Dirty Working Hero (Hard Working Hero 2)

They refuse to see the real me.

I rake my fingers through my hair and squeeze my head as I drop down into the lawn chair on the patio. It's hot as hell outside already, but that's summer in Los Angeles. Relaxing back, I lay my hand across my forehead and shut my eyes.

The sun beats down on my face, warming my skin. I can hear birds singing in the trees, and the occasional buzz of a bee as it zips by my head. I love this. This is my happy place. Outside, in the fresh air, with the sounds of nature around me. I don't understand how my parents can’t see the beauty in it.

Bang, bang, bang!

My morning meditation is quickly interrupted. I sit up straight and look down toward the pool. There's a man hammering giant wooden stakes into the ground.

Shit, I forgot my parents were having work done this week.

I squint my eyes, watching the man as he continues to drive stakes into the dirt. He lifts his arm, his muscle bulging like a mountain under the skin. Slamming the sledgehammer, he buries the wood post in one hit.

The man stands up straight, setting the heavy head of the hammer on the ground, and looking up at the sky. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and takes in a deep breath.

Holy hell. Who is that?

His bleach blond hair catches the sun making it look golden. His skin a dark tan from hours of working outside. His shirt sticks to his sweaty body, causing him to pluck the front and pull it off his chest. A cut jaw, high cheek bones, and a long nose that fits his face perfectly, he's gorgeous. I'm awe struck.

There's a thin layer of dirt stuck to his glistening, sweaty skin as he picks up his hammer again, pounding in another stake. Every time he lifts his arm, his bicep bulges and he grunts like an animal.

I can't lie, it's a bit of a turn on.

My hand slips up into my hair, fingers twisting a thick lock right up to my scalp. I could sit here all day and watch him as he works.

There are two kinds of temptation in this world. There's the temptation when you see someone and they make your head turn, and then there's temptation, the kind that hits you in the gut like a heavy fist. This man is full blown temptation, complete with butterflies, a racing heart, and lip nibbling.

I can't take my eyes off him. He swings that hammer like Thor himself, driving the wood stake in with a single strike. The sun is making his skin sparkle in the sexiest way as sweat drips down his temples and arms.

I know he's here to rebuild the patio around the pool, and I also know my father would never want me speaking to a man like him. He'd say he's beneath us. He's just a worker, a laborer, certainly not a man a father wants to see with his daughter.

Do it. The little devil on my shoulder speaks up, taunting me to break the rules. Go talk to him. Flirt with him even, just because you can. Who's going to stop you?

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I wait for the devil's counterpart to show up and talk me out of it. I tap my fingers against my thigh, knowing she'll be here any moment.

The angel never comes.

Looks like I've got the green light.

I glance over my shoulder and look inside the house. I don't see my mother, but I'm sure she's not far. She's always watching in one way or another. A little payback to tick her off might be fun.

I jump from my seat, and stroll down the hill toward the pool. The guy doesn't seem to notice me as he continues to work. I lay my arms over the wire fence and lean against the cold metal netting.

“Hey,” I say, pausing and waiting for him to look up. He doesn't. “Hello,” I call out louder.

He finally lifts his head, and all the air almost gets knocked out of my lungs. His eyes are so big and blue. Blue as the glaciers in the Arctic, and big enough I'm tempted to dive right in.

The man pulls out his ear buds and smiles. “Oh, hey. I didn't see you there.”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Well,” he says, looking down at the spray painted lines in the grass. “I'm getting ready to dig out the new path for the patio. I'm going to hard frame it first, then I can make the mold. After—” He stops, cutting himself off. “I'm sorry, it sounds more interesting in my head.” The man chuckles and grins. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watching,” I answer with a smirk. “Need some help?”