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Fuck my life.
“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside or maybe in back working on your tan by the pool?”
She snorts and her pretty pink lips turn up at the corners. “Yeah? Is that what you’ve seen rich people do on television shows? I’m not rich you know. He is.” She points at her daddy’s little sports car.
“You’re his daughter. Doesn’t that mean that you’re rich too?”
“Depends, I guess. In my case…no.”
“Maybe you should go on in the house,” I say, holding my breath. I want her to go in. And yet I don’t. Her sweet floral scent is a million times better than smelling the oily-greasy scent of fresh asphalt.
“Why?” She asks me, her head cocked to the side.
Huffing out a breath, I glare at her. “You really need to stop asking me questions. Get on out of here.”
Before I bend you over and paddle your pretty ass.
As soon as the thought pops in my head, I grind my teeth when I think about all the other guys hanging around and staring at her.
She winks at me. “Fine. I’ll go for now. But I’ll be back.”
I drag in a deep breath, watching her walk away, her full ass swaying back and forth. Her body is a beautiful thing. But that doesn’t mean that she’s mine. Just because she talked to me. I don’t think so. She’s too young for me. And then there’s the fact that she’s the client’s daughter.
Yeah, that’s an even bigger problem.
CHAPTER2
Lily
There’s something to be said for a guy who’s good with his hands. I’ve been sitting at the window of the front hall for at least an hour this morning. It’s fascinating watching these guys work. I’ve never seen men so comfortable with hot black stuff and big machines. But even with how interesting it is. They don’t hold my attention. It’s locked on the big man in charge.
Not that he flaunts it. No. He’s quiet and in control. He doesn’t scream and yell but it doesn’t matter. They all look to him. If he smiles, they all smile and whistle. But if he’s frowning and he begins pacing around…every last one of them is locked on him, watching and waiting for him to come to them. Maybe with a solution. Maybe with a cutting word. But nobody ever has anything bad to say. You can tell they respect the hell out of him.
His light-brown hair shines in the sun when he pulls his hat off, to wipe the sweat off of his tanned brow with his shirt sleeve. His face is so tanned that it literally is about the darkest shade of brown you can get. And his eyes. Oh my god! His eyes are the lightest shade of silver and they gleam like a quarter when he turns his eyes on you. Bright and shiny. But there’s also something hidden in them. Something dark and scary. Or maybe scary isn’t the word. It doesn’t scare me. My heart beats out of control when he gets that strange look in his eyes. It makes my clit jump in my pussy.
It makes me want him. I’ve had my mother try and set me up with every society twit she can find and none of them make me feel like that guy did.
And I don’t even know his name. But I’m gonna find out.
I moan when he pulls his heavy shirt off and he’s left in a t-shirt stained with black that he lifts up to wipe the dirt off his face again. His stomach. Thick slabs of addominal muscles twitch and ripple with every one of his movements. His arm muscles bulge and roll when he points to something for one of the other guys.
And when he turns around? His taut ass in those plain work pants flexes and bunches. He’s so beautiful he could literally make a girl cry and go down on her knees for him.
My mind drifts when I think about dropping to my knees in front of him and tugging at the thick leather belt that he has an old cell phone clipped to.
Not that he seems to give a shit that his phone is old. I don’t think he cares about having the hottest new gadgets. Not like the guys I’ve met.
About ten o’clock he hollers at the others and they all head for a patch of shade wherever they can find it. He hauls that gorgeous ass of his over to his truck and climbs up, opening the window and grabbing a thermos, pouring something hot into the lid.
He shouldn’t be drinking something hot. I’ve got something a lot better for him.
So I run to the kitchen and smile at the housekeeper/cook. She shoots me a skeptical look. “What are you up to, Miss Lily?”
One innocent smile tossed her way doesn’t deflect her suspicion…just ramps it up and she turns with her hands on her thin hips. Her firm lips twist and she stares at me even harder.
“Miss Lily?”
Huffing with annoyance, I grab the lemonade pitcher out of the fridge. “Alright, fine. I was just going to take the guy in charge a drink. He looks like he’s….” I can’t find the right damn word without saying the only one that I know will make me flush redder than a fire engine. The curse of pale skin and red hair.
