Nailed

by Jennifer Laurens

  Mandy rolled her eyes. “Hard to believe he can read a blueprint, isn’t it?”

  A.J. came back with Esquire under his arm. Larry stole a look at the cover, then grabbed an extra chair and brought it to a corner of the table. “No For Men Only?” he asked.

  “Ew,” Mandy shuddered. “Not over lunch. Please.”

  “Now we’re talking.” Marc piped, then slugged fists with Larry across the table.

  A.J. sat, spread the magazine open on his thigh, and reached for his sandwich, settling in.

  “What’re these?” Marc held his sandwich poised and ready, was eyeing the greenery poking out of the sandwich. “Green thingies.”

  “Green olives,” Mandy said. “They’re good for you.

  Eat them.” To her right, Boston let out a laugh. “What?”

  “This coming from you?” He reached over, and when he did, his shoulder pressed heat into her arm. He lifted the top of her sandwich.

  “I’ve got plenty of greenery,” she tossed back.

  “There’s olives in here – green olives. See?”

  When he chewed, the bones in his jaw pressed against tan, taut skin. Mandy now knew it was possible to look totally hot while eating. She could tell he didn’t agree with her about greenery and health, but was cool with her opinion. Marc’s cheeks were stuffed like a hamster’s, the edges of his muffelatta gone. Larry was halfway through a personal pan quiche and A.J.

  had finished his ham and cheese and was deep into his magazine.

  “Only problem with this place,” Marc’s mouth moved the food inside like an open washing machine,

  “there’s not enough.” After stuffing the last piece in, his gaze latched on Mandy’s plate.

  She made a grab for it too late. He snagged the second half of her muffelatta with a wicked grin.

  “Hey!”

  His mouth closed over the sandwich like a raptor’s.

  Mandy picked up a chip and threw it at him. “What?” he complained. “You still have a piece of cheesecake.” With another bite, the muffelatta disappeared. “In fact,” he sputtered between chews, “don’t mind if I do.”

  Mandy slapped his hand back and held the slice of cheesecake out of his reach. “I need energy.”

  “For what?” Marc choked out a laugh. “It doesn’t take much to shoot a nail gun.”

  “I’ve secured the whole main floor,” she protested.

  “When we get back, I’m going up.” Fork poised to cut into the creamy cheesecake she pointed the tines at him. “I am.”

  Marc threw back the last of his drink. “My breath’s gonna stink now after that thing.” He made a face at her.

  “I have a social life to consider. Nobody’s gonna get near me after the onions and salami I just ate.”

  “They wouldn’t get near you anyway,” she bit out, still simmering. Boston was trying not to look like he was listening to their petty argument. A.J. was too engrossed in Esquire to notice and Larry was, as always, clueless.

  “So we on for later?” Marc crumpled his napkin into a ball and tossed it at Larry to get his attention. “You, me?”

  Larry picked up his now empty plate and licked it.

  Even Marc’s eyes bulged. Boston looked itchy from the inside out and shook his head. Mandy almost laughed.

  “Liked that, eh, Lar?” Mandy asked.

  “Pretty good.” Larry set the plate down. “I never had quiche before.”

  “Now you’re a real man,” Mandy teased. “You can use it for your opening line tonight. ‘Hey, I’m Larry and I eat quiche. Wanna dance?’”

  Larry shrugged then leaned back in the chair, both arms out in a stretch that almost broke his face in two.

  “Don’t dance, so that’d be impossible.”

  “Oh, but you eat quiche? Cool guys dance.” Mandy speared her last bite of cheesecake. “Girls like that.”

  “I’m not into girls.” Larry leaned forward, plunked his elbows on the table and shook out his hair like a wet dog shakes off water. “I’m into women.”

  Mandy rolled her eyes as she chewed the last bite of cheesecake.

  “You’ve never seen anything like it, swear.” There was awe in Marc’s voice. “The guy just baits em, hooks

  ‘em and plops em right into the frying pan.”

  Mandy scowled. “You’re a dork comparing women to a meal.”

  “Might as well,” Larry’s laugh was wicked. “The way I—”

  “Don’t even go there.” Mandy held up a hand and closed her eyes on a shudder.

  Marc landed a hard pat to Larry’s shoulder. “That’s why I’m watching.” He pointed to Larry. “Teacher.” Then pointed to himself. “Student.”

  “I’m not sure you should watch him do anything, now that I know he doesn’t dance.” Mandy reached for her Pepsi.

  “I only dance in the sheets,” Larry grinned.

  “The only place that counts.” Marc lifted his fist and met Larry’s.

  “Don’t you guys ever think about anything else?”

  Mandy made her disgust obvious in her tone. Marc and Larry looked at each other.

  “No.” They said the word in unison, then laughed.

  Mandy glanced at Boston for a read. He looked embarrassed and ready to flee. At least he wasn’t agreeing with these two.

  “We ready to go now?” Boston was clearly trying to change the subject.

  “You guys have to stop talking like that, you’re making Boston uncomfortable.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Have some respect for our resident monk.”

  She waited for his eyes to meet hers.

  When they did, something flickered—warning, want—she wasn’t sure, but the corner of his jaw twitched, and he glanced at where she touched him. Her hand melted away, somehow made it to her lap. She wasn’t aware of the electric silence now at the table, too fixed on his face. On trying to figure out what he was thinking.

  Suddenly, she felt like she was under a microscope.

  One sweep around the table and she found everybody watching. Even A.J., his green eyes locked her from over the top the Esquire magazine.

  “New bet,” Marc announced, eyes bright with mischief.

  Mandy straightened, flustered. To her right, Boston hadn’t moved, like her touch had turned him into a statue. “Yeah?” her voice cracked. “What’s that?”

  “Bucks on how long Boston stays celibate.” Marc dug out his wallet.

  Boston sat forward, shaking his head. His hands, Mandy noted, those gorgeous long fingers, shook even though he was trying to hide them in a clasp. “No. No way.”

  “Why not?” Larry pulled out a wad of bills held together with a paperclip.

  “Because I’m not…I don’t want—”

  “Course you don’t. That’s what I’m betting on, man.” Marc pulled out a five dollar bill. Larry whistled.

  “We each pick the number of days we think it’ll take before Charlie here breaks. Winner gets the pot when he does.”

  “I’m in,” Larry said. “I’ve seen this guy. He’s…I don’t know what he is, superman or something. Nobody’s gonna crack the wall around that guy’s libido.”

  “Guys,” Boston’s voice had a thread of pleading that wound hot and fast through Mandy’s system. “Forget it.”

  “Don’t think you can do it?” Mandy taunted Boston.

  She couldn’t help it, he was adorable vulnerable. So cute, dipping his head, tapping his fingers, shifting in that seat as if he had a cockroach in his boxers. And those eyes, frustrated when they slid over to hers. Aw.

  She wanted to pat his cheek and tell him everything was going to be just fine.

  “I can do it.” His eyes held hers.

  “Sure you can.” Smiling, A.J. set down his magazine and reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

  “No temptations now, guys,” Mandy chided. A.J.

  took out a dollar. “You have to play fair.”

  “Course we will,” Marc’s teeth flashed. “Just like we a
lways do.”

  For a moment Boston hid behind his hands. He shook his head, let out a groan. “I’m not going to any bars or clubs,” he said, dragging his hands down his face. “And none of your crap, Larry.”

  “Course not.” Marc’s brows wagged. “We’ll just let nature take its course. A.J., you be the keeper of the bets and the cash.” He grabbed four napkins, pulled a pen out of his back pocket and wrote on it before folding it and handing it to A.J. Then he handed out the remaining napkins to Larry, A.J. and Mandy. “Aren’t you in, Mand?”

  Mandy bit her lower lip. Four pairs of eyes locked on her all at once. What’s a girl to do? She looked at Boston.

  What was that expression? Curiosity. Daring. Mortification.

  And something else, like if she put her money on the bet, it’d be over. Only she wasn’t sure what it was.

  She snatched the napkin out of Marc’s hand and dug through her purse for a pen.

  chapter five

  The guys were spread out, securing the last sections of plywood flooring on the second floor. Mandy had no intention of staying below shooting off nails one more minute. Since they’d be starting to erect the walls soon, she carried six-by-fours up to the second level and laid them out so they’d be ready.

  Larry had brought a boombox and it sat blasting hard rock. The band was crass, raunchy and too loud, but Mandy knew better than to say something. Apprentices had to keep their mouths shut about incidentals or they’d find themselves off the job.

  Still, she wished she’d brought her iPod.

  After her tenth haul toting the long pieces of wood over her left shoulder, her body started to weep. Only A.J.

  and Boston had bothered looking over every now and then at her, she’d seen their heads turn out the corner of her eye but didn’t acknowledge them, too afraid of appearing like she was looking for help.

  Sweat beaded along her forehead, dribbled down her spine and her chest. How she wished she could rip off her shirt and jeans so there was nothing between her and the air but her underwear. She hoisted a four-by-six over her shoulder and headed up again.

  Once they’d gotten back from lunch, the guys had stripped down to the bare minimum: shorts and tool belts. Their muscles shifted and gleamed under the hot afternoon sun. Mandy’s throat was parched just looking at the lot of them: bronzed backs, chests, arms and legs reaching, bending, lifting – working to the limit.

  The piece of wood fell from her shoulder to the floor in a thud. So caught up in the tanned vision of masculinity in movement, she didn’t take into account that the pieces might topple and roll until too late. The wood tumbled onto her toes.

  “Ouch!” She hopped back, favoring the injured foot.

  Flushed, she limped away, cursing beneath her breath that she’d been distracted and stupid.

  “You okay there, baby doll?”

  Both A.J. and Boston stopped and were looking over. She waved. “Yeah, fine. Thanks.”

  Just what I don’t need, she thought, starting back down the makeshift stairs. For Marc to have any excuse to fire her. She’s not strong enough, not tough enough, not capable. Frustration had her hauling two pieces this time. Her jeans stuck to her legs, her bangs to her forehead. Air puffed in and out of her chest as she climbed the stairs, balancing the long planks. Underneath her leather gloves, her palms were soaked.

  This time she let out a furious groan and tossed the wood like a javelin into the already existing pile. Seething, she stood frozen a moment. After that growl, they’d all stopped, and now they were staring at her. Sweat dripped in her eyes, burned and ran in streams down her arms and neck. Breath heaved in and out like she’d just run a marathon. They wanted tough? She’d show them tough.

  Marc’s lips curled. “Glad to see you’re finally working.”

  She bared her teeth at him, fingers curling. How she’d love to have aimed that throw at his gut and knocked him over. Larry let out a snicker and went back to work. Make that two, Mandy thought, fantasizing about spearing a piece at Larry as well. A.J.’s green eyes were sharp, glancing at Marc before turning back to her.

  “You need a hand, you let me know, baby doll.”

  “No hand needed, but thanks, A.J.” Mandy swiped her forehead.

  A.J. hammered in the final piece of flooring.

  Boston’s dark eyes seemed to simmer, his body was tight as if he was ready to pounce on Marc. The sight sucked the anger right out of Mandy, replacing it with a fast bolt of admiration. She couldn’t enjoy it, not in front of Marc, but she wanted Boston to know she appreciated him siding with her, even if he did it silently.

  She gave him a sharp nod, turned and headed back downstairs. Her muscles quivered. Rock music pounded through the structure, shaking the house frame with the beat. Brash, hard lyrics and screaming guitar licks drove more frustration through her, but the image of Boston, steaming and powerful standing there ready to rip into Marc created a delicious craving low inside of her that intensified with every pound of the drum.

  Her mind rolled images of him on his knees at her feet, his crown of dark hair glistening in the sun. Then his face tipped up and his black eyes locked on hers in that way that turned her legs to noodles.

  Wood. Dirt. Sweat. The scents mixed, heated and created an intoxicating elixir. She reached for three more pieces of wood and set them on her shoulder just as another image flashed: Her back pressed into the framed wall and Boston coming for her, the tools in his belt clinking, the sweat on his body shimmering through that panther walk of his.

  She had to stop this. Climb, she told herself, taking the stairs up. Desire swam like a thousand currents out of control in her blood. He was back at work, thankfully.

  She’d probably have plunged a foot through the makeshift stairs if he’d been watching her.

  Are you kidding yourself? He’s not going to watch you with that bet going on. Now, more than ever, he’d be distant, bent on proving he could withstand anything even remotely feminine.

  Mandy dropped the wood in the pile and chewed her lip. He had his back to her, bent over as he crouched down with A.J., the two of them fitting and hammering.

  The long curve of his spine was quite lovely, she thought, admiring the soft, ridged bones of ribs veiled by strong muscle. What was wrong with her? She knew anatomy.

  So why was every detail of the male body suddenly very apparent? She was ashamed that she couldn’t just look—

  she was staring.

  Perturbed, she climbed back down the stairs and headed for her water bottle. The temperature was reaching beyond ninety-five. Mix that with her over-zealous libido and it might as well be one hundred and twenty degrees. Something had to give.

  After guzzling half the bottle, she let out an, “Ah,”

  lifted the hem of her tee shirt and swiped her face. She didn’t care about exposing her stomach and bra, the guys were still upstairs. Tomorrow she’d bring a towel, she decided, moving the blue tee shirt down her face nice and slow so she every last bit of sweat was gone. Then she opened her eyes.

  Boston stood at the base of the stairs.

  Her heart tapped against her ribs. She pulled her tee shirt into place. As if it didn’t matter that he’d come down and caught her with her shirt up, she took another drink from the water bottle.

  When he neared, his sweat and scent overtook hers.

  Mandy licked her lips. He bent over, grabbed his water bottle from the cooler and twisted off the lid, his brown eyes locked on hers.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Her insides trembled along with her overworked muscles. “Fine.” She tilted her head back to drink what was left in her bottle, mortified when nothing came.

  The corners of his mouth turned up just enough to cause her to blush. He held out his icy bottle to her.

  She shook her head. He drank, and her eyes widened watching the rhythmic up and down motion of his throat as he consumed the water. He closed his eyes, bliss, satisfaction, and pleasure on his face.

 
; Mandy blinked and found his dark gaze once again with hers. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “It’s good that you stand up for yourself.”

  “I always stand up for myself,” she said.

  “I can tell that about you.” He tilted his head back in another long drink, and again she watched his tanned throat shift. A flash of dark hair peeked out from underneath his lifted armpit, and she bit her lip.