Nailed
A Carnal Reunions Tale
By Cindy Spencer Pape
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
P.O. Box 992
Edgewater, Florida, 32132
Nailed
Copyright © 2009, Cindy Spencer Pape
Edited by Jessica Berry
Cover art by Rika Singh
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-085-9
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic release: November 2009
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
About the Author
Chapter One
To: Becky Belker, Bliss Harper, Chloe Wells, Fran Jameson, Miranda Ellson, Vicky Sutherland
From: [email protected]
Hello to all of Gracie’s Girls, class of 1999. Once again, thanks to all of you for the flowers and phone calls after my aunt Gracie’s passing last winter. You all meant so much to her, and to me.
As I’m sure you all know, our tenth college reunion is coming up this fall. Since I now have Gracie’s big rambling house all to myself, I’d like to extend an invitation. If any of you are coming back for the reunion, you’re more than welcome to stay here, in your old rooms. Gracie quit taking in college students several years back, so there’s no one here but me, and I’d love to have some company while I’m getting the house ready to put on the market. So what do you say? One last time as roommates? It would be great to see all of you again.
Hugs,
Karen
* * * *
Ten years later and almost nothing had changed.
Karen Sikorski looked around the hotel ballroom and sipped her soda water. Most of her friends were out on the dance floor. So why wasn’t she? When she’d had the idea to invite all her old housemates to stay with her for their ten-year college reunion, she’d been so happy at the thought of seeing them again. Now it looked like most of them had something—or someone—more interesting than Karen on their minds.
She tugged at the hem of her requisite little black dress. It was a simple sleeveless sheath, with wide straps, a modest neckline and a hem that just grazed the tops of her knees. She wore it for everything—faculty dinners, fundraising cocktail parties, even her great aunt’s funeral. Tonight her friends had convinced her to leave off the matching jacket and to wear Aunt Gracie’s 1950s opera-length faux pearls. When she’d arrived, she’d felt pretty and daring. Now she mostly felt frumpy and awkward—as usual.
“Would you care to dance?” The deep male voice was warm as molten chocolate in her ear. And familiar. Surely it couldn’t… She spun to the side and found herself staring straight into his groin.
Slim hips clad in impeccable black trousers greeted her view. They were cut too loosely to show much, but as her gaze traveled up past the narrow waist, broad chest and even broader shoulders revealed by his open suit jacket and crisp white shirt, she was practically salivating. His tie was a playful graphic design of multicolored frogs, perfectly knotted. Finally, she took in the tanned, handsome face that smiled down at her, and Karen felt her own cheeks flush.
Blond, blue-eyed Warner Beckett was every bit as gorgeous as he had been in college. Why in the hell was the king of the frat boys asking her to dance?
“Dance?” he repeated with that sexy grin that had haunted her dreams all through school—many of them erotic. “I’m Warner Beckett, by the way.”
“I...I know,” she managed. “We’ve met.” Not that he’d remember her, of course. Hell, he hadn’t even done that the day after he’d rescued her from two of his drunken frat brothers. Still, she couldn’t seem to help placing her hand in his outstretched one and letting him help her to her feet. She’d had a crush on Warner all through college, since right after she’d moved into her great-aunt Gracja, or Gracie’s, boardinghouse just blocks away from Western Indiana University. Most of “Gracie’s Girls” had crushed on the guys in the houseful of jocks next door, but not Karen. She’d only had eyes for the rich, blond playboy three doors down. Warner had always been nice to her, fueling her fantasies. He walked her home from campus on a few occasions, and always smiled and talked to her when their paths crossed.
Oh yeah, she had it bad.
“I remember you, Karen.” They made their way out to the crowded dance floor and Warner swung her into his arms. “You were the shy little scientist down the street, who took the trouble to tutor idiots like Donny Gillespie and Pete Miller.” He named the two frat boys she had tutored—until she’d shown up one night when they’d been drinking. The big brutes had decided they would do her the favor of taking her virginity, until Warner heard her scream and came to the rescue. “They didn’t bother you again, did they?”
His arm was warm and strong around her waist, while his other hand held hers in a careful clasp. Karen fought the urge to lay her head on his lapel and shook her head. “No. I left for grad school just a few weeks later. I never really got to thank you for saving me that night.”
“No thanks necessary, sugar. I’m just glad I was there.”
Karen almost opened her mouth to remind him that she had come over the next afternoon to thank him. She’d made a big batch of chocolate chip cookies then walked three doors down to the frat house to give them to her knight in shining armor. When she got there, Warner had been sitting on the porch swing, a barely-clothed blonde in his lap, drinking a beer. When she’d handed him the cookies, he’d looked at her with glazed eyes and asked, “Do I know you?”
She never stepped foot on the frat house property again.
“So what are you up to these days?” He asked in a low murmur that sent a shiver of desire down Karen’s spine.
At first, she couldn’t remember how to speak. Just having her face this close to him, she was nearly overwhelmed by his rich masculine scent. Her brain had shut down and her one pair of black satin panties was damp.
“Karen?” he asked again. “You still with me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She inhaled deeply then forced herself to look up into his face. His wide smile made her stumble on the unfamiliar heels Bliss and Chloe had talked her into wearing.
“Easy there.” He caught her easily and held her steady.
“And I haven’t even been drinking,” she managed with a laugh. “Sorry for being so clumsy.”
“It’s crowded in here,” Warner offered. “Probably stepped on a napkin or something on the dance floor. No worries.”
“Thanks.” She still felt like the clumsy, awkward girl who’d never quite known how to handle social situations.
“So how long are you in town?” he asked.
“Oh—” She’d been so busy trying not to stumble again that she’d forgotten to answer his original question. “I live here now. I teach at—”
Before she could finish, a tall, willowy redhead came onto the dance floor and tugged Warner’s sleeve.
“Come on, War. We need you outside for pictures.”
“In a minute, Lindsey,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
“No, now,” she insisted. “The guys want to blow this boring party and go have some real fun.” She kept hold of him, standing so close there was no way they could continue
the dance.
Warner looked down at Karen regretfully. “Can I catch up with you after I take care of this?”
She nodded, fighting to keep the sick sense of despair from showing on her face. Same old Warner, damn it.
“Karen...” He touched her cheek briefly, before the redhead pulled him away.
Karen stood on the dance floor staring after them as the woman dragged him out of the ballroom. She’d been right. Not a damn thing had changed since college.
Unable to face another minute of the party, she quietly gathered her purse and her sweater then headed for home.
* * * *
Warner swiveled his office chair to the window, looking out over the rich autumn colors of Heartwood, Indiana, his hometown. He left here ten years ago, vowing he would never again live in this little Podunk village. Five years ago, he came back, taking over his grandfather’s construction firm and building himself a real, solid life.
One dance—half a dance—with pretty little Karen Sikorski, and he’d figured out that the life he’d so carefully constructed was still missing a few important bricks.
“Boss, do you want me to send Frank or Dave over to do the estimate for the renovations on Parker Street
?” His assistant’s voice broke into Warner’s thoughts.
Parker Street. The old Victorian residential neighborhood where he’d lived in the frat house during his college years. He hadn’t been by there in months. He knew the city had clamped down on rentals, and that many of the old houses were being re-converted to single-family residences instead, which made good business for him. “Who’s the client?”
“Somebody named Sick-ow-ski or something,” Betty replied. “Wants to make sure the structure is still sound and do some basic repairs, maybe a new roof. Apparently this one was never chopped into apartments.”
Warner’s heart rate sped up. It couldn’t be, could it? He’d looked Karen up on the internet, knew she was teaching in the biology department at the university. Was she living on Parker Street
? Maybe even in her old house? He’d been debating stopping by her campus office just to say hello, maybe ask her out. But this—this was the perfect way to connect with her again, and even let her see for herself that he wasn’t the vapid party boy he’d been back then.
“Let me see the work order, Betty.”
The fifty-something woman who ran his business like a well-oiled machine lifted one eyebrow at him, but she ducked back through the door to her own desk without saying a word. Moments later, she reappeared with a single-sheet printout. Warner scanned the sheet, and sure enough, there it was: Karen Sikorski. 1424 Parker Street
. Estimate for repairs to structure, roof and plumbing, along with refinishing wood floors and replacing tile grout.
“Call and schedule an appointment for four o’clock Friday,” Warner said. “And whatever you do, don’t give her the name of the contractor coming out.” He thought about Karen, with her full lips and stunning, aquamarine eyes that remained hidden by glasses in college, and he was glad his desk hid the erection that sprang up. It didn’t take much to imagine those eyes glazed with passion, her honey-brown bob in disarray, and those lush lips wrapped around his cock.
“Oooo-kay.” Betty’s lips didn’t so much as twitch. “But who should I put down on our calendar to handle the project?”
“I haven’t done a residential remodel in a long time,” Warner said, suppressing a grin. “I think it’s time I got back to the basics, don’t you? I’ll take care of this one myself.”
Chapter Two
Karen knelt beside her porch, pulling weeds from the flowerbed she’d spent a good bit of the summer coaxing back to life. Ever since her great aunt had passed away in February, it seemed like she had too much time on her hands, even though she’d taught a full load of courses, including summer semester. She knew it was time to get going on another research project, but she’d finished her last one right before her aunt’s final illness, and hadn’t really gotten back into the swing of things. Maybe she would ask her boss if she could pick up a few extra classes for the winter semester. Perhaps then, she wouldn’t have quite so much time to think.
She glanced down at her wrist, remembering she’d left her watch inside. The contractor from Heartwood Construction was due to arrive at four, and she hadn’t planned to meet him with a sweaty face and muddy knees. When a big white pickup with the builder’s logo turned onto the street, however, she knew she’d left it until too late. She stood, pulling off her gardening gloves, just as the truck pulled into her driveway.
Warner Beckett climbed out of the driver’s seat and gave her a broad, sexy smile.
Karen almost swallowed her tongue. What in the hell was he doing here?
“Hey, Karen. Looks like we meet again.” His long legs ate up the short length of her front walk, and then he was in front of her, holding out his hand. This time he wore a pair of faded-out jeans and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, but there was no mistaking it was the same man she’d danced with just a week before—and dreamed about almost every night since.
“Warner?” She managed to unstick her tongue long enough to mutter his name. Without even realizing it, she took his hand, almost swooning at the strength and warmth of his grasp. Why hadn’t she noticed at the dance that his hands were calloused? Much too rugged for the Wall Street type she’d expected him to be.
“Last time I checked,” he said with a laugh. “So you’re looking to fix the old place up, I hear.”
“Umm—yes.” She licked her lips and reluctantly pulled her hand back from his. “Come in. I can get us something to drink.”
Warner followed her inside, looking around in approval as they passed through the big double-parlor living room and into the warm, homey kitchen.
“I’m surprised at how good this looks,” he said, taking note of the original woodwork, which was scratched here and there, but mostly in good shape. “A lot of the student rentals have been totally gutted.”
Karen gestured for him to sit at the maple kitchen table her aunt had had since before Karen could remember. “Aunt Gracie kept things under control,” she replied, crossing to the fridge to pull out a pitcher of iced tea. “And she always lived here with the students. It was her home as well as a rental.”
“That’s right,” he said with a nod. “I think I remember her now. Mrs….Anderson, wasn’t it? She liked to sit out on the porch and wave at all of us as we walked by.”
“That was Aunt Gracie,” Karen agreed. “She moved here when she got married in the 1950’s. They never had any children, so after her husband died, she started taking in college girls, more to keep her company than for the money.”
“I didn’t realize she was your aunt,” he said, accepting the glass of tea she poured. “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone now.”
“Well, she was almost ninety, so she had a good long life.” Karen slid into the chair across from Warner. “But thank you. I miss her a lot.”
“So tell me about the house,” he said. The warm expression of sympathy in his pale blue eyes didn’t waver. “Will you be living in it by yourself now, or still taking in students?”
“I’m really not sure,” she admitted. “It seems like so much space for just one person, but I don’t think I have the patience Gracie did. Maybe one graduate student or something like that, just for company. I know I should sell the place, but somehow, that doesn’t seem right. Gracie wanted me to keep it, and honestly, it’s the closest thing to a real home I’ve ever had.”
“Well, why don’t you start by showing me around? At first glance it looks pretty good, but I’m going to need to get into the basement, and up into the attic if you want me to check the roof.”
Warner followed her, trying to keep his eyes on the house instead of on Karen’s ass as she led him through the house. He made notes about water damage and loose hinges with half his brain, while the other half wondered what it would take to get Karen out of her jeans. He’d hea
rd enough to know she was still single, and now that he knew she was here in Heartwood to stay, there was no way he wasn’t following up on his attraction to her.
“The third floor hasn’t been used in a while,” she murmured. “It was my room in college, since I wasn’t a paying tenant. With no air conditioning up here, it was hot as hell during the summer. She kept it for me when I’d come home to visit afterward, then I used it again for the first year after I moved back here to take care of her.”
Warner looked around the attic bedroom. The center ridge of the roofline was the only place tall enough for him to stand upright, and he was only six feet tall. But Karen was a tiny little thing, maybe 5’3”, so she’d have done fine in the sprawling space. White painted furniture filled half of it. A pink and blue patchwork quilt covered the bed, while the half furthest from the stairs was a storage area, full of stacked furniture, trunks and cardboard boxes.
So this was where Karen had slept, back when he’d started having wet dreams about her.
He forced himself to note the condition of the ceiling and walls, to look under the eaves for moisture or animal damage, and tried not to think about her lying there in that virginal-looking bed. She’d obviously gotten contacts since college, and her honey-brown hair had some golden streaks in it—probably from her gardening this summer. The sunshine would also account for the dusting of freckles across her upturned nose. He wanted to kiss each and every one.
“If you do decide to sell, give me a call,” he said after he’d finished the rudimentary inspection. “I’ve been looking for a place like this.”
“You fix up houses and sell them?” she asked as they went back down the stairs.
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