“Ok, first I am going to contact Delilah and see if she has the number for “Handy Men” because I have some things I just know they can take care of.” ~ 5 Stars and TOP PICK!, Night Owl Reviews“Delilah Devlin’s stories are always fun, entertaining and totally hot. Bringing together unsuspecting people is what she does best. No one even can come close. Grab the lounge chair, put on some SPF 40 and spend some time with her sexy, sweaty and provocative playmates. You won’t regret it!!” ~ 4 Cherries, Long and Short Reviews
“Ms. Devlin has eroticism dripping from the pages of HANDY MEN!… HANDY MEN is sexy, sizzling and sinfully good!” ~ Joyfully Reviewed
“HANDY MEN packs a lot of punch with very few pages. The characters are three dimensional, well developed and their sexual encounters are off the charts.” ~ Lynette’s Two Cents
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 handy man.
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.
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?” 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?”
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?”
Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors’ blogs:
Megan Hart:Read in bed!
Mandy M Roth