“Where would you like it, Ma’am?”
The raw intimacy of the grunted query caused Melissa Maxwell’s hairs to stand on end with shivering anticipation. Her response was muted in the moaning gasp that escaped her lips as Blake’s mouth trailed kisses from her ear to the corner of her mouth and back again. Warm breath tickled her as he whispered his offer to her again.
“Tell me where you want it. Your wish is my command.”
“Here,” she said helplessly, too shy to voice her desire in greater detail. Still, she found boldness enough to grasp both sides of his face and lean forward until their lips met. “Here and now.”
His kiss was sweet at first. As gentle as the petals on the many flowering shrubs he had brought for her new garden. But as their passion deepened, he grew more demanding. His hands, roughened by honest labor in the soil and sun, swept the thin straps of her skimpy summer shift down over her shoulders. She reveled in the strength of his fingers as they stroked down the length of her arms, tugging the fabric of her dress lower and lower. She longed to touch him in return, but he held fast to her wrists. Breaking free of their kiss, he leaned back to view her. She’d worn no bra under the thin sundress, and his gray eyes turned smoky as his gaze rested on breasts she’d never before presented to the sunlight. She arched her back with brazen abandon, offering him the tawny peaks hardening under his regard.
He needed no second invitation, and stooped to take first one stiffening nub, and then the other, into his mouth. Hot shivers spiraled within her, faster and faster, circling to her very core. Still he kept his grasp on her wrists, holding her open to his greedy onslaught. Her moans mixed with the excited chatter of the birds in the trees surrounding them.
Suddenly, her wrists were freed, as Blake cupped her breasts. He squeezed gently once, before sliding his palms down her sides to the bunched cloth of her dress. Grabbing the fabric tightly in both fists, he fell to his knees before her, bringing her dress smoothly past her hips to pool at her feet. He cast a devilish grin up at her before leaning toward her. Through the satiny wisp that masqueraded as panties, she felt his breath as he leaned close. She threw back her head even as her fingers laced into his hair, pulling him closer still.
“Ma’am? Ms. Contrell?”
Melissa’s eyes shot open. Blake Powers stood before her, a tall rose bush in its clay container held fast in arms that bulged with straining muscles. “Yes?” she whispered.
“This rose? Where would you like it?”
“Oh, um, right over here by the bench, please, Mr. Powers.” Fire traveled up past her neck and into her cheeks as she led the way down the aged brick path to the wooden bench under a trellis. Ever since she had first begun planning the garden in the backyard of her new bungalow, she had indulged in a few bedtime thoughts about the handsome landscaper. But lately, now that her garden was all but finished and their days together were coming to a close, it seem as though she could barely tell fantasy from reality.
She fervently hoped that Blake was not clairvoyant. She would surely die of embarrassment if the man had the tiniest inkling of his role in her erotic daydreams. He was always so careful to keep a respectful distance. No doubt he’d be shocked to think a nice girl like her had thoughts like those. Gosh darn it, she was pretty shocked herself. After all, she was a librarian, for Pete’s sake. A children’s librarian!
Blake set the rose down next to the bench to which she led him. He knelt to turn the pot so the plant’s best side faced the deck. Squinting up at her, he grinned. “I think we’ve done wonders with this back yard, ma’am.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the very smile she’d seen in her fantasy only moments before. She jerked her head to look around her garden, the better to avoid looking at him and risking him divining her scandalous thoughts. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to consider his words. Yes, they had done wonders here. What had been a flat boring rectangle of patchy blue grass was now a flower filled garden with meandering paths running through it. A couple of fast growing Aspens and clematis and wisteria covered trellises offered much needed shady spots, while sun loving daisies, roses, and Black-Eyed-Susans filled the corners. Lavender, thyme, and lambs ear lined the paths. A faintly sensual, almost decadent fragrance stirred on every breeze. All the more decadent when mixed with his masculine scent.
But the work was done now, and she had no more excuse to spend time with him. As lovely as the garden had turned out, she was sorry they had no more work left to do.
“Yes, Mr. Powers, we’ve certainly made magic here.” And in her dreams, as well. Inwardly cursing her choice of words, she fanned herself with her hands. Grasping an opportunity to collect her thoughts, she mentioned the hot weather. “Would you care for fresh lemonade, Mr. Powers? I’ll bring you some.” Without waiting for his answer, she took off for the coolness, and safety, of her kitchen.
Blake leaned against the trellis post and watched her sweetly curving backside sway gently as she walked along the path they had laid out together. As beautiful as this garden was, he wished the work was not all done. He’d suggested every plant that she might like, pointed out every bench design, and she’d chosen well. But now he’d have no reason to stop by to see her. He always felt so very much at home with her on his visits, but now they had come to an end.
If only she gave some sign, the barest hint even, of seeing him as more than her friendly neighborhood landscaper. Some indication that an educated woman like her could be interested in a man who made his living from the land. Would like to spend every afternoon and evening together. And every night and morning.
He walked toward the house and stepped into the kitchen, remembering to stoop a bit as he walked through the old house’s small doorway. The coolness was welcome after the unrelenting sunshine of the Colorado summer, but his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. But they widened quick enough at the sight of Melissa standing before him, slowly drawing the strap of her bright yellow dress down one shoulder.
“I think we should celebrate the completion of our garden, don’t you, Blake?” A sultry smile curved her lips as she shimmied out of her dress, revealing luscious golden skin and a pair of bright gold panties that begged for a man to slide them off.
He hesitated only as long as it took for the dress to hit the floor, stepping quickly across the tiled floor to swoop her into his arms. He didn’t know where her bedroom was, but he knew well the garden bower they had created together, and strode with her held fast against his chest back out into the sunshine. There, he gently laid her down on a mossy mound surrounded by lavender.
Bold fingers pulled on the buttons of his shirt, then the snap of his jeans, while he explored her body with hand and mouth. Her skin was as smoother than the satin panties, as smooth as a velvet rose petal beneath his touch. Murmurs of pleasure bubbled out of her like the water gurgling from the fountain next to him.
“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, Blake,” she whispered before tugging on his ear with dainty teeth. Somehow, she managed to pull the clothes from his body, and she lay beneath him, eager and panting. “Here,” she said parting her legs with bold invitation, “I think you really need this.”
Something cold pressed against his hand, and Blake’s eyes flew open. Melissa stood before him, pushing a tall, icy glass of lemonade into his grasp.
“You’re perspiring from the heat of the sun, Mr. Powers. This should cool your throat.”
He straightened, feeling the hot blood rush into his face. He gulped at the lemonade. Feeling the cold liquid gush down his suddenly dry throat, he wished for more ice to chill another part of his anatomy. He turned, fearful she’d read his thoughts from the bulge in his jeans, if not from his guilty gaze. Ms. Contrell was a librarian after all. He wondered if she ever had a sexual thought in her life.
On the other hand, where did little librarians come from, if librarians didn’t think about sex? He cursed himself for being a horny fool.
They sipped in silence, both looking at the new rose bush.
Blake glanced in her direction, just as she was turning to look at him. Blake straightened again, coming to a decision. It was now or never. “Ms. Contrell?”
“Call me Melissa.” She had a rather set look around her full pink lips, as though she to had come to a decision. “We’ve known each other for months, after all, Blake?” A questioning lift at the end of the sentence asked his permission.
He nodded, bemused.
“Then I really think you should call me Melissa.”
That boded well. He plunged ahead, “Melissa-”
“Blake-”
Both stopped, and then laughed, looking sideways at each other. She nodded toward him. “You first.”
He took a deep breath, looking down at her waist and trying not to see the sexy panties he imagined she wore. “I was wondering, ma’- Melissa! – if you would care to join me for dinner. To celebrate the completion of your garden.” His groin tightened again as he remembered his fantasy celebration. But as he looked down into her violet eyes, he knew he wanted more than a fantasy, and more than a single interlude with this woman who shared his passion for growing things.
For a moment, she seemed stunned, and he feared she was shocked at the very idea of a gardener asking her on a date. But then a delighted smile spread across her face.
“I’d like that very much, Blake.” Her lips parted as she gazed back at him. “But I think we should have dinner here. Here in my – our - backyard bower.”
He returned her smile. In that moment, he realized they shared a love for more than gardening.
