Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(73)

“Why in the world would you refuse to be a partner? You’re not even thirty, for God’s sake; that’s incredible to get an offer like that! Although we’re getting close to the big three oh, can you imagine? Thank God I’m getting married before then, I can’t imagine being over thirty and not being married—”

“Hey! Focus up—we’re talking about my day. And what the hell, I didn’t say I was going to refuse. And what the hell, Mimi, who gets married before they’re thirty anymore? Besides, I’m three years away from being thirty! And what the hell is in my driveway?” I yelled, swinging wide before I plowed right into . . .“Let me call you back.”

I hung up the phone. Because in my driveway was a white Mercedes convertible. With a red bow on it. What the actual f*ck?

I parked the van, hurried up the walkway, opened the door, hurdled over a sawhorse like an Olympian, and dashed into the kitchen. Where I found Simon, on a ladder. Faded jeans. No shirt. Tool belt.

“Um, what’s that in our driveway?” I asked. He turned in slow motion, it seemed, and I noticed for the millionth time just how stunning he was. Sculpted arms, broad shoulders, dipping down to that sweet spot just above his bum. And a six-pack that, when he was really worked up, gave up a seven and eight as well. And then that V on either side that just seemed to slip into those jeans.

“Well, it was the funniest thing,” he started, climbing down off the ladder and setting down his belt sander. He gave great sander. “I was watching you drive off today in that ridiculous van and I thought, my girl needs some wheels.”

“So you bought me a car?” I asked, confused. Brain was not liking some of these words, but every other part of me was liking the walking sex coming right at me.

I couldn’t let him just buy me a car, could I? Oooh, he’s walking.

He crossed to me, slowly, and I walked backward as he advanced. Before I knew it, I was up against the wall. With a shirtless Wallbanger inches from me.

Now, for the record, when I went vaulting into the house, I was pretty sure what was going on. And what he’d obviously done. And I was pretty sure I was pissed.

Remember that.

Now think about how good he must have looked to make me forget how pissed I was.

“If you don’t like the color, we can go down and pick out another one,” he said, now only one inch from me. I could feel the heat from his body begin to penetrate mine. Penetrate? Yes, please.

But wait, he can’t just buy me a car!

“Yeah, you can’t just, just buy me a, ummm,” I breathed, my words getting fuzzy as he leaned into me. There was so much tension in my body I was starting to vibrate like a tuning fork.

“Yes, I can just buy you a car. It’s a gift—get over it,” he replied, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t understand why I was giving him shit about this. And at that very moment, I couldn’t tell you why either.

I’d never gone this long without having sex with Simon, not when he was in town. It was starting to get to me. And he smelled so good!

“But a car, Simon? I . . . uh . . . what is that cologne?”

“It’s polyurethane.”

“They should bottle that shit,” I breathed, my voice going husky.

“It comes in a can.”

“It’s really working for you,” I moaned as he dipped his head down and dragged his tongue right up my neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, burying one hand in my hair.

“Did you do this on purpose? This whole handyman fantasy? The tool belt? The abs? The—holy f*ck.” I gasped when he took my hand and pressed it against his . . . drill bit.

“You came home early,” he explained, thrusting into my hand. “I like early.”

“Lucky me.” I sighed and dropped my head back against the wall. He took this to be a green light, because within seconds my shirt was ripped, my skirt was pushed up, and he’d wrapped my legs around his tool belt. “I liked that shirt,” I protested.

“You really care?” he asked, slipping his fingers underneath the lace of my panties. Slippery already, and he moaned at the first touch.

“Not really.” I marveled at his strength; I always had. The idea of being actually wall banged always seemed impossible to me. Until Simon. He was strong without being beefcake. And he could carry my body around like I weighed next to nothing, when that wasn’t the case at all.

“How much do you care about these?” he asked, tugging on the waistband.

“One guess.” I smirked.

Off.

And then we were off.

We were half naked on the stairs, where he made me walk in front of him. We were lying on the floor, half in and half out of the bedroom. We were on the window seat, highlighted against the bay window.

We were hanging off the edge of the blow-up bed when a particularly powerful thrust made the bed blow up and poof to bits all around us.

And when I rose above him, sliding him inside deep and thick and heavy and oh so deep, my orgasm rocketed through me, bursting behind my eyelids and tingling through my skin, and every single part of me cried out as he grinned from underneath me, saying, “There’s my sweet girl.”

I exploded again and again, our bodies soaked with sweat and gleaming as I rode him hard and fast, his voice now bellowing his own release. I slumped down across him, panting heavily. He lifted his face to mine, kissed me deeply, and before he coaxed my head back down into the nook, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Don’t ever shut me out again like that, you hear me?”