Dirty Deeds: Standalone sexy romance

by Lorelei James

  God, he loved the smell of diesel fuel in the morning.

  He sped to the work area, and grabbed his notes, earplugs and hard hat before he hopped out. Once he’d made a few last-minute adjustments, he glanced at Tate’s house.

  No doubt she was awake now, with machinery grinding underneath her window at seven a.m. Was she bleary-eyed and cursing him for the interruption? Or were her eyes twinkling, wearing that hard-to-resist smile? What he wouldn’t give to witness her waking mood of the day firsthand…after leaving her bow-legged and exhausted in her bed.

  He tried to focus on the enormity of the task ahead, but his mind kept wandering. What if he rang the bell and she answered the door in pink satin baby-doll pajamas? Her body soft, warm and rumpled from sleep? Or wrapped in a scarlet robe? Her wet hair slicked back, skin coated in that sweet smelling lotion she always wore? Her phantom scent beckoned him inside. He followed the mental path like a bloodhound, imagining her spread across the kitchen table as a veritable breakfast feast. A car backfired, jarring him from his vision with enough force that he dropped his clipboard.

  Damn. Concentrating on dirt work instead of conjuring sexy situations with his dirty mind would be sheer hell for this entire job. Especially knowing tempting Tate lay just a few feet away, willing to make any fantasy a reality.

  Her wholesome innocence coupled with a hot body…double damn. He could’ve gotten laid for the first time in months. Months. And he’d walked away? And being a true lout, he’d been too busy to call her this week.

  Smooth. Add his comment about needing romance and Tate probably thought he was gay.

  No use worrying about that situation now. He inserted his earplugs, donned his hard hat and climbed back into the Bobcat. The bucket on the front end clattered to the ground. For the next hour he concentrated on ripping out spotty patches of crab grass, focusing on the smooth motion of the bucket as it scraped rocks and scattered piles of dirt into a single manageable mound.

  After a while the repetition numbed his brain. Nathan’s attention roamed to the application he’d dropped off for the Maxwell Landscaping Competition. Luckily, he’d squeaked in under the deadline by two days and had a week before he had to submit his final design. The elderly woman in charge seemed skeptical about his qualifications, until he’d handed over a copy of his xeriscaping certification.

  Unlike some of his construction colleagues, he hadn’t spent the off-season loafing. Not that he’d confessed to anyone he’d been learning both the Latin and Lakota names for various vegetation. Easy to imagine the rash of shit he’d get from the guys for wanting to plant posies.

  He gripped the stick hard. In this section the ground resembled cement. No big surprise. For the last few years Spearfish had been in damn near drought conditions. Any landscaper that could guarantee heartier plants, less chance of winterkill and virtually maintenance-free growth, would garner extreme interest. Not to mention piles of cash.

  And that interest had the potential to change the focus of his business. Show his competitors he meant to establish himself as a serious landscaper. If all went as planned, the extra cash would enable him to hire someone to oversee the utility end, freeing him to concentrate on building his reputation as a conservationist landscaper. If he had a trusted employee to share the load, he’d work fewer hours. After the excruciating week he’d put in, that was the most appealing prospect of this plan.

  He scowled. Yeah right. He was pathetic if the prospect of additional work held more appeal than a naked Tate.

  A twinge of guilt tightened his stomach. No matter how he justified the effects of the contest’s outcome, the fact remained he was withholding vital information from her and the Beautification Committee.

  But wasn’t Tate leaving? She wouldn’t care if the house she planned to sell won an award or not. The end result, improved curb appeal, guaranteed she’d receive top dollar from any buyer. Although footing the bill for expensive rare plants and natural stone without her approval was crazy. He believed she’d be so enthralled by the final arrangement she wouldn’t remember to ask specifics.

  But if the committee members discovered his nondisclosure…not only would he be disqualified, the solid reputation he’d maintained with his father’s utility business might suffer. So, he wouldn’t tell her anything except on a need-to-know basis. And right now, she didn’t need to know anything except he planned on working his ass off to create an outdoor masterpiece. He snagged a rock and turned his concentration back to the ground where it belonged.

  Nathan worked steadily all day. The afternoon turned brutally hot. Lifting and hand stacking the heavy chunks to create a layered retaining wall took its toll on him. He’d sleep like the dead tonight.

  After refilling his water, Nathan brushed the dust from his jeans. He blotted the mixture of sweat and dirt from his neck with a stained bandana and stretched out his tired legs under the shade of a large oak. A hot breeze rustled the leaves. Heaven. He closed his eyes to bask in the beauty of the day.

  A better slice of heaven teased him as Tate’s sweet scent drifted to him. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping it wasn’t a figment of his overworked imagination.

  “Hi.” She stood underneath a low-hanging branch, her hands in the back pockets of a tiny pair of frayed, cut-off Levi 501’s. “How’s it going?”

  His mouth dried at the provocative sight of all that exposed skin. Nathan reached for his water bottle. “About like I expected.”

  “Got a better idea of how long this project is going to take?”

  “You antsy?” He squirted a stream of water in his mouth. “After the first day?”

  “No.” Her gaze lingered thoughtfully on his lips. “Although I am antsy for some things.” She pointed at his Bobcat. “That’s a pretty cute little machine you’ve got.”

  Nathan groaned. “Tate, honey. Never, ever refer to a man’s equipment as cute or little. It’s like you’re commenting on my—”

  “Manhood?” she supplied with a grin.

  “Yes. Besides, that cute machine is loaded with sixty horsepower and maneuvers like a dream. I even modified the cab roof myself, replacing the steel lattice with a roll bar—”

  Tate held up a hand. “More information than I need, thanks. I started painting the hallway and lost track of time, so I thought I’d better check on you. Can you believe it’s after four?”

  He had a lot to do before the day ended. “Well I haven’t been loafing under this tree all day.”

  She scanned the new cinnamon-colored retaining wall and then him, head to work boots. “I can tell. It looks great. Did you eat lunch?”

  Her concern startled him. “I had a ham sandwich at noon. Why?”

  Tate was frowning at her left forearm. Her short fingernails scraped intently at the splotches of purple paint.

  When she still hadn’t answered, he prompted, “Tate?”

  “What?” Her uncertain gaze met his. “Sorry. Just thinking about us having dinner and…stuff.”

  By the redness dotting her cheekbones, Nathan knew the type of stuff she’d been contemplating. Heat shot straight to his groin. Her alternating boldness and shyness was becoming her most endearing trait. His gaze dropped and got an eyeful of her bountiful breasts. Damn if the creamy swells spilling from her halter-top didn’t tempt him to bury his whole face between those firm globes. Suck the protruding tips greedily, slowly, to hear her whimper, feel the arch of her spine…

  “Nathan?”

  He snapped back to attention. Ah hell. He’d been so busy mentally licking her nipples that he’d missed the conversation. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “Do you have dinner plans?”

  “Guess I hadn’t really thought about it.” He wadded the bandana and stuffed it into his back pocket.

  “I could whip up something edible if you’d like to stick around.”

  “Sounds good.” As he stood, his back and legs screamed in protest. “I’m knocking off about seven.”

  Her mouth opened. �
�You’re working three more hours? Don’t you call twelve hours excessive?”

  His spine stiffened automatically. Not another discussion about the amount of time he spent working. “No. Twelve hours is a normal day.”

  “So you always exert yourself this much?” she asked skeptically. “On every project?”

  He could confess right now that this situation was special. Tell her about the contest and earn her support. Instead he bent down to retrieve his hard hat and muttered, “Yep.” It embarrassed him, the suspicion in her eyes and his answering shame that he had no life besides work. He was aware of the opinions most people held on Native American work ethics. He’d been called a lazy Injun more times than he cared to count. Every time it happened, it stung his pride and made him determined to prove himself an exception.

  Tate softly called his name.

  When he reluctantly met her gaze, she stepped forward and gifted him with a flirty kiss.

  “Then I feel incredibly lucky you’re working that hard for me.” Petal-soft lips brushed the shell of his ear, invoking his unexpected shiver. “I certainly hope I’m worth these long hours. I don’t want my teaching skills to be a disappointment.”

  “Unlikely.” Nathan was lost in the face of her sweetness. Didn’t matter he’d spent the day covered in dust and the black fallout from diesel fuel as he jerked her against his body. He gorged himself on her mouth, tasting warm, willing woman. His stubbled cheek scratched the temptingly tender skin beneath her jaw. She smelled like ambrosia. He smelled like the sulfur pits of hell. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to get near me when I’m covered in dirt.”

  Tate wiped a shaky hand over her mouth and tipped her head back to look at him. “Why would I care about that?”

  “Most women do.” He studied her baffled expression.

  “You keep forgetting I’m not most women. Dinner is at seven thirty. If you want, you can shower here.”

  “You offering to wash my back?”

  “No. There’s a loofah on a stick for those hard-to-reach places. But I wouldn’t be opposed to scrubbing any other place you might need a little extra attention.” Her eyebrows wiggled. “Or a lot of extra attention.”

  Nathan wiped the sweat beading on his forehead with the heel of his hand. “You are killing me, you know that?”

  “I’m trying.”

  Three hours later, after reloading his equipment, Nathan dragged through the back porch door. He sagged against the doorframe, his energy level at rock bottom. He watched in quiet fascination as Tate rinsed a head of red lettuce at the deep enamel sink. Rock music drifted from her cell phone. The aroma of fresh herbs hung in the humid air. This domestic scene was rare, and all the more potent. What would it be like, what would it take, to have this setting waiting for him every night?

  She smiled at him over her shoulder as if sensing his melancholy. “Hey. You look beat. Want a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  She crossed to the fridge, pulled out a bottle and handed it over.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She returned to the sink.

  The cold bottle soothed his tired hands. His gaze zoomed in on her nicely rounded butt, dropped to the white strings of her cut-off shorts teasing slender thighs. Then wandered back up the curve of her back to the long sweep of her neck and her nape exposed below her sexy haircut that begged for the bite of his teeth. The heat of his mouth. The wet glide of his tongue. He’d usually dated women with long locks. How would it be to grasp that short hair and direct that pink mouth wherever he pleased?

  “Stop staring at me,” she said.

  Chastised, he asked, “Does that offer of a shower still stand?”

  “Sure. Use the guest bath upstairs.” Tate gestured to his filthy clothes with the butcher knife clasped in her left hand. “I’ll toss those in the washer. I found an extra pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Might be a little snug, but I set them on the counter just in case.”

  Her thoughtfulness was his undoing. He wanted a minute to hold her, taste her, absorb her. Her eyes widened as he pressed her against the counter. He nibbled the corners of her lips before slipping his tongue inside her mouth. The taste of her sent desire ripping through his blood. Nathan wanted to plunge into her body, touch her everywhere at once. Devour her secrets, feel her bucking and moaning beneath him. Somehow logic reasserted itself. By small degrees, he lifted his head. It was a halfhearted effort to remove his passion-dampened lips from hers to end the kiss.

  Her eyes fluttered open to reveal a dark, expectant look that whumped the air from his lungs.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  Because I’m an idiot. “I need a shower. Probably a cold shower would be in my best interest.”

  A tiny scowl crossed her face. “What about my best interest?”

  He kissed her wrinkled nose. “That is your best interest because once I get my hands on you, we won’t surface for hours.” The warmth spreading over her cheekbones held particular interest, and he nuzzled them until she whimpered. “Days, probably.”

  Whistling, he headed out of the kitchen through the swinging door.

  The old pipes rattled when the water kicked on. Tate wondered if she could breach Nathan’s gentlemanly act if she crawled in the shower with him. Would he push her away when she lathered her hands with soap and thoroughly stroked every inch of his remarkable body?

  Whoo-yah. She fanned herself with the dishtowel. He’d earned every one of those rippling muscles the hard way. Witnessing him hauling and stacking the slabs with his bare hands, muscles straining from all that backbreaking work, her mouth—and another part of her anatomy—had watered. That firm body was something.

  Yet when Nathan had been standing in her kitchen, looking vulnerable, a funny tickle started in her stomach that owed nothing to lust. The urge to comfort him overwhelmed her. She wanted to just grab him and hold him tight until the shadows in his eyes disappeared. Although he had protested his ripe state, she’d been drawn to it.

  Tate sighed. Thinking about Nathan’s scent and physique wasn’t helping her revved-up libido.

  She wandered into the dining room. She eyed her Aunt Bea’s crystal wineglasses, bone china and silver candlesticks. Was this what Nathan had in mind when he said he wanted to get to know her? An intimate, romantic dinner for two?

  Her vision of an intimate dinner was entirely different. She saw him stalking her, ripping her clothes to tatters as he arranged her nude, quivering body as a main course on the dining room table. Probably not going to happen, but one could dream.

  The shower shut off and Tate hustled back into the kitchen to start the pasta. She opened the wine, turned the Alfredo sauce down to simmer, tossed the salad and sliced the French bread. Another thought struck her. The scene wasn’t too domestic, was it? God forbid she gave him reason to bolt again.

  Nathan snuck up behind her and kissed her bare shoulder. She closed her eyes to savor the rasp of his damp beard abrading her skin. Gooseflesh prickled her entire body.

  He murmured, “Smells good.”

  “Thanks. It’s nothing fancy,” she said softly. Her heart tripped and her blood seemed to warm.

  He turned her into his arms. A dangerous, dark fire lit his eyes. “I wasn’t talking about the food, Tate.” Dropping his mouth over hers, he coaxed her tongue to tangle and retreat with his. Wet. Warm. Hungry. He kissed her the single-minded way she’d longed for all day, like she was the appetizer and he was ravenous.

  His hair flowed around them and she twisted her fingers through the silky strands. A man with long hair was a novelty. She imagined that satin curtain falling over her, caressing her neck, her breasts, their tangled bodies. Nathan slicked his tongue over her teeth, under her top lip, exploring every slick inch of her mouth. She trembled at the unfamiliar sensation, impulsively moving her hips closer to his.

  The water boiled over on the stove, popping and hissing on the burner. Grudgingly, she released him. “Sounds like the pasta is done.”


  “Good. I’m starved. But first, where is your washer?”

  “Around the corner on the porch.” Tate grabbed the chili pepper potholders and dumped the contents of the pot into the colander in the sink. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring everything out?”

  Nathan hesitated in the doorway, large hands dwarfing the blue bottle of laundry detergent. “You don’t have to service me.”

  She twisted toward him. “What did you say?”

  “Just what you heard.” He cleared his throat and offered her a sheepish grin as he set the soap on the floor. “But what I meant was, you don’t have to serve me. I can help.”

  “Fine. Grab some salad dressing from the fridge and light the candles.” Placing the pasta on the Fiesta-ware platter, she poured the thick, fragrant white sauce over the spinach noodles. “However, I do believe that was a Freudian slip.”

  “Probably.” He held a jar of ranch dressing in one hand and Green Goddess in the other as they trooped into the dining room. “Can you blame me for being leery of you?”

  Hah! She’d love it if he leered at her just once tonight. Yet she couldn’t ignore the fact that Nathan-the-magnificent was scared of golly-gee-whiz-All-American-girl-next-door Tate. A thrill raced through her as she gripped the wine bottle. “Why?”

  “Lots of reasons.” His quick shrug fell short of nonchalant. “Mostly because you’re a sophisticated city girl.”

  “Not really,” she said. “Remember, I spent summers in this small town you still call home.”

  He lit the wicks and settled in the ladder-back chair. “I’d forgotten that. Anyway, fear of disappointment runs both ways.”

  The wine glugged as she poured. She peeked at him through lowered lashes. “Are we talking about disappointing me with the landscaping project?”

  “No.”

  “The sex lessons?” she asked hopefully.

  Nathan reached for his wine. “Yes. I’m talking about the sex lessons.”

  She resisted the urge to shout Hallelujah! and launch herself straight on his lap. Too bad Aunt Bea’s rickety chairs would collapse under her exuberance. She traced the rim of her wineglass with a single finger. “Hmm. Maybe we should get that awkward first time over so we can relax and set higher expectations for round two.” With a wicked grin she added, “Got any after-dinner plans?”