Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  “She’s all alone out there,” Samantha cajoled. “She doesn’t know anybody in town, Linc. This could be it.” He ignored the implications she made, however well-intended.

  “Yeah, thanks for the recommendation. I’ll be sure and answer when she calls.” It. What, exactly was it? Was it the itchy feeling of restlessness he was sure he wouldn’t be able to drown in cheap whiskey?

  “Be nice to her, Linc. I made friends with her today, and she’s joining the book club, so don’t piss her off and make things awkward.”

  Linc stifled his snort as he hung up the phone. Please let this woman be a good thing.

  ***

  An hour later, Cindy had found him and was making herself useful by sucking his cock. Not that he wanted her to, but sometimes it was easier to let her do what she wanted than to get her to leave. And he wasn’t going to turn down a blowjob when she was the only woman who would give him one.

  As he held her hair in a tight grip—so he could fuck her mouth while she moaned like a damn wildebeest—he tried desperately to focus on the warm hole he was sticking his dick in, and the pleasure it afforded.

  But he couldn’t.

  Cindy’s fake moaning was distracting. Her dye job and its roots were distracting. The fake nails scraping up and down his dick were distracting.

  “Cindy, stop.” Those words served to only make her redouble her efforts, sucking harder, and Linc was finally able to just lose it for a minute. His balls tightened and the telltale tingle started in his toes. Goose bumps popped up on his forearms, and he let himself erupt in a harsh groan.

  Cindy yanked down her top, and he jacked onto her tits while she smiled and moaned like a fucking porn star as he covered her in his cum.

  He felt cheap. This didn’t mean anything to him, and guilt flooded him at the thought. He knew Cindy would take more if he offered, she’d even been hinting around to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything besides just fuck her.

  Even now, she was sitting back on her heels, giggling like a little kid, trying to tempt him. But it was all so damn fake. She didn’t love him any more than he loved her. He wished he could love her, get her a different life than just fucking whoever would keep her bed warm at night. Nobody deserved to live a life that empty.

  Except maybe people like him. But not Cindy. No, deep down, she was a good person. He just didn’t have any feelings for her. She didn’t have any feelings for him.

  “God, I love your cock,” she breathed on another moan.

  “Thanks, me, too.” Linc went to the fridge and got out a couple of beers, offering her one, hoping she wouldn’t stick around long. He had a pity party to get back to.

  And, of course, the itchy feeling was worse. Taking a swig off his beer bottle, he eyed the whiskey on top of the fridge, mentally telling it he would visit soon. The familiar scent of gun oil and pipe tobacco invaded his nostrils, alerting him to Harold’s presence in the room. But tonight, it was mixed with… Roses? He looked around his kitchen.

  Harold never smelled like something so purely female. What the hell was going on with him? Did he have a new ghost, or was something so totally different now that he was losing his damn mind? He took a long pull off his drink and watched Cindy get comfortable in his recliner, turning on the TV. Linc rolled his eyes.

  The thought had crossed his mind to just move out of Mystic, but he’d discarded it almost as soon as it came to be. This town, no matter how weird it was, was home. Even with its eccentricities. Linc wasn’t sure he’d know how to live in a normal town. He’d had a hard enough time in prison, and he certainly wasn’t going back there.

  His dad had given him a second chance. His sister had given him a second chance. Now he just needed to give himself a second chance.

  Chapter Four

  A mixture of emotions rolled through Vanessa as she drove up to her new home again, and she embraced each one. It was only the second time she’d seen it in person, but the feelings were no less powerful. It was a symbol for her, a huge one. A massive personal emblem for Vanessa, her first home purchase stood for her adulthood, her freedom from her past, and her independence. It was a step forward in her new life, full of brand new choices to make. Like what to fix first.

  It was dilapidated, and that might be an understatement. As she got out of her car and waded through the tall grass to the door hanging off the hinges, she again felt an overwhelming sense of what the fuck have I gotten myself into? The porch was rotten, and she probably should have called a cleaning crew in before she got here, as she noticed the footsteps and streaks of clean she left in the thick dust. And that was outside.

  Inside was a musty mess. There wasn’t any way around that. She’d have to sweep out the entire inside of the house and burn all the papers and rats’-nested upholstery spilling out of what used to be furniture. What looked like could have been good antiques, were now broken and rotten pieces of splintered wood.

  Everything was cast in a dingy pallor, probably because what was left of the windows was filthy. Dust motes floated around in the beams of grayish light that did manage to find its way in. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope of haziness, her visions of her future mingled with someone else’s remnants of a past.

  A sense of peace broke through the overwhelming fog, and the weird sensation of walking through cobwebs happened, even though Vanessa was only standing in the middle of the living room. Her scalp prickled, and she idly wondered if the house was haunted. She shut the door firmly on that thought. If her imagination was going to go there, she might as well pack up now and go home. It wasn’t that she didn’t like ghosts, she just had never believed in them before. But the cobweb sensation persisted, and she rubbed her arms to dispel it, trying to grasp at the sense of peace she’d just felt.

  Her mother’s face came into her mind, and Vanessa could almost hear the words spoken in her head. It won’t get finished until you get started. So, with a sigh, Vanessa got out her new broom, determination in her step.

  Her mother would approve of this, she told herself. The only reason her father hadn’t was because her mother was no longer around to help him see sense. He hadn’t been sensible since her mother died in the car accident that ripped her from this world, turned her dad into a bitter pile of grief, and shamed her brother into hiding. Vanessa couldn’t deal with everyone else’s guilt anymore; she needed to focus on her own emotions.

  And that’s what she did. As she spent the next hours sweeping the dirt out of her new home, feeding the growing burn pile in her yard, Vanessa focused on the fact this was her home. Hers. She turned the overwhelming what the fuck feeling into a sense of accomplishment as she cleared out first one room, then another.

  The more she cleared out, the better she felt. In fact, Vanessa could almost swear her mother was here with her, because a comforting presence followed her from room to room as she swept out the garbage and took it outside. Vanessa didn’t know if it was real or imagined, but she embraced it nonetheless.

  As she worked, Vanessa pretended her mother worked alongside her, humming classic rock songs under her breath, her red curls pulled back under the blue bandana she always wore. Vanessa missed her mother fiercely, and that was a big part of why she’d moved so far away. Her mother would have wanted this independence for her, would have wanted her to start a new life for herself. She would have loved Vanessa’s book.

  Her phone rang, interrupting her work and her thoughts. She grabbed her phone and was disappointed to see it was Ian, her ex. It was like he had called at this time on purpose. He had a knack for trying to mess with her memories of her mother.

  “Ian,” she answered coolly.

  “Did you make it?” His voice was warm, but it didn’t help the pain she still felt when she spoke with him. This was a fresh start, away from Ian’s control issues. Even after they’d broken up, he’d tried to insinuate himself in her life, and she didn’t appreciate it.

  “Yes, I did.” She itched to get back to work. “I�
��m kind of busy right now, so I’ll let you go.” Vanessa didn’t want to start a conversation with him, one that would involve him trying to give her advice or tell her she was making a mistake.

  “I’ll let your dad know. He was worried about you. You should have called him when you got there, you know.” His voice was typical Ian—caring on top with hints of patronization underneath.

  “Duly noted.” She hung up without another word. Why in the heck did he think she was his responsibility anymore? What did he even care? He was probably with her dad. She sighed heavily. Hate was an awfully strong word, but she really disliked Ian.

  Blank slate. That’s what this was. It was her opportunity to make something of herself. By herself. Back to work, she cleaned. And each room she cleaned, she designated a purpose and created a vision. She had a kitchen and living room, a bedroom, an office, and a guest room. It wasn’t much, but it was going to be a rustic beautiful she craved.

  The more she imagined her mother, the more the cobwebby feeling persisted. Vanessa eventually got used to it, relegating it to her imagination as she cleaned actual cobwebs from corners. It was a trick of the mind, nothing more.

  Around dark, she remembered to call the number on the pink strip she’d pulled at the hardware store.

  “’Lo?”

  “Um, hi. My name is Vanessa Power, and I just bought the old Evans place. I got your number from Ward’s Hardware in town. Your sister, Sam, said you were good. Are you available to come out and take a look?” She tried all the name dropping she could. Hopefully, he wouldn’t charge her out the ass to fix up this place. She had budgeted some money for repairs, but looking at it now, she wondered if she had enough. She still needed to live, and her book sales weren’t quite there yet.

  “I can come out and take a look.” His voice was a low embrace—masculine and soothing, and a flighty feeling in her tummy erupted. It was a smooth caress with rough edges, like good liquor. She had written about stuff like that but had never actually experienced it. It was just good writing on her part—exploring all five senses with descriptions. She didn’t realize voices could actually do that.

  Suddenly wanting to hear this disembodied voice talk some more, she kept asking questions. “Can you do everything? Like, plumbing and electrical work?”

  “Sure. I’m not certified, but I can do it. You’ll have to get someone out from Mystic to inspect my work to get it up to code before you turn on any utilities.”

  She needed more but couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t sound stupid. “Okay. Can you come out tomorrow?” A giggle sounded in the background, and her tummy deflated a little. It was late, and if he was as hot as he sounded, he’d have company. Most guys were married, have a girlfriend, something, right? She shook her head, trying to get a grip.

  “Sure. You want me to come early or late?”

  “Early’s good.” She ignored her dirty mind, making double-entendres that weren’t there. The sooner she could put a face to this sexy voice, the better.

  “Sure thing. I’ll see you out at the Evans place at eight o’clock then.”

  She swore she could hear him smiling and wondered what the giggler was doing to him. “Great. I’ll be ready.” Ready for what? She had no clue.

  Vanessa called her dad to let him know she’d arrived safely, and listened to him, once again, bemoaning her move. Then she texted Samantha, asking if she could get to the meeting a little early and borrow her shower tomorrow. It felt weird, a little like she was taking advantage of a new friendship, but Vanessa had no idea when the handyman would be able to hook up water to the house, and she felt like she needed to take every opportunity she could find to maintain hygiene.

  Then, she brought in enough boxes to create a base for her bed and muscled her mattress inside and on top of it. After making it up, and digging her blankets out of her car, Vanessa changed into a clean t-shirt and tried to sleep.

  She was determined to make her first night in her new house awesome.

  ***

  Skri-i-i-i-itch.

  What the fuck? Vanessa sat straight up in bed, clicking on her flashlight.

  SLAM

  Darting the beam around the room, then up to the ceiling, Vanessa tamped down the abrupt stabbing sensation in her gut while her heart pounded. It was an old house, and it would make really weird noises. Through the busted-out windows on the ground floor, Vanessa could feel a brisk wind. It was doing a lot to blow out the musty smell, but it was probably blowing a door upstairs.

  Yeah. Surely that was it. It was the wind. Had to be.

  When she’d first driven up to the house, her mind had easily haunted it. But since she’d been cleaning and getting more active in the place, the haunted feelings had dissipated, even with the constant cobweb sensations. But holy hell. It certainly seemed haunted now.

  Something next to her fluttered. Strange. She saw it out of the corner of her eye, but it wasn’t concrete—like a shifting of the dust motes or maybe even a shadow—but it was something subtle. When she turned her head to look at it, it was gone.

  Skri-i-i-i-tch.

  Yeah, so not sleeping in this house without lights.

  SLAM

  Vanessa hopped out of bed, grabbed her flashlight, and filled her arms with blankets before running out to her car. It was just one night. Surely the handyman could have electricity out here tomorrow, right?

  From the discomfort of her car, Vanessa could admit her house looked creepy as fuck at night. Dark, broken windows, and she could still hear the noise that had disturbed her.

  She locked her doors and settled in for the night with her heart still pounding. How long would it take her to get to sleep out here? Her dad’s words rang in her ears. What sort of idiot buys and moves into a house seven hours away from home, without ever setting eyes on it?

  She’d explained she had seen pictures online and would admit to herself they didn’t do the house justice. Online, it just looked like a dump but fixable. In person, it looked like a haunted dump and totally irreparable. The overwhelming feelings of crushing ineptitude floated to the surface and she couldn’t hear her mother’s comforting words of independence anymore.

  With a huff, Vanessa punched her pillow and tried to go to sleep, reminding herself that she never did anything the easy way. If something was worth having, it was worth working for.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning, a soft, snuffling noise startled her eyes open, and she watched a deer freeze outside her car window where it had been sniffing—a light mist of fog on the glass near its nose. Vanessa had startled it and after a twitch of its velvety nose, it darted off to bound through the tall grass and into the woods in the distance.

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat up straighter and looked around. The house had come with twenty-seven acres of feral pasture and sparse woods, which translated to wilderness. As she studied her surroundings, her previous optimism crept back in and she imagined flowerbeds and a pond on the landscape. It really was a pretty piece of property with a lot of potential; it reminded her of some of the woodsy scenes from the movie Last of the Mohicans, wild and untamed.

  She wouldn’t get it there if she didn’t get started.

  Ignoring the twangs of her stiff muscles from sleeping so awkwardly in her car, she stretched. Outside her car, the grass tickled her legs, and the cool morning breeze ruffled her hair. The house didn’t look nearly as creepy in the dawning daylight and her mood brightened considerably.

  Two hours later, Vanessa had swept through the layer of dust that had settled downstairs again, and she ventured upstairs. There was a closet in the room above where she’d attempted to sleep last night. It had obviously been added later in construction—like, a century later. The closet door was set at a strange angle, and the wood didn’t match the age of the rest of the house. The hinges were odd, too. Mystery solved, Vanessa breathed a sigh of relief. The door opening and closing had been what caused the noise she’d heard last night. A product of t
he wind.

  She was inside the unlit closet with her flashlight, examining the space. It was empty. In fact, aside from the few dresses she’d hung up in here yesterday, most of the upstairs was empty, thankfully not the mess the downstairs had been. She was feeling around inside the door, looking for a way to make it stop swinging. When the door slammed on her inside the closet, she jumped. And when she came down, she came down hard.

  Through a weak spot on the floor.

  Well, shit...

  One leg went straight through to her knee, and her other leg was twisted at a ridiculous angle, but it didn’t hurt as badly as the one stuck in the floor. Vanessa was fighting the nausea twisting in her gut and gulping deep breaths, but she’d kicked so much dust up while she was sweeping that her mouth and nose filled with grit with every breath

  She tried to pull her leg out, but it hurt. It was scraping against the jagged pieces of wood, and her shoe kept catching on something on the way out.

  Frustration at the situation welled up, but a knock at the open front door quickly replaced the frustration with embarrassment.

  She knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t get out of this without her new handyman seeing her.

  “Hello?” The deep voice that made her tummy flutter rose up through the hole in the floor to greet her.

  “Um… I’m sort of stuck up here!” Vanessa yelled down at him. He must have walked into the room with her foot hanging out of the ceiling because she heard a muttered curse before his feet pounded up the steps.

  “Are you okay?” The closet door swung open, and sunlight spilled in, creating a cool halo effect around easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Concern marred his features, and embarrassment flushed hers. He wore a faded Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and an old pair of jeans that looked like they’d been washed a dozen too many times. They fit over worn cowboy boots, molded to strong thighs, and tapered to a lean waist. She was sure the t-shirt covered washboard abs. His biceps looked like they benched everything, all the time. And his face was a male version of Samantha, an effortless beauty that defied logic.