Handy Men

  Delilah Devlin

  Two very handy men mend a divorcée’s broken heart…

  Rather than cry over spilt milk, a newly divorced woman throws caution to the wind and decides to seduce her neighbor’s handsome handyman.

  Jeff isn’t stupid—Pamela tossed those screws into her sink to get his attention! The fact she’s beautiful and vulnerable convinces him she needs “special” attention. When he has her hot and horny, he surprises her with his partner Casey and a threesome.

  What starts for Pamela as a wild, no-holds-barred fling quickly gets stickier as the guys push for something longer lasting.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Handy Men

  ISBN 9781419933998

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Handy Men Copyright © 2011 Delilah Devlin

  Edited by Mary Moran

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication April 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Handy Men

  Delilah Devlin

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Facebook: Facebook, Inc.

  Texas A&M: Texas A&M University, Institute of Higher Education

  Velcro: Velcro Industries

  Chapter One

  The impulse came like a flash of lightning—hot and searing—all the way to the bone. An idea born of a need she hadn’t felt in a long, long time…and inspired by one red-hot handyman in butt-hugging jeans and a t-shirt.

  The man fired the militant gleam in her eyes as she brushed bronzing powder across her cheeks and swiped carmine “eat me” red lip stain across her mouth. She didn’t give herself time to rethink the decision, reaching for the phone before her usual, cautious self reasserted control. No more couch potato cry-ins for her. No more self-imposed exclusion while she figured out what to do with the rest of her life. Today, a new Pamela Dwyer was reaching for the damn gusto.

  The anger felt good. Especially after the shock she’d received moments ago when she’d surfed the web for the latest gossip about her ex.

  One glance at Andrew’s Facebook page, and Pamela’s confusion over what the hell had happened to her life dried up. He’d blocked her from his page, but his profile picture had been changed from Andrew’s handsome, craggy face to the soft innocence of his newborn son’s.

  The picture said it all. And no doubt every one of their friends here in Austin, who’d rallied around her when he’d left, would now pour out their congratulations to him while privately agreeing he’d done the only thing he could do to be happy.

  Tears had stung her eyes, but she’d refused to let them fall. Instead, she’d blinked them away, closed out the screen and glanced through the blinds at her immaculate lawn. The perfect lawn and landscaping to surround the perfectly appointed house she’d won in the divorce settlement.

  But back to that lightning strike…

  Across the street, a man had stood atop a ladder while he fished leaves from old Mr. Johnson’s gutters. It wasn’t the fact the old man had spent money to hire someone to do odd jobs around his place that caught her attention, although that was plenty unusual all by itself. It was the way the sunlight glinted on the younger man’s hair. Glints of gold she could see from over thirty feet away. And once her attention was snagged by that nagging glow, her gaze couldn’t help but trail down the long, lean, buff lines of his healthy frame.

  From the back, the man was perfection. Then he’d turned to the side, no doubt to say something to Mr. Johnson who hovered at the bottom of the ladder. The old skinflint would supervise the handyman to make sure he got every nickel’s worth of his money. However, not a hint of irritation shone in the handyman’s expression. His smile had been quick—a flash of white teeth against a tanned face.

  Pamela had breathed deeply, enjoying the surge of heat flowing through her veins. So much better than the cold, hollow feeling in her womb. Arousal had bloomed, fresh and unexpected, washing over her, lapping away the disappointment. Leaving her…expectant. Feeling younger than her thirty-eight years.

  There were times in a woman’s life when she had to grab the bull by the horns or she’d never taste passion again. Pamela decided then and there that her time was now.

  Twenty minutes later, the doorbell chimed.

  Christ, do I really have the guts? She’d had twenty minutes to get icy-cold feet.

  She held her hand in front of her face and blew against her palm then sniffed. Mouthwash still works.

  Before opening her door, Pamela bent over, shook her head then straightened, giving her straight blonde hair an extra fluff. She pasted on a smile—not too wide or eager—one she’d practiced in front of the bathroom mirror to make sure it reflected just the right amount of casual interest. She didn’t want to scare him away. At least not before she had a chance to practice being a femme fatale.

  However, after opening the door, her smile faltered just a bit. Up close, the repairman was more of a rangy lion than a bull, and even more attractive than her secretive glances through the blinds had revealed. Thickly muscled arms and a broad chest stretching a green Handy Men tee filled her vision.

  Maybe she should have targeted someone more in her league—and at least fifteen years older. However, when she’d seen him working on the rain gutters of her neighbor’s house, watched the way he moved gracefully up and down the ladder, a plan had begun to form. One she was too invested in to back out of now.

  “Your neighbor said you were havin’ trouble with a garbage disposal?”

  Her greedy glance shot up to meet his, and she noted the crinkles of amusement at the sides of his eyes. Blue eyes with golden coronas around the pupils. Yum.

  Realizing her mouth hung open, she snapped her jaw closed. “Uh, yes. Trouble with the disposal. That’s why you’re here.”

  It was the truth, so she didn’t stutter over it. However, she didn’t mention she’d thrown a handful of screws into the sink to make sure the old disposal seized. Her plan to lure him into her house was working like a charm. She wished her ex could see her now. Plain Pam, reliable Pam, boring, defective Pam had a few tricks left.

  “I’m Jeff McCaffrey,” he said, and held out his hand.

  Blowing out a little breath to release her tension, she gave him her hand and shook. “Pamela,” she said quickly.

  His palms were calloused and large. She slid her hand slowly from his, enjoying the scrape. Even if things didn’t work out, she’d have plenty of sensory details to savor later to go along with the lovely picture he made.

  “Um…” He lifted the toolbox with a flex of impressive biceps and raised his eyebrows.

  It took a second to register that he needed her to move away from the door. Feeling flustered, she stood back and waved him inside. She closed the door behind him and followed eagerly on his heels into the hallway.

  He halted abruptly.

  Unable to stop her forward momentum, Pamela held out her hands to brace herself—and cupped his ass.

  His head swiveled to glance back at her, a slight, dazed smile curving his mouth.

  She paused a second too long before removing them, but his ass was too much temptation. “Sorry about that,” she muttered, palms and face burning. Lord, she was thirty-eight, and he had her blushing like a teenager. Her flirting skills were woefully rusty.

  He cleared his throat and pointed toward the door on the left. “The kitchen?”

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding a little winded, but her fingers tingled and her skin felt on fire. She hadn’t wanted to come on to the younger man like a cougar in heat, but he was fine-fine-fine.

  He swung open the door and walked to the counter, setting his toolbox beside the sink. “What sort of noises was it makin’?”

  “Crunchy?”

  “Crunchy?” His lips twitched.

  She shrugged. He was the “Mr. Fix-It”. He’d figure out soon enough what the problem was. Maybe he’d think the screws in the disposal had gotten there by accident.

  He reached beneath the cabinet next to the sink and flipped the switch. Metallic grating made her wince. The poor thing ground worse than her ex’s teeth.

  Without looking back, he said, “Don’t touch the switch. I don’t have my tongs, so I’m gonna stick my hand down there to see what’s happenin’.”

  In his hand went, and he turned slightly to the side, his gaze meeting hers while a frown drew his honey-brown brows together. When he pulled free, he held a screw. “Wonder how that happened?” he drawled.

  She grinned brightly. “Serendipity?”

  “Wha—?”

  So maybe not a brain surgeon, but the calculated stare he returned told her he wasn’t stupid. He pulled out another and laid it on the countertop, and then another. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me, Pamela?”

  She held her breath, ready to blurt the truth, but then she’d sound exactly like what she was—a woman desperate for a man’s attention. Instead, she pouted. “You’re not my doctor. I don’t have to tell you the truth.” Then she shrugged, overwhelmed by the urge to blurt something cute. “I needed a screw.” Sweet Jesus, I did not just say that!

  He grunted, lips twitching again, and reached for the switch. The metallic grinding had stopped, but the little motor seemed to miss, and the gears gave a rhythmic click. He shook his head regretfully. “Don’t think I can save her.”

  Was he still talking about the disposal? “I’m not attached. Got another?”

  “Not with me. Let me hit the reset button, just in case.”

  He knelt beside the sink, his eyes giving her bare legs a quick once-over.

  Thank God, I had them waxed. Any smoother and they’d be porcelain.

  Then he dragged his gaze away, opened the cabinet and stuck his head inside. “Man, this unit’s ancient,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “Probably as old as the house.”

  Ancient? The disposal was as old as the house, which was seventeen years old. She’d lived there all her married life.

  Feeling a little deflated, still, she couldn’t help but admire the view as he bent deeper. His t-shirt pulled free of his pants, revealing a strip of tanned flesh and a hint of dimples just above his buttocks.

  Her thumbs would fit nicely in those little grooves.

  “Want an upgrade?” he asked, backing out again.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she said, fanning her face until he turned. She curled her fingers and gave him a quick smile.

  As he stood, his gaze narrowed, sliding down her body. “I’ll have to come back.”

  “Just tell me when. I’ll make myself available.”

  Perhaps she sounded a little too chipper because he slowly folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. One side of his mouth curled up. “You’re not the least shy, are you, ma’am?”

  Pamela bit her lip. No guts, no glory. She gave a little toss of her hair and met his gaze. “What’s the point in acting coy?”

  He grunted again, a masculine sound that thrilled her all the way to her hardening clit.

  “Well, Pamela,” he drawled, “I’m about to hang things up for the rest of the day. I’ll have to come back tomorrow with a new disposal.”

  She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “Have to hurry home?”

  “I’m never in a hurry with a pretty girl.” The wicked gleam in his eyes was a not-so-subtle challenge.

  Lord, she hoped she was reading the signals right. The first time she’d been tempted to seduce a man, and it looked as if she was going to score. Big.

  Fiddling with her hair, she leaned a hip against the counter, closing the distance between them. “It’s really hot outside.”

  “A scorcher,” he murmured, and smiled.

  She pointed through the window with a lazy finger. “I’ve got a pool out back. Wanna join me for a swim?”

  “Love to, but I don’t have a suit.”

  She eased closer and tilted back her head. “Does it matter?” she said softly.

  An eyebrow arched. “Not if you don’t mind.”

  “Does it look like I do?”

  Jeff shook his head and laughed. “Dayum, girl, you move fast.”

  She walked a finger up his brick wall of a chest. “Let’s have some fun.”

  When the woman of the house turned, Jeff barely suppressed an edgy growl. She’d come on strong, and it looked like he was about to get some mighty fine tail. “Just to make things clear…” he began, not moving until she halted at the door.

  Her head craned to glance back.

  “You don’t have a mister who’s gonna come slammin’ through the door, do you?”

  “I’m a little insulted,” she said, although her smile said she lied. “I’m single. Completely free to make up my own mind about what I want. I want to swim.”

  She turned, and her curvy behind gave a sassy bounce as she walked away. Pert, round globes lifted one at a time, and his mouth filled with drool. Casey was going to be mad as hell he hadn’t been the one to take Mr. Johnson’s service call. The old man had tapped him on the shoulder just as Jeff was putting away his tools to tell him that the pretty neighbor lady was “desperate” for help. And would he mind coming to her rescue?

  Pamela hardly looked the desperate type, but she’d been all over him since she’d opened the door. He wondered about that. Pretty blonde, tanned and toned body, soft brown eyes a man could fall into—and a lush, pouty mouth that turned a man’s dick to stone. Why the hell would she want a guy like him? But he wasn’t stupid. If she was bored or horny and needed a playmate for the afternoon, he was there.

  He wiped his wet hand on a towel and followed Pamela down the hallway. “Nice to meet you, by the way,” he called after her, grinning.

  “Nice to meet you too, Jeff.” She gave him a flirty glance over her shoulder and reached into a closet for a couple of large towels. “We’ll want to dry off afterward.”

  The way her Texas drawl dragged over the words had his balls tightening. He took them from her, and she indicated with a crook of a finger that he should follow.

  If he’d had a tail, it would have wagged.

  She walked sedately, the short, strappy sandals she wore clicking on the hardwood flooring. She had nice, long legs to go with the grade-A prime ass. In fact, there wasn’t anything he’d seen yet that he didn’t admire. Nothing about her appearance was overtly sexy, but her mid-thigh-length skirt swished, drawing his attention like a red flag waved in a bull’s face. He gusted a hot breath through his nostrils and kept a few paces back to enjoy the view.

  She opened a slatted door onto the patio and stepped into the sunshine. It glinted on her soft, silver-blonde hair. There was a split second of doubt reflected in her eyes as she glanced back, but she firmed her mouth into a carefree smile and continued on.

  So maybe she wasn’t as much of a player as she wanted to seem. He liked her all the more for it.

  The patio was enclosed with a stone wall. The pool looked like something that belonged on a tropical island—kidney-shaped with flagstones surrounding it, and a rock waterfall at one end with large, smooth boulders for sunbathing. “Nice setup,” he said, dropping the towels onto a chaise lounge.

  “Swimming’s the only exercise I enjoy. So I splurged. I keep it heated in the winter months.” She stepped out of her sandals.

  When her hands crossed and reached for the bottom hem of her blouse, he held his breath. She pulled it up, past bare breasts that were round and full and tipped with pink nipples. He let out a soft whistle. “Nice.”

  She dropped the shirt on the ground and arched a brow, seemingly not the least bit embarrassed to be half nude. He didn’t wait for a second hint. He peeled his own tee over his head then sat on the edge of the chaise to untie his work boots.

  When his feet were bare, he glanced up. Her body was nude and turned away. Creamy tan everywhere except for a thin stripe that disappeared between her buttocks. She stood on the edge of the pool and dove into the water.

  His hands shook a bit as he shoved off his jeans and underwear. He padded to the side, hopping into the water, then strode straight for her.

  She leaned back, ducking her head, then skimmed the moisture off her face and glanced his way. She gave a little laugh, and he wondered if he wore his lust on his face.

  “Told you I’m not shy,” she said softly. But there was a glint of determination in her gaze, as though she was bolstering her own confidence to be this bold.

 

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