Men at Work

by Karen Kendall, Cindi Myers

  “Go ahead.”

  But when she took him in her hands again and began to smooth on the condom, he had to fight to keep from losing it. He bit his lip and focused on watching her face. She looked so serious, twin lines on her forehead as she concentrated on putting on the condom. Her skin was flushed, her breasts bobbing slightly as she shifted back onto her heels.

  He sat up and reached for her and drew her over him, his arms wrapped around her, kissing her deeply, his erection pressed against her stomach.

  When they paused for breath, she buried her face in his neck and he felt her smile against him, then she wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled over onto her back. He squeezed her hips and knelt between her legs, anxious to be in her, but forcing himself to wait a little longer.

  “I’m ready for you,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” He parted her folds and watched her eyes lose focus as he slid two fingers into her. She was hot and slick, her muscles tensing around him. With his tongue he stroked her clit, feeling the tension building.

  Eyes closed, head back, she abandoned herself to his attentions. He kept his thumb moving but withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his cock. She gasped as he filled her and he bit back a cry of his own. She squeezed around him, his vision momentarily fogging at the exquisite tension.

  She rocked beneath him, urging him to begin moving, slow and deep strokes at first, then faster, urgent. He kept his thumb pressed against her clit, coaxing her to her climax, her arousal fueling his own.

  She came hard, bucking beneath him and crying out. He gathered her to him, holding her close as he continued to rock against her. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingernails digging into his back, and her cries mingled with his as his climax slammed into him.

  When the waves of release had subsided he slid out of her and they lay side by side for a long while, not speaking. He fought against sleep, though the sound of the falling rain and her own steady breathing combined to lull him toward slumber. She wiggled beneath him, bringing him back to consciousness.

  “Sorry,” she said. “My arm was going to sleep.”

  He kissed the arm in question. “Be right back,” he said, then went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.

  When he returned, she was curled into the blanket. She held it open and invited him to cuddled with her.

  Work beckoned, but he was reluctant to leave the cozy cocoon of her arms and the encircling blanket. “Do you remember when we were kids and you kissed me?” she asked after a while.

  He smiled, remembering her at twelve, freckles across her sunburned nose, the straps of her training bra showing beneath her tank top. They’d spent days laughing and teasing each other. Innocent at first, then not so innocent. One day he had grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him and she’d said, “Kiss me.” So he had. Her lips had been dry, and soft. And very warm. She tasted faintly of strawberry Kool-Aid. And she’d felt more wonderful in his arms than anything he’d imagined before. “I remember,” he said.

  “That was my first kiss,” she said.

  “I thought it might have been,” he said. “I was flattered, really.” She’d moved away not long after that. He’d thought of her for a long time, even after he’d kissed other girls, and done more than kiss them.

  “You were sweet.”

  “And I’m not now?” he asked, in mock offense.

  She laughed and snuggled more firmly against him. “I don’t think sweet does you justice anymore. You’re much more…spicy.”

  “Spicy?”

  “Well…sexy and tempting and maybe even a little bit dangerous.”

  He laughed. “No. Not dangerous. Far from it.” He turned his head to look at her, though the best he could manage from this angle was a view of part of her head and the curve of one cheek. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not afraid of you. But you could still be dangerous to my peace of mind.” She raised her head to meet his gaze. “Relationships complicate things.”

  “The girl I remember wasn’t afraid of complications,” he said.

  She laid her head down again. “The girl you knew doesn’t exist anymore.”

  She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t probe, sensing this was territory best left unexplored, at least, for now. Something—or someone—had made her hesitant to take risks. He tightened his hold on her, wanting to lash out at whatever or whoever had hurt her. Wanting to protect her. And, most of all, wanting to prove to her that she didn’t have to be afraid of anything anymore.

  And for a guy who had no time for a relationship, this was dangerous territory.

  FOR MOST OF the next day Sam walked around in a daze, scarcely able to believe what had happened with Josh. Lying in his arms after they’d made love, she’d been overwhelmed with such happiness she’d swallowed tears, sure he’d think she was a nut if she suddenly started crying. She couldn’t explain how…right…it felt to be with him. Or why the knowledge shook her so.

  She forced herself to work, reviewing the photos she’d taken for the Frameworks for the Future calendar, selecting the shots to send to the committee. She smiled at Mr. June, posed looking back over his shoulder at the viewer. He was Mr. Macho, nervous and trying not to show it when he’d first walked into the studio, but she’d gotten him to loosen up by asking about his work.

  Mr. August faced the camera head-on, clad only in work boots, hands folded in front of him. Now that had been an interesting photo session. Like Josh, he was a man who wasn’t shy about letting it all hang out, so to speak.

  She came again to Josh’s picture, and her heart beat faster. He was no more or less handsome than the other men she’d photographed, but something about him moved her in a way none of the others did.

  Maybe part of it was because he had known her in better times, when life had still treated her well and she’d been open to all its experiences. Or maybe it was because memories of that summer with him and his sister had been the one thing she’d held on to when things were roughest. Whenever she’d moved to a new foster home—a place where she knew no one and wasn’t sure how long she’d stay—she’d spend her first night recalling events of that summer. She’d replay a warm afternoon at the beach, digging her toes in the sand and watching Josh in the surf, or hanging on to his neck while he swam into deep water. The waves had washed over her, filling her mouth with salt and she’d squealed, but she’d never been truly afraid, because he’d held her tight.

  And she’d remember that kiss—so sweet and innocent, and yet so much more. With Josh she’d felt the first stirrings of a woman’s desire. She wished they’d had more time to explore those feelings together.

  From those memories had grown her fantasies of Josh as her ideal lover. The perfect man for her, kind and loving and sexy. Those fantasies got her through the rough days.

  As erotic as some of her fantasies had been, her thoughts of Josh were always more than sexual. She wanted his body, but when she was totally honest with herself, she wanted more. She wanted the carefree spirit and trusting nature she’d lost after their summer together. And as unrealistic as she told herself such expectations were, she felt as if Josh could help her find that part of herself again. Having him back in her life now seemed like a miracle.

  She shook her head and shuffled rapidly through the rest of the photos. She’d told him he was dangerous and she’d meant it. As inexperienced as she was with serious relationships with men, she knew it was never a good idea to expect things from someone else that they couldn’t give.

  A knock on the door startled her and she went to answer it, heart in her throat. She hoped it wasn’t Josh. She wasn’t ready to see him again just yet. She needed more time to think.

  But instead of Josh, it was her landlord. “Mr. B., what’s up?” she asked. He looked uncharacteristically glum. That, and the fact that he’d bothered to knock set off warning bells in her head.

  Mr. B. walked over to her worktable a
nd hefted his ample frame into one of the two bar stools that sat before it. “A man came by today and offered to buy this building,” he said.

  The words knocked the breath out of her and, for a moment, she couldn’t speak. “Who?” she managed at last. “Why?” Who would want this run-down place?

  “A guy with money, that’s who,” Mr. B. said. “He says the neighborhood is improving. He wants to tear this place down and build condos.”

  She swallowed hard. “What did you tell him?”

  Mr. B. avoided looking at her. “I told him I’d think about it.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s time I retired. Business is slow, anyway.”

  Business at the dry cleaners was always slow. She thought that was the way he liked it. “What would you do?” she asked.

  “My sister lives in one of them senior citizens communities over in Coral Gables. She says they have all kinds of activities for the residents—poker games and movies and stuff. And she tells me the single ladies outnumber the men three to one.” He smoothed his lapels. “Might be I’d find me a girlfriend. I been kind of lonely since my wife—God rest her soul—passed on.”

  She could see him, dressed in Bermuda shorts and a plaid shirt, surrounded by attractive older women. They’d cook for him and fuss over him—he’d be in heaven. How could she begrudge him that? “It sounds like it would be a great thing for you,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He watched her out of the corner of his eye. “And hey, business is good for you, right? You can afford a nicer place than this. Someplace with more traffic, a better clientele.”

  “I have a nice clientele, already.”

  “Still—you won’t mind finding another place, will you?”

  “No. Of course not.” She forced a smile. “And this will be great for you. I’m happy for you. I really am.”

  “Well, good.” He slid off the stool, visibly relieved at having this task over with.

  “How…how long before I’ll need to move?” she asked.

  “He said he could give you a couple months to make arrangements. You should be able to find something nice in that time, right?”

  She nodded. “Sure. I’ll find a great place.”

  He left, and she returned to the work bench and buried her face in her hands, fighting tears. Where was she going to go? She had some money in the bank, but not nearly enough. Her plan had been to save until she could afford to buy her dream house—the one with room for a studio and a big front porch. But as Josh had pointed out, such places were getting more expensive every week.

  Her other alternative would be to find another place like this, with a small efficiency apartment and cheap rent. But it probably wouldn’t be that cheap, and deposits and utilities and moving costs would eat up all her savings. She’d have to start over.

  She thought about telling Josh her dilemma and seeing if he knew of a place, but pushed the thought away. She was not going to start relying on him to solve her problems. She had to take care of this herself.

  5

  SAM HAD SUGGESTED meeting Josh at a café near her studio to go over the photos she had of his house in its various stages of restoration. He suspected she’d chosen the neutral, public location to lessen the temptation of being alone. As if he didn’t see right through that tactic.

  No matter how much she protested she didn’t want to get involved with him, one look in her eyes told him she was lying. There was something powerful between them. Something a little scary even. But he’d never been afraid to face his fears, especially when they came wrapped in an attractive package like Sam Delaney.

  The door to the coffee shop burst open and Sam rushed in. She was out of breath, her hair mussed, cheeks flushed. Josh instantly felt the pull of desire. This is how she would look in the morning, after a night of making love. He wanted to be the man responsible for that look. The man who would hold her close and kiss her and suggest they go one more round before getting out of bed to face the day.

  “Josh? Are you okay?”

  He realized he’d been staring at her, probably for some time. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you’d ordered breakfast yet.”

  “No, just coffee. What would you like?” He picked up a menu and studied it. It appeared to be written in some strange foreign language.

  She giggled. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. Why would you think I wasn’t?”

  “Because you’re holding the menu upside down.”

  He tossed the menu aside. “I don’t need it, anyway. I’ll just have the Denver omelette.”

  The waitress took their orders—Sam had yogurt, fruit and granola—and returned shortly with two cups of coffee.

  “Did you bring the photos?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She handed a thick portfolio across the table. “The first shots were taken a couple of years ago, when I found the house,” she explained as he undid the string around the portfolio and unfolded the flap.

  He studied the green-and-gray photo. About all he could see of the house was part of the porch and roof sticking up from a mass of weeds. “I spent the better part of one afternoon just clearing a path to the door,” he said, shuffling to the next photo.

  “That was right after you cleared the vines away,” she said, leaning over to check the picture. “I was thrilled someone had purchased the house, but half afraid, too.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That you’d tear it down. People often do. They buy the property for the land, then raze the house and build something new.”

  He nodded. “There were times when I was doing the work when I’d wondered if I shouldn’t have done the same thing. It would have probably been cheaper.”

  “But a modern house would never be as wonderful as that one,” she said. “It wouldn’t have the history that one does. The memories.”

  She had that dreamy look in her eyes, the one he’d seen when she talked about her hoped-for home, the one with a studio and a porch swing.

  Breakfast arrived. In between bites of omelette he looked at the other photos she handed him—new roof tiles going on, the repairs to the porch. There was a good selection of interior shots, too—the fireplace before and after the new mantel, the kitchen before and after the new cabinetry. “How did you get all these inside shots?” he asked.

  “How do you think? I was trespassing.” She pointed her fork at him. “You should be more careful about locking the doors.”

  He returned the stack of photos to the portfolio. “I guess I should be grateful you weren’t a stickler for obeying the law in this case. These are going to make a great presentation. Maybe I’ll even print a brochure.” And seeing the photos had made him realize how far he’d come in restoring the house. He wasn’t one for standing around patting himself on the back, but he could be proud of this restoration job. This house was a great showcase for his skills. While he’d renovated many houses for other people, he hoped this would be the first of many such houses he’d buy and restore for resale.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Sam said. “Just make sure they know who took the photos. I wouldn’t mind getting more of this kind of work.”

  He set the portfolio aside. Now that business was out of the way, time to take things to a more personal level once more. “What are you doing this weekend?” he asked.

  “Looking for more free help on the house?” she teased.

  “It’s worth a try.” He kept the tone light, though he was sure she was thinking about what they’d done after the work was finished, having sex on a pile of blankets, with the rain pouring outside.

  “You’ll have to find another helper,” she said. “I have to work at my job.”

  “More pet photos?”

  “No, this time it’s a wedding.” She scraped the last of the yogurt from the dish. “Over in Aventura.”

  “Are you allowed to bring a date?”

  She went very still and studied him. “I’m an employee at thes
e things. Not a guest. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, then, could you use an assistant? I don’t know much about photography, but I can follow directions and I can carry heavy lights and stuff.”

  “You want to come to a wedding with me?”

  “Sure. I want to see you work. And it wouldn’t hurt me to take a Saturday off.” Ed would faint if he heard that one.

  “I don’t know…” She looked skeptical.

  “Come on. How much trouble could we get into at a wedding?”

  She smiled and nodded. “All right. It would be nice to have some help.”

  He grinned and attacked the rest of his breakfast with fresh enthusiasm. She had probably agreed because she thought he was right—that nothing could happen with all those other people around. Which showed how little she knew. Sometimes the best seductions occurred in the middle of other people. It leant a certain intrigue to the process.

  Besides, they’d have to head home sometime, and he doubted either one of them would settle for goodbye and a kiss on the cheek.

  AFTER BREAKFAST with Josh, Sam stopped by the offices of Frameworks for the Future to deliver her calendar photos. Liz Olmos, an administrative assistant, oohed and ahhed over the twelve shots of hunky construction workers baring it all. “These are some gorgeous men,” she said, fanning herself. She grinned at Sam. “No wonder you volunteered for this one.”

  Sam laughed. “It was fun. The guys were all really nice.”

  “And really built,” Liz said. She sighed. “There’s something about a man who works with his hands, you know?”

  Sam nodded, thinking of Josh’s hands on her. There was something about him, all right. Something that made it impossible for her to stop thinking about him, wanting to be with him. She’d told herself the smart thing was to avoid him as much as possible, to give her overheated libido time to cool off. Instead, he’d talked her into leting him “help” her at the wedding Saturday.

  She didn’t really need a helper. She’d taken hundreds of wedding photos by herself and managed just fine. But she also knew there was no place she felt more lonely than at a wedding. Watching the happy couple, surrounded by family and friends, made her own life seem pretty empty. So Josh would be a welcome distraction, though she’d have to be careful not to let things go too far—Hah! As if that hadn’t already happened.