AddingHeat (7 page)

Hell, he couldn’t wait another minute to hold her, to taste
her. He jogged to the garage and caught her as she was alighting. Hauling her
up against the door of her truck, caging her against his body, he repeated his
earlier question, with one minor change. “Would you like me to fuck you against
the truck in the garage of Stonehedge Landscapes?”

“Yes. Now. Hurry!” As he’d hoped, she was with him a hundred
percent, her arms clamping around his neck and her mouth seeking his, one leg
lifting to cling to the backs of his thighs to allow him total access to her
sweet core.

He fumbled his zipper open and freed his cock, hard and hot
and hungry for her. Sliding the flimsy scrap of her still-wet panties aside, he
bent his knees for leverage and thrust home into the scorching heat of her wet
pussy.

Immediately he felt her inner muscles spasm, squeezing his
cock. Holy shit, he’d never felt anything so sublime as steeping himself in
Giselle’s essence. He wanted to reside there, die there. He wanted to fuck her
until the force of their lovemaking dented the truck. He wanted to come inside
her—

Dammit
!
“Giselle,” he gasped, going motionless
from tip to toe. “I’ve got to stop. God, I want you so much I can’t think straight.
I should have been better prepared.” He rested his forehead against hers, took
a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You made me so horny I
forgot a condom.”

With a strength of will he didn’t think he had, he pulled
his cock out of the sweetest pussy he’d ever known and gently settled her leg
back on the floor.

“I’m clean, Giselle, honest, I had my annual physical in,
um, February, yeah, it was after Presidents’ Day, and I haven’t had any other,
er…”

Oh, sweet Jesus, did he have any condoms in his wallet or
were they all in the super-size box he’d bought this afternoon that was
probably on the floor of the truck? He groped blindly behind him, feeling for
the back pocket where his wallet was, his cock bobbing and throbbing between
them.

“We’ll worry about condoms later,” she gasped. Wrapping her
fingers around him, she sank to her knees on the concrete floor. “I’m so hungry
for your cock I want to give you what you gave me in the parking lot. ”

In an eyeblink she surrounded him with her mouth. His knees
did a shimmy. This wasn’t right, her servicing him like a streetwalker, his
pecker jutting out of his pants as if he were a john in a dark urban alleyway,
a furtive, almost forbidden feel to it. But holy hell, she worked him like a pro,
lips and tongue and fingers all over him, eager and hungry for his cock, and he
couldn’t stop the lava about to erupt, gathering at the base of his balls and
gushing into her mouth until he felt as drained as a balloon that had lost all
its helium.

When sentience returned, he realized he was still hunched
over her, his legs barely holding him upright, and she still held his limp cock
in her mouth.

“Giselle,” he gasped, his brain searching for the synapses
that would make his arms lift her to her feet. “Your knees…”

“Didn’t even feel them,” she said, rising effortlessly to
meet his gaze. With a wicked grin she licked her lips. “That was fun. Almost
better than chocolate.”

He blinked then joined in her laughter, and something huge
lodged in his heart—the idea that he wanted to keep Giselle laughing for a
long, long time.

From Giselle: Oh boy, he went down on me right in the
parking lot of the Rib ‘N Draft. This guy is unbelievably hawt! I’m walking on
air. Well, that’s not quite true, I’m walking on caffeine. It’s Saturday
morning and I just sent two crews out at time-and-a-half, and it’s not even
eight o’clock yet. But hoo-eee, it’s a great kind of tiredness! Whether he
sticks around or not, I can’t thank you all enough for allowing me to join you
and to encourage me to find my inner cougar.

* * * * *

“That truck you drove Friday night to the Rib ‘N Draft. Is
that your personal vehicle? Or do you use it for the business?”

The offhand reference to Friday night made Giselle’s belly
do a little cartwheel, but Con was strictly business today, all refreshed and
alert after his gonzo week. It was Sunday afternoon and she sat in the client
chair at his polished walnut desk. Con alternately swiveled to face her and
keyed numbers into one of the two computers on the matching credenza behind his
desk.

She answered in the same businesslike fashion, sitting on
his businesslike chair in her businesslike jeans and button-down silk blouse.

“Both. I have a magnetic sign for the front doors when I go
out on jobs, but it’s also my primary mode of transportation, and if I don’t
necessarily want anyone to know my whereabouts…” She shrugged. “You know, like
if I spend time at the mall, I don’t need any clients wondering why a
Stonehedge truck is in the parking lot all day and why I’m not managing my
employees properly.”

Con nodded absently and continued perusing her tax returns.

In between answering questions, Giselle let her gaze roam
around Con’s office. When she’d been there before—right after his D-Day—she
hadn’t seen much beyond the reception room and the coffeepot alcove. A sunny
corner room held not only his desk and credenza, but a loveseat and two
well-cushioned side chairs for conferences around a substantial coffee table.
Another office of like size occupied the far corner of the second floor. It had
been his father’s, he’d said as she showed her around. A conference room plus
an office with two desks for associates completed the suite.

He’d suggested she gather all pertinent papers from the past
two years so he could plug vital statistics into one of his accounting software
programs. She’d been happy to have another opinion of her company’s health. Not
that she didn’t trust her own accountant, just an independent audit, so to
speak, of the data.

As he browsed through documents from the various files she’d
brought in two plastic bins with locking tops, she stood to inspect the photos
along one wall. Here was the Con Senior she remembered meeting, his arm draped
around a younger Con Junior’s shoulders, in front of the building they now
occupied. A photo of Con in cap and gown between his father and a tall, thin,
very attractive blonde—his mother?

She saw photos of the older man with a former and the
current governor of Pennsylvania. Hmm. That was interesting. In neither case did
it look like a posed shot of a politician with a voter, but rather two equals
engrossed in conversation. And both inscribed with personal notes.

With that kind of legacy behind them, surely Larry had been
mistaken in his accusation of malfeasance on the part of Trowbridge &
Trowbridge.

“Con?”

“Yeah, babe, just a minute.” He punched a few more numbers
then hit Enter. “I’m trying some alternative calculations that might make it
worth filing an amended return. When I see the numbers, I’ll do some more thinking
and get back to you.”

When the computer started whirring, he turned his attention
to her where she stood at his wall of photos.

“Your father seems to know a lot of high-ranking
politicians.”

“He did a lot of pro bono work, like with the Small Business
Administration, helping set up companies and consulting with start-ups, so he
got some citations and recognition. He showed me by example to give back to the
community. Hence the Senior Center volunteering.”

How to say this delicately?
“Um, Larry told me that
your company had some legal difficulties a few years ago?”

Con huffed out a breath. “Difficulties. You might say that.
It was more like being railroaded.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone got their knickers in a bunch and decided to go
after Dad. Slapped him with several nuisance suits that dragged our name
through the mud. Two of them were dismissed. The others went to jury trials,
and both came back not guilty. Turns out the guy behind all of them felt Dad
had stolen a local corporate client from him, but Dad had simply done a better
job of wooing them. When Dad retired from T&T last year, they asked me to
stay on as their consultant, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to sue the bastards for defamation of character,
but Dad was too much of a gentleman to play cutthroat.” He gave her a lopsided
smile. “Thankfully, people remember the good things about T&T and we’ve got
all the business we can handle. In fact, I’m thinking of making my associate a
junior partner and hiring a couple of new accountants to round out our staff.”

She smiled back at him. “I’m glad.”

“There’s something else I want to check out.” He pawed
through both bins until he withdrew a file from each. “Remember when you had
that load of mulch delivered Friday and I said I was surprised that you didn’t
have more stone and gravel?”

Giselle returned to sit in the client chair. “I do. And?”

“Who’s responsible for approving invoices to be paid?”

“Larry, mostly. He knows everything there is to know about
the operation. He’s more than just a foreman to me.”

Con’s head came up sharply at that, but he merely asked,
“Who signs the checks?”

Realizing what she’d implied, she backpedaled. “I mean, he’s
a jack-of-all-trades. As to checks, I’m the only authorized signatory. But
Larry does have my password for the software that prints the checks out. Not
payroll, that’s confidential, but for business expenses. He often leaves
folders of them, a check attached to an invoice, for me to sign.”

“Who reconciles your bank statements?”

“My administrative assistant. Works part-time, ten to two,
which allows her to be home when her kids get home from school.”

“Hmm.” He set aside the two folders he was holding and
selected two more.

“What? What are you looking for?”

“Your accounting software isn’t generic, right? It’s geared
to landscaping?”

“Absolutely. Well, it’s called business management software,
but it’s the same thing. It has applications for time and materials, job cost
estimates, the ability to track chemical use and generate reports, that kind of
thing. When Larry or the crew chiefs key in what work was done that day, it
automatically transfers the charges to the client’s account.”

“Hmm.” He shuffled through more folders, more invoices.
“Does it interface with your design software?”

That one went over her head. “What do you mean?”

“In other words, how do you get your reports as to how many
cherry trees or how many pots of Vinca or how many bucketloads of mulch are
actually used on each job versus what you estimated on the job quotation?”

“Right now we take inventory quarterly, but I’m constantly
eyeballing everything to make sure we don’t run out of staples. If I create a
plan that has, say, a weeping
Cedrus libani
, I’ve made sure they’re
available at one of the specialty nurseries before I offer it to the client.”

“This might be some software to add in the future,” he said
carefully.

A helpless little laugh escaped her. “As soon as we start
turning a profit again. I’m living on as little as I can, but I do have to draw
a minuscule salary. I don’t want to take out a second mortgage on the house to
finance the business. I just don’t know where to cut any more corners and still
be a Class-A operation.”

She felt a frown settle into place between her brows as her
enthusiasm sagged. She loved what she was doing. She did. She just didn’t know
if she could keep it going at the high level Felix had established.

Then her frown disappeared as Con came up behind her chair
and, bending forward, began to nibble at her ear.

“Did you happen to notice that sofa?” he asked between
kisses and bites at the vulnerable spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Giselle sighed at the delicious shudders cascading through
her at his touch. “Mmm. It’s dove gray. Looks like leather.”

Sidling around her chair, he pulled her to her feet and
wrapped his arms around her. “Right. And it’s virgin.”

She jolted out of his arms with a surprised bark of
laughter. “Virgin? What kind of leather is…”

“It’s a small sofa, so it’s called a
love
seat.
Emphasis on the love. And it’s been waiting for a long time to live up to its
name.” He turned her around so they both faced forward then steered her behind
said loveseat. “See,” he said, nudging her until her thighs hit the sofa. “In
order to baptize virgin leather, you have to start slowly.”

Trapping her with his body, he unbuttoned her blouse with
careful deliberation. “It doesn’t like to be surprised, so we’ll just…” He slid
the silky fabric down and off her arms and gently flung it to one armrest.
“Cover up its eyes.”

Giselle would have giggled at the image, but her brain locked
on to the feel of his questing fingers making smaller and smaller circles on
her lacy bra, bringing her nipples to rigid attention. When he reached them, he
squeezed each hard nubbin between thumb and forefinger, priming her.

“It’s okay, Giselle, you can moan,” he whispered as she
began to move her hips against the erection she felt prodding her ass cheeks.
“The loveseat is hard of hearing. In fact, I hope you’ll be making lots of
noise soon, but it won’t hurt the leather at all. You’ll just have to stand
still, okay?”

The clasp of her bra loosened and she felt the straps
slipping off her shoulders. The bra landed on top of the blouse and his hands
closed around her freed breasts.

“Lordy, your tits were made in heaven.” He lifted them,
gently squeezed them in his grip, tucked his chin on her shoulder. “Look at
them. I could suck on them all day long.”

Then he abandoned them and she felt bereft. “But the
loveseat is waiting to be christened.”

He slid his hands down to the placket of her jeans, popped
the button and pulled down her zipper, then slid the garment over her hips.
“Look at those curves. Just made for a man to sink into.” He went to his knees
behind her and yanked her jeans down to her ankles. Then slowly drew his hands
back up along the insides of her thighs, kissing and licking as he rose.