by Sahara Kelly
Working Stiffs - Book One
HIRED HELP
S.L. Carpenter
Sahara Kelly
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 S.L. Carpenter, Sahara Kelly
Cover Art Copyright 2012, S.L. Carpenter for P and N Graphics, LLC
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Authors’ Note
Every woman deserves a working stiff!
Welcome to a new series by S.L. Carpenter and Sahara Kelly wherein women are rewarded with the man of their dreams and those patient, hard working stiffs find bliss by the bucketful in the arms of the right woman. They’re not perfect; in fact flaws are expected because they’re all human. Just like us. Sometimes the passion is there like a tiny ember, and it isn’t until their eyebrows are melting that a couple realizes it. Other times it explodes like an uncorked bottle of champagne that somebody shook first, drowning lovers in a storm of ecstasy. Yeah. Stuff like that!
Collaborating on this story, Scott and Sahara did what they do best – had a ton of fun writing some hot and sexy scenes, interspersed with their unique blend of reality and humor. In upcoming books, they’ll branch off on their own, each writing new stories based around this idea and occasionally getting together for another collaboration, just for the heck of it and because they can. These are short, hot and mostly sweet tales. Don’t look for depth, angst or massive amounts of conflict because you won’t find it. You will find laughter, passion and some sizzling hot sex. In other words, an escape into some seductive pleasures that Scott and Sahara hope will make you smile and sweat a bit.
If that happens, let them know? There’s nothing these two writers like better than hearing that their words brought a little laughter into a reader’s life. Because we’re all working stiffs when it comes right down to it…
Chapter One
“God, that’s a fabulous ass.”
“What?”
Realizing she’d spoken the words out loud, Rose Jackson blushed and quickly turned away from the male rear end she’d been studying. “Nothing. Sorry. I was just wondering if this was a Fabio Lesasse. French mid-twentieth century artist, limited edition print.” She leaned toward a picture on the wall, uncomfortably aware she was lying like a rug, babbling while she did it, and embarrassed as hell she’d revealed her private thoughts.
A snort answered her. “Hmph.” Her security officer and sometime bodyguard returned to his scrutiny of the back of a bedside table.
He was thorough, no doubt about it. Another point in his favor - to go along with his really world-class butt. “Look, Mel, d’you really think all this is necessary?”
“My job is to keep you secure, Ms. Jackson. I won’t take any chances with your safety.”
“Yeah, but jeez. Under the bed, I can see. Checking the closets? Okay, I’ll buy that too. But behind the bedside tables? This is a private resort, for God’s sake. You think you’ll find trouble in the candles? Or could the satin bedspread be a serious threat?”
He ignored her scoffing tone. “Never know where there could be hidden microphones. Or other kinds of bugs.”
“Anyone ever tell you you probably watch way too many spy movies?”
“Nope.”
“Well just as long as you’re removing bugs not planting them.” Rose’s comment was met with a raised eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Don’t think I’ll forget that camera you planted in the Holbrook conference room.”
“Just being safe. Besides, they had one there too, if you remember.” He eased the furniture back into place. “And I wouldn’t think twice about putting one in here if I thought your safety was on the line.”
“It’s not.” She lifted her chin.
“You sure?”
What could she say? I’m here to get fucked, not murdered? Not an option. She settled for simply giving him her own raised eyebrow. Which, Mel being Mel, bounced off him like a ping-pong ball off a Mack truck.
“Looks clear. Even the pool.” He glanced over his shoulder to a partially hidden corner of the huge room.
“What?” Rose followed his gaze and noticed a rather opulent bath tucked behind some lush plants. It could’ve seated eight at a pinch. Definitely a party place, if one was into water sports. She grinned. “That’s a whirlpool tub, not a pool.”
“Never seen a bath you could do laps in. That’s a pool in my book.”
“Update your book, Mel. I guess they’re more common these days.”
Together they walked back into the living area, where he took a final glance around the room, nodded briefly and opened the door. “I’ll be outside. You need me, call. I’ll hear you.”
The light from the hall silhouetted his tall form for a moment and then the door closed, leaving Rose alone in the elegantly decorated suite where huge windows were cloaked with rich velvet drapes against the oncoming night. A crystal table lamp shed its soft light on the muted tones of the thick carpet.
She strolled to the buffet that lined one wall and gazed at the mass of scented candles, then let her fingers drift over the tasteful selection of high-end glossy magazines, her thoughts still on Mel.
He’s good at his job.
He spoke little, was as unobtrusive as a shadow, and yet…lately she’d noticed something in his eyes when they met hers.
He looks at me like he’s interested. Like he wants to take my clothes off and check me for bugs. And I think I’d let him. Which is entirely the fault of being celibate for too long.
Maybe she was imagining it. He’d been by her side, protecting her ever since her husband had been felled by an aneurism and left her in sole control of Jackson Enterprises. Now that she fit the description of incredibly rich widow, she supposed she needed a bodyguard. She had taken over the reins of the business, developed new campaigns and worked hard on new leads over the past eighteen months. She’d proved herself worthy of the CEO position she’d inherited - but at one hell of a cost.
To accomplish her goals, she’d sacrificed herself in a variety of ways…no social life, no parties, no adventurous foreign vacations…not even a shopping trip down Fifth Avenue more than once every six months or so. Sometimes she’d had to remind herself to shower. It had been all work, all the time. Deaf to the entreaties of her friends, she’d hunkered down in her office, and only now could she come up for air, breathe, and take a few hours for herself. The work was still there, but she had it running the way she wanted at last, with people she could rely on taking some of the burden from her shoulders.
Of course, the change in her situation and her new accessibility brought about its own share of problems.
Not a day passed without a friend approaching her bearing a suggestion. Often it was for a blind date, or occasionally it was the phone number of some businessman they knew who wanted to take her to dinner. Which was all well and good, but not anything Rose was particularly interested in. Even though the last couple of years had been spent in near-hermitlike isolation, she wasn’t a fool and had a well-developed streak of practicality.
She knew she couldn’t trust anyone to go out with her as Rose and not Ms. Jackson, rich widow. Doubtless
those men existed. But she’d rather be safe than sorry. A woman in her position only gave her trust to those who absolutely earned it. Or to those whose discretion she’d purchased.
Which had brought her here, to this up-market and discreet hideaway. A place where she was going to rediscover a side of herself she’d buried and damn near forgotten about.
A place where she intended to let a man take her body and pleasure it, use his skills to bring her joy, excitement and - she hoped - at least one eye-rolling, scream inducing, stress releasing, toe-curling orgasm. Maybe even two.
Yep. Rose blinked at her reflection in the fancy mirror over the buffet, not seeing the elegant and slender brunette with the blue-green eyes, but the daring lass with Irish blood in her veins, who’d gone out on a limb and worked her way to this moment.
She had done it. She’d booked herself a room and a man. She’d gone to her spa for the first time in ages, had her hair done, and bought the latest in silk ensembles - a blouse that drifted over her modest curves and a skirt that floated freely around her shapely calves. It wasn’t edgy, and probably wouldn’t have made the cover of any fashion magazine, but as soon as she’d put it on, she’d felt -- feminine. Now, however, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors in the room.
Eeek. This damned outfit makes my ass look fat.
She’d taken the advice of her few trusted girlfriends, listened to their enthusiastic encouragement, and then picked up the phone to dial the number they’d given her. At the beginning there had been more than a little skepticism in her attitude, since public perception listed this out-of-town hideaway as either a celebrity rehab center or a post-cosmetic surgery recovery spa. Neither was accessible to those with less than several millions in their disposable income bank accounts. Those lovely CEO petty cash funds that seemed to attract expensive and alluring invitations like flowers lured bees.
But apparently both descriptions were carefully crafted misdirections, nurtured by subtle rumors and gossip. Only the privileged few knew that it was, in fact, a high-class and prohibitively expensive palace of sexual pleasure.
For women.
And if the clients emerged refreshed, smiling and walking tall - well, it was only natural to place the blame on newly enhanced sobriety, or laser skin resurfacing. What else would make a woman glow?
After Rose’s first call, it had been surprisingly simple.
“We’ll be happy to accommodate you, Ms. Jackson. All charges will be handled with discretion and from what you’ve told us, our data indicate that Josh will be best suited to meet your requirements.” The voice was professionally soothing, the information concise and efficient.
Rose appreciated both, accepted the recommendation and here she was, nervous, ready and waiting in the elegant room, with the comforting knowledge that Mel would be within earshot if she needed him.
He’ll be listening. Shit. Do I scream when I come? It’s been so long since I had sex with anything that wasn’t battery-powered, I’ve forgotten.
What must he think? Was he running one hand through his short dark hair, the way he did sometimes when he was working on a problem? And what was going on behind those brown eyes? Were the tiny golden flecks bright today in the lamplight, or were they muted, giving him that certain look Rose privately thought of as his predatory stare?
Christ, if he did plant a micro mini video cam - although I doubt it - he’ll see my ‘orgasm face’. Do I have one? Those magazines all say I’m supposed to.
She glanced at her reflection and twisted up her nose, squinting and frowning at herself. Then she gave up and sighed. The candlelight and single lamp were flattering, softening the planes of her cheeks and making her slender body look lusher than she knew it was. She wasn’t a big woman anywhere. Her breasts were adequate, but not eye-catching, and next to Mel she felt definitely feminine and almost petite. Of course, he’d never mentioned her breasts at all.
Never given so much as a hint that he might find her attractive physically. Which was quite correct, of course. He worked for her. There couldn’t be anything in the least bit sexual between them.
She couldn’t, for example, imagine his hands on her adequate breasts, or his mouth between her legs. Nope. That was not acceptable.
The fact that she’d done so, more than once, in moments of what she liked to refer to as private interludes of intimate pleasure with technology -- well, nobody had to know.
Yeah, her thoughts about him were quite a bit more…more…personal and intense than she’d realized. And yes, she’d noticed his body too, since calling him “in good shape” was like calling the Grand Canyon a bit of a hole in the ground.
Mel was built. The proverbial brick shithouse would have envied him. His suits were tailored to fit the strong shoulders and biceps, although she knew he preferred the less noticeable ‘uniform’ of dark shirts and chinos. Even better were the t-shirts and jeans she insisted he wear if they weren’t involved in anything professional.
It was true that most of the time she barely saw him. Her days were still filled to overflowing with work that demanded at least a hundred percent of her focus. But when she did step back and take a breath…hell, she was a woman. And she noticed him as a man.
Perhaps here, now, with a king-sized, satin-covered bed glowing in the shadows of the adjoining room and her thoughts revolving around naked bodies, sex and that self-same bed, Rose was super-focused on all things physical. Her hormones were busily sticking stimulating pins into the voodoo doll of her libido. It was probably natural that Mel, a prime specimen of delectable masculinity if ever there was one, should figure in some of her fantasies.
She would never admit, even to herself, that those fantasies had begun leaking over into dreams of tangled bodies, sweaty skin and screaming orgasms.
Absolutely not going to go there. She was here instead, ready for some no-strings pleasure with a man who earned a living by ringing those female bells.
She quietly awaited the expensive privilege of being thoroughly fucked by a skilled and talented sensual practitioner. He wouldn’t have to work quite so hard, since Rose realized her little mental trip over to Mel and his yummy ass had produced the inevitable reaction.
Her panties were damp.
Good timing, since at that moment she heard a quiet tap, and her heart thumped in response.
Okay, coward. Open the damn door.
~~~
The guy walking down the corridor was too handsome for his own good. And he was carrying a rose. Fucking A. How sleazy was that?
Pulling his professional face front and center, Mel rose from the chair outside his boss’s door and held up his hand to stop the man in his tracks. “And you are?”
“I’m Ms. Jackson’s appointment.” He blinked as he surveyed Mel. “Damn dude, you must work out. You should get a job here. You’d drive the clients insane with those biceps. Whaddya press?”
Mel ignored the question about his weightlifting capabilities and turned his hand palm up. “ID.”
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
Mel’s stare told the guy he wasn’t.
“If you’re looking for an ID that says Fuck Buddy on it, you’re out of luck. My name is Josh and I have an appointment with the lady. Okay?” The man’s eyes cooled and hardened as they clashed with Mel’s.
Acknowledging that he was who he said he was, Mel gave a brief nod and stepped back with one word. “Hey.”
The guy paused and looked at him with a slight frown. “What?”
“Fuck with her and you fuck with me. You got it?”
“I’m here to fuck her. I’m here to do a job, just like you, so get over it. I don’t hurt anyone, just make ‘em smile.”
“Whatever.”
Mel watched as the guy tapped on the door and it opened, letting him inside and finally closing on the murmur of voices. He didn’t think Rose had noticed him, since he’d backed away around the doorjamb.
But she’d know he was there. He’d made su
re of it. If anything happened to her in this crazy place, Mel would be first-on-scene, and he’d get her out if he had to carry her through hell and high water or over a hundred guys in expensive suits.
Just the idea of her getting it on with some jackass she’d never met - well it turned his stomach upside down. She didn’t know about the hard-on he had to fight every time she touched him in that casual but friendly way of hers.
She hadn’t seen him closing his eyes and struggling to keep his hands off her when she’d casually patted his arm or rested her palm on his shoulder during an easy moment of conversation.
She didn’t know about the number of times he’d bitten back a groan of discomfort as his cock reminded him of what it wanted several times a day.
She also didn’t know about the sweater he had tucked away in his room…the one with her perfume lingering on the collar. Yeah, it was damn near sick stalking, but Mel couldn’t help it.
Sad truth was, he had a bad crush on his boss. And there wasn’t one fucking thing he could do about it. He even had to sit outside while another man got to do what Mel himself would have given anything to do.
But to stay near her, to keep her safe and do his job…well, permanent pain from a boner was a small price to pay.
Adjusting the ache he’d learned to live with, Mel sat back down on the chair provided for him and waited for his boss to get herself laid. He didn’t even realize that he’d sighed.
~~~
Rose hesitantly opened the door and then stared at the large slab of… beefcake.
A grin widened across his firm lips. “Hello. I’m Josh.”
He wore a perfectly tailored navy blue suit with no tie, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned a little. He reached out and took her hand, pulling it to his mouth. Pursing his lips he kissed her hand, sending shivers through her body.
