chapter one
FIRST JOB
Mandy hadn’t taken the job framing houses so she could stare at tan, bare-chested hotties in low-riding jeans with tool belts slung around their waists. She’d grown up on construction sites—her father’s workers and crew were like her uncles.
She was eighteen now, and the young guys glistening under the noon sun looked anything but related to her.
Her mouth went dry.
There were four golden gods in all. One was her brother Marc. She wasn’t looking at him, of course.
She was watching his nail-toting, hammer-wielding companions. All three, including her brother—even though she cringed at the admittance—were built better than any sculpture she’d seen. She couldn’t take her eyes off their muscle flexing under golden-brown skin.
The sun was hot, with rays that needled her. Her arms, naked in the tank top she was wearing, felt the heat, though she was sure half of it was due to the sizzling sight. The guys had on shorts, their legs the same rich bronze as their bodies. She’d worn jeans because of the potential hazards on the job, and was sorry now—the sun’s fire magnified through the denim. She’d be a walking oven in no time.
I need to focus. Mandy blinked as if that would cause the exquisite scene before her to vanish. She cleared her throat.
The sound brought all heads whipping her direction.
“Hey.” At least her voice didn’t betray her rattling nerves.
Her brother scowled and started over to her. He jerked his sandy head her direction and the other guys immediately left their posts and crossed to her.
When Marc stopped, she recognized the musky odor of his sweat, like a signature.
“This is my sister, Mandy,” he announced. The three other guys approached in what Mandy could have sworn was slow motion…in her head she heard a bass thumping, drums pounding, as if the moment was straight out of a music video.
The first guy had a red bandana wrapped around his head. The laugh lines feathering away from his smiling eyes told Mandy that he was probably the oldest of the group, somewhere in his late twenties. He most definitely was the tannest, his skin starting to leather.
He extended a hand. “A.J. Heard a lot about you.
Congrats on graduating.”
His hand was hot and sweaty, but Mandy expected that. “Thanks.”
Next to A.J. stood a buzzed blond with pearl-blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved, Mandy noted, and the stubble on his cheeks and neck made him look like he was a surfer who’d just taken a wave and brought home some sand. His light denim, thread-bare shorts were cut off at the knees, the hems frayed. He rubbed his hand on his rear pocket before sticking it her direction. “Larry.”
Mandy gave him a nod when she shook his hand.
“Hey.”
The last one of the crew looked to be about her age, and from the intense focus of his deep brown eyes she knew he was about as happy as Marc to have her there. He wore a blue Boston team baseball cap over hair nearly the same rich chocolate color as his eyes. He was forgoing the friendly handshake by keeping his arms crossed over his chest.
Mandy withdrew her extended hand. Marc had squeezed enough lemons into her life that she never puckered up and backed away from anything. “You going to tell me your name or do I call you Boston?”
His eyes narrowed. “Boston will be fine.”
“Nice to meet you, Boston.”
“It’s Charlie,” Marc said.
Mandy wondered why Boston shifted, like he was embarrassed, at the mention of his name. “Charlie? As in Charles?”
“As in Charlie,” Boston corrected.
“I’ll stick with Boston,” she grinned. “Now, where do you want me?”
The guys exchanged slow glances. Marc sighed, scratched his shaggy hair and looked her over from pony tail to work boots. “You can back out now and I won’t tell Dad a thing.”
Mandy stiffened. “Forget that.”
“Man.” Marc shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to do
FIRST JOB
Mandy hadn’t taken the job framing houses so she could stare at tan, bare-chested hotties in low-riding jeans with tool belts slung around their waists. She’d grown up on construction sites—her father’s workers and crew were like her uncles.
She was eighteen now, and the young guys glistening under the noon sun looked anything but related to her.
Her mouth went dry.
There were four golden gods in all. One was her brother Marc. She wasn’t looking at him, of course.
She was watching his nail-toting, hammer-wielding companions. All three, including her brother—even though she cringed at the admittance—were built better than any sculpture she’d seen. She couldn’t take her eyes off their muscle flexing under golden-brown skin.
The sun was hot, with rays that needled her. Her arms, naked in the tank top she was wearing, felt the heat, though she was sure half of it was due to the sizzling sight. The guys had on shorts, their legs the same rich bronze as their bodies. She’d worn jeans because of the potential hazards on the job, and was sorry now—the sun’s fire magnified through the denim. She’d be a walking oven in no time.
I need to focus. Mandy blinked as if that would cause the exquisite scene before her to vanish. She cleared her throat.
The sound brought all heads whipping her direction.
“Hey.” At least her voice didn’t betray her rattling nerves.
Her brother scowled and started over to her. He jerked his sandy head her direction and the other guys immediately left their posts and crossed to her.
When Marc stopped, she recognized the musky odor of his sweat, like a signature.
“This is my sister, Mandy,” he announced. The three other guys approached in what Mandy could have sworn was slow motion…in her head she heard a bass thumping, drums pounding, as if the moment was straight out of a music video.
The first guy had a red bandana wrapped around his head. The laugh lines feathering away from his smiling eyes told Mandy that he was probably the oldest of the group, somewhere in his late twenties. He most definitely was the tannest, his skin starting to leather.
He extended a hand. “A.J. Heard a lot about you.
Congrats on graduating.”
His hand was hot and sweaty, but Mandy expected that. “Thanks.”
Next to A.J. stood a buzzed blond with pearl-blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved, Mandy noted, and the stubble on his cheeks and neck made him look like he was a surfer who’d just taken a wave and brought home some sand. His light denim, thread-bare shorts were cut off at the knees, the hems frayed. He rubbed his hand on his rear pocket before sticking it her direction. “Larry.”
Mandy gave him a nod when she shook his hand.
“Hey.”
The last one of the crew looked to be about her age, and from the intense focus of his deep brown eyes she knew he was about as happy as Marc to have her there. He wore a blue Boston team baseball cap over hair nearly the same rich chocolate color as his eyes. He was forgoing the friendly handshake by keeping his arms crossed over his chest.
Mandy withdrew her extended hand. Marc had squeezed enough lemons into her life that she never puckered up and backed away from anything. “You going to tell me your name or do I call you Boston?”
His eyes narrowed. “Boston will be fine.”
“Nice to meet you, Boston.”
“It’s Charlie,” Marc said.
Mandy wondered why Boston shifted, like he was embarrassed, at the mention of his name. “Charlie? As in Charles?”
“As in Charlie,” Boston corrected.
“I’ll stick with Boston,” she grinned. “Now, where do you want me?”
The guys exchanged slow glances. Marc sighed, scratched his shaggy hair and looked her over from pony tail to work boots. “You can back out now and I won’t tell Dad a thing.”
Mandy stiffened. “Forget that.”
“Man.” Marc shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re trying to do
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