Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  He laughed, squeezing her hips.

  “Maybe this will help with the nerves.” Gannon kissed her, softly, sweetly, and Paige felt the tension melt from her shoulders.

  “How about some wine?” he offered, pulling back and rubbing his thumb over the lips he’d just kissed.

  She nodded again. He left her to explore the bedroom and connecting bath and returned to the bedroom moments later with two glasses of red wine.

  She accepted the one he offered and sipped.

  “I like seeing you off-center,” Gannon admitted with a sly look. “It’s nice to know that you’re human.”

  “I’d like to point out the fact that you’re the one the network wanted proof of humanity from. Not me.”

  Gannon moved her bag from bed to floor and then took her wine glass from her, setting both glasses on the nightstand.

  “Let’s see who’s more human,” he insisted, cupping her face in his hands. This time when his mouth closed over hers, there was nothing gentle or sweet about it. Raw and possessive, his lips bruised and battered hers as his tongue invaded her mouth, stealing her breath.

  Grateful to have something to cling to, Paige poured herself into the kiss and gripped Gannon’s t-shirt in white knuckled fists. Here she could hold her own with him, matching fire with fire.

  “I’ve thought about taking you here a thousand times,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “But we just started—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “This started a while ago for me.” His hands slipped under the hem of her raspberry sleeveless shell, drawing it up and over her head. He focused his attention on the front clasp of her capris. Catching up quickly, Paige shoved her hands under Gannon’s t-shirt and yanked it over his head.

  “God, you are so gorgeous,” she murmured.

  “That’s my line, princess.”

  He stripped her and tossed her on the bed. She bounced once before his body covered hers, and they rolled. Paige found herself on top and took advantage, straddling his narrow hips and sliding flesh against flesh. The cords on his neck stood out as Gannon closed hands over her hips and worked her against him.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this,” Paige murmured, not entirely conscious of the words slipping through her lips.

  “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for,” Gannon agreed. He rolled them again, pressing Paige’s back into the mattress. “When you look at me like that…” he shook his head, losing the words.

  “Like what?” she was breathless with need.

  “Heavy eyes, full lips, like you’re begging me to be inside you. It makes me lose my mind.” As if to prove his point, he levered his hips bringing the swollen head of his cock to her entrance.

  She bucked against him. The hand he pressed to her shoulder and then her breast held her in place. “Not yet, honey. Not yet.”

  Paige thought he was reaching for a condom, but Gannon slid down her body biting and teasing his way across her stomach to the inside of her hip bone and lower still. He bit her inner thigh, and she gasped.

  “Open for me, princess.” His voice was rough, thick.

  She forced her legs open, bent at the knee, and quivered when she felt his hot breath tease her. “Gannon.”

  “I love hearing my name from your mouth,” he said darkly. “Say it again.”

  His tongue flicked over the swollen lips of her sex.

  “Gannon!” she hissed.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, pressing his mouth to her.

  Paige arched up, fighting the pleasure that such vulnerability brought. He pinned her legs with his big, rough palms and sampled her flesh. His tongue blazed through the slickness, the proof of her desperation for him. When he brushed over her clit, Paige gasped.

  “That’s what I want, honey. Give it to me,” he murmured against her, his lips and tongue working her.

  Her blood heated, her breasts ached, lonely and full. Paige wanted, no, needed more. And when Gannon pressed two rough fingers against her opening, she stopped breathing.

  Sliding them home into her tight, wet channel, Gannon began a relentless assault with his tongue.

  “Gannon!” He’d taken over her body, and now all that mattered was the climax shimmering on the horizon. His fingers flexed inside her, grazing that secret spot, and Paige bowed back against the pillows, levering her hips up greedy for more.

  He growled against her, and she sobbed out another breath. He was all-consuming, ruthlessly driving her toward the peak. His fingers and mouth worked in concert tempting her higher and higher.

  She felt the first tremor, and her legs fought to close on him, but he forced her open devouring every sweet drop of her climax. Fighting it made it harsher, more jagged, and the orgasm ripped through her without regard for anything other than its own brilliant existence.

  Gannon groaned his pleasure into her, tasting her and driving her harder into it. Paige’s hands knotted in the comforter beneath them as her body shook with ripples of pleasure.

  “That’s what I’ve been dreaming about,” Gannon whispered on a ragged breath, kissing her inner thighs with his sinful mouth.

  “More,” Paige sighed.

  “Oh, baby, you have no idea.”

  He moved away from her, leaving her body loose and used on the bed. She opened a lazy eye and saw him frantically pawing his discarded shorts for his wallet.

  “Bag,” she murmured.

  “What, honey?”

  She pointed at her bag on the floor. “Condoms. Whole box.”

  He pounced on her bag and triumphantly pulled out the box she’d stashed inside. “Have I ever told you you’re the smartest woman I know?”

  “No, but I’m going to expect it regularly now,” she teased, rolling to her side. She enjoyed the view as Gannon rolled the condom on his impressive erection.

  She felt her pulse kick up a notch. There was something about knowing that she did that to him, that she made him that hard…

  “Roll over,” he said, his voice a dark rasp.

  She complied and felt adrenaline surge through her as he shoved her shoulders down. She pressed her face down into the comforter still warm from her own body heat.

  “I want to take you in every way I’ve thought about for the past year,” he rasped.

  “Then take me.”

  He drove home, sheathing his thick cock inside her. The force of his invasion caught her breath, and it took her a moment to relax around his thick length.

  He growled deep in his throat, and her sex rippled around him, her body begging without shame for more.

  “Is this okay?” he asked, flexing into her.

  “God, yes,” she gasped. Paige pressed up on her hands and tossed her hair back, meeting his gaze over her shoulder.

  He swore and began to move in her. When she looked away, Gannon gripped her hair with one hand and her hip with the other. He began to ride relentlessly. She was so full of him, so dominated by him. He thrust into her with a restrained desperation that was an aphrodisiac to Paige.

  The angle pulled him deeper than he’d ever been. And Paige gasped at the fullness. Her body burned for him. There was no way a fire like this could last. Something this hot, this bright, had to extinguish itself.

  But that didn’t matter right now. What did was the man behind her shuddering into her and making her burn.

  On a long, guttural groan, Gannon pushed her down flat, slapping at her ass to have her roll over. “Need to see you,” he murmured.

  She opened for him, accepting his weight with a greed she’d never known. She wanted him on her, in her.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  And he sank into her again. That beautiful stretch of her muscles to accommodate him was easier this time. “Anything you want, Paige. I’ll give it to you,” he promised, his lips searching her neck, her jaw, until they found her mouth.

  She kissed him with a terrifying need. His hips levered into her, powerful thrusts that had her muscles cl
utching and clenching. He brought a hand to her breast. “I need everything from you.” He dragged his mouth away from hers and latched on to her straining nipple. He stroked over it once, twice, with his greedy tongue, and she was panting under him.

  “Gannon, please!”

  He released her nipple and moved to the other that was begging for his attention. He was buried in her, and she felt the incessant desire grow. She bucked her hips against him demanding a faster pace. He let out a laugh, a deep rumble in his chest.

  “Greedy,” he accused.

  But she was so close. The next orgasm loomed over her, and it was all she could think of, all she wanted.

  He withdrew, lapping at her nipple before giving her a shallow thrust. She gasped out a litany of incoherent words. Paige released the sheets and dug her hands into his perfect, round ass, begging him with her body to fuck her. To fulfill her. To own her. The muscular chest that had hypnotized millions of women across the country flattened her to the mattress. The hazel eyes that had enthralled strangers, bored into hers.

  “Now, Paige,” he ordered, slamming into her with the relentless force of a piston.

  He rammed into her again and again, forcing her body to accept him. She could only cling to him, digging nails into that bronze, beautiful flesh. “Now,” he repeated, and she heard the desperation.

  She obeyed with early, teasing tremors that shoved him over the edge. And when his body stiffened to unleash his first load into her, Paige was tensed to receive his pleasure as well as her own.

  He groaned and grunted his way through his release, never ceasing in his attention to her, dragging her orgasm out until she was a puddle beneath him. Used and wrung out, swamped with pleasure.

  Gannon collapsed on top of her, his hard chest and rippled abs pressing into her, melting her into the mattress.

  “Paige?”

  “Mmm?”

  “That’s only a small sampling of the things I want to do to you in this bed.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “The princess shirt,” Gannon said, digging into the to-go container between Paige’s legs helping himself to the pad thai. “You come out in these tiny shorts and this tight, white t-shirt. I went hard so fast I thought I was going to pass out.”

  Paige laughed, covering her mouth and leaned back against the headboard of his bed. “You’re such a guy!”

  “Honey, with a body like that, there was no way I was going to not want you.”

  Paige rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re going to feel like a shallow asshole when I tell you that the first time I had non-professional feelings for you was when you finished that dining room table.” She wrinkled up her nose, pulling the information from her mental files. “Episode four, the Ratakowski family.”

  “Right, right. The brick bungalow.”

  “You worked on that table for hours, and when you were done, I thought it was the sexiest piece of furniture I’d ever seen, and you’d created it with those two very talented hands.” She tapped one of those hands with her foot. “I wanted that table bad and would have taken you too to get it.”

  “Do you even have space for a dining table?” he teased.

  “God no. Becca and I would have to give up our couch… and probably take down a wall. But someday, I’ll have a home with a dining room worthy of a Gannon King original.”

  “What kind of home?” Gannon asked, biting into an eggroll.

  She shrugged and he nudged her with his bare foot. “Uh-uh, princess. You don’t do anything without a crystal clear plan in your head.”

  Paige chewed, debating. “It’s way out of my league, but I’ve always wanted one of those big three-story brownstones. The kind with a fireplace in every room and all these crazy nooks and crannies, sky-high ceilings, space for an incredible kitchen, which would force me to learn to cook. And some kind of backyard space, an oasis with trees and grass and a patio.”

  “Big dreams,” Gannon commented.

  “What about you? I know this place isn’t your style.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t given it much thought. With my grandfather’s business tanking, it’s been a frantic couple of years.”

  “And now that you’re coming out on the other side?” Paige prodded.

  “It’s probably time to start thinking long-term. Something with history, character. Something close to my family and the office because I do not plan to do TV forever.”

  “Will you go back to building full-time?” She dug into the sweet and sour chicken.

  “Probably.” He paused. “I’d actually like to do custom furniture.”

  The way he said it, without meeting her gaze and focusing intently on the cardboard container in his hand, told Paige this was the first time he’d put it into words.

  “Want to know what I think?” she asked.

  He raised his gaze, arched an eyebrow. “Sure.”

  “You’d be insane not to. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kinda talented.”

  “Oh, I’ve noticed,” he said, smirking.

  “Good thing your bedroom has pocket doors, otherwise you might not fit that noggin through the opening,” Paige quipped.

  “No one likes a field producer with a sense of humor,” Gannon said, pinching her with his chopsticks.

  She yelped.

  “Bruises are fading,” he commented, reaching for another little packet of soy sauce.

  Paige nodded through a mouthful of noodles. “Feeling more normal every day.”

  “I saw the footage,” Gannon said, watching her carefully.

  “Mmm.” She hadn’t, except for what was in the season teaser, and didn’t care to. Not only did she not want to relive it, she wasn’t part of the show and had no desire to be. She hated knowing that she’d be crossing the line from behind the camera to talent this season.

  “You were very brave. Maybe a little stupid, but definitely brave. It’s amazing you weren’t hurt worse.”

  She frowned, focusing on the food. “It was the perfect storm—ha—of unforeseen circumstances.”

  “Something you deal so well with,” he smirked.

  She rolled her eyes. “I like being organized and planning ahead,” Paige reminded him primly. “It’s smart to know what’s next.”

  “And what’s next for you is one more season.”

  She nodded, fiddling with her chopsticks. “I’d hoped to pick up a special or something between seasons, you know, pad the bank account. But I’m afraid I’m going to be untouchable after this season. No one’s going to want an onscreen field producer who slept with her talent.”

  “Paige, stop being so hard on yourself. Hell, you make it sound like this—” he pointed between them with his chopsticks, “ruined your career.”

  “I guess we’ll see,” she said morosely. “I just hate feeling like a puppet.”

  “Join the club,” he said, raising his beer. “Now stop pouting. Just because something isn’t going to plan doesn’t mean it’s a disaster.”

  “Look who’s Mr. Pollyanna all of the sudden.”

  “It’s hard to be pissed off about anything from where I sit.”

  Paige cocked her head. “Hmm, well maybe I should sit where you are.” She slid one long leg across his lap and straddled him. She shuffled food containers to the nightstand and put her hands on his bare chest, enjoying the thud of his heart as it sped up.

  “I do like the view from here.”

  ––—

  They took a break from bed and laundry and takeout. While Gannon had dinner with his grandmother and a couple of cousins, Paige went to her apartment to make sure it was still standing and stock up on fresh clothes for shooting in the heat of summer. He’d invited her, even enticed her with meeting his nonni, but she’d declined. Whatever they were together was so fresh, so new, she wasn’t prepared to open their circle. And she didn’t want to do anything that would fuel the rumors that had spread again since Kings of Construction released the season teaser.

>   It was the first time they’d been apart for more than a few hours since spring. Even now, she had a low-grade urge to text him, which she brushed off.

  She let herself into the apartment, wrinkling her nose at the stale air. Becca was on a movie shoot in Vancouver and hadn’t been home in three weeks.

  Paige lugged her suitcase over the threshold and down the narrow hallway to her tiny bedroom. Home. Yeah, right. This tiny, crappy apartment had never been home. Just as her childhood home had never laid claim to that title either. Had it been home to anyone within its walls?

  She wondered briefly about her father. About the kind of man who had allowed Leslie St. James to cut him out of the family home and the lives of his daughters. An astrophysicist, he’d been given the opportunity to teach in Germany. Her mother hadn’t deemed Germany good for her own career, and neither wanted to sacrifice, so they quietly divorced. Paige had been five, and Lisa three.

  St. James women weren’t supposed to become dependent on men. It was a lesson drilled into their heads from childhood. A lesson that had actually stuck with Paige, unlike the dozens of others she’d ignored such as dinner party etiquette and dressing to impress.

  Her mother was deeply disappointed in her career choice, and Paige could only hope that Leslie St. James would see a sliver more worth in documentary filmmaking. Though she wasn’t holding her breath over it. It would probably be regarded as yet another rebellion, a topic that would have her mother clucking into her wine glass in disbelief that a child she raised could be such a disappointment.

  Well, the disappointment was mutual as far as Paige could see. Who raised children to be further extensions of a parent’s own success?

  Her phone buzzed, and she saw the text from Carina with a picture of Malia sound asleep under pink covers and pillows in her princess bed.

  A few more nights in our perfect house before heading to New York for the drug trial! Dr. Singh is almost as excited as we are!

  Paige grinned and texted back before she shoved her phone back in her pocket. She had a good feeling about the trial and Dr. Singh.

  Enough stalling, she decided and opened her bag on the bed that hadn’t been slept in for two months. She swapped out coats and sweaters for tanks and tees and, thinking of Cat and—okay—Gannon, added two sleeveless sundresses.