Heat Wave Box Set: Volumes I-III

  Heat wave

  Box Set

  Volumes I-III

  C.J. Evans

  Heat Wave Box Set Vol. I-III

  Copyright© 2015 by C.J. Evans

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Heat Wave Vol. I

  Heat Wave Vol. II

  Heat Wave Vol. III

  C.J. Evans

  Heat wave

  Vol. I

  C.J. Evans

  Chapter 1

  It was only eight in the morning, but each tap of my high heels kicked up sparks of heat from the sidewalk. The triple digit temperatures had limped on for four days, and everyone seemed to be trudging along in slow motion. Evening had brought little reprieve. The nighttime temperatures had been only slightly better than the day, high double digits instead of triple.

  I was sure I looked completely absurd with my tailored coat slung over my shoulder. A meeting with investors today had required that I wear one, which would’ve been perfectly reasonable if they had fixed the archaic air conditioner in the building. My office was thirty stories up, which afforded me an awesome view of the city, but in a midcentury high rise where the air conditioner always seemed to break down the second summer popped up its blistering head, it was that much hotter.

  The door to the building was propped open. Not a good sign. Belinda, the girl behind the receptionist counter, was holding a bottle of water against her forehead. Also not a good sign.

  “Still not fixed?” I asked, but knew I was wasting my breath.

  She shook her head slowly as if the heat had already zapped her of energy. “I should have called in sick.”

  “We might all be sick soon if this continues.” I walked past her to the elevator. The bell pinged, and the door opened. At least the elevator was still cranking. Conversations and movement seemed to be mired in hot tar as I stepped onto the floor where the Farley Investment offices were grouped. Heat rises. Being on the thirtieth floor without air-conditioning meant we were all in for a ridiculously hot day with little or no productivity.

  “Morning, Miss Tuttle,” some of the more kiss assy workers called from their cubicles. “Morning.”

  Haley, my assistant, came toward me with a bottle of cold iced tea. She handed it to me. “Thought you’d be skipping the hot coffee today. And, may I say, you already look a little wilted.”

  I grabbed the bottle. “Thanks for the tea— and the encouraging words.”

  She followed me into my office. The massive windows were a sign of success, of how far I’d come in the company, but today, they reminded me of the relentless, blazing heat.

  “The investors will be here in an hour,” Haley said.

  “Great. As it is, the old farts already smell like bitter cigars, musty suits and one of them wears an aftershave that reminds me of the Lysol my mom always used to mop the kitchen floor.” I dropped my coat over the chair.

  The bottom of some scaffolding lingered above my window.

  “It’s window washing day,” Haley said unnecessarily.

  “Really? I was hoping it was my shining knight coming to rescue me from my tower.” I took a sip of the tea. It felt refreshing on my dry throat. “This is good. Thanks.” I glanced up at the scaffolding. It shifted slightly with the footsteps of the window washer. “What a scary job and what a hellish one on days like this.”

  “I’ll say.” Haley stepped inside and shut the door to the office. “So, how was last night? Did you and Mark talk?”

  I leaned on my desk. My cushioned chair looked hot and uninviting. “No, I could tell he wasn’t in the mood, and frankly, I don’t have any more energy or enthusiasm for this relationship. I was texting during sex, Haley. How’s that for passion? He was taking forever, and I had already given up on my own orgasm, so I decided to send off a few texts.” I pushed down a smile.

  “There’s something else,” Haley said. “My boss doesn’t usually grin this early in the morning.”

  “Thanks for making me sound like a bitchy boss. Anyhow, the last text I sent was for him. It said ‘once this lousy sex is over, we are over’.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “No way. Did he see it?”

  “He was still sleeping when I left. But I’m sure he has seen it by now. There’s no way he can be shocked. He knows we’ve just been going through the motions for months. There just isn’t anything there.” The pulleys on the window washer’s cables creaked, focusing our attention back to the window. The platform began its descent.

  I turned back to Haley. The shadow of the window washing apparatus fell over the room. “Perfect. Not only is this office like a sauna, but I have to work with a window washer lurking outside my office like a nosy pigeon on the sill. This is still the only damn high rise that doesn’t have mirrored glass on the outside. It’s actually good that the air is broken while the investors are visiting. I want to bring up the idea of moving—” I stopped talking because something behind me had grabbed Haley’s attention. Her brown eyes rounded behind her glasses and her mouth parted.

  “Holy moly, hot canoli,” Haley muttered.

  I turned around. The window washer glanced briefly inside and then continued his task. His broad shoulders and muscular arms were straining the fabric of his white t-shirt. He stopped momentarily to comb his long, black hair off his face, a face that could rival any Hollywood bad boy’s. His blue eyes swept through the office again as he turned to dunk his squeegee. A smile broke out on his face. It went perfectly with the rest of him. I turned back to Haley. “He knows we’re watching him.”

  Haley stepped closer to the window. “So? Let him know. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Can I bring my computer in here to work?”

  “No, you can’t. And I need an hour to myself before I have to meet with the investors and put on my fake smile and forced charm.”

  “Unfair. My only view is of Connor Kirkendall’s smug face as he glances around the partition of his cubicle to brag about his awesome night out at the sports bar.” Haley trudged back out of my office.

  I sat at my desk. The window washer’s amazing physique reflected off my computer monitor. I allowed myself the pleasure of watching him for a few seconds before clicking the mouse.

  The air inside the office was stifling hot already, and a bead of sweat rolled down between my breasts. I unbuttoned the sleeves of my blouse and rolled them up. Last week’s reports made a decent fan as I waved the folder up and down in front of my face.

  I clicked on my personal email. After the lousy night at home, wasting time with the man who I no longer wanted to spend another minute of my life with, I wasn’t in the mood for work.

  The first email was from my sister, Rebecca. With pictures. She always sent pictures. She and her wonderful husband, Tyler, had moved out to the country. They were growing organic vegetables and raising chickens and enjoying themselves immensely from what I could see in her weekly photo journal.

  I clicked open the picture. Rebecca was sitting with a baby goat in her lap and laughing at something. God, she looked happy. We’d be
en close growing up, but we were so different. Different priorities. Rebecca had bummed around the country in an old van with a bunch of friends after high school. I’d spent the summer getting ready for college. I’d been the one everyone expected big success from. Rebecca had balked at college. She and Tyler struggled to pay the mortgage on their tiny run-down farmhouse, and I was living in a million dollar apartment in the city that I was close to paying off. Why did Rebecca look so much happier than me?

  I clicked out of her email, realizing I wasn’t in the mood for it either. The squeak of the rubber squeegee dragging down the glass vibrated through my office. I spun my chair around. The hot window washer’s lower half was directly in front of my face. Again, his blue gaze drifted down into my office. I was about to spin back to my desk but then stopped. I would never see the man again. What would it hurt if I watched him work for a second? After all, the man was dangling hundreds of feet in the air performing what had to be one of the most hazardous jobs in the city. Even from this side of the glass, I sometimes got dizzy just looking down at the sidewalks below. I couldn’t imagine what it was like on the outside, perched on a strip of wood that dangled precariously on cables.

  Screw it, I thought. I leaned back in my chair and stared out at the pretty man cleaning my windows. As he stretched his hand up, the snake tattoo on his muscular arm twisted with the movement as if it was coiling to strike. Slowly, and with more care than Mark had ever taken with foreplay, the window washer, or Hollywood, as I was now thinking of him in my mind, dragged the squeegee along the glass. As he lowered his hand and his gaze, his attention landed on me.

  His eyes were shaded by long black lashes, as he stared openly at me. At first, a small jolt of shock made me gasp and then I reminded my outraged self that I was staring openly at him as well. A small smile tilted his mouth, a mouth that looked as if it could coax cream from the most frigid pussy, which, due to my lackluster sex life with my even more lackluster boyfriend, mine had become.

  Hollywood gazed at me through the window for a moment longer, and in those few seconds, I was already turned on more than I had been in months. He dropped his squeegee in the bucket and leaned over for his water jug. He had the balance of a tightrope walker, and the steely nerves that went with it too, apparently. He lifted the jug to his mouth. His Adam’s apple moved up and down along his throat as he swallowed. I hadn’t realized that I was holding my breath until he lowered the jug back to the scaffolding. He smiled again and again, I sighed along with it. For a man standing hundreds of feet in the air, and directly beneath a brutal sun, he seemed quite content.

  Without warning, he reached back to the collar of his t-shirt and dragged it off over his head. He was shirtless. And I’d changed his name from Hollywood to Adonis, he was a Greek god, a fucking Greek god. A mythological creature of beauty was cleaning my office windows.

  His stomach muscles were directly across from my vision. They rippled as he returned to his work, and I found myself hoping for a flock of pigeons to fly overhead and poop all over my windows. Then he might have to dangle out there all day with his hard, taut stomach and bulging shoulder muscles. The higher he reached, the lower his baggy jeans sank on his hips, exposing a gray pair of boxer briefs, a hybrid form of men’s underwear that I gave my hearty vote of approval to.

  He reached diagonally across and my attention fell on the dark line of hair that bisected his tight abdomen and trailed down, disappearing under his waistband. For a second, my eyes drifted shut, and I imagined myself yanking open those jeans with my teeth and sliding down his underwear. I opened my eyes. He was watching me. I fanned myself again, certain it was the heat in the room and not a blush that had made my face so warm.

  I spun back around to my desk, deciding my little field trip was over. I had to pull up the reports for this morning’s meeting. The thought of a long meeting in a stuffy room with the stodgy, grumpy investors was enough to douse any of my erotic daydreams.

  I clicked on my reports and searched for the latest ones to print. Business had been good, and the reports would definitely make the investors smile. Now, if they’d just consider letting us move to a newer building.

  The sun behind me was rising higher in the sky, and it seemed the mercury would be busting past the hundred degree mark before lunch. Behind me, a finger tapped glass. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it. I turned my chair around. The Hollywood Adonis was standing with his hand on one rope staring in at me. There was a sheen of sweat on his chest and arms, making it seem as if he glowed. He raised up an arm and wiped some beads of moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. That simple, innocent gesture sent a rush of heat between my legs. And this time, I was sure it had nothing to do with the sweltering temperatures.

  He was being cheeky now, and I decided to meet his cheekiness head on. I walked up to the window. There was only a small amount of actual space between us and one large transparent barrier, the thick window pane, which was now sparkling clean. It was an odd sensation, but we stared into each other’s eyes like two people who knew each other intimately. I realized with some shame that I gazed at this man, this complete stranger, with much more adoration than I’d ever looked at Mark with.

  Hollywood stared down at my lips and then his long lashes lifted. His blue eyes seemed darker now as if he was feeling the same sensations as me, the tiny jolts of electricity that seemed to be coursing through my entire body.

  My Hollywood Adonis reached up, and, like the hottest mime on the street corner of Venice Beach, he pulled an imaginary clip from the back of his head. My hair. He was telling me to pull the pins from my bun. I’d adopted the severe, old school teacher style bun two years ago. I’d found that it helped me fit in better with the men. Less ogling and more listening to my ideas. It seemed archaic and silly at first, but damn if it hadn’t done the trick. My neatly tailored, conservative suits were all part of the routine too. I wasn’t going to climb to the top by flashing major cleavage and tossing my long blonde locks. I wanted to get there with my brains.

  Hollywood lifted his chin in an effort to prod me into action.

  “What the hell,” I said. He smiled as if he could read my lips, which with the way he was staring at them . . .

  I reached back and pulled the pins, the same three tortoiseshell pins I stuck through my bun every morning. My long hair rolled out of the tight knot and around my shoulders. He nodded approvingly. I was flirting with a man through a window. And it was the best flirt session I’d had since college, when my favorite professor and a man I’d had sex dreams about came into the school cafeteria where I worked. Even wearing a hairnet and ugly uniform, I’d flirted with the man so wildly he finally kissed me after class one day. It had been a disappointing kiss, and that was where the professor fantasy had ended.

  My sex god behind the glass sat down on his scaffolding and pulled an apple out of his lunch pail. I returned, wild hair and all, to my desk. I turned back to my computer and printed out some reports, all the while watching the faintest reflection of him in my monitor. In a few minutes, the scaffolding would scoot down to the next floor, and I’d never see him again. He was probably the most exciting thing to happen in my life in months, and he’d soon disappear for good. As ridiculous as it was, it left me feeling a little blue. He tapped the window again, and this time I twisted my chair around faster.

  My forward and slightly lascivious mime was motioning for me to unbutton my blouse. He waved his hand in front of his face to remind me how hot it was, as if that was needed. I could feel drips of perspiration rolling down the skin of my back. I smiled and shook my head at him.

  He put on what I considered to be an extremely appealing look of disappointment. Then his blue eyes focused on me, and suddenly, it was as if we were having a conversation. There was so much emotion in his face, it seemed as if he was telling me his life story. There was glass between us, but it was like I c
ould hear him speaking to me with just that powerful blue gaze.

  I reached back to my intercom and pushed it. “Haley, hold my calls.”

  “What calls?”

  “If some come in, then hold them.” I turned back around. I’d lost his attention. He was cleaning off his squeegee, and it seemed he was ready to lower himself to the next window. I tapped on the glass and he glanced up. Christ, I already knew his face.

  I looked down at the long line of buttons on my starched, white blouse. With slow, deliberate movements, I opened the buttons, moving down to below my bra. I pulled the tails of the blouse out from my skirt and stared up at him as I continued to the bottom button. Long black lashes curtained his eyes as he stared between the two sides of the open shirt. He might as well have been touching me with his gaze because even in the stuffy heat of the office, I could feel my nipples harden behind the lace of my bra. He lifted his face. I sucked in a long breath. “Holy shit, you are so fucking beautiful,” I mouthed to him. Again, he seemed to read my lips. He shook his head and pointed at me, then nodded.

  Without another thought, I slid the blouse off my shoulders. Surprisingly, even though the air wasn’t working, my skin felt cooler. What I did next could have been blamed on the extreme temperature and lack of fresh air, which were making me lightheaded. Or maybe I was just dizzy because of the way the man on the other side of the window was gazing at me. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at me the way he looked at me. I reached up behind my back and unclasped my bra. I peered into his eyes as I slid it off my shoulders and to the floor. He stared hungrily at my naked breasts and dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. He pantomimed to me again. He wanted me to touch my breasts. Now, I was sure the blush that heated my face was not from the warmth in the room. He was asking me to do something I’d never done before. He was the voyeur, and I was the unsuspecting neighbor with her curtains opened. Only I was not unsuspecting. I knew the man was watching me, and damn, if it wasn’t making me incredibly horny.