An Excerpt From: Wet Ride
Copyright © Samantha Cayto, 2011
All Rights Reserved
Note: Samantha Cayto’s books are intended for those readers 18 years old or older.
Emily pulled into the driveway of her new home and nearly rear-ended a paneled truck parked in front of the garage. Slamming on the brakes, she leaned forward to stare out of the windshield at the intruding vehicle. It clearly belonged to a workman of some sort. She strained her memory to figure out what was going on. Then she remembered. Her decorator, Sue, had said the contractor hired to redo her master bathroom was scheduled to start work today. Not that she had met the man. She had hired Sue to sketch out plans for the renovations, help her pick tile and fixtures and hire the best person for the job. With her work schedule as hectic as it was, Emily had no time to see to the details herself. Better to pay someone else to do it. She turned off the engine and lugged her briefcase out of the car.
As she walked to the front door, she saw the side of the truck said “Brandt and Son, General Contractors.” She hefted her bag higher on her shoulder and rolled her eyes as she opened the front door. She figured she was in for a whole lot of country music and butt cracks for the next few days. She called out as soon as she entered the spacious ranch house she had bought.
“Hello?” It felt funny warning someone she was coming into her own home, but she could hear the sounds coming from the back where her bedroom and bath were located. The last thing she wanted to do was startle Mr. Brandt or his son into shooting a nail through his hand.
“Hello, I’m home!” she called again and dumping her bag in the living room, continued down the hall. She walked through the bedroom and poked her head into the doorway of her soon to be new master bath. Already the expanded room had been roughed out. She could see where the double sinks and counter were going in. Beyond that was the space where her super colossal shower would be encased in wavy glass. With Sue’s help, she was creating her own personal grotto, a refuge from the rat race she lived and worked in. The thought of standing between the multi-headed jet panels, being bombarded with hot water, made her body shiver with delight. Too bad she’d be hanging out there alone, but she wasn’t going to go there.
A sound caught her attention. She peeked around to the right and saw the soles of a beat up pair of work boots attached to folded legs encased in worn jeans. Looking farther up, she saw a small, tight ass, a tool belt and a worn black t-shirt molded to a muscular back. Thick arms moved squares of tile into place in the corner of the shower’s floor. A man was measuring and gauging their placement. Shaggy dark hair outlined an angular face with tanned skin and a straight nose.
Seeing him caused her body to still. Her eyes fixed on him, her heart did a quick tango. Her body, already a bit warm from her short time in the Texas sun, flushed with heat. Her skin slicked with perspiration. She stood staring at his hands, watching how they placed the tile, made them move this way and that. He stared at them, studied them and contemplated their placement. All she could think was she wanted to be that tile. She wanted his strong hands on her body, posing her, holding her in place, commanding her.
She must have made some kind of noise because he turned abruptly and stared back at her. For long seconds, neither of them said anything, their gazes locked as if in a contest of wills. He was the first to crack.
“Oh, hey, you must be Ms. Driscoll.” He stood up and wiped his hands against the front of his thighs. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I saw your truck so I called out,” she said not really paying attention to her own words. Her eyes followed the movement of his hands. Now that he was standing, she could see he was tall and lean. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes up to his face. “Where’s your son?” she asked rather inanely.
The man’s eyebrows shot up. “My son?”
“Brandt and Son. It says it on your truck.”
His face lit up with a smile. It transformed him from merely handsome to downright gorgeous. “Oh, right. I’m the son. My father retired a few years ago and it seemed pointless to change the name of the company. Besides, I may have a son one day who joins me in the business.”
“Or a daughter,” she replied in a knee-jerk reaction. She had fought her whole career against the notion she was in the wrong place as a woman.
He grinned again. “Or a daughter.” Running his hand through his hair, he added, “Of course, then I would have to change the name. I’m Kevin Brandt, by the way.” He held up his dirty hands. “Best not to shake.”
“I’m Emily Driscoll.” And she was damn glad to have an excuse not to shake. Just looking at this man had her hot and bothered. Touching him would probably cause her to burst into flames.
Kevin’s body tightened as he stared back at his new client. When the decorator had described Emily Driscoll as a hard-as-nails business woman from up north, he’d pictured buttoned down, prim and plain. Two-thirds of his speculation was spot on. The woman was encased in a pant suit and a plain white blouse with a high collar. It was the kind of clothes that said “don’t touch” but man, was he itching to do just that. This northern gal was anything but plain. Her clothing did nothing to hide the luscious curves underneath. And her face was arresting. Pale and oval-shaped with surprising brown eyes considering her blond hair, it was the kind of face one could picture on a water nymph.
Christ, he was getting fanciful. It wasn’t like him. He was a straight-forward, take-charge, kind of guy. He liked his women to be open and honest. He also wanted them submissive and trusting in bed. His right hand opened and closed on an imaginary flogger because this woman inspired the Dom in him. He had been in the lifestyle since his early twenties and had gained a lot of experience as a top. He enjoyed it as did the lovely women who submitted to him. But lately things had gone stale for him. He wanted more, although he hadn’t realized what that more was until now. The woman standing in front of him was clearly strong and competent. Hell, no one got to be a big time executive without being determined and commanding. And that was the appeal. What would it be like to control such power, to have a strong woman submit to his will?
He was dying to find out.