crinkled her nose and shook her head. “Nobody but Alex knows. I prefer it that way. Besides, I have drawings I have to finish this weekend for work.”

He stared down at her for another minute, loving the way the warmth of her back came through the t-shirt and into the palm of his hand. Loving her smell, and the fact that she wasn’t moving away from his touch, a crazy idea popped into his head and he blurted it out.

Chapter Three

Melanie stared up into the earnest expression of Sandy, her lawn maintenance guy. In the space of three minutes he’d gone from hunky, young enigma to something quite different. Before, there had always been a yawning chasm between them, made up of a mix of factors like age, gender, privilege, and employer/employee relationships. Suddenly, all of that was gone. He’d bridged that chasm entirely with his simple act of compassion.

And
oh
how good that felt! As she reached up and wiped away her tears, she was acutely aware of his clean male scent and the broad wall of his chest crowding her shoulder. His big, warm hand continued to caress her back, raising lovely tingles of gooseflesh all over her body. Even her nipples were getting into the act now, tightening into hard little nubs of anticipation.

Oh. My. God.
She drew herself up. How inappropriate!

Here he was, offering her true friendship and sincere support, and suddenly all Melanie could think about was how much she wanted Sandy’s talented hands on other parts of her body. A long slow blush moved up her chest and warmed her face. She started to move away. He moved against her at the same time, and her arm came in contact with the firm, unmistakable ridge of an erection straining at the fly of his jeans.

An erection!
Wait a minute. Did that mean this big strapping guy was sexually aroused too?

By
her
?

“Sure. We’re gonna make camp right on the beach, sleep in the back of the truck. I’ve got a camper shell that fits down over it. We’ll all be warm and dry.”

An enthusiastic grin lit up his whole face. Oh how she wished she could be that young and carefree again. To just pick up and go and not worry about anything but where to park a truck. How great would that be?

And what about that other tantalizing thought that kept playing at the edge of her imagination? How great would it be to have Sandy touching her in all the places no man had touched her in way-too-many-months? The goose bumps fizzled over her again and she let out a long sigh, wishing like anything that the erotic images going through her head were more than a silly fantasy.

But she wasn’t twenty-five anymore. She had to act like a grownup. She had work to do this weekend. And whatever the cause of that erection, she was certain that the idea of actually making out with a forty-year-old woman had to come in close to the bottom of Sandy’s list of favorite things.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. But thank you so much for offering.”

“You’d have your own bed,” he assured her, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His big gray eyes were so innocent.
Weren’t they?

She felt herself blushing again.

“Oh I wasn’t worried about that—”

“You weren’t?” His pupils suddenly darkened and he leaned in closer. If possible, the erection pressing against her hip grew even more rigid.

Melanie’s mouth went dry. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she shook her head. “No, I wasn’t worried,” she whispered. Her belly did a crazy little flip at the avid expression on his face. Then Sandy lowered his head and took her mouth.

And she let him.

It was a sweet and tentative kiss at first, his lips firm and barely brushing across the surface of hers. Then he groaned and grabbed her upper arms, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Melanie’s mind whirled, her body caught in a maelstrom of wonderful sensation. Part of her—a small part—knew she should stop him. But most of her was melting…melting under the power of his persuasive mouth as he claimed her thoroughly.

Where had the kid learned to kiss like this? Her knees felt all wobbly, like they would surely buckle beneath her. Good thing he was holding her arms like he was. And her heart was thundering like the last turn at Santa Anita. She felt herself opening her lips to him, felt herself pressing her breasts into his chest, heard her own little moaning sounds of excitement.

“Don’t know what?” she managed as his teeth began to tug at her earlobe. An electric charge skittered over her skin. Earlobes! Who knew?

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this.”

“Really?” She pulled back and eyed him for a moment. There was no trace of insincerity in his face. Just the glitter of pure male arousal in his eyes. It seemed that he really did want her.

Wow!

She remembered hearing it said that the best aphrodisiac was being the object of another’s desire, and it was proven right here: her body was responding in ways it hadn’t done in years, inspired by the sexual hunger in his gaze, the eagerness of his kisses. Her nipples felt as if tiny propellers spun at their tips. The junction of her thighs began to throb.

Pushing the last of her reservations to the back of her mind, Melanie lifted her lips for more of Sandy’s kisses, accepting the thrust of his tongue as it invaded her mouth with a primitive rhythm that made her squirm. After a moment she answered that rhythm with the play of her own tongue. And then she felt his hand brush against one of her breasts. He cupped it gently at first, lifting it as if weighing it. Then he took possession. She whimpered a little as he began to knead her flesh, scraping his thumbnail across her nipple so that it pushed out against the fabric of her shirt, begging for exposure.