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CHAPTERONE
John
I runmy hand along the smooth wood, admiring the grain.
There's nothing like a completed job. Some people might say I'm too much of a perfectionist about what I do, but the magic is in the details, and I'm the kind of person who wants to make sure the job is done right the first time.
Carpentry is my passion. Ever since I was a young boy, I was always right by my uncle's side with a hammer and a toolbox. I looked up to my Uncle Dave like he was the father I never had.
Actually, I guess he was. The man raised me and taught me everything he knew, and now at the ripe age of thirty, I've been able to build my own business and become my own boss. I finally have the freedom to take on the projects I want to do and pass on the ones I don't, and I take pride in my work.
I like making things beautiful. Sure, the bones of a place are important, but it's the detailing and all those finishing touches that make a house sparkle. The crown molding, the carvings around a doorway, built-in bookcases. All that shit is my jam.
I pack up my toolbox and wipe my brow.
I just moved into this place. I purposefully got something that I could renovate because I love the challenge. I work all day and then come home and take my time on transforming this place, trying to make myself something I've never had before.
A home.
Just as I'm about to head out to my shop out back, I hear a knock on the door. I look through the peephole and stop dead in my tracks when I see the most beautiful little angel I've ever laid eyes on standing on my porch.
Christ, is this girl even legal? She can't be much out of her teens, but fucking hell, please let her be at least eighteen because if she's not, I should be shot with the thoughts I'm having about her.
My eyes sweep over the long blonde hair cascading down her back and jade green eyes that seem to look right through me. She's wearing a tight red dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
"Can I help you?" I ask, my voice gruff.
"I saw your sign outside," she says, her voice soft and sweet. "I'm looking for some custom shelving for my home office."
I blink. Home office? Relief floods my chest. Then, she must at least be eighteen.
"Sure thing, sweetheart, and just what do you do?"
She smiles up at me. "I'm a writer."
I blink again. "A writer? Wow. Anything I might have read?"
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink before she bites her bottom lip and glances down. "Probably not."
I can feel my heart racing in my chest. There's something about this woman that has me completely captivated. I try to play it cool, but I can't help the way I feel.
"Why don't you come in, and we can discuss your project?"
She smiles at me, and my knees go weak. As she steps inside, I catch a whiff of her scent. I assume it's perfume, but it could just be her. She smells sweet and innocent—like ripe berries.
It's making me dizzy.
We sit down at my desk, and I take out my notebook and pen. She starts telling me about her home office, but I'm barely listening. All I can do is stare, mesmerized, at the way her lips move.
Imagine the way they would feel under my own...
How they would feel wrapped around my cock...
"Are you okay?" she asks, looking at me with concern.
I shake my head. "How old are you?"
She blinks at the suddenness of the question before she answers, "Almost nineteen."
