Summer Heat: A Steamy Romance Boxed Set

by Carly Phillips

  I fucking hate that.

  At least she isn’t trying to avoid me anymore. Progress there. I swear, just one more day of that and I would’ve thrown her over my shoulder and dragged her back to my place, kept us locked in my bedroom having sex on every available surface until we both got it out of our systems.

  Problem is, I don’t think getting Summer out of my system is even possible.

  It’d be fine, or at least manageable, if she simply plagued my dreams. At least dreams you can wake up from. Forget, even. But these wild-ass wide-awake thoughts I’ve been having about the woman since that kiss… Hell. All the wet dreams I’ve ever had in my life combined don’t even come close to comparing.

  It’s been intense.

  Night after night I’m hit with these hi-def, crystal clear images of her under me, writhing and moaning, her arms stretched high above her on the bed, my left hand pinning her wrists together while my other hand slides into those sexy pair of panties I once caught a glimpse of under her PJs. The pair with tiny little cherries all over them. The pair I always end up shredding with my teeth so I can tongue her soaking wet little slit and—

  Damn it. Now I’m hard again. At work, no less.

  “Boss?”

  Ah hell, now I’m even harder. I turn around and see the object of my burgeoning insanity holding a folder out to me.

  “Call me Jason from now on,” I say without thinking. “Everyone else does. It’s just easier since we have so many different company crews on site now, each with their own foreman.”

  Yep, I’m a twisted son of a bitch. Still want to hear her calling me by my name even though I can’t touch her.

  She shrugs. “Okay. Here are my updated plans for the…” she trails off and gives me a weird look.

  “What’s wrong?” I frown. It can’t be my hard-on making her mute, because my tool belt is doing a bang-up job keeping that from being public knowledge. Plus, the woman’s made good on her vow never to look at my cock, or even in its general vicinity, again.

  I fucking hate that new development, too.

  She gazes over at her desk behind me. “Did you…” She walks over and picks up a glazed blueberry fritter so big, she needs two hands to hold it. “Did you get me a pastry?”

  I nod out the window over to where our guys are pigging out on doughnuts. “I picked up a couple dozen for the guys since I know they got an early start today. Knowing them, they would’ve scarfed them all down before you even got a chance to smell them so I saved one for you.”

  “These are my absolute favorite,” she says, her voice sounding surprised that I’d know a detail like that about her.

  “From your favorite bakery, too.”

  She shakes her head at me in wonder before excitedly tearing off a piece and popping it in her mouth with a happy little smile. Followed by a tiny little moan.

  That forces me to adjust the fit of my jeans. Good industrial tool belt.

  “So, about the marsh lands,” I say, averting my eyes from the innocent pastry-eating extravaganza that’s registering as porn where my poor, confused cock is concerned. I quickly flip through the newly added rough sketches and longitudinal cost analysis charts. Her last draft was also extremely detailed, and impressive as hell. Really, this update is just going to make my investors think I’m showing off.

  Which reminds me…

  “Your name’s not on this,” I say, tapping on the clear folder. “Wasn’t on the last one you turned into me either.”

  She blinks in surprise. And panic. “Because those are just my informal notes.”

  I grin over her idea of “informal notes.” It’s like calling Disneyland a little playground.

  She starts scrambling around, grabbing photo printouts and booting up her laptop before yanking the folder out of my hand and body-blocking me when I try to take it back. “I wasn’t aware you were expecting a formal proposal yet. These were just some things I put together because I thought you were still considering the purchase.”

  “I’ve already decided to buy the land. So, I’ll need you to throw a cover page on this,” I tickle her ribs and snatch the folder back when she yelps, “so I can submit it to my board for final approval. I want to make sure to give credit where it’s rightfully due.”

  My crazy as hell overachiever gives me a look like I’ve just asked her to be an accomplice in an unthinkable double homicide. “This isn’t ready for your board to see!” Fritter now totally forgotten, another highlighter gets frantically shoved into her bun while she prints out a bunch of documents and unfolds a map of the marsh lands with a hundred or so neon flags and place marker stickers on it. “Just give me twenty-four hours. If I work through the night I’ll be able to—”

  Her eyes go wide the moment my hand gently slides over her mouth.

  “No more skipping sleep, Summer,” I say sternly.

  When she turns to me and utters a quiet, “But,” I slowly rub my thumb over her lower lip. Partly to stop her protesting, and partly to brush away a few doughnut crumbs. But mostly because I need an excuse to touch her lips again. If not with my thumb, it’ll be my mouth again. Then I won’t be able to stop until I have those soft, full lips wrapped around my—

  Fuck. Focus, Steele.

  “Put a cover page on this for now so I can meet with the board and make the purchase. Then take another week for the formal proposal.”

  At her adorably stubborn frown, I sigh. “I mean it. Take the week. You need to sleep more.” I graze the back of my knuckles over the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows this idea was yours. Which means a lot of meetings and maybe even some interviews. Can’t have folks thinking I’m an evil slave driver who’s making you burn the midnight oil every night.”

  She starts shaking her head frantically. “I-interviews? I won’t be good in an interview.”

  “You’ll be great,” I reply in a tone that says since I’ve declared it, it’s going to be so.

  Eyes still wide and more than a little disbelieving, she whispers gravely, “I don’t think this is going to be good for my insomnia. I won’t be able to stop worrying over the details.” She takes a big anxious bite out of her fritter and begins scribbling down Post-It note after Post-It note to herself as she chews.

  Christ, she’s so fucking cute when she’s being neurotic.

  “That’s my other stipulation,” I say, stealing an extra-glazed corner chunk to pop in my mouth, grinning again when the little doughnut addict moves the fritter out of my reach with a tiny, territorial growl. “From now on, if something regarding this project is preventing you from sleeping, you goddamn better be at my door to let me help. I don’t care what time it is. And that’s non-negotiable. We’re in this together, Summer.”

  While she stares at me like I’ve begun speaking in an alien language, I stare right back at her, mostly to see if there aren’t any more loose doughnut crumbles I can brush away for her.

  There are. On the front of her t-shirt, sprinkled over the big ‘STEELE’ logo framed rather perfectly across the tempting swell of her breasts.

  The woman never makes things easy on me.

  I resist the impulse to take care of those crumbs—with my mouth—and instead reach over to lift her jaw-slack chin. “I already bought a bottle of that godawful hazelnut syrup you put in your coffee so forget about going over to that coffee shop on the other side of town anymore. It’s dangerous. You can doctor your coffee exactly how you like it in my kitchen from now on.”

  Her expression goes from dumbfounded to outright flabbergasted. “But…why?”

  I shrug matter-of-factly. “For all the reasons I just said. And because I’ve discovered that I’d much rather be dead tired with you bugging me until the sun rises than well-rested without having had you pester my ass awake at all.”

  She gapes at me in stunned, near catatonic silence.

  I don’t like her silent. I like hearing her, all of her. All the time. Her unique little reactions and
responses to things. Her utter lack of a filter. Summer just being Summer.

  It’s damn addicting.

  She’s damn addicting.

  Which is why her standing there in total silence after what I just revealed is making me fucking crazy.

  I want to hear her. Without a filter. Reacting and responding. To me.

  Right here. Right fucking now.

  12

  | SUMMER |

  TUESDAY

  (Time: Daytime? I think. Ask me again later.)

  He’s kissing me.

  Jason Steele has his mouth on mine. Right here on the jobsite in the middle of a work day.

  But the where and when of the matter isn’t nearly as pressing as the why at the moment. As in why in the world did he hold back the last time?

  The brief kiss we’d shared in his penthouse had been great. Amazing, even. But it had nothing on what his mouth is doing to mine now. This kiss is…raw, elemental. Mind-erasing.

  Absolutely consequence-deserving.

  To a certain extent.

  Lord knows I’ve been dreaming about this for weeks now (longer if I’m being totally truthful). But here? At work? Where anyone could walk into the trailer and see us?

  I should pull away.

  Instead of heeding that extremely sound advice, however, my arms decide to slip around his neck and draw him closer.

  Only, the second I do, he breaks off the kiss. “We should stop,” he murmurs roughly, his eyes stormy, his hands flexing against my hips.

  So we’re in agreement. Stopping is definitely the way to go here.

  But…we’re not going to. I know it, he knows it.

  “I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he mutters in a gritty, strained voice. “Then you woke my ass up that first morning and decided to show me all your crazy at once. No down-playing, no easing me in.” His forehead comes down to rest on mine. “And I fucking wanted you even more.”

  Good lord, that’s just about the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

  I feel his hands smooth up my sides and then stop abruptly. His entire frame goes rigid with tension, as if the struggle for him is just as real as it is for me.

  The longer he holds himself back, the more I try to as well, the entire battle lasting all of two heartbeats before I slowly go up on my tiptoes and graze my lips along his lower lip.

  He tastes minty. And hot. If hot could be a flavor, Jason Steele would have the monopoly on it.

  A split second later, he’s returning the favor, capturing my lower lip between his teeth while his eyes lock on me as his hand slides around to the back of my skull to hold me hostage.

  “You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmurs, his lips on mine once more, sending heat searing through my chest, and emotions I’ve never felt before ricocheting around behind my ribs. “Your perfect little body has been driving me crazy for months now.”

  My body is far from perfect. My breasts are small. Not nearly full enough to make any noteworthy cleavage to speak of, but just bouncy enough that I’ll never pass for sporty. My legs are littered with construction scars I’ve gathered from different jobsites over the years. And my butt is a little too round for my small frame.

  But right now, while he’s gazing down at my body with that searing hunger heating his gaze a thousand degrees hotter with each passing second, I feel desirable, beautiful.

  It’s a heady feeling.

  He trails his lips down my throat. “Tell me to stop, Summer.”

  I can’t.

  Heart pounding, body humming with need, I bypass my sensibilities and reach down to undo his tool belt.

  He groans, but doesn’t stop me. Better yet, he takes over, removing his tool belt altogether before he lifts me onto his desk. I look down and see him palm his thick cock through his work jeans, showing me how hard he is, watching me watching him.

  It’s just as big as I remember. And the harder it gets, the more I begin to wonder how he’d feel, taste. What it’d be like to have him inside me.

  I hear myself moan.

  His eyes flare with heat. “What dirty little thoughts are you thinking right now? Tell me.”

  I shake my head.

  He lets out a quiet growl over my refusal to answer, and I swear, my pussy starts to throb.

  “Then how about I tell you what kinds of thoughts I’m thinking instead?” He leans in close to tell me in a hot, hushed whisper, “It usually starts with me picturing my cock in that sexy mouth of yours.” His hands gently flex and skim down the sides of my torso, slowly, as he murmurs against my throat, “And it almost always ends the same…with me filling, overfilling, your pretty little pussy with my cum.”

  My eyes slam shut when he grips my ass and pulls me flush against him. I can feel how hot he is, how hard he is, even through the thick denim. And instantly, I’m pummeled with new visions I’ve never before imagined, each one sizzling over my nerve endings and supercharging my fantasies.

  I feel his lips graze my neck and settle behind my ear as he asks softly, quietly, “Would you let me do that, baby? Take your mouth? Come inside you?”

  Oh, god. The man’s dirty talk should really classify as second or third base.

  I sink my teeth into his shoulder to keep him from hearing me moan.

  A sexy shudder racks his tall frame. “Hell. Do that again and we won’t just be talking about our fantasies anymore, sweetheart.”

  I immediately squeeze my legs together, feeling my panties now soaked all the way through.

  His hungry gaze drops down to my clenched thighs.

  “Are you getting wet for me?” he asks on a growl.

  No point in lying. I nod.

  After a quick glance out the window, he stands me back up and cups his hand over my mound, hissing when I buck against his touch. “So damn responsive.” He spares another hard look out the window and says gruffly, “Just remember, this trailer isn’t soundproof. Bite my shoulder again if you have to…”

  With no more warning than that, he unzips my jeans and slides his hand down the front of my panties.

  I bury my face against his neck to keep from moaning.

  “So fucking wet.” He circles my clit with first one finger. And then two. “Look at me, Summer.” Locking his gaze on mine, his fingers somehow bring me right to the edge with barely any effort.

  How in the world am I so close to coming already? It usually takes me at least a half an hour to bring myself to this point, but he’s already got me panting and shaking in less than a minute.

  The rest of my questions get obliterated from my brain when his other hand slides up under my shirt to roughly pinch my nipple through my bra.

  “Come,” he commands on a growling whisper and my body takes the order and just shatters.

  Pleasure explodes through my core almost violently, pulsing through me in hot, endless waves, jolting me with intense quakes of sensations, over and over, until I feel my legs simply give out from right under me.

  He catches me, and cradles me against his tall frame while I attempt—mostly in vain—to drag some much-needed oxygen back into my lungs.

  I have no idea how long it takes for the room to stop spinning, but eventually, I feel the spasms in my core begin to ease off, and the fog of pleasure dissipate into warm euphoria bit by slow, hazy bit.

  I look up into his intense green gaze that never misses anything. “That was…”

  The abrupt, unmistakable sound of heavy work boots clomping past the trailer outside swiftly rips us back to reality.

  We jump apart.

  I look from the unlocked door of the trailer to my open jeans, currently displaying my now thoroughly soaked fruit of the day panties.

  Jason’s eyes follow mine, and he quickly reaches out to redo my zipper before I can.

  Oh, my god.

  What if we’d gotten caught?

  His expression hardens as if the same thought is occurring to him as well. “Jesus, Summer. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I
don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

  “No, don’t apologize. I wanted you to…do that.” I feel my face reddening at how true that last statement was. “It wasn’t all you. Believe me.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  Maybe if I told him that was my first non-solo orgasm?

  His cell phone chirps before I can share that revealing bit of info.

  “Shit.” He checks his phone. “I’ve got an investor’s meeting I have to get to downtown.”

  Downtown, as in where his big corporate office with his name on it is…one of four in the world just like it.

  A loud window-rattling knock on the door echoes through the trailer, and we both turn to see the plumbing foreman rush in. “Summer, we’ve got a situation with a super old septic system that wasn’t properly filled before the land was rezoned. The foundation is crap. No pun intended. Because of where it was situated, guess the previous owner thought it was okay to ignore it. But we can’t. This is definitely a sinkhole hazard.”

  And that would be my wakeup call from the universe.

  “I’ll be right there, Frank.”

  Jason touches my elbow gently the second Frank is gone. “Summer…”

  He’s going to apologize again. And the thought of that is just too much to bear right now.

  “Look,” I say, “You have to go, and Frank’s waiting for me. We’ll talk later, okay? Promise.”

  Right on cue, his phone chimes another alert. He hesitates, but eventually nods and heads out the door without another word.

  As I take a minute to make sure my clothes are all back in order before I exit the trailer, all I can think about is how this right here is the sort of thing my mom has done my entire life.

  She hated hard work. Chose instead to get through life trading sex for the basic necessities that most folks simply got a job for—a fact I’d known from far too young an age. And worst of all, she was proud of it. Proud that she could use her body to advance her way in life.