Ready for You

Ready for You

A San Francisco Brides Book

Celia Juliano

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, incidents, and scenarios are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Celia Juliano

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any format without the author’s consent.

First Digital Edition February 2012

Second Digital Edition August 2013

Third Digital Edition December 2014

***

Chiara believed she’d buried her true self under her role as a proper wife and mother. But when she gives into an impulse to flirt with a hot construction worker, the persona her soon-to-be-ex husband and traditional Italian American family expect breaks down. Can she build a new life, or will everything crumble around her?
Rocco thought he knew what he wanted from Chiara—the same thing he always wanted from a hot woman. Something is different about Chiara, though, and Rocco soon decides he’s willing to play dirty to get her in his bed—and his life. When his troubled past resurfaces, Rocco’s determination falters, especially when he slams into the biggest obstacle of all—Chiara’s mistrust of him, and their love. But he knows Chiara’s walls can come down—and he’s good with a sledgehammer.

For all my supportive family, friends, and colleagues: you know who you are. Thank you.

Chapter One

She walked toward her sons’ school, past the house down the street from hers, where a construction crew had started remodeling two weeks before. Maybe this time she swung her hips more than usual, maybe she tingled a little as she passed.

“Mmm-mm.”
Was he clearing his throat, or… “You like to walk, don’t you?”

She stopped and smiled before she turned and assumed a scowl, easy behind her sunglasses.

“You like to watch?” Her stomach jittered as the other men around him chuckled and whispered, but she struck a pose, one hand on her hip. He rose from his lounging position on the browning lawn where he and his crew mates ate lunch under an old oak tree. He sauntered near her, though a man with his thick frame, taut muscles, and aura of intensity could never pull off too casual an attitude.

“When there’s something worth watching,” he said in an easy voice.

“It’s a beautiful day, good to feel the sun after the cold and rain.” The sixty-five degree temperature was just right, though seeing the light glint off his workman’s skin made it feel about thirty degrees hotter.

“Like the heat?” he said.

“Hot or wet, it’s all good.”

He chuckled, low and gravelly.
She surged with pleasure. If he could do that just from a laugh…she shifted her other hip out.

“I agree. So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a writer, always on the prowl for some good action verbs.”

“I like to hammer, pound, nail, jackhammer, whack, pummel, bang, drive, weld, charge, galvanize, for starters.” His smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. He must’ve spent a lot of time outside, but his lips were youthfully full and expressive.
Stop staring, Chiara
.

“That’s quite a start,” she breathed out. Even her toes sweltered.

“Give me a
chance,
I can come up with more.”

She bet he could. “Here’s my card, call me if you have any other ideas.” He took it with a grin. He was a sexy beast, with shadowy stubble, an oval face with softly chiseled features, an almost Roman nose, prominent eyebrows, dark buzz cut hair, a few grays poking out, muscular, hairy arms, wide, work-callused hands …She shuddered and rubbed her arm.

“I’ll do that. Have a good one,” he said.

“Thanks, you too,” she said with a wave and strode off. She knew he wouldn’t call, but the heat in her limbs, the little pull up in her spine made it worthwhile. She hadn’t done anything like that in years, not since her twenties, when she’d briefly gotten some brass before she met her hopefully soon-to-be-ex-husband, Phil. Now she’d ruined the moment, thinking of Phil. She quickened her pace, though she had plenty of time before the boys got out of school. She tried to picture the hot construction worker again, but instead she only saw her husband. She shook her head and walked on.

That night, Phil lay in his recliner after the boys were in bed,
a Newcastle
ale by his side, probably on Facebook, watching golf, or a foreign film on Netflix. They didn’t even argue anymore, not much. Instead they’d opted for polite, strained silence, a truce. Separated, by agreement, but still living in the same house and Phil hadn’t given up on their marriage, at least that’s what he said.

She finished paying the bills online and shut down her computer. She had laundry to take care of. The sheets were warm from the dryer, about as hot as they had ever gotten. She folded them and placed them away. From her purse, the R&B tune of her ringtone beat out. She’d forgotten to shut it off. Curious, she pulled it out and almost didn’t answer the unknown number, but after half an hour folding sheets, towels, little boy’s clothes, Phil’s underwear, socks, and pants, anything would be a welcome change. It was him—the hot construction guy. She smiled when he said hello in his deep, mischievous voice. His name was Rocco. She hurried into the laundry room and shut the door, stifling her laughter at his goombah name.

“I have some more ideas,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, my boys are sleeping.” Crap, why did she say that?

“You have two?” Of course, he must have seen her walking with them on their way home from school.

“Yes, six and five.
What about you?”

“A boy and a girl, twenty and eighteen.
They live with their mother, for now. They’ll both attend college in the fall.”

“That’s great, you must be proud.”

“Yeah.
You?” he said. He sounded truly interested. A hollow began in her stomach.

“What about me?” she asked.

“Divorced?”

“No.” She pressed her back into the wall and slid into a crouch.

“Sorry, did you lose your husband?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.” A sharp pain zinged through her.

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s been fun talking. Have a good night.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean to…I mean, we’d be divorced, but we can’t right now. It’s expensive and keeping two households going, around here, and my boys…I’m sorry, I really didn’t think you’d call.”

“I didn’t either.” The phone hummed in the silence.

“If I walk by your job site again, don’t think I’m stalking you or something, it’s on my way to my sons’ school.”

He chuckled. “That’s a relief. You can’t imagine how many women follow me around.”

“You’re irresistible?”

“Once you get a taste…” he stopped, his teasing tone crushed like a soda can underfoot. “Goodnight.”

“You too, thanks for calling.” The line clicked. She sighed and stood. She grabbed the basket and pulled the last load from the dryer.

The next day was chilly again. Every year, she forgot that June was a cool month here in the San Francisco Bay Area. But she wore short sleeves as she walked her sons to and from school,
warm
enough from her daily imaginings of Rocco. He really was that sexy, how he filled out his jeans, his muscles tight in the short sleeves of his shirt. She caught a brief view of his ass as she walked back with her sons in the afternoon and heat spread through her, both pleasant and unpleasant. What kind of mother checked out a guy’s butt while walking with her sons? She shook her head and tried to engage the two in conversation, but they were busy bantering about their favorite video games. She listened instead to the distant buzz of a circular saw and the pounds of a hammer, incongruous with the swaying green leaves of the birch and other small trees dotting the neighborhood.

The following day, the thwack of a nail gun stopped her for a moment as she ambled down the street. Rocco stood, his fine back to her, hands gesturing as he spoke to one of his crew mates. The sound and his image morphed into a flash of skin smacking on skin, doggie style. She tried not to
see,
like she’d tried not to feel anything anymore, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Besides, there was no harm in looking, or thinking.

That evening, she had to help the boys pack for the weekend, as well as the usual: make dinner, clean up, and check homework, among the hundred other small tasks. Phil’s snores snorted from their bedroom as she turned off the kitchen light. She went into her boys’ room and watched their breath rise and fall in their chests before she padded back into the living room. Her cell blared out its song. Quickly, she rustled in her purse and answered.

“It’s Rocco. How are you?”

She bit her lip. “Tired, and you?” she said as she walked into the laundry room and shut the door.

“Yeah, it’s been a long week. I noticed you walking by again. Your boys seem like good kids. I saw them help that little girl who fell down.”

“They are, most of the time.”

“Nobody’s good all the time,” he said.

“True, but some people are better than others,” she said. The Tide scent assailed her senses, making her squirm. If only she were as clean as the soap or the white walls, washer, and dryer. Other people may believe she was that pure, but she knew she wasn’t.

“So, what about you?
Bad or just hurt?” he said.

“Wow, that’s a question. What about you?” She sat and hugged her knees.

“I play at bad. I was hurt, but not anymore.
Just a man.”

“I could say a lot to that, but I won’t. I guess I tried to play bad too, but I’ve got too guilty a conscience to succeed. I feel guilt even when I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Grow up Catholic, or do you blame the parents?”

“A little of both, a little of me.”

“Not a good idea to do something wrong, then.”

She wriggled. His tone had too much conviction. So much for thinking the conversation had turned light-hearted.

“Maybe I already am. Isn’t staying in a loveless marriage wrong?”

“Hard to say.
It seems you have your reasons.”

“So, do you use a lot of tools on your job?” Chiara tweaked at the looped cotton rug underneath her.

“Sure.” His tone lowered and smoothed a notch.

“Important to keep them clean?”

“Spotless, I’m a thorough guy. And you?”

“Pristine, only a few jobs.”
Squirming, a smile broke free. Clearly they weren’t talking about hammers and wrenches. Licking her lips, she let the image of her hands on his tool fill her mind.

“Gently used?
Mine have gone through more than that, but they’ve held up well. Always important to keep tools properly stored and protected.”

“Protection is good.” What was she saying? She needed a glass of water.

“What are you up to this weekend?” he said.

“A rare weekend alone.
The boys are going camping with their dad.”

“Not much for the outdoors?” His voice tugged at her, wrapping her in his humorous tone and sexy cadence. What would it be like to have him pull her into his solid chest and hold her?

“I like it, but not the tents and all that,” she said. She grimaced then giggled. He couldn’t see her.

“I’m more of a cabin guy, or a five star hotel by the beach.”

“Ever better.”
Crashing white-tipped waves behind him as he strides out of the surf, his red swim trunks dripping and clinging…

“Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

“I can’t, a writer’s meeting.
Maybe dinner?”
You’re asking for trouble, girl.

“Sounds good.
Do you live in Fairvale?”

“Yes, and you?”
Her throat tightened while something else in her loosened. That something should stay caged, if the wet tingling in her pussy was any indication. Her face grew hot. It’d been years since she’d thought of her own sex in that way.

“Dublin. I grew up there, but my ex wanted to move here. I stayed to be close to my kids. Why don’t we meet at Hacienda Crossings and figure it out from there?”

“Okay.” She could always not show.

“Six-thirty in front of the theater?”
She agreed and they said goodnight. Chiara shook her head. She did not just do that. But she had and a tremor shivered through her. She got ready for bed and huddled on her side, warm with anticipation.

She kissed her boys goodbye the next morning, their sweet little hands on her neck before they ran to the car. She had to give Phil that, he was a good father. He spent most of his spare time with them, took them on outings, helped with their homework, and rarely lost his patience. As she kissed him on the cheek, he returned the gesture. They cared about each other still, but they couldn’t give each other what they needed and wanted. She cleaned up the breakfast dishes, tidied the house, and changed for her meeting.