by Lola Rivera
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright © 2016 by Lola Rivera / Night Works Books, LLC
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About Lola
Lola’s Backlist
SPARKS
Bad Boy Burnetts
Book Two
By
Lola Rivera
Night Works Books
College Station, Texas
Copyright © 2016 by Lola Rivera / Night Works Books, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Night Works Books
3515-B Longmire Drive #103
College Station, Texas 77845
www.roxierivera.com/lola-rivera
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Previously Published as SPARKS. Revised and Expanded.
Cover Photo © 2016 Melody Simmons / eBook Indie Covers
SPARKS (Wild, Wicked Burnetts #2) / Lola Rivera – 1st Edition
Chapter One
With a lazy flick of her wrist, Blaire swished the tip of her paintbrush in a glass of water. Soft pink tendrils of pigment bloomed in the clear liquid. Head tilted, she studied her painting and subject, her eyes skipping from the canvas to the vase of peonies. As the owner of the most successful art gallery in the city, she knew her paintings would never be good enough to hang on the walls of her shop but that never stopped her from picking up a brush or pencil. She enjoyed the act of creating art and needed the relaxation that came with using her hands.
Painting on her front porch was the perfect place to find that relaxation she craved. A warm gust carried the smells and sounds of a late summer afternoon, of honeysuckle and barbecues and children dashing through sprinklers. Her skirt fluttered against her calves. The porch swing to her left rocked slowly back and forth.
As she blotted her paintbrush on a paper napkin, the sound of an approaching vehicle drew her attention. Her pulse raced at the sight of Logan’s silver truck slowly rolling down their street. Window down, sandy hair ruffled by the wind, he waved at the Olsens as they tended their flowerbeds and the elderly Ramos couple idly sipping iced tea on their front porch.
And then he turned into his driveway and flashed that easy smile at her. Blaire’s stomach clenched at the sight of that mischievous grin she had missed. For the last seven days, he had been deep sea fishing with his brothers Cord and Jay. His elder brother ran the family ranch out in the Hill Country while Jay, a retired football player, worked as an architect with Logan at their thriving construction business where Logan was the master electrician.
Sitting back, Blaire watched him unload a battered duffel bag and fishing supplies. Her eyes trained on the faded jeans hugging his taut backside. Unable to stop herself, she imagined slipping her hands into those back pockets and whispering in his ear, telling him all the dirty little things she had fantasized doing to him.
Would he balk at her advance? Give her the usual line about ruining friendships with sex? Or would he drag her inside and take her right there, up against his living room wall, as she had imagined so many times before?
She’d never been a shy girl and had never second-guessed her interest in any man until Logan. He was funny, sweet and a great cook. He shared her love of craft beer and awful, cheesy sci-fi films. Getting drunk on the latest local brew while watching a marathon of Sharknado and its sequels had been the best not-really-a-date of her life.
So, no, she couldn’t risk coming onto him and facing rejection. She valued his friendship too much to chance losing it. He was good man, and she liked having him in her life, even if she had to sit squarely in the friend zone. So, for now, she would have to be content simply lusting after him from afar.
As Logan started into his house, he turned to face her. Again, he grinned at her, his green eyes bright from his well-deserved R&R. Her heart fluttered, and she gave a friendly wave and smile. Lifting his cooler, he asked, “You want to join me for dinner later tonight?”
“Of course!” Her heart raced even faster now. “I can’t wait to hear all about your trip.”
“We had a good time.” He grinned even wider and said, “Cord is getting married.”
“Really? That’s fantastic!” She had met Cord and his girlfriend Daphne a few weeks ago when they had been in town for the rodeo. She had suspected Cord would be putting a ring on the brilliant almost-professor’s finger soon.
“Yeah, it is.” His expression turned pensive for a moment before he smiled again. “I better get these in the refrigerator.” He glanced at his watch. “How does eight sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Okay.”
She leaned out of her chair for a better view of his incredible backside before he disappeared into his home. Suddenly feeling less inspired, Blaire packed up her paints and canvas and moved inside her house. She side-stepped the boxes of tile, plumbing and construction supplies littering her living room. Not for first time, she regretted not allowing Logan to take control of the renovations. When he had seen the plans on her dining room table a few months ago, he had offered to oversee the project for her. He had experience with historic homes and jumping through the numerous hoops required to get approvals and permits.
Although the company he shared with his brother typically handled commercial construction, they had a small residential side that tackled jobs for friends and family and a few charities around the city. But she had wanted to do this herself and had let her stubborn streak get her into this mess. Living in construction was driving her crazy. She really wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
Blaire dropped her armload of supplies on the kitchen table and looked around, at a loss for what to do next. She considered eating an early dinner but food wasn’t what she craved at the moment. No, what she really wanted was Logan, naked and between her thighs. She could just feel his lips on her neck, his rough hands against her skin. Her face flushed at the image that streaked across her brain.
Feeling turned on and excited, she locked her front door and scurried upstairs. The second her feet touched the hardwood floors of her bedroom, she started peeling off clothing and dropping it haphazardly. She strode to her shower, flung back the curtain, and lifted the lever.
Wincing in anticipation of an ungodly racket, she slowly turned the shower knob toward hot. Pipes clanged and shook as water snaked its way through the ancient plumbing. The shower head vibrated and sputtered before spewing water. She warily eyed the shower head, wondering whether or not it would survive yet another shower.
She just couldn’t wait for the plumber and his crew to start their work. Two more days. Just two more days…
Moving away from the tub, she opened the linen closet and grabbed a towel. She snatched a hair clip from the counter and secured her hair in a loose bun. With an outstretched hand, she tested the water’s temperature. Satisfied, she slipped her towel over the bar which badly needed
replacing and stepped into the tub. She tugged the curtain closed, and for a long moment, she simply stood beneath the warm spray of water.
Lightly scented body wash foamed as she kneaded a pouf between her hands. With slow swipes, she pulled the lathered pouf across her wet skin, reveling in the silky sensation of the soap. She rinsed the pouf and hung it on a shower caddy hook. Eyes closed, she allowed her hands to slide down her soap-slicked sides, to follow the curve of her hips and snake along her stomach. She imagined Logan standing just behind her, his fingers gripping her waist, his thick cock pressed against her backside.
Teething her plump lower lip, she slipped her fingers between her legs. Her clit jumped at the first sensation of her fingertips gliding across the pink nub. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She angled her hips forward as her fingers slid between her folds, petting, penetrating. She thrust two fingers into her core, moving them slowly in and out as her mind conjured visions of Logan kneeling before her, his fingers in her pussy, his tongue on her clit.
Legs shaking, she leaned her forehead against the wet tile for support. Standup orgasms were harder to achieve in reality than they were in fantasy. Her free hand squeezed her breast, pinching and rolling the overly sensitive nipple. Desperate to come, she moved her hand down her sudsy front until her fingers found her clit. Rubbing tight circles with one hand, Blaire continued thrusting into her slick channel with the second.
Her hips rolled and rocked. Quaking breaths shook her body. Her lower stomach tightened as ecstasy built between her legs. Hot and pulsing, it demanded her full attention. Like a tightly coiled spring, it exploded deep within her, taking her breath away. Her lips against the tile, she fought to remain upright as her orgasm rippled through her. The man she couldn’t have was hers in this fantasy. His mouth, his hands, his strong arms and that incredible scent that followed him. She breathed out his name on a ragged sigh, “Logan…”
Still trembling, Blaire gently removed her fingers. The shower spray sluiced down her back as she stood still, cheek and hands pressed to the tile. Feeling ever so relaxed, she faced the shower head, letting the warm stream wash away the remaining suds. She reached down and twisted the shower knob, fully expecting the oh-so-irritating knock of water hammer—but nothing happened. Forehead wrinkling, she turned the knob some more. To her shock, the knob spun loosely in a full revolution.
“Great,” she groused. “Just fucking wonderful.” She tried the lever controlling the flow of water to the shower head but it did absolutely nothing. Before she could try the knob again, the shower head started to rattle crazily. With just a second to spare, Blaire turned her back. The shower head popped off its pipe and smacked her shoulder. Water exploded in the cramped confines of her shower.
“Shit!” Blaire scrambled from the tub. An explosive stream of tepid water sprayed everywhere. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the bathmat.
Not knowing what else to do, Blaire grabbed her robe from its peg and scurried from the bathroom in search of help.
Chapter Two
A cold beer clamped in his hand, Logan relaxed in his favorite leather chair. The getaway with his brothers had been just what he had needed to recharge and unwind. It had also given him the much needed kick in the ass to go after the woman he wanted more than any other in the world. Listening to Cord talk about Daphne had convinced him it was time to man the fuck up, march over to Blaire’s house and ask her on a date.
Well. He hadn’t exactly marched over there, had he? But he had invited her over dinner. That was a step in the right direction, right? Shit. He could practically hear Jay and Cord giving him hell about being a coward.
Between now and eight o’clock, he had to figure out a way to come clean about his feelings for her without risking their friendship. He was pretty sure she returned his interest, but he’d been wrong about that kind of thing before and didn’t want to make things awkward with Blaire.
His mind reeled with thoughts of his outrageously sexy neighbor. Lush figured with a warm smile and a kind heart, Blaire seemed to be forever in the forefront of his mind. Never before had he suffered through such an infatuation. She made his heart race and his palms sweat, and he dreamed about her every night. Fantasized, really. Dreamed of ridiculously filthy things he wanted to do with her and to her…
Even now, almost fifteen months later, he could still remember exactly how she had smiled when he had met her that first time. Standing barefoot in a puddle of water, her jeans rolled up around her calves, Blaire had been arguing with the roofing contractor that she had hired to handle the renovations on the art gallery she had purchased downtown. Logan had been amused and awed by the curvy little spitfire. He had often worked with Jimmy, the roofer, and knew all too well his tendencies to skimp on materials and skirt building codes. To say he had been impressed by Blaire’s ability to wrangle a second roofing job, free of charge, from tightwad Jimmy was the understatement of the year.
When she had turned to face him, Blaire had taken his breath away. That caramel skin, those warm whisky eyes, those kissable lips… As she had given him a tour of the sizable building, he had just itched to uncurl that messy bun so he could run his fingers through those gorgeous brown waves.
Before he had given her the estimate, Logan had confessed he considered her project—to modify the old building into an upscale art gallery and studio space—a bit overreaching. She had just shrugged. “I know it’s a dump, but it’s got potential. And I’m determined.”
That infectious tenacity had grabbed hold of him. Logan and his small crew had worked their asses off to bring the wiring up to code and to install all the sophisticated lighting she had wanted.
In the end, Blaire did exactly as she had promised. The Belle Mélange made quite a splash with its first showcase of unknown but extraordinarily talented Houston artists. She used the minimally renovated back area of the gallery to host art classes taught by local artists as a side stream of income.
She was amazing. Everything she attempted, she accomplished, maybe not the first time but always on the second or third attempt. Even with the house Blaire had purchased next door, the house he had mentioned during the renovation of her gallery, she had done wonders. Granted, it still required a good deal of work, but she was seeing it through. She simply didn’t know how to fail.
Yet always having her so close to him and so utterly unavailable taxed his nerves. Logan wanted her, but he worried that she might be too far out of his league. He was a college dropout; she had graduated from Sarah Lawrence and then the Rhode Island School of Design. He had never traveled beyond Texas, Louisiana, or Mexico; she had studied in Italy and Germany and lived in Paris for a year. He came from a long line of cowboys and roughnecks; Blaire’s father taught applied mathematics at Rice and her mother helped infertile couples as a reproductive endocrinologist in one of those high-end clinics in the Medical Center.
Since living next to her, Logan had seen the type of men Blaire dated: a professor, a lawyer, a writer, and a doctor. He couldn’t compare. And the thought of being shot down by her terrified him. He loved her too much to lose their friendship. So he watched and wanted and fantasized from afar.
And what fantasies he had had. In his mind, Logan had run Blaire through a series of naughty moves that would have made a porn star blush. Heat streaked through his groin as he pictured Blaire in a particularly wicked position, her pussy just inches from his lips, her legs—.
A frantic knock at the front door drew Logan’s attention. Frowning, he put down his beer and crossed the living room. He flipped the deadbolt and yanked open the door. The sight revealed brought a quirked smile to his mouth. Blaire, dripping wet and obviously frustrated, stood on his front porch in only her hot pink bathrobe.
Loving to needle her, he crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Well, well, well, Miss Velez.”
She rolled those beautiful brown eyes. “Mr. Weatherly.”
He slowly raked his gaze down her sopping wet form. “Didn’
t I tell you that shower head was on its last leg?”
Blaire humphed in irritation. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Will you help me, Lo? Please?”
Silently thanking the heavens for throwing him this chance to be her blue collar hero, he drawled, “Anything for you, Blaire.”
Chapter Three
Blaire stood in the doorway of her bathroom, her eyes glued to Logan’s ass. She couldn’t see what exactly he was doing since the hastily shoved aside shower curtain cloaked him from the waist up but she could hear his grunts and growls. Water soaked his dark blue tee. A litany of rather inventive curse word combinations echoed in the room. Short seconds later, the pipes clanged and the water flow halted.
“There.” Wrench in hand, Logan stood and slung water from his arms. “Temporary fix until the plumbers start on Monday.”
Grinning, Blaire clapped. “You’ve got mad plumbing skills, Lo.”
He laughed and wiped his forehead across a dry patch of t-shirt before carefully placing the wrench on the counter. Her gaze moved to the wet fabric clinging to his rippled abs. He seemed to notice her stare. When he grasped the bottom of his tee and started to lift, Blaire’s heart fluttered. She got the tiniest glimpse of his tan stomach and the top of his happy trail before he paused. “Where do you keep your towels?”
“What?” She glanced up guiltily. He repeated his question. “Oh.” She pointed to the linen closet before slowly retreating toward the door. “I’ll see if I can find a t-shirt big enough for you.”
Blaire hastily exited the bathroom. She rifled through her closet in search of the summer league softball tee she had ordered in the wrong size. Red shirt in hand, she returned to the bathroom. She swallowed hard at the sight of Logan, naked from the waist up. Even in her wildest fantasies, his body didn’t look that good. Gorgeous tan skin, toned muscle, a smattering of hair, the occasional pale scar—she yearned to run her hands up and down his chest, to teethe his collarbone.