#HotAndHandy by Lynne Hancock Pearson
Everyone in town loves the handsome handyman.
Everyone except his new neighbor.Out of jail and desperate for work, Vincent scrapes by with odd jobs. He’s hired to help the gray-haired lady move in next door but stumbles when he finds nothing old or feeble about Hilary.
Rejected by her husband after her body rejected implants, the breast cancer survivor shuts out Vincent until a kitchen appliance crisis forces her to accept his help. Convinced that he could do better, she keeps the younger man at a distance, but he persists, building her confidence and coaxing her out of her colorless cocoon.
With the hot handyman by her side and in her bed, Hilary develops a community program bringing at-risk youth into the building trades. But not everyone wants to see the ex-con succeed. An old foe is determined to derail Vincent, and Hilary is caught in the chaos.
She’s ready to retreat. Ready to leave everything behind—including Vincent.
Can he convince her to stay?#HotAndHandy is a small-town, reverse age-gap romance between two people starting over after being kicked to the curb by life and love.
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EXCERPT:
It was Friday, and Vincent hadn’t seen Hilary all week, even though they shared the same address. They’d texted, though, and agreed to happy hour on her deck, with him bringing the drinks and her providing the food. Taking the stairs two at a time, he smiled at his own eagerness. Last week was great. Her enthusiasm for setting up the training program was contagious. Tonight, they would work on a proposal to present to Iris and Ali, to get KBS on board. And hopefully, they’d do some more kissing. He stopped himself from thinking beyond that. After all Hilary had been through, he did not want to rush her. His cock argued otherwise; thus Vincent started and ended each day with a cold shower.
He shifted the six-pack of beer and bottle of wine in his arms to rap on the door. No one answered. Glancing over to the driveway, he confirmed Hilary’s car and bicycle were both there. Through the windows of the French doors, he saw her purse and car keys sitting on the counter so he tried the doorknob. Unlocked, he pushed the door open and called, “Hey, you okay?”
“Not really. Can you come back here?”
Dropping the booze on the table, he hustled to the bedroom, expecting more blood. The room was empty. “Hilary?”
Her voice came from the en suite bathroom. “In here.”
He peeked in to find her rooted to the floor, arms crossed over her chest, facing away from the door. Seeking her reflection in the mirror, he caught the disgusted look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a huge-ass spider. It startled me, and I dropped my glass, which shattered on the floor. I can’t move because I’m afraid I’ll cut myself.”
“I’m thinking you should give up day drinking,” he said, taking in the broken glass and Hilary’s bare feet.
“It was a glass of water.”
“Maybe buy plastic stuff. You and glass don’t seem to get along.” He grinned at her growl of annoyance.
From his examination of the floor, his eyes moved upward and widened. She wore bright pink panties and a matching camisole. Nothing else. He swallowed. With clothes, she was hot. Without, she was dynamite. Long firm legs, tight rounded ass, flat belly, and toned arms. She may not have tits, but Hilary was sexy as hell.
“Are you going to stare, or are you going to help me?” Bright red dots sat high on her cheekbones.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, umm…give me a second.” He pulled off his T-shirt and placed it on the floor at the base of Hilary’s bed. Then he leaned into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel from the rack. “I’m going to wipe down the backs of your legs in case there are any pieces of glass on them.” Glass crunched beneath him, and he was thankful to be wearing shoes. He crouched, and carefully ran the towel down the backs of her thighs and calves. She tightened at his touch, and he heard a sharp intake of breath. He spoke gently as he would to a wild animal, “Your legs look fine. I’m going to pick you up and put you on the end of the bed. We’ll do the fronts of your legs, and then your feet.” He glanced up to catch her nod, then tossed the towel over his shoulder as he rose to stand next to her. A pulse beat rapidly in the hollow of her throat. He grinned at her reflection. “I promise not to drop you.” With one arm behind her knees and one arm around her shoulders, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He placed her down so her feet were above his T-shirt on the floor, and knelt in front of her. Her slim foot was silky smooth, and he concentrated on looking at the skin of her legs and feet, trying not to inhale the provocative scent emanating from the juncture of her thighs. “I didn’t know you were afraid of spiders.”
She huffed and crossed her arms again. “I’m not afraid. It startled me. Did I not mention it was a huge-ass spider? It had to be the size of a dinner plate.”
“Really?” He sat back on his heels, trying not to smile. “And what happened to it?”
“I don’t know.” She waved an arm in dismissal. “It probably scuttled back down the drain, laughing at me. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me scream.”
He picked up his T-shirt and wrapped the towel in it, chuckling as he stood. “I didn’t see any glass, but I’m going to shake these out over the garbage can and put them on the washing machine. Then I’ll grab the vacuum cleaner. Don’t move until I get back. There might be bits of glass in the carpet by the door.” Looking up, he caught her gaze on his chest and abs…and lower. He slowly straightened, not bothering to conceal the proof of his arousal.
The red spots were back in her cheeks. “Fine. I’ll be here.”
Author Bio:
Lynne Hancock Pearson writes fun, flirty, feel-good fiction that simmers at low heat. Set in the Pacific Northwest, they are stories of people finding their way, even if it takes a while to get there.
She lives near Seattle with two and a half finicky felines and one long-suffering husband. She is a left-handed middle child who grew up in the Great White North and is a proud member of the Métis Nation of Canada.
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