Nailing Studs

by Virna DePaul

  “Maybe. Can you recommend a realtor to me?”

  “I have a few names I can pass a long. Too bad though. Tabitha talked about you a lot. She always said you loved her house.”

  “How do you know it was me she talked about? She could’ve had several nieces.”

  “Your name’s Kayla. And you’ve got the New York City area code. Two-twelve. She couldn’t have been talking about anyone else. She said you used to visit her in the summers. You loved baking.”

  Wow, Tabitha really did talk about me. “Yep, that was me,” I said, then suddenly felt guilty for even thinking about selling the place. I wish I could keep it, Tabitha, but I don’t see how.

  “Hey, you okay? I wasn’t trying to upset you. You know, a lot of people in town loved her.”

  “Thanks.” I bit back tears. I didn't mind him thinking I was sad because Tabitha had passed—that was true. But I was also sad that I didn’t have the finances to restore her beautiful home, although Taylor didn’t need to know that. Times like these made me regret taking journalism in college instead of becoming an engineer or a lawyer, or…I don’t know…a plastic surgeon. Money could sure come in handy sometimes.

  “And you’re a good niece for coming out and seeing to the property yourself. Anyone else would’ve called someone local handle it. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen a few times. You flew across the country. That says a lot.”

  My heart melted at the compliment. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. So nine AM, bright and early then, Miss, uh…”

  “Pratchett. Kayla Pratchett. Hey, uh…how much do you think you’ll charge to fix the sink?” I hated to ask that up front but I honestly needed to know if it was even worth his time to come out. Knowing my bank account, I might need to call “the more economical guy,” too.

  Taylor threw out a number lower than I’d expected and relief coursed through me.

  “Of course,” he added, “if you wanted to bake something and throw a few goodies my way, I wouldn’t complain.”

  I didn’t know if the wine had made me loopy, drowsy, dreamy, or what, but it dawned on me that this guy didn’t just have a nice voice, he had a really, really nice voice. My mental image of an old guy with a sagging tool belt was rapidly fading. I didn’t know what kind of man I’d see in the morning, but at the very least, I’d sure enjoy listening to him. And besides his nice voice, and great taste in people because he’d really liked Tabitha, any guy who wanted me to bake for him was a good guy, in my book. “Sounds like a deal. See you in the morning.”

  Task 1—call a repairman. Complete.

  Task 2—get some rest.

  Task 3—make bets with myself over what Taylor from the Fix-It Guys really looked like.

  After I hung up with Taylor, I puttered around the house a little before exhaustion hit. I’d wanted to take a shower but my legs had turned to rubber and standing was no longer an option. I crawled back into bed, every fiber of my being craving sleep.

  But sleep eluded me.

  I lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the crickets and frogs in the cool night, worries swirling around my head. What was I going to do about the house? About my lack of employment (and funds)? How could I let this place go, knowing Tabitha had wanted me to have it? Was it possible fixing it might be cheaper than I thought? Should I try and find a “more economical” contractor, after all?

  But no, the house deserved better. A real contractor. One who was an expert at historical renovations. Maybe even one who’d known Tabitha and how important this house was to her. And me.

  The memory of Taylor’s deep, sexy voice came back to me. He’d been so nice on the phone and, for a moment, as unlikely as I knew it was, I had fun imagining that he looked like one of the sexy stock photo guys on the Fix-It Guys’ website banner. In fact…

  My pulse revved up. The men in that photo had been beyond hot…

  Still wide awake and restless, I sat up in bed and grabbed my phone. In seconds, I had the Fix-It Guys’ website up on my screen, and I admired the images of the two men. I stared closely—one of the models seemed broody, with that whole dark, handsome, and mysterious thing going on. The other model appeared more open and trustworthy, with a bright smile and sparkling blue eyes that seemed to hold no secrets but instead the promise of good things to come. So different. So yummy.

  How would they be in bed?

  I licked my lips and took a shaky breath as my imagination kicked in. I’d gone to some intriguing places in my own fantasies and had imagined myself in a threesome before. I’d never told Grant or any of my other lovers before him. Hell, Grant had thought I was a freak for wanting to experiment with sex toys. The last thing I’d wanted was for him to tell me how good girls didn’t do bad things in bed, and that wanting two men at the same time was certainly bad.

  What a crock. Whether I was a good girl or not, I did whatever I wanted in my fantasies.

  No one here but you, Kayla. Might not be able to enjoy a threesome in real life, but you can sure enjoy one in your mind. Go for it. After the month you’ve had, you deserve the fun. And the release.

  So I did. I let my mind go there—to what it would be like to have the two male models from the website in my bed. Together. Because why not? It was my fantasy.

  I closed my eyes and let my hand trace over my stomach into my panties as I stared at the photo on my screen. Both models had hair I wanted to run my hands through. Muscles firm beneath their shirts. Narrow hips. Thick thighs.

  My fingers slipped lower, and found I was already wet simply thinking about the two men. Likely the memory of Taylor’s deep voice had helped, as well. I found my clit and began to rub in small, circular motions. I focused first on the smiling model’s azure eyes, his gleaming wide grin—Mister Trustworthy.

  And the model with the hooded expression—Dark and Broody—he seemed slightly shorter but equally built, with those aloof brown eyes that made me want to dive into them and soothe his pain. Of the two, I imagined he’d be the rougher one in bed—pulling my hair, spanking my ass, flipping me around to change positions whenever he desired. He’d fuck me on every surface of this house, pinning me up against the wall and getting out all his aggression. He’d carry me to the kitchen, drape one of my legs over his shoulder, and slide slowly into me while he sucked on my nipples.

  My fingers began to work faster. Yesss… Dark and Broody would be forceful.

  And Mister Trustworthy?

  He would be totally different—dominant, too, but not until he was ready to explode. Until then, he’d be playful with all that good-boy charm, cracking jokes about which nipple he’d want to suck first and which one tasted the best. I’d toss my head back and laugh, and he’d kiss my neck before biting it to claim me. Eventually, he’d grow more controlling. Binding my wrists to the top of the bed. Sliding between my legs. Eating me out until I was trembling and begging him to let me come. Making me plead for mercy. Intense. Classic good boy on the outside, bad boy on the inside.

  My fingers moved in a flurry as I imagined Mister Trustworthy pinning me down in bed, kissing me softly as he fucked me hard. I bucked into my hand, lifting my hips and grinding. My fantasy became so fucking vivid, with each one of the men taking me precisely the way I wanted. But suddenly, I didn’t imagine them separately.

  I imagined the three of us together—Dark and Broody, Mister Trustworthy, and me.

  The phone fell out of my hand, lost somewhere tangled in the covers as my legs thrashed.

  Dark and Broody sucking my clit while Mister Trustworthy kissed me and played with my breasts.

  Each of them taking me into their mouths in different ways until I came.

  Flipping me around and fucking me hard, taking turns between my pussy and my mouth.

  Cocks filling me from different angles, until I couldn’t tell who was where in my mind, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  Fucking me, filling me, dominating me.

  I cried out, unable to take anymore as the orgasm o
vercame me, bent my insides, and radiated waves of energy all throughout my core. Warmth spread down my legs and up my torso, making my nipples harden and giving me that hot flush on my neck. The shock waves echoed over my body, curling my toes. Gasping for air, I froze until the last of the waves had dissipated.

  Oh, yeah, I’d get some sleep now.

  I lay there, hand still in my panties, listening to my ragged breath. It took a long time for my breathing to return to normal and even then my head still rang with images of the three of us in this bed.

  As I drifted to sleep, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get those images out of my mind. In fact, why would I ever want to? I was done with real men for the time being. New start and all that. When I got lonely—when I got horny—I could escape into fantasy again. Even though I’d never meet them in person, I’d have Dark and Broody, and Mister Trustworthy at my beck and call.

  Maybe next time, I’d even add Mr. Fix-It-Guy Taylor’s voice to the mix, imagining him whispering all kinds of dirty things to me.

  And if that made me the freak in bed Grant had accused me of being?

  I was going to embrace it.

  3

  Taylor

  The day had been uneventful until that last phone call, a couple of hours ago. The famous niece of Tabitha Vanderzee finally arrives. And damn, did she have a sexy voice. Of course, voices didn’t mean much when it came to people, but it wasn’t just her voice, it was the way she’d handled herself. Clearly Kayla loved her aunt and still grieved her loss, but she’d also managed to show me a friendly, flirty side. Tabitha had told me her niece was beautiful, and she'd even shown me a few fuzzy photos of Kayla as a kid. I’d put some serious money down that Kayla Pratchett had grown up to be smoking hot gorgeous.

  “Who was that I heard you on the phone with earlier?” Dominic stuck his head into my office. We’d been friends since high school, and we were also roommates—had been ever since college. We shared a lot of history, including a former girlfriend who’d tested our friendship at one point. Thankfully our friendship survived. In addition to our history, we apparently also shared flimsy office walls. Clearly he’d overheard my conversation with Tabitha’s niece earlier.

  “I was talking to the Queen of England.”

  Dom snorted. “No, really. You had a hard-on for her. Who was she?”

  “Like I said, the Queen. It’s all those colorful hats and frocks.”

  “Idiot. You mentioned Tabitha Vanderzee. Who’s talking about Tabitha?”

  “Her niece. Kayla. Just arrived from New York City. She inherited Tabitha's house and needs us to come by tomorrow morning. Burst pipe in the kitchen.”

  “Does that mean we’re finally getting our shot at fixing the place up?”

  I shrugged. “She wants an estimate, but looks like she might sell it.”

  Dom’s expression hardened. “Right. Why take even a few days deciding whether you might want to move into the badass house your deceased aunt left you when you have your fancy life in New York to get back to?”

  I sighed. Of the two of us, Dom had always been moodier and more mistrusting. After our breakup with Laura in college, he’d gotten worse, but after Ada left him a few months ago? Dom had turned into one cynical motherfucker.

  “Maybe she has a life, kids, a husband to get back to in New York,” I said, although I couldn’t recall Tabitha mentioning her niece was married. I gathered my wallet and papers to take home. It was already past dinnertime, which meant Dominic and I would end up ordering pizza. Sometimes I wished I could trade him in for a roommate who actually cooked, but in all honesty, Dom was a good guy even with his dark side. “What’s wrong with her selling, Dom?”

  “Anybody who can sell a family estate like that to a stranger has no heart,” he said bitterly.

  I laughed. “What kind of logic is that?”

  Though I knew where he was coming from.

  Tabitha Vanderzee had left her niece a fucking amazing house. Dom and I had both driven by it a thousand times on our way out of town and we’d always talked about fixing up the place. As an original Victorian, it was a renovator’s dream come true, but it needed a shit ton of work. Dom was right—keeping an estate like that in the family would be the right thing to do. Tabitha had said Kayla loved spending summers there as a kid, baking with Tabitha, running around the quiet streets of Fosterman, swimming in the creek. The place had been in the family for a few generations, since back in the late eighteen hundreds, when it was first built. Selling would be a shame.

  Still, the house was Kayla’s to do with whatever she wanted. As I’d told her, I was pretty impressed she’d come out from New York to deal with the house at all instead of passing off the job to someone else. Hell, maybe the house was too big for her. Maybe she couldn’t afford to keep it. So many factors were involved when it came to keeping or selling a falling-apart home.

  “You can laugh,” Dominic said, “but it’s true. Heartless. Not to mention the fact she didn’t even fly in for the funeral. Did you ask her about that?”

  I sighed. “Unlike you, I don’t assume the worst. She probably wanted to come but couldn’t. Dude, you don’t know anything about her.”

  “Like you do?”

  “More than you. I know she sounded gorgeous.”

  “Uh-huh. Remember what happened last time you said a caller sounded gorgeous?”

  Oh, right—that. Somehow I’d mistaken an eighty-five-year-old woman’s voice for that of a woman in her late thirties. Mrs. McGraw had turned out to be a great client, though. “I thought we said we’d never talk about that again.” I shot him a look.

  Dom snorted. “I don’t want to meet the woman heartless enough to skip her great-aunt’s funeral then get rid of the Vanderzee house as soon as she’s able to. Tabitha wanted her niece to keep it. She told practically everybody in town.”

  “Bro, I said she might sell it. Calm down, get laid or something. Your attitude sucks.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “Hey, Dom?”

  “What?”

  “The Fix-It Guys is plural, buddy. Tomorrow, we’re going over there together.”

  True to form, Dom flipped me off as he stomped out of the office. I just grinned.

  4

  Kayla

  The knock at the door woke me.

  My eyes flew open, and I sat straight up. “Damn.” I fumbled for my phone and saw my alarm never went off. Could be I hadn’t set it because I'd been too tired last night from traveling. Or, more likely, I’d been too busy getting off fantasizing about the Fix-It Guys’ models doing me at the same time. I snorted and shook my head. Either way, it didn’t matter, because someone was at the door and I needed to hustle.

  Another knock, louder than before.

  “I’m coming!” I called out.

  I glanced out the window and saw the truck with the Fix-It Guys’ logo, complete with the same two male models from their website banner. It was a little weird, seeing pictures of Mister Trustworthy, and Dark and Broody, my fantasy lovers, plastered on the side of the truck in the bright light of day. For a moment, I imagined one of them actually being outside my front door, but then I reminded myself the images of the men were for show, despite how sexy Taylor had sounded on the phone yesterday.

  “Get a grip, Kayla. Besides, you’re through with real men, remember? Guys that hot are good for naughty fantasies, but that’s it.” I stared up at the ceiling for a second, wanting nothing but to pull the covers over my head and sleep for a while longer—more like block out the reality that lay before me—but another knock sounded. With a sigh, I got out of bed.

  It’d been hot during the night, and I had on panties and a thin T-shirt. I grabbed the same jeans I’d arrived in and pulled them on, not worrying about a bra for now. Despite how curvy and padded my ass and hips were, I was fairly small on top.

  The repairman pounded at the door.

  “I said one minute!” I called through the house. Barefoot, I ran downstairs in
under four seconds. Catching sight of myself in the foyer mirror, I flattened my hair that had somehow turned into a tangled rat’s nest overnight. Yep, I looked as though I’d been dragged backward through a hedge.

  Through the stained glass panels on either side of the door, I saw two large silhouettes.

  I opened the door and caught my breath.

  Holy Gods of Construction.

  The same two men from the image in the Fix-It Guys logo stared back at me. Was this a joke?

  I gulped, fighting against the sudden rush of arousal flooding my body. Nope, this was not a joke. The men in the photo were the actual Fix-It Guys—the same men I’d fantasized about having a threesome with.

  “I’m Taylor. You must be Kayla. We spoke yesterday,” the one standing closest to the door said. He had blue eyes and brown hair, short on the sides, long on top, and at least two days of stubble. Taylor. In my fantasy last night, I’d called him Mister Trustworthy, and in real life, the name fit. He seemed so wholesome, so…open. Trustworthy. And the epitome of a sexy contractor—he even wore a flannel shirt like the renovation guys on HGTV and his jeans fit him so, so well.

  Yeah, I noticed, alright.

  I noticed his voice, too—smooth and velvety and oh so deep, the way he’d sounded on the phone. My knees wobbled, and I ordered myself to focus.

  Taylor jerked a thumb at the guy standing next to him, tool belt around his waist, clipboard under his arm. “This is my partner, Dominic.” He frowned. “You are Kayla Pratchett, right?”

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of the right answer. What had he asked? “Yes, I’m Kayla, but…” But what?

  Neither of you are what I expected, I almost said, but caught myself. I’d been the idiot who’d assumed the insanely attractive men on the website were models, not the real thing.

  I glanced at Dominic. A little shorter than Taylor, Dom was equally broad and muscular in the shoulders, with short dark hair and the most beautiful golden brown eyes I’d ever seen. He caught my gaze with his, then quickly looked away, not allowing the eye contact to linger. Something deep and dark lay hidden there—the nickname Dark and Broody fit him as well as his tight Levi jeans—and the haunted expression he wore triggered a desire in me to wrap my arms around him and promise him whatever was causing him pain would someday fade away.