Bare Ass in Love
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright © 2017 Sasha Burke
Book Summary
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Also by Sasha Burke
About the Author
BARE ASS IN LOVE
* * *
the
HARD, FAST,
and FOREVER
series
Copyright © 2017 Sasha Burke
Content Editor: J.P. Editing
Copy/Line Editor & Proofreader: Vivienne Adams
Proofreader: Deaton Author Services
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, businesses, events, or places is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of all brand products referred to in this book without the ™ or ® symbols due to formatting constraints. Contents of this book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used for review purposes.
This book contains mature language and content, intended for reading audiences 18+.
Previously published under the title SHOW ME YOURS. Story content remains unchanged. Copyright amended to reflect new title in 2018.
BOOK SUMMARY
The woman's killing me.
I'm not the kind of man who would normally even consider blurring the lines between landlord and tenant or boss and employee, but Summer is a walking temptation. Neurotic and obsessive-as-hell when it comes to work details, but a damn cute-without-knowing-it temptation nevertheless.
She's been a good tenant and an even better worker. Plus, she doesn't simper or throw herself at me like a lot of women who find out my net worth. I've grown...fond of her, oddly enough.
But if she drags my ass out of bed in the middle of the night to talk about work one more time...
* * * * *
The man's a saint.
Not only did Jason hire me for the greatest project I've ever run point on, but he also let me move into an amazing loft in his building as an extravagant job-relocation perk. Sure, he can be a grouch when I accidentally wake him up to go over the project, but he's still a saint nevertheless.
He's been a fantastic boss and a surprisingly protective landlord. But...when did his shoulders get so wide? And why is that growling voice of his making me all weak in the knees lately?
Also, is it still considered morning wood if it happens in the middle of the night...or something more?
* * * * *
NOTE:
This high-heat, low-drama standalone is a fast-paced dirty rom-com chock-full of HOT, swoony, feel-good fun. Contents include: A gruff blue-collar billionaire and feisty tomboy heroine. Lots of schmexy good times and steamy romance throughout. And of course, a sweet, melty HEA. No cheating. No cliffhanger. Enjoy!
* * * * *
The HARD, FAST, AND FOREVER Series
- Book 1: Bare Ass in Love (Jason & Summer)
- Book 2: Hard Ass in Love (Logan & Nicole)
- Book 3: Gruff Ass in Love (Cade & Katelyn)
* * * * *
***Previously titled Show Me Yours – same fun story, just with a fresh title/cover makeover***
To Heather
for Daisy.
1
* * *
| JASON |
MONDAY
(Time: 1:53 a.m.)
I kick off the sheets and glare at my alarm clock. It’s still fucking dark out and I know that knock. It’s the same frenzied little knock she’s done every other time she’s gotten me up at a ridiculous hour.
After a month and a half of this, you’d think I’d be used to dragging my ass out of bed in the middle of the night because my construction manager is losing her shit over some detail of a job. Doesn’t keep me from being grouchy as hell over it though.
I jerk open the door to find her standing there. Summer Davis. Yes, she’s every damn bit as pretty as her name.
Per usual, her hair is in a messy bun with a couple of pencils stuck in it. And per usual for this hour, she’s flushed and out of breath from her run up the four flights of stairs to get here.
With the elevator access to my penthouse floor automatically redirecting the rider back down to the lobby for clearance from the front desk, and Summer somehow managing to convince my night manager to risk early retirement by waking me up over a half dozen times her first two weeks after moving in, I decided to just give the woman her own security access code to get onto my floor via the fire escape stairwell.
She’s now accessed it so many times my building security doesn’t even bother to check with me after she codes in anymore. They assure me that they watch her on their monitors until I let her in though.
Mostly for non-security reasons, I’m sure.
Meaning they’re probably zoomed in on her heaving chest right now.
I cut a dark look up at the snowglobe surveillance cam bolted to the ceiling near the elevator and almost crack a grin when the electronic eyeball instantly whirs into motion, jerking to a new vantage angle as far away from my front door as possible.
Miracle of miracles, at least tonight she’s got on something other than those white button-down men’s shirts she wears to sleep—and more often than not, goes down to the lobby to sign for UPS deliveries in…sans anything underneath but panties.
I know for a fact that my security guards used to love calling her down for deliveries as late as they could, hoping like a bunch of pervs that she’d come down without remembering to throw on a pair of shorts first.
Firing two otherwise reliable security guards for ogling her ass as she struggled with some boxes is probably the reason why none of my workers enjoy getting deliveries for her anymore.
So yeah, in comparison, the yoga pants and loose tank-top showing most of her sports bra is a marked improvement. Sort of. As long as she doesn’t turn sideways and inadvertently flash me that tiny little, distractingly sexy birthmark on her—
Hell. Too late.
Distractingly. Sexy.
The woman’s killing me.
Normally, I’m not the kind of man who would even consider blurring the line between tenant and landlord or boss and employee, but Summer is a goddamn walking temptation. And if she were even remotely aware that her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her bra and saying hi to me right now, I’d be pissed as hell that she was making me rethink my own rules.
“Summer,” I finally manage to grit out in a barely civil growl. “It’s two in the friggin’ morning. Can’t it wait until at least sunrise for a change?”
She frowns in that cute, confused way she does when she realizes the rest of the city is sleeping like she should be. “Oh. Sorry, boss. I guess I can come back in a few hours—”
I close the door before she can say the “but” I hear waiting in the wings, hoping like hell she won’t take the “sunrise” suggestion literally.
2
* * *
| JASON |
MONDAY
(Time: 4:21 a.m.)
I head to the front door and pull it open midway through her second round of knocks.
She’s standing on the doorstep, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Almost impossibly chipper. Chased of course with her usual dose of excessive and usually unnecessary worry over whatever is racing through her thoughts right now.
“’Morning, boss.” She flashes me a hasty but genuine smile and promptly hands me a large paper cup of what smells more like sugary liquefied hazelnut than coffee. Where on earth she went to get fancy coffee to go at this hour, I don’t even want to know. I’ll check with my security folks later. For now, I take the cup and leave it on the table in the foyer. I’m not ready for coffee. I’m not even dressed.
She steps over the threshold, grabbing the abandoned cup to take a quick gulp—like she needs more caffeine—before she says in a rush, “So I had some things to run by you.”
Maybe it’s because she pulls out an unbelievably over-stuffed folder—one of many in her bag—or and maybe it’s because she did take me literally on the sunrise thing, but I feel perfectly justified in reaching out to put a hand over her mouth to stop her from overloading me with information before my brain has had a chance to wake up.
Her eyes widen the instant my skin touches hers.
Great. At the sound of her breath catching softly in surprise, every muscle in my body is tensed up and ready to go. Now all I can think about is drawing that same gasp from her again, preferably along with my name, as I plunge hard and deep into her wet little—
The way her eyes shoot down south grabs my attention, and I notice she’s looking at the front of the sweatpants I’d had to start wearing to bed after the crazy little insomniac began these invasions of my private sanctuary.
Sure, I’d normally have concealed my morning wood better, but I’m in my own goddamn home, and I’m not some kid who needs to hide the fact that my cock is rock hard from thinking about a beautiful woman.
I am curious about her reaction though.
She’s staring at my hard-on as if I’m some kind of alien who just showed her a third eyeball. As if she’s noticing for the first time ever that I’m a man and she’s a woman. As if she’s never had a man react to her this way before.
Bad idea, dude. Just walk away. Now.
“I need breakfast,” I say, turning and heading into the kitchen. She can follow or not.
She follows.
And thank fuck, she seems to be back to her usual oblivious-to-everything-but-work default because I hear her rattling off what sounds like a long-ass checklist of things on her mind as I take out eggs and a few other things from the fridge. From some issues she foresees coming, to the design details she’d wanted to talk to me about earlier, to some interior construction constraints she’s figuring out, it’s all standard stuff, and I tune in with one ear as I make some food.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when she finally pauses to take another breath.
“No thanks. I already ate,” she says before launching back into an in-depth analysis of our progress on the project.
As always, her attention to detail is impeccable; if only she had nearly as much insight to how much I’d like her to leave right now. It would be nice to just enjoy my once-quiet morning rituals again. But, I get it. This is a big project I handpicked to have her run point on. I know it’ll take time for us to get into a groove that doesn’t drive me up the wall. The important thing is that she’s damn talented, even if her process is damn unorthodox.
I finish making my skillet scramble and sit at the counter to eat while she begins easing into what sounds like the start of a marathon explanation about how the guy we’d been considering for an open position on her project isn’t the best decision, and how she knows a guy who’d be much better suited.
“He’s hired,” I interrupt her, and she pauses, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stares at me.
I calmly take another bite of eggs, studying her as intently as she’s watching me. Does she not realize I trust her opinions on this sort of thing? If she says her guy is better, he’s fucking hired. I wouldn’t have her on the job if I thought she was in any way incompetent.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide, “okay. Thank you.”
She still seems surprised at my response. Has no one ever taken her seriously? So far, she’s been running a tight ship, and even when snags come up, like they always do with any project, she’s been ironing them all out before I have to get involved.
I walk over to put my plate in the sink and she watches me, utterly silent for a refreshing change. The fact that I actually miss hearing her voice, however, makes me think I’m still way too fucking tired to be functional at the moment.
“I’m going to shower,” I inform her then, leaving it to her to see herself out as I walk back toward the master bedroom.
A half a minute later, I’m standing in the shower, under a pulsing spray of hot water when I hear her start talking again.
Okay, I guess she’s staying. And now I’m butt-ass naked and she’s in the doorway of my bathroom, talking about the team and how they’ll love the new hire. Great. Fine. Whatever. The glass shower door is frosted. The woman’s not going to keep me from my shower.
She keeps talking, and I start soaping down, avoiding soaping too far down, just like I avoid the unexpected desire I suddenly have to yank her into the shower with me.
Because that would be bad.
In a so-fucking-good-it’s-bad sort of way.
3
* * *
| SUMMER |
MONDAY
(Time: 5:05 a.m.)
Jason’s in the shower and I’m rifling through my notes to make sure I get through everything I need to talk to him about before we both get slammed like we always do once we get to the jobsite. Seems like these impromptu early morning hours in his penthouse are the only times I can grab a few minutes to hammer out these details with him. So much so it’s become our thing. Over the past month and a half, we’ve had countless productive meetings just like this.
Well…maybe not just like this. His deciding to shower during one of our meetings is new. But then again, I can’t blame him. He’s a billionaire. His time is money. Literally. I read an online article once about how much billionaires make every day. For the new school blue-collar billionaires like Jason, it calculated out to about $5,000 per minute.
So, I totally get it. At five-grand a minute, it’s just good sense for the man to multitask.
Like the other night, when I’d managed to catch him before he was heading to bed after a ridiculously long day for us both, he’d simply turned around and started stripping out of his clothes while I talked, signed the form I needed him to with one hand while pulling back the covers with the other, and muttered for me to turn off the living room lights on my way out about a second before his head hit the pillow.
It’s nice that he’s so casual and blunt with me.
When I’d first discovered that I would be working directly under the new young CEO of Steele Developments International, Jason freaking Steele himself, I had been worried that I’d have to be perfectly coiffed at all times with make-up, heels, pantyhose, the whole nine yards.
And I’d tried that. At first. But then I’d had my first freak-out over a missed deadline.
To be fair, the error wasn’t my fault. Jason had hired me to take over the job after he’d fired the previous project manager—a decision that was absolutely warranted from everything I’ve seen. Heck, the guy’s lucky Jason hadn’t pressed charges. Gross negligence aside, an asshole jeopardizing SDI’s first premiere retirement community project, especially one that Jason is personally bankrolling in honor of his late father, deserves to be in jail if you ask me.
After discovering just how royally my predecessor had screwed us my third day on the job, I’d bribed the building manager with everything short of my first unborn child to get him to let me up onto the penthouse level to talk
to Jason that night. I don’t remember exactly what I’d been wearing when Jason finally opened the door, but I do remember that he didn’t even bat an eye over my appearance. He just let me in and calmed me down before proceeding to spend the next two hours neck-deep in paperwork and plans with me, showing me firsthand exactly why his development group had the reputation it did for excellence.
Then, when I ended up falling asleep on his couch after my brain finally calmed down enough to ease off the adrenaline pedal for once, I woke up the next morning to find he’d carried me over to one of his guest beds and tucked me in sometime in the night.
After that, we sort of just settled into this nice little groove we’re in now, where we’re both completely comfortable with the other.
Surprising, really. I’d always heard that Jason Steele was as hard and intimidating as they come—lord knows even the biggest bruisers on my crew are a little afraid of him. But honestly, I’ve never seen it. Aside from being intense and gruff, and definitely a touch grouchy when I catch him at the wrong time, he’s kind of…sweet.
I mean really, how many other billionaires would include a rent-free loft in his luxury building as a relocation perk for the entire year or so length of a construction project? A project to help retired folks enjoy their golden years, no less. Seriously, the man’s practically a saint. Especially when it comes to putting up with me every time I—
“Summer?”
“Yes?” I call out into the steam-filled bathroom.
“Thought you left. It was quiet out there for a minute.”