After losing her husband to a drunk driver, Cynthia Lyon thought she’d begun to get a handle on living alone, until she found a leak in her roof. Remembering how a dishonest contractor had swindled them, she creates a contract that would have most men running for the hills.
After a disappointing response from a recommended construction outfit, Cynthia gives Jenkins and Sons a call. Enter, Caleb Jenkins, a young, good looking fellow who seems more than willing to take on her and her contract. A third generation building contractor, he agrees to fix the roof, plus add a room, all according to an agreed upon schedule. There’s just one tiny clause that worries him, if he doesn’t keep to this schedule, he’ll be punished. What begins as a simple construction job, quickly turns into much, much more.
Was he watching? She didn’t know for sure, but she hoped so and performed as if he were. Sliding her fingers under the hem, she touched the soft, damp curls hidden just beneath. There were no panties to deter her and he’d know that now, if he were looking. Without looking toward the door, she rose from the bed and unfastened the button and zipper at the back of her skirt. It was tight so skimming out of it took some wriggling and pushing, which she accentuated. When it dropped to the floor, she was naked from just below her hipbones. The stiff, black leather corset contrasted sharply with the pale flesh of her lower belly and the swell of her hips. She folded the skirt and dropped it on the bed. A smile played at the corners of her mouth and she turned away from the door, not wanting him to see her grin.
Was he watching?
She prayed he was.
She ran her hands over her breasts, lifting them, squeezing the leather-cupped mounds. Her head fell back and she ground her hips into the air. She smelled herself, her musk, her excitement and the leather. Languidly, she trailed her hands down her sides, feeling the ribs beneath the hide. Lower still until her palms met flesh, her hips and around to the soft swell of her ass. She spread her legs and rolled her hips, enticingly—provocatively.
Reaching up under her arm, she snagged the zipper tab and pulled. The corset sagged, then fell away. She caught it as it dropped toward the floor and tossed it on the bed with the skirt. Her skin was cold and damp in the sudden freedom. She massaged her breasts, naked and soft, her nipples taut against her palm. The soft swell filled her palms. Shivering, she spun toward the glass door.
He was there. His mouth hung open. One hand held the shovel, the other was on his crotch. The front of his joggers tented toward her, held by his tight grip. It took him a moment to realize she’d caught him. When he did, he blushed beet-red and turned away. The shovel landed in the dirt. Bending to pick it up, he glanced her way again, as if to see if she’d really been watching him.
She was.
