An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Built to Last
ISBN 9781419916823
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Built to Last Copyright © 2008 Sierra Dafoe
Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication May 2008
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-
3502.
Warning: 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. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
B
UILT TO
L
AST
Sierra Dafoe
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following workmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Comet: The Comet Products Corporation
DeWalt: The Black & Decker Corporation
Marden’s: Marden’s Corporation
Sheetrock: United States Gypsum Company
Word: Microsoft Corporation
Built to Last
Chapter One
“Eighty-seven thousand dollars?” Ginny stared, aghast, at the grizzled old
contractor who’d spent the last hour stomping around the house in his muddy boots
and ratty flannel jacket, chomping on the stub of an unlit cigar and making obscure
little notes on his clipboard.
“Ayuh,” he grunted. “For the roof, the foundation work, replacing the plumbing
and Sheetrocking the interior. Wiring’ll be extra—I don’t do electrical work.” His canny
gray eyes watched her. Damn fool out-of-staters, those eyes said as clearly as if he’d
spoken aloud. Well, you’re stuck with it now, missy.
Indeed she was. But eighty-seven-thousand dollars she simply didn’t have, let alone
extra for the wiring. Biting back tears, she thanked the contractor for his time. As she
showed him to the door, he shrugged with an air of malicious unconcern. “You could
always do it yourself, a’course. Or hire some two-bit fly-by-night carpenter jack to do it
for you. But I’ve got forty years in this business and if you want it done right, eighty-
seven thousand is what it’s gonna cost.”
Forty years, Ginny reflected, watching him plod through the cold March rain and
climb sourly into his truck, wasn’t really all that long. Not nearly long enough to learn
how to deal with pain or loss or facing the rest of your life by yourself.
Closing the door, she walked numbly back to the run-down kitchen, slumped to a
seat at the broad old oak table, dropped her head onto her folded arms and cried.
What on earth had possessed her, moving three states north and buying a rambling
old farmhouse with a leaky roof? She knew better, damn it. She knew better.
She had a standard response, one she’d used so many times she could recite it by
heart…
5
Sierra Dafoe
Dear Bereaved in Boston, it is always hard to lose a loved one, and please accept my
condolences on your loss. As painful as it is though, this is not the time for life-changing
decisions—choices made out of grief are seldom productive or well-considered. I urge you to talk
with your clergyman or a counselor, and find a support group to help you through this difficult
time…
This difficult time. How easily she’d typed those words.
But living in the well-furnished Boston condo she’d shared with Karl, with its
knick-knacks and photos and all the mementos she couldn’t bring herself to put away,
had been horrible. As the weeks and months had passed, the condo had seemed more
and more like a museum exhibit, perfectly preserved and lifeless. Eventually she had
begun to feel like some insubstantial ghost, inhabiting the changeless remains of a life
that was over.
So here she was. The condo was gone, sold to a young, prosperous couple from
New Haven, and she was stuck with a ramshackle old farmhouse that would probably
cost a fortune to heat—and she had nobody to blame but herself.
Dear Virginia, I’ve just lost my husband and now the contractor wants eighty-seven
thousand dollars to repair my house. What should I do?
It was so much easier, Ginny thought grimly, to dispense good advice than it was to
follow it yourself. Lifting her head, she firmly wiped away her tears and reached for the
local paper. Listening to the patter of rain on the roof and the occasional plink as a drop
seeped through a leak and fell into a strategically placed pot, she flipped through the
pages, amused to discover that even this tiny rag carried her column.
Then she spotted a small ad—General carpentry and repairs, reasonable rates. The
number accompanying it was local, at least. Well, what the hell, she mused. I sure can’t do
the repairs by myself.
Which left the two-bit fly-by-night carpenter jack the contractor had so scornfully
suggested. Rising long enough to pour herself a cup of coffee, Ginny reached for the
phone and dialed.
6
Built to Last
* * * * *
A streaming bar of sunshine fell across the shadowy hall as Ginny opened the front
door. She stopped short, blinking in surprise.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting—some thin-faced, inbred-looking
fellow maybe, with slanting teeth and gnarled knuckles. God knew there were plenty of
men in this rural Maine county who answered that description. But the young man
standing on her front porch looked barely old enough to buy a legal drink.
He was tall—so tall she had to tilt her head to look up at him. His broad shoulders
practically seemed to fill the doorway. His hair was a light tawny color. Not blond, not
really, but the kind of honey brown that would bleach to a rich, shimmering gold in
summer. His handsome, strong-boned face was freshly shaved—she could see where
he’d nicked himself and smell the tang of aftershave—and his eyes, as blue and
cloudless as the fresh spring sky behind him, were downright mesmerizing.
“Mrs. Chase?” His voice was clear and unexpectedly deep, and for a moment all
she heard was the sound of it, not the words. She felt a touch of vertigo, as if she were
falling upward, tumbling into the cerulean depths of those eyes…
He glanced down at a scrap of notepaper in his hand, his brows drawing together
slightly. “Mrs. Virginia Chase?”
Deep within her, for the first time since Karl’s death, Ginny felt a small, secretive
stirring of sexual desire—followed immediately by an impulse to dash back inside and
slam the door.
Instead, she brought herself sternly back to the present—a present that included a
leaky roof, substandard wiring and a shower that refused to provide anything more
than a tepid, grudging spray. “Yes, I’m Ginny Chase. You must be Michael Standish.”
“Mike,” he replied, and stuck out a hand. It was large and strong, the palm warm
against hers as she shook it. His hair, thick and shaggy and just a little too long, hung
over his forehead and he pushed it back absently as he grinned. “The only person who
ever called me Michael was my grandfather—and only when he was pissed at me.”
7
Sierra Dafoe
He’d dressed for the interview in a white button-down shirt that strained across his
burly shoulders and jeans that, if not new, were at least presentable. There was a leather
thong around his neck with a few ceramic beads on it, the sort of necklace sported by
surfers and college kids. His sleeves were rolled up and there was a smear of oil across
his right forearm, probably from the aging, dented white truck she could see sitting at
the end of the drive.
Looks like it’s held together with duct tape and string, she thought, almost smiling.
Which would be why he’d left it on the roadside instead of driving up—he was trying
to make a good first impression.
He’s succeeding, Ginny admitted, her gaze straying back to that muscular forearm
and then to the soft, faded jeans clinging to his thighs. Quickly, she looked away.
“Mike, then. Come on in.”
He glanced around as she led him through the house toward the kitchen, his quick
gaze noting the saggy ceiling in the dining room, the water stains on the old wallpaper.
“Roof leaks.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.”
“How much did you pay for this place?”
“More than I should have, apparently.” Her tone was tarter than she’d meant it to
be but Mike simply laughed as she led him into the large, sun-filled kitchen.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replied, already examining the cabinets. He opened
one door at random and then peered along its length. “With the way real estate prices
have been climbing around here, you’ll likely recoup your investment in five years,
maybe less. And houses like this hold their value a long time—they’re built to last. Not
like the slap-together construction of a lot of newer buildings. These cabinets are solid
birdseye maple, by the way.”
He was, Ginny thought privately, going to be a devastatingly handsome man—in
another five or six years. Not that it mattered, so long as he could swing a hammer. “Is
that good?”
8
Built to Last
He grinned again, closing the cabinet door. “Let’s just say you could sell them and
pay for a new bathroom. I don’t know what idiot painted them. Speaking of bathrooms,
you mentioned the plumbing?”
“Yes. Upstairs.”
It felt distinctly odd, showing this almost obscenely young man into her bathroom,
with yesterday’s bra dangling from a towel hook and her toothbrush still sitting on the
chipped porcelain sink. Mike yanked back the shower curtain surrounding the
cramped, shallow bathtub, revealing a snarl of hair curled around the rusty drain. A
few gray strands glimmered among the long chestnut ones, and Ginny blushed. Really,
she could have taken the time to clean out the tub before he got here.
Mike squinted at the nozzle then followed the piping down to where it disappeared
into the floor. He grunted, much as the old contractor had done—and why, Ginny
wondered, hadn’t his presence made her wish dreadfully she’d grabbed the Comet
before his arrival?
“So how bad is it?” she asked.
“Dunno yet. Where’s the basement?”
“Under the house, I’d imagine.” The words slipped out reflexively and Ginny froze.
Dear God, did I just try to flirt with him? If so, she was woefully out of practice.
But Mike merely chuckled. “Fair enough. Where’s the entrance to the basement?”
Cheeks on fire, Ginny trooped back to the stairs, uncomfortably aware of the young
man following her down. For all his size he moved very quietly, even in the scuffed tan
work boots he wore. When she opened the basement door though, Mike pulled a
flashlight out of his hip pocket and went down first, leaving her to follow him…which
was, she discovered, infinitely worse.
He really was tall—tall enough that he had to go down two steps before the top of
his head was level with hers. His wavy, honey-brown hair brushed the back of his
collar. She could see the muscles of his back moving beneath the thin, stretched fabric of
his shirt…and the way his jeans cupped the hard curves of his ass was positively sinful.
9
Sierra Dafoe
Twenty years ago I would’ve climbed you like a jungle gym.
The thought, unbidden, sprang to her mind before she could censor it and Ginny bit
her lip, feeling a stab of guilt. Karl had been a big man too, but not like this. Not with
those flaring shoulders and taut, powerful thighs…
Stop it, Ginny! Stop it right now!
Drawing herself upright, Ginny squared her shoulders and followed Mike down
the stairs, refusing to look at anything but the back of his head.
At the bottom, he flicked the light switch and dim circles of light sprang up beneath
the naked bulbs dangling here and there. Looking around, Mike whistled long and low.
“What?” Ginny asked, suddenly terrified he was about to inform her the house was
on the verge of tumbling down around her ears.
He nodded at the southeast corner, where the huge slabs of native granite had
begun caving inward. “Now see, that’s what I love about these old foundations. I bet
you that wall’s been like that for at least fifty years.”
“You mean I don’t have to fix it?”
“Well, eventually, sure. But not this decade.” He grinned at her and moved to
examine the damage, his hands running almost affectionately over the rough gray
stones.
She stared after him, feeling a relief so huge she could hardly breathe for a moment.
That damn old shyster, she thought, mentally subtracting ten thousand dollars from the
price the contractor had given her. He knew. He knew good and well, the bastard.
“So what’s the price tag?” she asked as Mike ran the beam of his flashlight along the
piping overhead.
“Well…” He poked at the water heater then studied the old, braided wiring, tracing
it back to the outdated breaker panel. In the shadowy light he looked keen, competent—
and older. “Assuming the roof’s not too bad and I can find you a decent deal on copper
piping, you’re looking at a good thirty thousand dollars, maybe thirty-five before all’s
10
Built to Last
said and done.” Obviously misinterpreting the expression on her face, he added hastily,
“Now, you don’t have to pay that all at once, Mrs. Chase. It’ll be a big chunk up front
for materials but we can work the rest out as we go along…”
“Ginny, please.” The relief she felt was so enormous it made her dizzy. “Call me
Ginny.”
“I take it that’s a yes?”
“That is most definitely a yes.”
“Great!” Some half-buried tension seemed to ease from his face and he grinned like
a kid on Christmas morning. Ginny found his excitement adorable—in another four or
five years, she knew, he’d have learned to conceal that automatic response. He paused
then and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk it over with Mr. Chase first?”
Ginny froze, the relief inside her turning into something leaden and all too familiar.
She felt a sudden, completely irrational anger at this handsome young man for
reminding her of her grief. “He’s dead,” she said bluntly. Mike’s eyes darkened
immediately, the tips of his ears going pink with embarrassment, making him look
almost painfully young.
Oh great, Ginny. You gonna take up kicking puppies too?
But his voice, deep and suddenly rough, wasn’t boyish at all. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
know.” His jaw knotted and he watched her with a compassion that made her turn
away quickly, her heart aching.
“How long will this take?” she asked, trying to regain her composure before facing
him once more.
Mike shrugged—relieved, Ginny fancied, to find himself back on solid ground—
and glanced around the basement again. “Couple of months at least. I’ll be here first
thing Monday morning to go over the house more thoroughly, make sure there isn’t
anything horrible I’ve missed. And I’ll shop around for roofing over the weekend.”
11
Sierra Dafoe
He headed back up the basement stairs, framed against the sunlight spilling down
from the hallway. Ginny followed him up and opened the front door for him.
“I’ll see you Monday, then.” He paused, seeming about to add something, then
turned abruptly and loped down the front steps. Ginny stood on the wide, sun-flooded
porch, smelling the first hint of pollen from the budding trees and watching him stride
down the driveway, his shoulders swinging easily and his jeans cupping that gorgeous,
muscular ass. He lifted his head as he opened the truck door, saw her standing there
and raised his hand in a small wave.
Oh God, she thought nervously, a sudden knot clenching deep in her belly. God, I’m
going to have that in my house every day for the next two months?
12
Built to Last
Chapter Two
He hadn’t underbid the job, Mike reassured himself again as he pulled into Ginny’s
driveway Monday morning. He hadn’t—or at least not by much.
The truck rattled loudly over the potholes winter had left behind, and he shifted
into low gear. Ought to do something about those, he thought absently. Wouldn’t be more
than an afternoon’s work.
And exactly how many afternoons worth of free labor are you planning to kick in, Michael?
The voice in his head was his grandfather’s, the no-nonsense old Yankee who’d
believed in an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay the way some men believed in
the Virgin Mary—but it was also the voice of his own conscience.
Mike scowled into the side mirror, checking his clearance as he swung the truck
around the tumbledown rock wall and pulled up in front of the house. To bring this job
in at the price he’d quoted, he admitted, he was probably going to have to donate quite
a few.
That’s all right. I’m doing this one for the referrals anyway.
Yeah. Sure. He’d told himself that nearly as many times over the past three days as
he’d told himself he hadn’t underbid the job.
When Ginny, diminutive in her rumpled jeans and oversized flannel shirt, had
answered the door on Friday, he’d first assumed it must have been Mrs. Chase’s
daughter, home for spring break from grad school maybe. There had been a
vulnerability about her, a forlornness that had made her look almost childlike despite
the small lines at the corners of her eyes—eyes that seemed hollow somehow, haunted
with shadows.
Of course, what she’d said in the basement explained that.
13
Sierra Dafoe
For the hundredth time, Mike had a sudden desire to kick himself. As soon as he’d
seen her expression change, he’d felt like a total ass. But he’d had to ask—and, if he were
entirely honest with himself, not just because it was the businesslike thing to do.
He’d thought about her all weekend, remembering the remarkable brown eyes
which had tugged at him the moment he’d seen them, the lush curves of her butt
beneath her rumpled jeans, the soft glimmer in her thick chestnut hair as he’d followed
her down the stairs…
“Ginny,” she’d said, her eyes warm and luminous with sudden relief. “Call me
Ginny.” And Mike, who at twenty-four had been around the block a time or two, had
felt his heart contract sharply and a sudden heaviness in his groin that, whether he liked
it or not, he recognized perfectly well.
What in the hell was he getting himself into?
Oh for Pete’s sake, Mike, he told himself sternly, climbing out of the truck and
opening the tailgate. It dropped down on its hinges with a clang, and a chickadee
chattered disapprovingly from a hedge nearby. She hired you to do a job, that’s all. And it
doesn’t matter if her husband’s dead—she’s not going to be interested in you anyhow.
Nevertheless, he found himself watching the windows of the house as he unloaded
the roofing tile, wondering if she’d come out.
He’d found this batch at the Marden’s in Waterville—it was slate blue rather than
the standard black but it was high quality and, if he’d read the expression in her eyes
correctly, Ginny would care a lot more about the cost than the color.
Not to mention you’re going to have to stretch every penny ‘til it screams if you want to do
this job right.
He grunted to himself, acknowledging the truth of that as he dropped the bundle of
tiles he was carrying onto the tarp he’d laid out and turned back to the truck for another
load, shivering slightly in the cool morning silence. Only a couple days into April, there
was still a bite to the air, and he was glad for the warmth of his flannel shirt.
14
Built to Last
However little profit he’d make, though, he was determined to do a good job. It was
the first contract of this size he’d landed. More, it was exactly the sort of work he’d
always dreamed of doing, refurbishing the beautiful, neglected old farmhouses that
dotted the Maine landscape. He’d spent the better part of two years working
construction over in Augusta, pouring concrete slabs and hanging drywall for cookie-
cutter housing projects before quitting in disgust, wearied by the dull, repetitive
sameness of it all.
This, now… This was work a man could sink his teeth into. Could take pride in.
True enough, Michael—but does that really have anything to do with the bargain-basement
price you gave her?
No. No, it didn’t. He wasn’t doing it for the referrals either and he knew it.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding about first thing in the morning, were you?”
Mike turned abruptly. He hadn’t heard her come out but there she was, leaning
against the porch rail with a mug of coffee in her hands, her hair still tousled with sleep
and a pair of jeans pulled on hastily under her pajama top.
He swallowed, his cock thickening at the sight of her—he could practically feel the
sleepy warmth pouring off her body, could almost smell the muzzy bed-scent of her.
She gazed down at him, her eyes both irritated and amused under heavy lids.
She looked so cute it made him want to hug her, tickle her and fuck her all at the
same time.
Jesus, Mike! Get it together! He shrugged and said, a little defensively, “It’s after
seven.”
“Yeah, by what? Ten minutes? You country boys always up this early?”
“Always.” He grinned, firmly shoving down his wandering thoughts.
Abruptly, Ginny straightened, setting her mug on the porch railing and crossing
her arms over her chest as if cold. “Well, leave that alone for five minutes and come get
some coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you? Is that…blue?”
15
Sierra Dafoe
He glanced down at the bundle of roofing tiles in his arms. He’d forgotten he was
holding it. “Yeah. It was on sale. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. I like it.” Picking up her mug, she turned toward the door. “Come on in when
you’re ready.”
Ready wasn’t a problem, Mike thought grimly, watching her head back into the
house. His erection throbbed inside his jeans, straining against the fabric. He gritted his
teeth, willing it to subside as he carried the bundle over to the growing pile.
By the time he finished unloading the truck and went inside, Ginny had dressed.
Her hair was brushed and pulled back into a bun, and the full breasts which had looked
so soft and touchable beneath her flannel pajama top were now hidden under a neat,
tailored blouse. She handed him a heavy ceramic mug and offered him milk. He shook
his head, stirring sugar into his cup, feeling awkward.
“So,” she said crisply, “how does this work? Do I pay for materials up front or
what?”
Mike nodded, trying to match her business-like tone. “Yeah. Well, not all of them—
I was thinking about that over the weekend. Where it’s just me, it’s going to take quite a
while, so I figured we’d break it down job by job. If I happen to spot a good deal like I
did with the roofing, I’ll go ahead and grab it, but other than that you can just pay as we
go. My standard rate is eighteen dollars an hour, and I’ll give you a bill for the labor
every Friday.”
“Sounds fair enough. Have you got the receipt for the roofing?”
Mike fished out his wallet, handed her the receipt and watched, his jaw tight, as she
made out a check in her neat, slanted writing. For an insane moment, he wanted to
refuse the check altogether.
What in the hell’s wrong with you, boy? His grandfather was back inside his head—
and loud. Mike could almost picture Jacob Standish standing there, scowling at him, his
gnarled fists propped on his hips in that no-nonsense manner. Business is business and
you’re going to lose enough money on this job as it is.
16
Built to Last
Yes, he probably was.
She ripped off the check and handed it to him. Her fingers brushed against his,
warm and whisper-light. His cock, which had finally calmed down somewhat, twitched
again inside his jeans and Mike gritted his teeth. Folding the check neatly, he stashed it
in his wallet and took a last swig of coffee. “Well, I’d better get to it. Thanks for the
coffee.”
He strode from the room quickly, as painfully conscious of his renewed erection as
if he was back in high school.
Jesus, Mike! You’re twenty-four, not seventeen—you’d think you’d have a little more self-
control than this! And there was no way, no way at all, a woman like Ginny would be
interested in him. Hell, she probably thought of him as a kid practically, here to do a job
and nothing more.
So keep your mind on the damn job, Mike. Don’t start dreaming about things that aren’t
going to happen. The only thing she needs from you—the only thing—is a roof that doesn’t leak.
Well, if that’s what she needed, God damn it, at least he could give her that.
Listening to the clunks outside as Mike set up the ladder, Ginny let out a small sigh
and sank back to her seat.
What in the world had possessed her to wander out onto the porch still in her
pajamas?
She’d awakened to the sound of his truck in the driveway and, still half asleep, had
unthinkingly tugged on jeans and wandered downstairs to make coffee. There had been
something so pleasant, so comfortable about seeing him in her dooryard hauling
roofing tiles, the muscles bulging easily under his flannel shirt, that it had seemed only
natural to go out and say good morning. But when he’d grinned up at her, his white
teeth flashing in his broad, tanned face, Ginny had felt her nipples harden beneath her
pajama top.
17
Sierra Dafoe
God knows what he’d have thought if he’d noticed. And she wasn’t interested in
him—she wasn’t. It was just a momentary reaction—that was all. After all, it had been a
long time since she’d…
The memory of Karl’s face, so beloved, so well-known, flashed in her mind and
Ginny bit her lip, an uneasy guilt twisting through her. Pushing to her feet, she walked
down the hall and through the living room to the room she’d selected as her office—a
small, cozy space with windows on two sides, looking out over a rambling garden that
was still mostly brown twigs and bare patches this early in April. There were small
green spikes, though, pushing up here and there, and Ginny wondered idly what
they’d turn out to be. Daffodils, most likely. Maybe narcissus.
Most of the house was still unfurnished, her belongings still sitting in boxes waiting
to be unpacked, but in here she’d hung a few watercolors and framed copies of her
favorite columns. Leaning up against a window, Ginny could see the ladder propped
against the house and caught a glimpse of Mike—his tool belt heavy around his hips—
climbing nimbly up with a bucket of tar.
Him to his job, she thought, turning on the computer, and me to mine.
Firmly pushing away the guilty twinge she’d felt in the kitchen, she turned on her
computer and settled down to scan the letters her editor Deidre had forwarded by email
from the Boston office.
She was good at her job. In a small way, she even felt it was important—not exactly
on the level of a cure for cancer, but nevertheless… She could remember a time when
she’d been embarrassed to tell people she was an advice columnist, but the hundreds of
passionate, frightened letters she received every month had long ago convinced her that
what she was doing mattered.
Dear Virginia, my mother developed Alzheimer’s very young and now I’m afraid I’m
developing it too…
Dear Virginia, I’m a sixty-three-year-old widower with two grown children. I’ve met a
wonderful woman, but I don’t know how my kids will react…
18
Built to Last
Dear Virginia, my husband’s drinking keeps getting worse. I’m at my wits’ end and don’t
know where to turn…
Lonely, desperate voices, many of them simply needing to hear that it’s okay to ask
for help, it’s okay to be frightened. Going through the letters, she began selecting which
ones to use in her daily column and flagged numerous others to answer privately. Soon,
she was so wrapped up in her work that she didn’t notice the sun creeping around to
the far side of the house, slanting in the windows to her left.
Dear Virginia—
“Ginny?”
She looked up, startled. Mike stood in the doorway, his honey-brown hair darkened
with sweat. He’d stripped to a white tee shirt, streaked now with tar and grime. His tool
belt dragged heavily at his jeans, tugging them downward, and Ginny found her eyes
drawn to the long, lean line of his torso.
Jesus, he’s gorgeous. A furtive heat pulsed in her crotch and she jerked her gaze
hastily back to his face.
He shuffled slightly, as if embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted
to…” His focus slid past her to one of the framed columns, and his eyes widened.
“Virginia? You’re Dear Virginia?”
It was Ginny’s turn to feel embarrassed. Shrugging, she smiled. “That’s me.”
“But…but…”
“But what?” She stared at him, bemused by his hesitation.
“But you’re not old enough!”
She laughed, a pleased warmth curling through her. Playfully, she cocked an
eyebrow at him. “And exactly how old do you think I am?” He flushed, his ears turning
that adorable pink, and Ginny let him off the hook with a grin. “Don’t answer that. I
don’t really want to know.”
19
Sierra Dafoe
Mike shook his head slowly. The answering amusement in his eyes contrasted
oddly with his blush—it was too adult, too knowing a look for a boy his age.
And what is his age, Ginny? You don’t really know, do you?
Nor did she want to. Really, it just didn’t matter.
But the musky, sweaty scent of him in the small room wasn’t boyish at all. It tugged
at her, vibrant and masculine, deepening that furtive tendril of heat in her groin. He
hunkered down by her chair, gazing at the computer screen, and Ginny was all too
aware of his broad, solid shoulder scant inches from her own.
“I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I’ve been reading you since I was a kid.”
Ouch.
He glanced at her sidelong, sensed her reaction and grinned. “Wrong thing to say,
huh?” Straightening, he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “I just… Wow.
My grandfather loved your columns. He used to say you were the only woman south of
Portland with half a lick of sense.”
“Well, thank you.” She smiled politely and he stood staring a moment, his blue eyes
holding hers with an intensity that was disturbing…and pleasant, she admitted
privately. There was something about his warm, steady gaze that caught at her breath,
tightening her nipples and making her heart pound faster.
He cleared his throat and looked away, and Ginny realized her pussy was
throbbing, slick with moisture. Her panties were damp too, and her chest was rising
and falling just a bit too rapidly for comfort. Flushing, she turned abruptly back to the
computer, hoping to God he hadn’t noticed.
Oh hell. This was not good. It really, really wasn’t.
“So what can I do for you, Mike?” She kept her gaze on the screen, her fingers
already moving over the keyboard again, trying to give the impression that she was a
very busy woman—a busy, important woman—a woman who would never dream of
nailing the hunkalicious boy she’d hired to fix her house…
20
Built to Last
Yeah, right.
Mike cleared his throat. “I just wanted to let you know I’m knocking off for the day.
I’ll be back in the morning. Is eight a.m. too early?”
Too early for what? Her traitorous mind was more than happy to supply suggestions
but she shook her head quickly. “No, that’s fine. Whenever you want to start. You really
weren’t too early this morning, you know—I was just teasing you. Whatever’s
convenient for you is fine, really…”
And now I’m babbling. Shut up, Ginny! Just shut up.
She saw him nod from the corner of her eye. “Eight o’clock it is then. Oh, and the
roof isn’t bad at all. Most of the leakage is right around the chimney. I’ll re-flash that
and have the roofing done by Thursday, probably. Then I can get started on the inside
work.”
Inside work. Inside. With her. All day.
Oh God.
“That’s fine.” Feeling jittery and awkward, Ginny turned to him, yanking her face
into some semblance of calm politeness by sheer will. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning
then.”
He paused, then nodded again and left. Ginny sat stiffly, her wooden smile still
plastered to her face, listening to the front door thud shut behind him. Then, letting out
a deep, exasperated sigh, she slumped forward and started banging her forehead
rhythmically against the keyboard.
21
Sierra Dafoe
Chapter Three
She knew what this was, damn it—she’d been a psychology major in college, a
course of study that had come in handy when she’d started writing an advice column
for one of the Boston papers after her marriage. She’d turned out to be good at it,
getting picked up for syndication three years later which, while it hadn’t exactly
catapulted her and Karl into riches, had helped provide a reasonably comfortable
income. So she knew that this—what?—crush, she supposed she could call it, was no
more than another way of avoiding her grief.
All of which didn’t have the least effect on the way her heartbeat sped up of its own
accord at 7:55 every morning, or the fact that her feet hardly seemed to touch the
floorboards as she went to let Mike in.
He was proving to be punctual, with a very good work ethic—which was more
than she could say for herself at the moment. Over the past four days, she’d spent far
too many hours sitting idly at the computer, gazing out the window at the lengthening
shoots in the garden and listening to the distant sounds of Mike’s hammer on the roof.
She’d found herself jumping up as soon as she heard him descend to make a fresh pot
of coffee in case he wanted some, or leaning against the window, craning her neck for a
glimpse of him as he came down the ladder at the end of the day, tired and dirty and
gleaming with sweat…
Now, though, it was even worse. He wasn’t on the roof anymore. He was in the
living room where he’d been all morning, ripping down the ancient, sagging plaster of
the ceiling and walls. The thuds and crashes carried clearly through the single door
dividing them and Ginny dithered, feeling nervous and restless and out of sorts. She
couldn’t possibly concentrate with all that noise going on.
Are you sure it’s the noise that’s distracting you, Ginny?
22
Built to Last
Irritably, she pushed to her feet, flicked off the computer and stood gazing out the
window, chewing at the inside of her mouth. Of course it was the noise. He was a kid,
for God’s sake. He couldn’t be much more than half her age, and anyway…
And anyway, he wouldn’t be interested in you. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s really what’s got
you so on edge this morning. The fact that your pulse goes into overtime whenever he’s around
and he barely even looks at you.
It was true. Ever since Monday he’d been more and more aloof, speaking to her
briefly in passing but with his gaze always turned away, as if he were thinking about
something else entirely. And she hated it.
Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she missed his broad, easy grin and the way
he’d joked with her that first morning when she’d come out onto the porch. He hadn’t
meant anything by it, she knew—he was just being friendly—but Mike’s smile had
made her feel almost young again, warm and excited and still full of promise. Not a
woman with half her lifetime already gone by, her marriage over, her husband dead…
Ginny flinched, the guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface all week
flaring up sharply. She’d barely even thought about Karl since Monday, and when she
had, the grief which had consumed her for the past eight months seemed thin and
threadbare, like a dress worn too long.
Sixteen years of marriage deserved better than this, she thought, flushing with
shame. Karl deserved better than this. What would he think to see his wife mooning
about after some young stud she barely knew, not even nine months after his death? He
would never do that. He would never forget her so quickly…
I’m not! Stung, she paced the tiny room, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest.
I’m not forgetting him!
Yanking open the door, she strode through the living room, refusing to so much as
glance at Mike. She could see him from the corner of her eye though, his hair and face
and shoulders coated with plaster dust as he pounded at the walls with a crowbar,
stripping them down to bare boards, erasing the past…
23
Sierra Dafoe
Suddenly she couldn’t stand it any more. “Stop it!” she screamed, clamping her
hands over her ears. “Damn it, just stop!”
Mike turned, his blue eyes seeming even brighter against the dull, chalky powder
coating his face. He stared at her in shock, the crowbar still half-raised, and slowly
lowered it. He was wearing a tank top, the muscles in his chest bunching and
expanding as he panted with exertion. He stood there, young and strong and vibrantly
alive, and for that one moment Ginny hated him, hated him down to her very core.
It shouldn’t be him, damn it! It should be Karl standing there, still alive, still here with
me…
It had all been so unexpected, that was the worst of it. Healthy, athletic, forty-year-
old men weren’t supposed to drop dead of heart attacks. They weren’t supposed to
have latent heart defects, undetected through two decades of annual exams. This wasn’t
supposed to happen. Not to Karl. Not to her.
Her breath shuddered in her chest and tears tumbled down her cheeks.
“Ginny?” Setting down the crowbar, Mike came toward her. “Ginny, what is it?”
She shook her head, unable to answer. He stopped two feet from her, towering over
her, his shoulders like a bulwark between her and the empty room. His eyes, dark and
intent, held hers. “Ginny, talk to me. You’re pale as a ghost.”
“Oh yeah, you’re one to talk,” she gasped, trying to take refuge in sarcasm. The
corners of his mouth twitched up—but the smile never reached his eyes. They watched
her, somber and concerned. Flecks of dust clung to his soft, tawny lashes.
“It’s your husband, isn’t it?”
She nodded, raking her arm across her tear-dampened face. “I just…I miss him,
that’s all.”
“Of course you do. What was his name?”
The question took her by surprise and she laughed bitterly. “God, you must think
I’m an idiot. Standing here crying in front of a complete stranger.”
24
Built to Last
His jaw clenched and he ducked his head. “I don’t think that at all,” he murmured.
“I think you’re a woman who loved her husband very much.”
At his words, pain lanced through her heart and she crumpled, sobbing. Mike’s
strong arms closed about her, catching her, steadying her. She leaned her forehead
against his shoulder, unable to stop the tears cascading down her cheeks. Distantly, she
realized he was making soothing noises, his hand rubbing her back in a small, gentle
circle. “It’s all right, Gin. It’s okay to cry. I’m here. I’ve got you…” Over and over, a soft,
reassuring whisper in her ear as she sobbed against his chest.
She cried until she felt hollowed out, as light and empty as a sea-washed shell.
Slowly her tears ebbed, and in the silence she became aware of Mike’s strong, steady
heartbeat beneath her cheek, the warmth of his arms around her, the sweaty, masculine
scent of him filling her nostrils…
Lifting her head, she gazed up at him, her lips parting as her breath came faster.
Without thinking, she slid her arms around his neck, pressing her body against him,
feeling an unexpected heat in her pussy and a sudden wash of dampness between her
thighs. Tilting her head back, she watched him from under lowered lashes, thinking,
Come on, damn you, just kiss me! Just bend your head and…
Ginny, what the fuck are you doing?
Her eyelids flew open and she stared up at Mike, horrified at what she’d almost
done. He stood stiffly, his head tossed back like a startled horse, his blue eyes dark with
an expression she couldn’t read, didn’t want to read. Blood rose to her cheeks, hot and
stinging.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh God, Mike. I…I didn’t mean…”
Her face burning with shame, she spun from his grasp and ran from the room, too
mortified to turn back even when she heard him call after her.
“Ginny!”
25
Sierra Dafoe
Mike stood like a statue as the front door slammed, unable to move, his whole body
pounding with agonized need. His chest heaved. His knees felt like water. Every fiber
of his being seemed centered in the rock-hard erection straining against his belly.
He’d tried all week to avoid her. Every time he got close to her, the hunger inside
him had flared up like a beacon, yearning to touch her, hold her…
Go on, say it. Fuck her.
Yes. And there was no way—no way at all—she’d let him. What did he have to
offer someone like her? She wasn’t some girl, heedlessly eager to fall in love with any
man who looked her way. Ginny was a woman, with a woman’s needs, a woman’s
desires…
She’s not the only one with desires, Michael.
Hardly. The erection throbbing inside his jeans was proof enough of that.
She’d felt it—she must have. Her eyes had gone wide with horror and she’d torn
herself away from him, fleeing from him, from his arms, from his hunger… Outside, he
heard the roar of an engine and heard her car squeal down the driveway. Mike hung his
head, feeling like a colossal fool.
From the moment he’d first seen her, seen that silent sorrow in her eyes, he’d
wanted to be the one to chase it away, to fix what was broken inside her. All week he’d
indulged in fantasies of holding her, comforting her. Lying in bed at night, with one
hand wrapped around his jutting cock, he’d imagined the feel of her, soft and warm
and vulnerable inside the protective circle of his arms.
The shock of actually finding her in his arms had made his head reel.
And she’d trusted him, damn it! Trusted him enough to let him hold her while she
cried. Why couldn’t that have been enough? Why did his entire body have to burn with
the need to be inside her?
Hell, for a second he’d been so self-deluded he’d even let himself think she’d
wanted that.
26
Built to Last
He stared around at the wreckage of the room, the naked boards, the crumbling
plaster lying in dusty heaps. It was a handsome room, spacious and well-proportioned,
and he’d been looking forward to restoring it.
That’s one job you just blew all to shit, Michael. His gut sank at the thought. She was
going to fire him. Of course she was. No woman was about to let some strange man
work on her house—not after she’d realized he was attracted to her.
He couldn’t leave the room looking like this, though, not even if she threw him out
the second she got back. Sighing, Mike reached for the broom and started sweeping up
the mess.
* * * * *
It was growing dark by the time Ginny pulled back into the driveway, the last glow
of sunset blocked out by the inky black clouds amassing on the horizon. The tension in
the air seemed to seep into her very bones, tightening her spine with apprehension.
He’d be gone by now, though—of course he would. He’d left the moment she
pulled out of the driveway, Ginny was certain. Simply packed up his tools and gotten
the hell out. And she didn’t blame him in the least.
There was a word for what she’d done. An ugly word. She was Mike’s employer,
and she knew exactly what she’d think of a man who would come on to a young,
attractive employee, no matter how unhappy he was, or lonely, or sad…
The most damning part of all was that all he’d tried to do was be nice. Offer her
comfort. And in return she’d tried to take advantage of him.
She remembered the way she’d wrapped her arms around him…and the way he’d
stiffened, drawing back. Her cheeks burned again at the memory and she cringed.
Oh God. The poor kid.
Then the car’s headlights picked out the muddy white of Mike’s truck, still sitting in
front of her house, the tailgate down, the sheets of drywall that had been in the back
27
Sierra Dafoe
this morning now absent. Ginny’s heart lurched into triple time, pounding so hard she
felt almost ill. And her stomach didn’t flip-flop—it was in full-out free fall.
Why hadn’t he left? What was he still doing here? Hell, she wouldn’t have blamed
him if he’d called the cops on her—she deserved it. She stared at the soft house lights
gleaming out through the windows, only now registering the fact that they were on.
How long had it been since she’d come home to a house where the lights were
already on?
Groping for the door handle, Ginny got out of the car. She stood there with the
warm, damp wind gusting around her in the darkness, trying to steady her breathing,
to think. He was still here. That meant something. It meant…
It meant he’d forgiven her. Or at least was willing to work for her anyway.
Gratitude welled in her chest, making her throat ache. Oh Mike. Even if it was
simply because he needed the job, needed the money, she was glad he had stayed, glad
he was willing to give her a second chance.
And the first thing she was going to do was apologize.
Resolutely, she went into the house, closing the door quietly behind her. Trash bags
full of debris lined the hall and she could hear the high, mechanical whine of a power
drill from the living room. “Mike?” Skirting the bags, she walked through the archway
into the living room and stopped dead, her mouth going dry at the sight of him.
The drywall was piled neatly beside him. Mike, stripped to the waist, was levering
a four-by-eight sheet into place over the bare studs, the muscles rippling in his arms
and back, his forehead creased in concentration. His hair, damp with sweat, hung down
almost into his eyes. Bracing the sheet with one knee and a forearm, he pulled his
DeWalt from his tool belt, slotted a screw into the bit and sank it into the upper-left-
hand corner.
Ginny couldn’t take her eyes off him. The muscles bulged in his forearms and veins
pulsed along their length as he sank the next screw, still bracing the drywall. More
28
Built to Last
quickly now, he drove in screws along the upper edge and down the sides, then stuck
the power drill back in his tool belt and heaved another sheet of drywall off the pile.
Kid? This was no kid. This was a man, in the full flower of his strength—and every
cell in her body knew it. She licked her lips, trying to force down the hunger curling
through her crotch.
There was something almost grim about his single-mindedness—he hadn’t even
noticed her lurking beside the archway. His shoulders flexed as he turned the heavy
sheet, hoisting it into place alongside the first. She could see every twitch and ripple of
muscle beneath his smooth, lightly bronzed skin, the jump of tendons in his arms, the
way the cords tightened in his broad, powerful back. Once again, he began the
laborious process of bracing the drywall with one arm, drawing the power drill from
the worn leather tool belt riding low on his hips, notching in a screw…
“Mike?”
The screw went clattering to the floor and Mike’s head whipped around, his blue
eyes pinning her with an intensity that made her pussy throb.
Oh Jesus, Ginny thought, what if he simply strode over to me right now? What if he lifted
me up against the wall the way he’s holding that sheet and—
And that wasn’t going to happen. Not now and not ever. She shifted uncomfortably
as he gazed at her, his eyes both bright and oddly distant, as if most of his attention was
elsewhere. The sheet started to slip and, swearing, he grabbed it, shoving it back into
place.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny said automatically.
Mike grunted something then glanced over at her ruefully. “You kind of caught me
at a bad time. Ginny, I—”
“Can I help?” The words were out of her mouth before she even thought about
them and Ginny flushed under the gaze he sent raking over her. “I mean, if you want
me to.”
29
Sierra Dafoe
He studied her cautiously and her heart sank. Then his face relaxed, and he even
smiled at her. “A second pair of hands’d make this a hell of a lot easier, I gotta admit.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
“You might want to start by putting on a different shirt,” he said, eyeing her blouse.
“I… All right.” Dashing up the stairs, she went into her bedroom and yanked open
a dresser. Trying to ignore the way her fingers quivered as she unbuttoned her blouse,
she grabbed the first old tee shirt she saw, dragged it down over her bra and tugged her
hair back into a careless ponytail. The shirt was far too long for her—it was an old one
of Karl’s—and she knotted the bottom of it as she headed nervously back down the
stairs, telling herself firmly she was not going to do anything to make Mike more
uncomfortable, she was not…
He’d already fastened the second sheet in place and was levering a third off the pile
as she came through the archway. Despite her intentions, she couldn’t help staring at
the fluid ripple of muscles along his rib cage as he lifted the sheet.
He was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. His chiseled jaw was covered now with a
trace of golden whiskers, the cords in his neck standing out as he turned the sheet,
propping it into place. Ginny’s knees felt like water as she watched him, and a not-
altogether-unpleasant anxiety fluttered in her stomach at the thought of being close to
him, helping him, their shoulders maybe brushing against one another’s, their hands
occasionally touching…
No more of that, Ginny! You hear me?
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
He glanced over his shoulder and then stared, his mouth slightly open. Ginny felt a
blush climbing back to her cheeks and tugged awkwardly at the baggy tee shirt, but
Mike looked her slowly up and down and finally grinned.
“You can’t help me from halfway across the room, you know.” His blue eyes
twinkled and he jerked his head, beckoning her over before turning his attention back
30
Built to Last
to the wall. Ginny approached his right side slowly, trying to squelch a ridiculous surge
of nervousness.
There was something curiously erotic about having him standing there, naked to
the waist, his hands flat on the sheet as if shackled to it. It was painfully easy to imagine
that he really was pinioned there, completely at her mercy. She could picture gliding her
hands over that solid expanse of back, cupping that full, hard ass, reaching around and
caressing the bulge of his crotch…
Stop it, Ginny! Stop it right now! She swallowed, realizing belatedly that her mouth
was no longer dry. Nor were other, more private parts of her anatomy.
It doesn’t matter, damn it. You’re a grown woman, you’ve been horny before. Now get it
together.
Trying to keep her voice steady, she asked, “All right, now what?”
“Now get the drill out of my tool belt and grab a screw.”
Ginny was horrified to feel an adolescent giggle welling up inside her. Biting her
lip, she forced it down and slid the heavy drill from the leather loop that held it. This
close, she was painfully conscious of the mingled scents rising off him—sweat, the smell
of leather from the tool belt, a certain musky spiciness that nearly made her swoon.
“Where’re the screws?”
Mike froze—and Ginny stared, uncomprehending, as a slow flush crept up the back
of his neck. Then in a tone as flat as a surgeon’s asking for a clamp, he said, “In my left
pocket.”
Ah hell.
Well, if she ever wanted a chance to prove she could behave herself, here it was.
Bracing herself, Ginny reached around, careful not to touch his bare skin. Her fingers
shook and she could feel the heat radiating off him, could almost sense the tense thigh
muscles quivering beneath the soft, faded denim of his jeans…
Come on, girl! Get it together! You can do this.
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Sierra Dafoe
Cautiously, she slid her hand into his pocket, trying not to notice the sudden
warmth beneath her fingers, the hardness of muscle against her palm…
There! Her fingers encountered the sharp edge of a screw. She seized it hastily,
yanked her hand back out and heard Mike hiss.
“Sorry, did I scratch you?”
“Not…exactly. All right, can you reach the top corner?”
Stretching on tiptoe, Ginny tried to angle the drill up without leaning against Mike.
She couldn’t do it.
“Here,” he said, stepping back to create a space between himself and the wall. Too
nervous to allow herself to glance up at him, Ginny ducked under his arm and raised
the drill. God, it was heavy! Her biceps fluttered with the strain but she pulled the
trigger and pressed in, almost gasping with relief when she felt the screw bite into the
wood beneath the sheet.
“Got it!” Smiling, she glanced up over her shoulder—and became aware again of
the sheer mass of him. He dwarfed her, his powerful arms on either side of her,
hemming her in. His nostrils flared—the strain of holding the drywall, undoubtedly—
and he nodded shortly.
“Good. Now the other corner.”
Shit! Ginny swallowed. Oh Christ, why didn’t I grab two screws while I was at it? She
hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Should she turn around? It would be easier to get
another screw that way, but… No. No, facing him would be far too intimate, far too…
Tempting, and you know it. All right. All right, then.
Facing the wall, she closed her eyes, reached behind her…and felt, unmistakably,
the bulge of his cock against her fingers as she scrabbled out another screw.
Mike froze, his entire body going rigid behind her. Ginny blushed in mortification.
Ah fuck. What did she do now?
32
Built to Last
“Sorry,” she muttered and quickly fit the screw to the bit, raising the drill and
sinking it securely home.
His arms were still braced against the drywall, trapping her between them. Turning
awkwardly within that small, enclosed space, she looked up at him, panting and
embarrassed but determined to apologize. “Mike, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
That was all she got out before his hands clamped around the small of her back,
pulling her against him as he bent his head down and silenced her words with his hot,
hungry mouth.
Damn, but he knows how to kiss, she thought faintly. The strength seemed to rush
from her legs and the drill dragged at her right arm, a dead weight pinning her in place.
Mike leaned in, pushing her back against the drywall, and Ginny whimpered as his
erection pressed against her belly, hard and throbbing and Christ was he huge! His lips
moved over hers, firm and demanding, then his tongue pressed against her teeth,
urging them apart.
Saliva flooded her mouth as their tongues brushed together. As if that were some
unspoken signal, any last vestige of restraint vanished and Mike plunged his tongue
deep into her mouth. Mewling like a horny cat, Ginny sucked it, arching into him,
running her free hand up his heavy arm and across the hard swell of his shoulder. Her
head spun. Her nipples burned like fire. There was nothing in the world but the feel of
his body against hers, his tongue in her mouth, his hands sliding down her back to cup
her ass…
Mike froze, pulling away abruptly. A whimper of longing burst from Ginny’s throat
and she grabbed his butt, dragging him back against her. His eyes widened in shock
and Ginny, flushing with mortification, dropped her hand from his ass.
You swore you weren’t going to do this, Ginny! God, why would he want you? Look at him,
he must have girls crawling all over him…
She started to slide from between him and the wall, inadvertently brushing against
his groin. He groaned, seizing her arm. “Don’t…move.” His jaw clenched for a moment
33
Sierra Dafoe
and he closed his eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “All right. Two
screws aren’t going to hold that, Ginny.”
She stared at him. He didn’t…surely he didn’t mean…
But Mike was watching her steadily, the blue of his eyes so deep they looked almost
black.
Swallowing, she slid her hand back into his jeans, trying to ignore the flare of lust in
her crotch. She could feel the hard length of his erection through the thin fabric of the
pocket, throbbing against her fingers. God, how she wanted to simply forget everything
else and just caress that thick, pulsing shaft…
As carefully as she could, she closed her fingers around a screw. Mike groaned
softly and dropped his head back, his eyes closed, his face lax with arousal. Swallowing,
she pulled the screw out and he opened his eyes. Taking the drill from her, he reached
over her head. Trapped between him and the wall, she gazed up at the underside of his
strong jaw, stubbled with a soft five o’clock shadow. It was all she could do to keep
from running her hands over the hard swell of his pecs and toying with the leather
thong around his neck as he sank in the screw.
“Another,” he murmured, lowering the drill. His arms hung lax at his sides, his
shoulders blocking out the room behind him. She stared up at him, swallowed and
dropped her gaze. His chest, broad and gleaming, was level with her eyes.
She felt caught in some small, otherworldly space, a sliver of existence where all the
laws of reality had been suspended. If she stopped to think it would fracture like glass.
Wordlessly, she slid her hand back into his jeans, this time letting her fingers trail
against the hard length of his erection, stroking it through the lining of his pocket. She
couldn’t feel any underwear. A low, throaty noise like a tiger’s growl rumbled through
his chest and Ginny pushed her hand deeper, cupping her fingers around the heavy
fullness of his balls.
They gave slightly under her touch, the warm, taut skin sliding back and forth as
she caressed them. She could feel the hard edges of the screws deep in his pocket, and
34
Built to Last
the thought of them scratching lightly against his swollen sac sent a strange, exotic
shiver through her. Not that she’d actually want them to hurt him. It was just the
closeness, she thought, the possibility, the danger…
He arched into her touch, thrusting his cock against her seeking fingers. Turning
her hand, she pressed her palm against that hard, pulsing ridge and heard him groan.
Reaching down, he fumbled at his tool belt awkwardly, the drill still in one hand. She
finally pulled a screw out of his pocket as he unbuckled the heavy leather and let it fall
with a thud to the floor. Then he handed her the drill, his eyes intent on her face.
“You get this one.” His voice was hoarse, deep…tense with hunger. Swallowing,
Ginny turned away, feeling his hands drop to her hips as she raised her arms. The bulge
of his erection brushed against her ass and her biceps trembled as she raised the heavy
drill and depressed the trigger.
That was when Mike ran his hands up her front, his strong fingers cupping her
breasts. Panting, Ginny fumbled with the drill, trying to keep her hands steady. He
leaned in close, bending down to nuzzle her neck, and slid his hands through the
armholes of her baggy tee shirt to trail his fingers over the lace of her bra.
The screw clattered to the floor and Ginny gasped as his fingers closed around her
nipples, pinching them lightly. She leaned against the wall, still holding the drill over
her head, grateful for its support as her knees buckled beneath her. Mike pressed his
erection harder against her ass, his fingers squeezing and rubbing her hypersensitive
nipples, caressing them through the scratchy lace.
Her arms shook with strain and Mike slipped one hand free of her shirt to lift the
drill from her grasp. Reaching over with one long arm, he set it on the pile of drywall.
She started to lower her arms but he grabbed her wrists, and Ginny gasped as he
yanked them back over her head, pinioning them against the drywall.
Need, hot and urgent, thudded through her, and she pushed back against him,
rubbing her ass against the hard ridge in his jeans. He groaned, dropping his hands to
35
Sierra Dafoe
her hips, pulling her even more tightly against his groin. Then he slid his arms around
her waist, tugging at the button of her jeans, unzipping the fly, pushing them down.
Ginny froze, painfully conscious of the bare skin of her ass, naked but for the flimsy
panties she wore. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The outer lips of her pussy were
so swollen they throbbed. She bit her lip as she heard him unzip his jeans, trying not to
think—if she stopped to think, she knew she’d chicken out. Run from the room. And
she didn’t want to. She wanted him in her, his cock buried deep in her sodden pussy,
fucking her with all the strength of that hard, massive body…
He trailed one finger along the edge of her panties, down over the curve of her ass.
Then he pulled them aside, not even bothering to peel them off, and ran his finger
between her slick folds. “Jesus,” he breathed, pushing his work-calloused finger into
her. “You’re so hot, Ginny. So wet.”
She moaned like a cat in heat, arching her back, pressing his finger deeper inside
her. His other hand came up to clamp her hip and Ginny closed her eyes, leaning her
head against her forearms. She was bent away from him, leaning against the wall, her
breasts hanging heavily inside her bra and her ass pushed back toward him. He
pumped his finger in and out of her slowly, almost wonderingly, and Ginny panted,
writhing with need. At last he withdrew his hand and she whimpered hungrily until
she felt the hard, thick bulge of his cock head pressing firmly against her dripping
entrance.
He bent low over her, his taut abs warm against her back, his whiskers scratching
the back of her neck lightly as he panted, “God. Oh God, Ginny. I want to be in you so
bad. I don’t…I don’t have anything. Tell me to stop, Ginny. Tell me to stop.”
Condoms. He meant he didn’t have any condoms. Even now, as aroused as he was,
he stopped to think of that, to think of her. She closed her eyes, a painful, furtive
warmth clenching in her heart—how many young men his age would have stopped,
would have been responsible enough to even ask?
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Built to Last
But in all the sixteen years of her marriage she’d never once managed to get
pregnant. And she didn’t want him to stop. Not now. Not for anything.
Sliding one hand down between her thighs, Ginny wrapped it around the hot
thickness of his shaft and urged it deep into her pussy.
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Chapter Four
Mike gasped as Ginny dragged his cock forward, burying it inside her. God, she felt
good! Hot and damp and tight, like a honeyed fist clamped around his shaft. As he sank
in, his cock bucked like a wild thing and his balls clenched, already on the edge.
He could hardly believe this was happening. Despite the fact that he’d been
masturbating like a high-schooler all week, twice and sometimes three times a day, he
was so close to coming he wasn’t sure he could contain it.
Outside, the wind gusted and a volley of raindrops spattered against the window,
hard and heavy. The air was thick with a tension that echoed the need inside his groin.
He groaned, gritting his teeth, waiting for the urgency in his balls to back off.
Ginny mewled like a hungry cat, shoving her hips back, and he grabbed them
desperately, holding her still. Simply the sight of her bent over before him, her back
arched, her hands splayed on the drywall as if bracing herself, was almost too much for
his self-control. Her ass was every bit as gorgeous as it had seemed beneath her
clothes—full and round, jiggling slightly as he’d yanked off her jeans. The edge of her
panties, tugged tight where he’d yanked them aside, bit slightly into that soft,
voluptuous flesh.
He’d never understood why girls his age were so intent on having figures like
sticks. Ginny, with her lush ass and warm, squeezable breasts, aroused him in a way
he’d never felt before, never even imagined. And the way her pussy gripped him,
giving his cock a practiced squeeze…
Ah Christ. His balls pulsed in response, sending a flare of heat through his jutting
shaft. Spreading her ass cheeks wider, Mike stared down at the sight of his cock gliding
between her slick, furred folds. She moaned, tilting her back farther, opening herself to
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Built to Last
his view—one more thing girls his age seldom did. At least none of the four he’d slept
with.
It had been excruciating standing there, every muscle in his body trembling with
the strain of controlling his desire as her small, deft hand slid into his pocket, her
fingers brushing against his shaft. The slow, seductive dance of it had sent the blood
roaring to his ears until he couldn’t take it anymore—he had to touch her.
He wasn’t sure he would have dared if she hadn’t touched him first. But there had
been no mistaking the desire in her eyes, the way her body had quivered delicately
against his. The first time he’d cupped her breasts, he’d almost come in his pants.
But he was determined to outlast her. Sliding one hand from her hip down between
her thighs, he glided his finger along the swollen nub of her clit, hearing her breathing
deepen as he caressed it. He increased the pressure slightly, rubbing his fingers in a
small, tight circle, and she bucked against him, a small, eager moan spilling from her
throat. Sliding his hips back, Mike paused for a second and gazed down at his cock,
slick with her juices, the head just inside her hot, tight opening. Then, gritting his teeth,
he pushed himself inward in one smooth, deep stroke.
Ginny cried out, tossing her head back, her chestnut ponytail gliding across her
shoulder blades. Reaching up, Mike captured it in one hand, wrapping it around his
fingers as his other hand kneaded her clit. Yes—yes, she liked that. He could tell by the
way she tugged lightly against his grasp, pulling her head forward just enough to feel
him holding her. He tightened his grip, tugging her ponytail lightly, and was rewarded
by a deep, hungry moan that almost sent him over the edge.
Jesus, he really wasn’t going to last. He rubbed harder, playing his fingers over her
hard, swollen clit as he reared back, sending his cock slamming into her. Her ass jiggled
with the force of his stroke and she moaned again, the sound higher now, taut with
urgency.
This wasn’t the way he’d imagined it at all. His fantasies had been slower, more
romantic. Long, deep talks followed by a gentle kiss, a slow, almost hesitant
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exploration… This was something completely different. Raw. Primal. Her cunt gripped
him, squeezing his cock as he pulled back out of her, sending a shockwave of need
straight to his balls. He groaned again, seeing red flashes before his eyes, and rolled his
hips forward, burying himself so deep inside her he wasn’t sure where his flesh ended
and hers began.
She whimpered again, high in her throat, and shoved her ass back against him,
meeting him stroke for stroke. Some internal wall crumbled under the pressure of her
need and Mike threw his head back and plunged into her again and again, fucking her
with all the force of his powerful body.
The need inside Ginny grew tighter, tighter, spiraling up with every thrust of
Mike’s thick, hard cock. He slammed into her so fiercely it almost hurt, and yet it was
exactly what she wanted. The lust inside her blotted out everything else, hissing in her
ears, and she cried aloud, urging him on. His left hand clamped her ass, dragging her
against him while with his right he massaged her clit, rubbing his fingers hard over her
engorged nub.
He was so huge, so strong, his shaft hammering into her with a wild abandon that
stole her breath and made her want to scream with delight. Tossing her head, she
strained back against him, loving the feel of him filling her, fucking her, splitting her
open…
His fingers plucked at her clit, squeezing it, and Ginny arched as her orgasm
shattered through her, hot and searing and endless. Her pussy throbbed, spasming
around Mike’s massive shaft as he grabbed her ass in both hands, spreading it wide as
he rammed his cock deep into her passage and hung there, quivering. She could feel his
shaft bucking inside her, pulsing with every clench of his full, furred balls as he shot his
come into her over and over. Tightening her inner muscles, she gripped him with her
pussy, milking every last drop from his spurting cock.
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Built to Last
Panting, she slumped forward, letting the wall take her weight. She could hear
Mike panting behind her, his thighs trembling with the force of his climax. She felt
exhausted, wrung out. Nobody had ever fucked her like that. Not ever.
Not even Karl.
Ginny stiffened, shame tearing like a knife blade through her gut. Her panting
deepened into sobs. Mike was still buried deep in her body, his cock slowly softening. It
was so easy to picture him, his young, handsome face lax and flushed with the
aftereffects of orgasm, his hair dark with sweat, hanging in his eyes…
Oh God. Oh God, what have I done?
“Ginny? Are you all right?”
Mike’s voice, full of concern, only aggravated her further. She shook her head,
unable to speak, hating the feel of his hands on her back, stroking her shoulders.
“Ginny, what’s wrong?”
Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it—his concern, his touch, the feel of his cock inside
her. With a jerk, she pulled away from him, feeling him slide from her passage, their
mingled juices spilling down her thighs. Ginny shuddered. Forcing down her tears, she
stood, feeling her lips twist in a snarl as she turned to him. “Nothing’s wrong. You got
what you wanted. Now get out.”
“What? Ginny—”
“I said get out!” She screamed the words, and saw him blanch in shock. He recoiled,
eyes wide, and Ginny took the opportunity to thrust past him, running blindly from the
room, tugging awkwardly at her jeans as she stumbled up the stairs. If he pursued her,
so help her she would call the cops. She slammed into the bathroom and leaned against
the door, shuddering, every nerve in her body alert for the sound of a footstep on the
stairs…
It never came. After what seemed like forever, she heard his truck start and pull
away, the sound muted by the howl of the wind. The tension ran out of her and she
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slumped, hot tears spilling from her eyes as she fumbled for the shower, peeled off her
clothes and stood under its grudging spray.
How could she have done that? How could she have let herself fuck him? How
could she have betrayed Karl like that?
You didn’t, a voice whispered deep inside her. You didn’t betray him. He’s dead, Ginny.
Sobbing, she sank to the floor of the tiny, cramped tub and wrapped her arms
around herself.
The cooling spray of the shower finally roused her, driving her out of the tub.
Outside, everything had fallen silent, as if the world had drawn in a breath and was
waiting to let it out. Drying herself, Ginny wrapped her hair in a towel and pulled on a
terrycloth robe—then stopped short as her reflection caught her eye. She turned to the
mirror, staring at her wan, ashen face, the tiny lines that had started appearing around
her eyes…
Oh Ginny, what the hell are you doing?
She’d screamed at him—and it hadn’t been Mike’s fault. Not at all. He hadn’t done
anything wrong. In fact, he’d been far more adult about this than she’d been. In the
silence, she remembered his harsh, desperate plea. Tell me to stop, Ginny. Tell me to stop.
She hadn’t. Not only that, she’d grabbed his cock and practically forced it inside
her.
And then she’d blamed him.
Her reflection gazed back at her from huge, haunted eyes. Staring at it, Ginny let
the truth of that sink home. It horrified her to think she was capable of being that self-
serving, that unfair. But she was. She’d done that—and she’d done it to a nice, decent,
hard-working kid who had no fucking clue why she’d acted that way.
The shame this time was even harder to bear. Flicking the light off, Ginny closed the
bathroom door and padded down the hall.
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Built to Last
He wouldn’t come back this time. She was sure of it—and maybe that was for the
best, after all. It would certainly be easier than the discomfort of having him in her
house every day, a constant reminder of the way she’d acted, the way she’d behaved…
Climbing into bed, she lay staring at the ceiling, listening as heavy drops of rain
pattered on the roof, each one loud and distinct. There was a hush, then a second spate
of raindrops, and then with a roar the rain came down, hard and steady, drumming on
the roof. Ginny snuggled deeper into her blankets, unable to help the warm sense of
security that crept over her, listening to the rain outside, pattering on a roof that no
longer leaked, that shielded her against the storm…
He’d done that. Mike. And she’d screamed at him.
Turning her head into the pillow, Ginny cried. Cried until the night faded away
around her and she slid into an exhausted sleep.
* * * * *
What finally roused her was the whine of a power drill, high and distant. Ginny
opened her eyes slowly, unable in her sleep-dazed state to place why that should
surprise her. Then memory came flooding back and she froze for a moment, too
embarrassed to get out of bed. How could she face him?
But she had to, and she knew it. Sighing, she pushed herself upright and reached
for her clothes. Her body had a pleasant soreness this morning, muscles that had
forgotten what sex was like, aching gently as she pulled on her jeans, and Ginny
paused, her hand on the doorknob of her bedroom, remembering.
It was true—no one ever had made love to her like that. Oh, her and Karl’s sex life
had been lusty enough but there’d been something so overwhelming, so elemental in
the way Mike had fucked her…
A renewed tendril of heat stole through Ginny’s crotch and she paused uncertainly,
afraid to go down, afraid the attraction between them would still be there.
Yeah, not likely, Ginny. Not after the way you treated him last night.
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And she didn’t want it to be—did she? No. Of course not. The only thing she
wanted was a chance to apologize.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her door and went down.
The power drill had stopped. Now all she could hear was a faint, rhythmic
scraping. She followed the sound to the arch into the living room—and paused in
amazement.
Dear God, had he been here all night? Fresh drywall covered the bare studs of the
room—even the ceiling. Perched on a ladder, Mike was layering joint compound over
the seams. His face was pale, his eyes hollow with exhaustion, and a fresh pang of guilt
shot through Ginny.
“Mike?”
He glanced over at her, his blue eyes distant and cold. He looked so young…and
yet the bleakness in his eyes wasn’t young at all. There were flecks of the white
compound in his hair and his clothes were different, she realized. So he had gone
home—she hadn’t imagined it. Drawing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath,
Ginny said, “Mike, we have to talk.”
The coldness in his eyes deepened and he shrugged, turning his attention back to
his work. “So talk.”
“I… Mike, I am so sorry about last night. I had no right to scream at you like that. I
was just—”
“You were just feeling guilty because you felt like you’d betrayed your husband.”
Ginny stared at him. His head was tilted back as he worked the compound into the
seam between wall and ceiling, his expression unchanging. “How did you know that?”
The look he shot her was heavy with scorn. “Exactly how young do you think I am?
It didn’t take a lot to figure that out.”
“Mike, I…” He looked away from her again, shutting out whatever she might say.
Ginny slumped, feeling a gray depression seep through her. “You’re right.”
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Mike muttered something. It might have been “No shit.”
Ginny flushed, biting her lip. Turning, she went into the kitchen, found her
checkbook and made out a check. Going back to the living room, she held it out to him.
“You really don’t have to work on Saturdays, you know.”
He didn’t even glance at her. “Look, lady, the faster I work, the sooner I’m done.
Got it?”
Tears sprang to her eyes at the coldness of his tone. “It was a mistake, all right? I
was wrong. I admit it. I didn’t mean to… Oh hell.” Mike didn’t answer. “Look, I’m
putting the check here on the windowsill, all right? It’s there whenever you want it.”
She stared down at it, the numbers blurring in her tear-washed sight. “Mike, I swear, I
never meant to hurt you.”
Turning quickly, she strode toward the arch—but where could she go, really?
Where could she hide in her own home from her guilt?
Mike’s voice, hard and biting, stopped her. “What are you apologizing for?” She
turned back to find him watching her, his thick, wavy hair hanging over his forehead,
his blue eyes blazing with sullen anger. “After all, I got what I wanted, right? Right,
Ginny?”
“I…” Oh Jesus. Had she really said that? “Mike, I’m so sorry.”
He laughed, a short, hard bark that wrenched her heart as she remembered the easy
sound of his laughter that very first morning. Tossing the putty knife into the bucket of
compound, he clambered down from the stepladder and turned to face her. “Yeah,
well—sorry’s not good enough.”
Ginny hung her head. He was right, of course. Sorry wasn’t good enough—but it
was all she had. She heard him move and looked up, surprised to find him standing
over her, his eyes dark, his body quivering with some barely suppressed emotion. She
trembled, both frightened and, yes, damn it, aroused by his intensity.
“I want to hear you say it, Ginny.”
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“Say what?” Her voice was faint even in her own ears.
“Say that you wanted it. I’m not letting you put that burden on me.”
She stared up at him, her mouth gaping open—but no sound came out. Not until he
grabbed her arms, making her shriek.
“Say it, Ginny!”
“I…I wanted it.” Her chest was heaving, her blood ringing in her ears. “I wanted
it.”
Mike stared back at her, his nostrils flaring. Then his expression shifted and
suddenly, with a harsh, anguished cry, he dragged her against him, his mouth closing
over hers with an urgency that left her breathless.
Closing her eyes, Ginny buried her hands in his shaggy hair, kissing him back with
everything inside her. Mike groaned, the sound vibrating inside her mouth, and
released her from his kiss long enough to drag his tee shirt over his head and quickly
peel off hers. Then his hands dropped to her jeans, unbuttoning them, his fingers
brushing the swell of her mons as he pushed them down. Kicking awkwardly, Ginny
got her shoes off and stepped out of her jeans, standing before him in nothing but her
bra and panties.
His breathing quickened, rasping in and out of his massive chest as he stood there,
devouring her with his eyes. She trembled, feeling her nipples tighten under that hot,
hungry gaze. God, he was so beautiful! Right or not, she wanted him—wanted him
with a fiery intensity that shocked her. Her pussy clenched, longing to have him inside
her again, yearning to have him simply take her, without questions, without
hesitation…
“Oh no, Ginny.” He chuckled, intentionally stepping back. “I’m not making it that
easy on you. This time, you’re going to have to show me you want it.” Holding her gaze,
he took her hand in his, leading it to the bulge in his jeans.
Christ, his cock really was huge. Ginny worked her hand over the length of it,
caressing it through the worn fabric of his jeans. He groaned softly and she reached
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eagerly for the button, undoing it deftly. Carefully, she slid down his zipper, almost
gasping as the thick, shiny head of his penis sprang free, so engorged it was flushed
nearly purple.
I wasn’t imagining it, she thought. He really does go commando. A fresh spurt of
wetness soaked her panties at the thought and she wrapped her hand around his thick,
veined shaft, pumping it lightly up and down.
Mike watched her from under heavy lids, following the movement of her hand on
his cock. Smiling to herself, Ginny dropped to her knees and tugged his jeans down
over his hips. Show him she wanted it? Oh yeah, she could do that.
She’d never actually gotten to see his cock last night and now she studied it lazily,
trailing her fingers up and down its prodigious length. Karl hadn’t been anything like
under-endowed, but Mike’s cock was a marvel, thick and solid with a firm, bulging
head. Leaning forward, she trailed her tongue around the distended rim, reveling in the
smooth, velvety feel of his skin. At the same time, she curved one hand under his balls,
cupping their hard, heavy roundness.
Mike groaned, his hands coming up hesitantly to brush over her hair and Ginny
was reminded again how very young he was. Surely he’d gotten a blowjob before.
Looking the way he did, he must have had dozens of girls…
She was shocked at the angry spurt of jealousy that lanced through her, so strong it
made her head reel.
Whoa there, Ginny! She pulled back, looking up at Mike, his features soft with
arousal but his eyes piercingly bright as he watched her. How many girls had he slept
with? As many as he wanted, no doubt—but she was forty years old and God damn it,
if she didn’t know how to give a blowjob by now…
Grinning to herself, Ginny leaned forward again, closing her lips around that thick,
meaty head. She swirled her tongue around it, teasing the rim, and darted it quickly at
the small, gaping slit in the very tip. Mike stiffened, his hips jerking involuntarily and
she grinned again, determined to give him the best blowjob of his life.
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Relaxing her throat, she began taking him deeper, amazed at how easy it was
despite how long it’d been. Guess it’s like riding a bike, she thought ruefully. And maybe
it really was time to climb back on. Hadn’t that been what buying this house was about,
after all—moving on?
Guilt niggled at her again but this time Ginny shoved it down. She could feel guilty
later. Right now there was someone else whose feelings she’d hurt—and she was
damned and determined to make it up to him. Opening her jaw wide, she plunged her
head forward, sucking Mike deep into her mouth.
He groaned again, his hands tightening in her hair and a hot, heady sense of
triumph unfolded in Ginny’s belly. She drew back teasingly and almost laughed as he
grabbed her, dragging her mouth back down his shaft. Letting her lips go soft and
inviting, she relaxed into his grip, letting him guide her head up and down his cock.
His balls pulsed, growing even harder, so distended with come they overflowed her
palm. She squeezed them lightly, rolling them between her fingers, her other hand
resting flat against the solid swell of Mike’s thigh, feeling the muscle beneath her palm
tighten and release as he stroked slowly between her parted lips.
Tilting her head back, Ginny glanced upward, reveling in the sight of him, his tight
abs bunching each time he thrust forward, his pecs glistening with sweat, his small,
dark nipples hard and erect. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his
hands buried in her hair as he fucked her mouth. She stared at his arms, the muscles
rippling along their length and tensing as he pulled her head toward him again. Closing
her eyes, Ginny followed his silent urging, sucking eagerly at his throbbing shaft until
he gasped, a first spurt of come flooding her mouth.
“Oh Jesus, Ginny,” he whispered. Glancing up, she saw his Adam’s apple bob as he
swallowed, his gaze smoky with naked lust. “God, you’re going to make me come like a
fire hose if you don’t stop.”
Reluctantly, Ginny pulled her head back—and then winked at him mischievously
and plunged her head forward, taking him so deep it made her throat ache. She didn’t
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care—it was worth it to hear his hoarse, desperate cry, to feel his fists clamp in her hair
as every vestige of self-control vanished. Panting, a low, rumbling growl spilling from
his throat, he pumped his hips, his entire body straining toward the hot, teasing
stimulation of her mouth.
She sucked harder, lashing her tongue along the underside of his shaft, squeezing
and caressing his balls, feeling them clench as the climax he could no longer contain
burst from him, flooding her mouth, hot and salty and dizzying. Ginny swallowed
hungrily, loving the sound of his harsh, mindless cries, determined to capture every
drop of his come.
Then he bent and she gasped as his arms slid around her torso, heaving her to her
feet. Turning them both so her back was against the wall, he hoisted her easily, lifting
her thighs around his waist. She clung to him as he reached down, tugged the crotch of
her panties aside and plunged into her, his powerful thighs rocking as he shoved that
thick, swollen cock head deep inside her passage.
Ginny cried out in ecstasy then buried her face against the solid column of his neck,
reveling in the salty tang of his skin, the musky scent of him. His arm muscles bunched
as he lifted her higher—then he pressed her down onto his rock-hard shaft and Ginny
moaned, her head snapping back, every nerve in her body singing with delight as that
huge erection filled her completely.
She’d never done it like this, with her back against a wall. For all his enthusiasm,
Karl hadn’t been overly adventurous…
She bit her lip, fighting back another spurt of guilt. Damn it, that didn’t mean she’d
loved him one bit less! But she couldn’t deny the intoxicating appeal of being held aloft,
her legs wrapped around Mike’s firm, narrow waist as his powerful thigh muscles
bunched and flexed, ramming his cock up into her over and over.
The hard plane of his pubic bone teased her swollen clit, rubbing back and forth
across it as his thrusts grew faster, harder. She arched away from him, forcing her mons
even tighter against his groin, feeling hunger sear along her veins. Her head nodded
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limply with the force of his thrusts and she let herself relish the sensation, not fighting
him, letting him work her hips back and forth as he slammed into her, his cock growing
even harder as his groans became growls, fierce and harsh.
“Tell me,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “Tell me you want this.”
At his words, the tension in her pussy ratcheted up to a blinding peak. Distantly,
she realized her nails were scraping his back, her voice high and breathless as she
panted and moaned. “Oh God, yes!”
“Tell me this wasn’t a mistake.”
He thrust his hips upward, his cock hammering deep.
“It…it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Tell me to fuck you.”
Ginny gasped as he slammed in to the balls, his cock splitting her open. No one, no
one, had ever reached so far inside her or filled her so completely. Raking her teeth
down the side of his neck, she whispered frantically, “Fuck me, Mike. Please, please
fuck me! Fuck me as hard as you want, Mike, as deep, as fast…”
He was pounding into her now, pistoning into her with a frenzy that she knew he
was unable to stop, unable to control. His breath rasped in her ear, his whole body
working against her, his groin dragging against her clit as he sank home again and
again.
“Yes. Yes! Please! Please fuck me…”
His cock swelled even more inside her, stretching her wide, plundering her most
private part with single-minded urgency. He was close, so close—she could feel it in the
way his hands grabbed her ass, his fingers digging into her cheeks, in the way his body
strained against her, pushing himself in to the root with every stroke…
“Fuck me, Mike,” she whispered, and his cock bucked inside her, throbbing as he
threw his head back and slammed himself home. White light burst behind her eyes and
the tension inside her shattered into deep, molten waves. She clung to him, whimpering
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mindlessly as her orgasm pulsed through her, clenching her passage tight around his
shaft spurting deep into her womb as she grabbed him with her pussy, squeezing him
tight.
Mike strained against her, his thigh muscles quivering, his cock flexing as he shot
into her over and over until at last, with a sob, he dropped his head to her shoulder,
leaning against her even as he held her aloft.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, Ginny held him there, his damp, wavy hair
tickling her cheek, until his thundering heartbeat slowly eased.
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Chapter Five
“So why did you come back?” Ginny asked, tilting her head to look up at Mike. He
was lying in her bed, his long legs stretched out down the length of the queen-sized
mattress. One arm was folded behind his head. The other was wrapped around her,
playing with a tendril of her hair as she lay with her head on his shoulder, tucked cozily
into the crook of his arm.
He smiled ruefully. “I almost didn’t.” Glancing down at her, he added, “And not
the way you think, either. I nearly totaled my truck last night in that storm.”
“Oh jeez.” Ginny sat up abruptly, gritting her teeth. Before she could climb out of
bed, Mike grabbed her arm.
“Ginny, stop it. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes it was.” She glowered but let him ease her back down against him.
“All right, yeah, it was your fault I was pissed off, but nobody made me drive like
an idiot. Fortunately, the state finally put up guardrails along those curves by
Dikeman’s Pond, so the worst I’ve got to show for it is a scrape along one fender and a
few more dings in the body. Not like they’ll make any difference on that old junk heap.”
He kissed her forehead absently then said, “Now it’s your turn to answer me
something.”
“What?”
“What’s your husband’s name?” She gaped at him like a fish and he grinned. “You
still haven’t told me.”
“Karl.” She had to check an instinctive urge to pull away from Mike as she said it.
Maybe sensing that repressed movement, Mike took his arm from around her and let
her roll onto her back. He shifted to his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
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“How long were you married?”
“Sixteen years. Look, do we really have to talk about this?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” He rose and Ginny watched appreciatively as he tugged
on his jeans.
“God, you’ve got a gorgeous ass.”
Once again she was struck by the strange dichotomy between the amused glance he
shot her and the way the tips of his ears grew pink with embarrassment—or pleasure.
“Yeah, well, this gorgeous ass has to take a piss. I’ll be right back.”
He closed the door behind him and Ginny snuggled deep into the tangled blankets,
closing her eyes. She still couldn’t believe they’d had intercourse three times in one day.
Lifting her off him, Mike had set her down on her feet just long enough for him to hike
his jeans back up and button them. Then, grinning, he’d scooped her up, tossed her
over his shoulder and carried her up to her bedroom, where he’d insisted on paying her
back for making him come in her mouth.
A woman could happily die from that kind of payback, she thought lazily, smiling at the
memory of his mouth on her clit.
“Now that’s the smile I’ve been looking for.”
Ginny glanced up—she hadn’t heard him come back in—and tried to frown at him
but couldn’t manage it. He sprawled alongside her, still in his jeans, and leaned his
head against her shoulder as he fondled her breasts. His large hands cupped them
perfectly, the spread of his fingers teasing the sensitive skin. “God, I love your tits.”
She laughed. “Oh, so that’s why you gave me such a great deal on the price.”
“Partly, yeah.” Mike grinned sheepishly and rolled onto his back, raising his arm
accommodatingly as she snuggled against him. “It’s not just that, though. It was also
partly because this is so exactly what I want for myself some day. Big old farmhouse,
good piece of land…I just wanted to do it, you know? Wanted to see what I could make
of the old place.”
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“You sound very sure of what you want for someone your age.”
“I am.” He turned his head to look down at her, his forehead wrinkling slightly.
“And what exactly do you think my age is?”
“Oh God, I don’t know.” Ginny squirmed away from the question nervously.
“No, seriously. Guess.”
“How old do you think I am? Tit for tat.” Tilting her head, she smiled challengingly
but his somber, steady gaze didn’t flinch.
“You’re forty.”
She gaped at him again and he laughed. “Don’t look so impressed. You left your
wallet open on the counter. When I first saw you? I thought you were twenty-seven,
twenty-eight.”
“Bullshit.”
“I did. It took me a while to notice these.” He stroked the delicate skin at the corner
of her eye lightly. Then he grinned again. “I was too busy looking at your ass.”
“Bastard!” Grabbing a pillow, Ginny smacked him.
“Oh, now there’s a mature response.” Mike laughed and lunged after her, pinning
her to the bed. As she’d hoped, he bent his neck down, rubbing his lips lightly across
hers.
God, he was so totally edible. She ran her hands over his broad, powerful shoulders
as he kissed his way down to her breasts, teasing her nipples into taut, aching points
with light, playful licks. Then he closed his lips around one furrowed nub, suckling it
hungrily.
She gasped, staggered to feel her clit throbbing again, the blood thickening her
furred lips as his mouth tugged at her nipple. He palmed her other breast, squeezing it,
his fingers sliding over it to pinch the tip lightly. Ginny arched her back, pressing her
breasts more firmly into his grip and moaning as he wrapped both hands around them,
fondling them with all the enthusiasm of a teenager.
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Built to Last
Lifting his head, he gazed down at them, his pupils dilating as he watched himself
massage their soft weight. Then he rolled her nipples tightly between thumb and
forefinger. A rush of slick wetness soaked Ginny’s folds and she pressed her hips
upward, rubbing her mons against his abs.
“Mature and patient, I see,” Mike murmured, bending his head down to kiss her
warm belly. He trailed his lips down her stomach, his tongue flicking playfully at her
navel. Then Ginny whimpered as, with one determined tug, he drew her thighs wide
apart and settled himself between them. Reaching up, he lifted her hand from his
shoulder and placed it instead on his thick, honey-brown hair, grinning as she dug her
fingers into it, wordlessly urging his head down.
Glancing up at her with those cerulean eyes, he lowered his mouth to her clit and
sucked—hard. White-hot lust burst through her body and her hips jerked upward,
pushing her mons even tighter against his mouth. Already her clit pulsed with a sharp,
aching need, so close to the edge she could barely stand it.
But Mike pulled back against her grip, lessening the contact, and Ginny, too dazed
to fight his withdrawal, lay panting, pounded by the sensations searing through her
body. He flicked his tongue lightly over her swollen clit, sending an electric jolt straight
through her clenching womb. Then he spread her folds gently with his fingers and
dipped his head down, taking long, slow laps at her exposed slit.
Ginny shuddered in delight, floating on the knife-edge of ecstasy, both
overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through her and yearning for more. “Please,
Mike,” she whispered, hardly knowing what she said, and threw her head back as he
plunged his tongue deep inside her passage, prodding and sucking with a quickly
growing urgency.
He slid one finger down between her thighs, gliding it through the wetness pouring
from her pussy. Ginny flinched in shock as he pressed it against her rectum and he
murmured, his face still buried against her crotch, “Just relax, Ginny. Relax and enjoy
it.”
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Sierra Dafoe
Slowly, he worked his finger inward with short, shallow strokes. The sensation was
incredible, unfamiliar and dizzying. She panted, her hands fisting in his hair, tugging
his mouth tight against her, gasping as he plunged both tongue and finger into her.
Then he slid his mouth upward again, lashing his tongue back and forth over her
engorged nub, making her whimper and thrash beneath his attentions. Pushing her
thighs wider, he sank his finger deep into her rectum and closed his lips around her clit,
suckling it greedily as she pushed his head against her, wanting more, wanting
everything…
Fire roared along her veins and she thrust her hips upward, forcing his finger even
deeper inside her ass as the tension inside her exploded into bliss. She cried aloud,
arching against him, her head thrashing as she peaked again and again, her womb
clenching hungrily and her clit throbbing in Mike’s warm, wet mouth.
At last she fell back, almost blinded by the force of her climax, limp and panting
and so sated she couldn’t even imagine moving ever again.
Then she felt the familiar nudge of Mike’s cock head between her sodden folds as
he raised himself above her, braced on those incredibly muscular arms.
Oh God, make that four times, Ginny thought deliriously, cupping his ass as his cock
slid inside her, filling her to the brink.
* * * * *
For some incomprehensible reason they were both ravenous. Late afternoon
sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows as Mike raided the fridge with a single-
minded urgency. Perched on a stool with her elbows propped on the counter, Ginny
watched him, trying to hide a smile. Growing boys need their strength, after all—although
God knows, if he grows any more he’s gonna split me open.
Mike glanced at her as he cracked eggs into a bowl, whipping up an omelet.
“What’s that smile about?”
“Nothing.” She grinned. “I just like watching you work.”
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Built to Last
She did, too. His jeans dragged loosely around his hips, giving her an excellent
view of the muscles playing below his smooth, velvety skin. She loved the indentation
just above his hipbone, the muscles that rippled along the sides of his rib cage as he
wielded the whisk deftly.
“So where did you learn to cook?” she asked as he poured the mix into a pan. He
glanced at her, grinning.
“You may find this hard to believe, Granny, but in my generation, most men can
cook.”
Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and wrapped her calves around the rungs of the
stool. He was naked to the waist because she was wearing his tee shirt. On her it hung
halfway down her thighs, and she loved the smell of it—salt and musk, just like him.
Popping toast out of the toaster, he buttered it quickly, arranging the slices on the
plates and dividing the omelet neatly in two. “And voilá.” He set one plate before her
and pulled up a stool, digging into his food with relish.
It really was amazingly good. Light and fluffy with just the right amount of cheese.
Mike glanced at her. “Acceptable?”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied with her mouth full. Mike polished his plate off in what
seemed like four bites and dug into the fridge for an orange before she was halfway
through hers. Leaning against the counter, he peeled it neatly.
“So tell me about Karl.”
Ginny’s stomach clenched. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. At least, everything you want to tell me.”
She didn’t want to tell him anything, Ginny thought. That was private. That was
hers. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about with some…some…
Some kid you just fucked four times in one day? Is that what you were thinking, Ginny?
She flushed, scowling down at her plate. “So ask.”
“How did he die?”
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Her head snapped up and she glared at him, outraged. But Mike gazed at her
firmly, not backing down. “Ginny, you’re going to have to talk about it sometime.”
“Fine.” She shoved her plate away. “He had a heart attack, okay?”
“A heart attack?” Mike looked startled. “How old was he?”
“Forty.” Her head drooped. “He was forty.”
“College sweethearts.”
She glanced at him, nodded. “Yeah. We met in a psych class…” Abruptly,
something inside her crumpled. But Mike was already around the counter, reaching out
for her as she slid into his arms, sobbing. “I miss him, Mike. I miss him so much.”
“I know you do.” He held her, rocking her slightly, his hands gentle on her hair as
she cried.
A long time later, the tears finally stopped and Ginny huddled against Mike’s chest,
strangely reluctant to raise her head. She felt embarrassed, as if he’d caught her with
her panties down. Although why that would bother me after everything we did, I surely don’t
know.
The thought actually made her smile a bit and Mike, feeling her lips curve against
his chest, reached down and tilted her chin upward. “Better?” he asked, smiling.
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. You’re a good kid, Mike.” He stiffened, his eyes
darkening, and Ginny winced. “Mike, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean…”
“What exactly did you mean, Ginny?”
“Oh God, I don’t know, Mike. I didn’t—”
“How old do you think I am?”
She laughed helplessly and reached up to play with the thong around his neck,
trying to make a joke of it. “Old enough to buy a legal beer, I hope.”
Gently but firmly, Mike took her hand in his and lifted it away from his neck. “I’m
twenty-four, Ginny. I’m the same age your husband was when you married him.” His
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Built to Last
blue eyes held hers, piercingly bright. “I’m not just some kid being led around by his
dick.”
“Mike, I never said—”
“No, but you thought it.”
She tried to reach for him again but he stepped back out of her reach and turned
toward the kitchen door.
“Mike, where are you going?”
He stopped in the doorway, looking back, his face hard. “I’m going home. I have
work tomorrow.” Sliding off the stool, Ginny followed him into the living room,
watching him pull on the work boots he’d kicked off earlier.
“Mike…”
He glanced at her and she recoiled. This wasn’t like the hurt, sullen anger he’d
shown this morning. The look in his eyes now was hard, stern and determined. “I want
you, Ginny. I’ve wanted you since the second you opened your door. But I am not just
some kid you can screw and dismiss. And until you can accept that, the only thing I am,
the only thing I’m willing to be, is a hired hand. Are we clear on that?”
“Mike, I—”
“Are we clear?”
She nodded dumbly, feeling miserable. “Mike, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” He folded the stepladder, placed it neatly against the wall and picked up
the check she’d left on the windowsill before turning back to face her. As much as she
hated herself for it, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. Finally, she heard him
walk from the living room and pause in the archway. “Goodbye, Ginny.”
A moment later the front door opened, closed. Ginny sank to the floor, still wearing
his shirt, and wrapped her arms around the numb ache in her chest.
Dear Virginia, she thought, without the least trace of irony. Dear Virginia, what on
earth do I do now?
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Chapter Six
Mike soldered the last connecting pipe and stepped back, nodding in satisfaction.
The new water heater gleamed under the fluorescent lights he’d installed, and bright
copper piping ran in neat rows across the basement ceiling.
He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ginny coming down the basement
steps. Her expression was hesitant, almost painfully polite—as it had been for the past
two months. Once again, Mike suppressed a sigh and schooled his face into an
answering politeness.
“Is it done?”
He nodded, turning off the blowtorch and peeling off his goggles. “See for
yourself.”
Eyes wide with excitement, Ginny ran her hand over the hot water heater. “Oh,
Mike! Can we start it now?”
“Not yet.” He chuckled at her impatience. “Gotta let those seals set. And…” He
strode to the steps, gesturing her to follow him. Puzzled, she did, trailing him up and
out onto the porch, hovering there as he strode down the front steps to his truck.
He reached for the tarp over the truck bed and found himself grinning, both
nervous and excited. A sudden warmth pulsed in his groin and he angled his body
away from Ginny’s view. Quickly, he untied the cords and hauled the tarp back with a
flapping flourish.
“Ta-da!”
“Oh, Mike.” Ginny stared, her hands raised to her cheeks. Mike shifted
uncomfortably, gazing anywhere but at her as she came down the steps and toward the
truck, her gaze fixed on the pristine white curves of the oversized tub. Then she spotted
the whirlpool jets set into the sides and her eyes widened.
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Built to Last
Mike cleared his throat gruffly. “Found it at a closeout over in New Hampshire.
Dirt cheap, no sales tax… The sink’s from the same closeout.”
Ginny’s gaze flicked to the matching fixture, which was still wadded in bubble
wrap. “Oh my God, Mike. How much did this cost?” The face she raised to him was
pale with excitement.
It was easy—too easy—to picture her in the tub, her chestnut hair tumbling down
around her breasts. The heat in his groin intensified and he turned away from her
abruptly, fiddling with the tarp. “Five hundred dollars for the pair.”
“Five hundred?” she repeated, her voice almost breathless. The sound of it was
torturous, reminding him sharply of far too many nights spent staring at the ceiling,
hearing her words over and over in his mind.
Fuck me, Mike. Please, please fuck me.
Tilting his head back, he swallowed, forcing down a groan.
The sky overhead was a rich, deep azure—the clear, vibrant blue of June in Maine.
It had always been his favorite month, with the lupines blooming seemingly
everywhere and the whole long, lazy summer yet to come.
At least up until now.
Turning, Mike looked at the house. It stood solid and handsomely proportioned, its
corners square and sound, the porch freshly leveled and with new supports. It still
needed a new coat of paint, and updated windows wouldn’t hurt either—but that
wasn’t part of his job. And his job was almost done.
“Don’t worry if you can’t afford it,” he said, glancing over at Ginny. “I can always
unload it somewhere at that price.”
“No. No, I definitely want it. Mike…” Ginny trailed off, biting her lip, and Mike felt
a surge of annoyed impatience.
If she had something to say, she could, by God, say it with no help from him. He’d
spent too many weeks with his heart hammering in his chest every time she walked
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into a room to get his hopes up now. Hooking his thumbs in the front pockets of his
jeans, he leaned back against his truck and waited.
“Mike…” she started again, then broke off and plunged her hand into her back
pocket. Drawing out an envelope, she thrust it at him. “Here.”
Watching her shift nervously, he opened it and glanced inside to find a check, made
out in her neat, slanted writing. “What the hell’s this?”
“It’s a bonus. Mike, I…I can’t ever thank you enough for what you’ve done. I don’t
mean just the house, I mean everything. Please. Please take it.”
His jaw clenched as she spoke and rage simmered inside him. “Three-thousand
dollars. I should be flattered.” He smiled coldly. “Not many men make that kind of
money their first time as a gigolo.”
She recoiled, her face as pale as if he’d slapped her. He almost wanted to. “I didn’t
mean…I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I quoted you a price for the job, lady. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I know, but Mike, please—”
“Why? So you can stop feeling guilty? What in the hell are you still feeling guilty
for, Ginny? For betraying your husband’s memory? Or for not loving me?”
He was shouting, damn it. Standing in her dooryard shouting at her. Mike shut his
mouth so hard his teeth clicked together. Slowly, unmistakably, he ripped the envelope
and the check inside into bits, letting the pieces flutter from his fingers like confetti.
Climbing into his truck, he looked out at her ashen face. “I’ll be back tomorrow to
double-check the seals. You’re going to have to do without water for one more night.
Think you can handle that?”
“I… Yes.”
“Good.” Turning the ignition, he slammed the truck into gear, some hurt, angry
part of himself enjoying the way she flinched as the truck roared forward and squealed
down the drive.
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Built to Last
As soon as he was out of sight of her property, though, Mike tromped on the brakes
and swerved over to the shoulder. Dropping his head against the steering wheel, he
breathed deeply, trying to will away the ache in his throat and the way his heart
seemed to clench in his chest.
* * * * *
Six weeks later, Ginny stood in the doorway of her bathroom, gazing in at the
gleaming whirlpool tub. It was big—big enough for two, she noted dully. Sinking down
onto the smooth rim, she ran a hand over the shining taps, trying once again to find the
courage to turn them on.
She couldn’t do it. Not yet. She turned on the shower instead, scrubbing herself
briskly and dressing in the first things she found in her drawer. What did it matter what
she looked like? There was no one to see her.
Not anymore.
She walked down the stairs, noting the gleam of sunlight on the broad oak boards
of the downstairs hall. Mike had sanded them, coating them with a clear stain that
brought out the grain of the wood. She hadn’t paid him for that, she was certain.
Somehow the time sheets he’d handed her at the end of every week had never seemed
to match the amount of time he’d actually been there.
And she, looking at the grim set of his jaw, had never dared say a word.
It wasn’t simply the difference in their ages. As much as she hated to admit it, it
was obvious, looking back, that she’d used his youth as an excuse. It had taken very
little time to recognize that Mike was more than simply grown up for his age—he was
grown up, period. In some ways, even more than me, she thought.
Or maybe it was his youth that let him be so bravely forthright. She’d been braver
herself once. Maybe courage, like eyesight and hearing, was something that simply
dimmed with the passing years. Maybe the much-vaunted wisdom of age was no more
than cowardice.
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Sighing, she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Mike had sanded the
cabinets in here too, revealing the rare, gorgeous wood beneath. She ran a hand over the
smooth wood as the coffeemaker dripped, then poured a cup and carried it with her to
her office.
It was harder these days to do her job—she felt like a fraud every time she put her
hands to the keyboard. What advice could she possibly offer anyone about their lives
when she’d made such a colossal mess of her own?
Nevertheless it was a job, and for all Mike’s penny-pinching her bank account was
perilously low. She could break into her retirement funds if she had to—but that was a
drastic last resort, and one not to be thought of while she still had hands and a mind
with which to work. Firmly, she turned on the computer and accessed her email,
watching stolidly as the letters forwarded from her editor in Boston poured one by one
into her inbox.
Dear Virginia, I’m afraid my husband’s cheating on me…
Dear Virginia, my father abused us when we were children, and now my mother’s asking
why I never bring my kids to visit…
Dear Virginia, I’ve just discovered I have breast cancer. Despite my spouse’s reassurance,
I’m terrified he won’t look at me the same way after the surgery…
There was one thing, at least, she could say for her job—it made her own problems
look pathetically small. Straightening her shoulders, Ginny got to work, looking up
resources, querying hotlines, offering what comfort she could and a place to turn for
more help.
She opened the next email, scanned the first line—and froze.
Dear Virginia, about four months ago I met a woman who had recently lost her husband.
Oh God. Ginny glanced up at the ceiling, trying to fight back the tears that sprang to
her eyes. After a long, long moment she looked back at the computer, forcing herself to
read the rest of the letter.
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Despite her reluctance, we became involved—and under her grief I found a warm, vibrant,
passionate woman who spends her life trying to help others, who can still laugh and be playful—
and whom I fell deeply in love with.
At the time, she was still mourning her husband and I definitely pushed her harder than I
should have. I still want very much to be with this woman and will happily wait until she’s
ready…but I have no idea how long after the death of a spouse it’s appropriate to wait before
courting someone.
Or have I ruined my chances forever by being too impatient?
Signed, Waiting in Maine.
Daffodils, Ginny thought, remembering. She’d been sitting right here, staring out
the window and listening to Mike hammering on the roof, wondering what the green
spikes coming up in the garden were.
They’d been daffodils.
Now, of course, the daffodils were long faded and the garden bloomed in a riotous
display of summer colors. July was almost over and—
And Karl had been dead for over a year. The fact hit her like an invisible punch,
making her gasp in sudden pain.
He was gone. He really was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.
Glancing back at the letter on the screen, Ginny opened a Word file and typed
rapidly, pausing only long enough to pick up her desk phone and punch speed-dial.
Cupping the receiver between chin and shoulder, she finished typing and attached the
document to an email.
“Deidre? It’s Ginny. Listen, I’m sending a replacement letter for Thursday’s
column. Can you make the substitution in time for the wires? Great. Yeah, I’m sending
it now.”
Hanging up the phone, she hit “send” and pushed to her feet, flicking off the
computer as she snatched up her car keys and hurried out the door into the bright
summer air.
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* * * * *
A familiar, dented truck painted primer white sat in front of her house as Ginny
pulled back up the drive. Mike leaned against the passenger door, his long legs crossed
at the ankles, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He didn’t move as she climbed out
of her car, but she could see that morning’s paper folded under one arm.
His eyes, as deep and blue as the summer sky above him, watched her as she
approached. Shadows moved behind them and Ginny felt her heart clench a bit,
remembering the clear, cloudless gaze he’d had the first time she saw him.
He studied her a moment, then leaned his head back and gazed at the sky. “Dear
Waiting,” he quoted, his voice deep and strong. “There is no set mourning period for
the death of a loved one. People come to terms with loss in their own way and time, but
while it does sound as if you tried to hurry the process, I can’t imagine your impatience
alone could have ruined your chances. It may be that there is more than solely grief for
her husband holding this woman back, and the best I can suggest is that you ask her,
honestly and openly…”
Ginny flinched—she really thought she’d managed to work more compassion into
that letter. But she didn’t look away as Mike lowered his head and looked at her. “Is
there something more, Ginny? If I’m simply too young for you, tell me now.”
“No.” She shook her head, and saw some of the shadows behind his eyes dissipate.
“You’re not too young, Mike. You never were. That was simply my excuse for not
taking you seriously.”
He studied her cautiously, not sure whether to take her words as encouragement or
not. “So what is it then?” He glanced at the road grime on her car. “Where did you go?”
Ginny sighed. It had been a long trip down to Boston and back. “I went to visit
Karl. Or his grave, rather. It was the first time I’d been there since the funeral.” She
hesitated, and Mike nodded gently.
“Go on.”
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“I couldn’t stand the thought of going before, somehow. It just made it too real,
seeing his name chiseled on that headstone.” Almost defensively, she added, “He was
my husband for over sixteen years, Mike.”
“I know.”
She shrugged. “It just took me a long time to say goodbye.”
Hope flared in Mike’s eyes at that and Ginny winced inwardly. He must have read
the hesitation in her face, because he shuttered that sudden flare of emotion and
watched her tensely, waiting.
Ginny fidgeted, wondering how to begin. “It’s not that simple, Mike. It’s not just
about letting go of someone I loved. It’s about whether or not I’m willing to go through
that again, to care that deeply about someone I might someday lose.”
Mike cocked his head, studying her. “And that’s what was stopping you?”
She nodded, feeling tears once again perilously close to the surface. “Yes. After all is
said and done, that’s what was stopping me. Not your age. Not guilt. Not even Karl. I
just don’t know if I could bear to lose someone else I love.”
Slowly, like sunlight breaking over the ocean, a clear, bright joy bloomed in Mike’s
eyes.
Ginny stared at him, nonplussed. “What?”
“You love me.”
“What?”
“You just said you love me.”
“No, I didn’t. I said—” Ginny broke off, fumbling. What had she just said?
“You said you didn’t know if you could bear losing someone else you love.”
“I… That’s not what I meant.”
“Wasn’t it? And tell me this, Ginny. I’m twenty-four years old. Don’t you think
there’s at least a chance I’ll outlive you?”
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She gaped at him, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Mike laughed
aloud and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m like this house, Ginny. I’m built to last.” Lowering his head, he kissed her,
warm and long and deep and firm. Inside her sneakers, Ginny felt her toes curl.
Pulling back, Mike looked at her, his large, strong hands clamping tight on her
arms. His eyes were downright mesmerizing and she felt a touch of vertigo, as if she
were falling upward, tumbling into the cerulean depths of those eyes…
“Tell me, Ginny,” he whispered urgently. “Tell me you love me.”
She panted, left breathless by the force of his kiss. “I…I love you.”
He nodded. “Good. Don’t forget it.”
Then he was kissing her again, his arms tight around her, pulling her against his
young, hard, delectable body. Ginny squirmed, feeling a familiar pulse of lust deep in
her crotch, her clit throbbing as it remembered the touch of his mouth, his tongue, his
long, agile fingers…
She whimpered when he drew away from her again, his eyes warm with
desire…and something else. “Ginny, I have to tell you something. One of these days—
not today, but someday soon—I’m going to ask you to marry me. Think you can handle
that?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded, only dimly hearing his words through the roar of her pulse
and the pound of her heartbeat. He grinned, obviously enjoying her breathless arousal,
and kissed her again, drawing her back against him. Without losing her mouth, he lifted
her to his waist and cupped her ass as she wrapped her thighs around him—and didn’t
stop kissing her ‘til he’d carried her across the dooryard and into the house.
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Chapter Seven
Rain clattered hard against the window and wind howled wildly outside. But
Ginny couldn’t see the cold, dank October night through the steam fogging the window
and the bathroom itself was bathed in the warm, golden glow from the candles Mike
had lit and placed around the tub. He was rubbing one of her feet at the moment, his
strong thumbs pressing firmly into the arch. Ginny groaned in pleasure, dropping her
head back against the tub’s rim and watching him through slitted eyes.
His broad, burly shoulders gleamed wetly in the candlelight, and beads of moisture
rolled down the smooth swell of his pecs. His damp hair looked almost as dark as hers
in the dim lighting and Ginny cocked her head, considering the color. It made him look
older, more mature—but Mike didn’t need to be one ounce more mature than he was,
and once she’d relaxed into the idea, Ginny was thoroughly enjoying her hunkalicious
boy toy, as she teasingly referred to Mike. He invariably grinned, leered and grabbed
her ass…so she made sure to call him that a lot.
His hands glided up her calves now, caressing them under the surface of the warm
water, and Ginny shifted her feet, placing them firmly against the hard length of his
erection. Smiling seductively, she rubbed them up and down and Mike groaned,
leaning back in the water. “Woman, if you don’t stop that…”
“Why?” she asked, opening her eyes innocently. “You gave me a foot rub—I
figured it was only fair to return the favor.” He stared at her, his pupils dilating, and
Ginny smiled to herself. As inventive as Mike was, he hadn’t discovered everything yet.
Curling her feet around his shaft, she squeezed it tightly between her soles. Mike’s eyes
fluttered shut, his head dropping back. Ginny worked her feet up and down and Mike
swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
69
Sierra Dafoe
She loved his neck with its heavy cords of muscle. She loved his cock, thick and
long, its veins pulsing against her soles. She loved his eyes—even when they were
closed as they were now, his tawny lashes brushing his cheeks…
Ah hell, Ginny, face it. You just plain love him.
Yes. Yes, she did.
Mike groaned again and grabbed her ankles as she worked her feet over his cock.
Holding them firmly, he slid her feet up and down his shaft, pumping up into her touch
with short, lazy strokes. She was glad they’d skipped the bubble bath tonight—there
was something so erotic about watching her feet move under the water, squeezing and
caressing that prodigious shaft.
He moved her feet faster, the muscles in his forearms bunching, and Ginny saw the
line of his jaw tighten with his approaching orgasm. Part of her would have loved to
lean back and simply watch him, his back arching and his hips thrusting up as he came
between her feet. But Mike opened his eyes, released her ankles and reached instead for
her hand, tugging her to him until she was straddling his thighs.
The water was deep enough to make her slightly buoyant and she gasped in delight
as Mike grabbed her hips, pulling her down onto his jutting cock. She loved the way it
felt inside her, thick enough to spread her passage wide as he worked the bulbous tip
deeper inside her. His abs rippled as he rammed his hips upward, spearing her on the
full length of his erection.
Her head snapped back and she moaned, the sound deepening as he leaned
forward, seizing one of her nipples between his lips. She loved the way he suckled
them, his mouth tugging at her breasts until there were times she’d swear she could
almost come from that alone. His tongue lashed over the hardening nub, teasing it to a
point as he slid one hand down between their bodies and thumbed her clit with the ease
of long practice.
She arched against him, a bolt of ecstasy shooting straight through her core as she
pushed herself downward, wanting every inch of him inside her. Grabbing her hips, he
70
Built to Last
worked her back and forth, corkscrewing his cock inside her without ever withdrawing.
The slow, steady pressure of his body against hers teased her clit into a frenzy and she
could feel his balls drawing tighter, nestled against her ass as his breathing deepened,
growing hoarser. His lips worked at her nipple, sucking it hungrily, and she lifted her
rib cage, pushing her breast farther into his warm, wet mouth.
His fingers tightened on her hips, digging into her soft flesh, and a slow ripple of
heat rose through her body, flushing her face, making her breasts ache. He moaned
against their soft fullness, his cock swelling inside her as they clung to each other,
unmoving, feeling the hot pleasure-pain of their orgasms grow and swell and shimmer
inside them, holding on to that delirious sensation just as long as they possibly could.
Like an avalanche in slow motion, Ginny’s climax rolled through her, her womb
clenching as her pussy spasmed around Mike’s huge, rigid cock, squeezing it as tightly
as a fist. He groaned around her breast, the sound vibrating against her nipple, and she
felt the exact moment his control snapped and his balls tightened, sending wave after
wave of his thick, hot juices spurting deep into her quivering passage.
“Oh God, Ginny!” he gasped as the aftershocks poured through him, making his
cock throb again and again deep inside her. His face was blurry with lust, his lips
parted, his jaw tight with the delectable agony pouring through him. She loved
watching him come. The only problem was it invariably made her horny all over again,
which meant she had to get him horny—seldom a difficult task.
Really, it was a wonder they ever got any sleep at all.
But tonight, Ginny was convinced she knew just how to arouse him. She smiled to
herself, anticipating his reaction as his heartbeat slowly eased and his respiration
steadied. She waited until he slumped back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed,
one hand tracing lazily around her nipple, his mouth curved in a small, sated smile.
Putting on a worried expression, she said, “Mike? Mike, I have to tell you
something.”
“What’s that, honey?” His attention seemed more on her breasts than her voice.
71
Sierra Dafoe
“Mike, you know how you said you were going to ask me to marry you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, you’d better hurry up and do it.”
One eye cracked open. “Is there a particular reason for the rush? I thought you told
me very explicitly not to ask before Christmas.”
“I know,” Ginny sighed. “But if we wait that long, I’m going to be five months
pregnant walking down the aisle.”
“Pregnant?” Both eyes were wide open now. “Ginny, you’re pregnant?”
“I’m either pregnant or menopausal, and the doctor says pregnant.”
Whooping, Mike dived at her, hugging her tight. Water splashed over the new tile
floor and one of the candles tumbled into the puddle and went out. “I thought you
couldn’t get pregnant.”
“So did I.”
He crushed her to him, so tightly it was almost uncomfortable but she didn’t
protest. Instead she leaned her head against his chest, listening to the strong, even beat
of his heart. After a few minutes, though, Mike shifted, bending down to kiss her cheek,
then her neck, nuzzling her ear as he murmured, “You know what this means, don’t
you?”
“What?”
“It means we have to celebrate. Now.” Muscles bunching, he lifted her in his arms,
settling her back against the edge of the tub and spreading her thighs. His sky-blue eyes
glowed as he stared into hers, his hair tangling over his forehead, his expression intent.
“Tell me, Ginny.”
“Tell you what?” The heat in his eyes stole her breath, and she swallowed
nervously.
“Tell me to fuck you.”
Dear God, she thought. He can’t be serious. Not this quickly…
72
Built to Last
He could. And he was. Ginny gasped as he rammed himself into her, stone-hard
again already. He grinned at her surprise, flexing his hips, pushing in to the hilt. “I told
you, Ginny. I’m built to last.”
73
About the Author
An award-winning author who received three CAPA nominations in her first year
of publishing, Sierra Dafoe has been writing for as long as she can remember, beginning
her career with the classic tale “Tommy the Turtle” in second grade.
She has since expanded her repertoire of animals and now pens sexy werewolves,
dragons, and other shapeshifters. She also enjoys vampires, sci-fi, epic action-
adventure, and the occasional foray into the Middle Ages.
Sierra lives smack in the middle of New Hampshire’s White Mountains with her
incredibly tolerant hubby, her thoroughly obnoxious cat, and her twelve-year-old
puppy.
Sierra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email
address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think
We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at
Comments@EllorasCave.com.
Also by Sierra Dafoe
His for the Taking
Make Me
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning
publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC
on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you
breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
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