You know what happens when bad boys get what they wish for? Everything!
HARDHATS AND SILK STOCKINGS
Hannah Bridges is the most infuriating woman architect Whit Thomas has ever met – and the sexiest. If he could just get the tough contractor to stop proving herself at every turn, they might have time to discuss more important things, like his hands on her … blue prints. What Hannah needs is a night of pure bliss that’s all about her: no regrets, no control, no limits. Now, in a private room where pleasure is the only goal, Hannah is about to receive a delicious education in total eccstasy…
"HelenKay Dimon knows how to grab readers with a fantastic plot and keep them interested. I will definitely be on the lookout for more of her work in the future…a terrific novel full of bad boys and good girls and the journeys they take to find their very own happily-ever-afters. Lori Foster, Erin McCarthy and HelenKay Dimon should certainly team up again for another fantastic anthology." – Angel Brewer, Romance Junkies
"Dimon’s Hardhats and Silk Stockings has unexpected twists and a sweet ending…a collection of humorous short stories, each with its own unique elements of lust and love."
"New author HelenKay Dimon gives readers a sparkling debut, and if her future books are as creative and torrid as Hardhats and Silk Stockings, then she should have a very promising future." -Patti Fischer, Romance Reviews Today
"…three delightful fun tales. In each case, the male is frustrated by his desires for a woman who seems virginal, yet sexy and sensual. Fans of the series will enjoy these women enticing their hunks." -Harriet Klausner
"Just like a man to show up after all the hard work is done."
Not the warmest welcome Whit Thomas had ever received from a woman, but then this woman had been sending him the big chill for weeks. Her brown eyes, the color of rich caramel, sparked with anger every time he had the nerve to ask her a question.
"I got tied up on another job."
"Whatever." She shrugged her slim shoulders.
A weaker man would have given up, written Hannah Bridges off as frigid, and moved on. Not Whit. Not after that day last week when he caught her peeking over her metal clipboard at his shoulders with barely disguised hunger.
"Good afternoon, Hannah. I’m fine. Thanks for asking."
"Glad to hear it. So, did you want something or did you just stop by to say hello?" She asked the question without lifting her head.
"I need your help." He figured an hour or two between the sheets should do it.
Whit had enjoyed his share of women over the years. Success on that front had never been a problem. Until Hannah. She had a voice as smooth as aged whiskey. And the stinging tongue of a viper.
"Look, Thomas, it’s been a long day. I’m sure I can pencil in some time for us to argue tomorrow, but not now."
"I never argue. Suggest and help. Cajole, even. Never argue."
"I think you’re proving my point."
Her sunny blond hair and soulful brown eyes covered a growl fierce enough to send jaded and scruffy men twice her age scrambling for the nearest exit. The sexy sweetie was all of five-five but wielded a power over burly men who could throw her spinning into the air with one little finger if they were so inclined.
On the job site, she hid her petite frame under some of the ugliest oversized flannel shirts he had ever seen. Today’s version was a hideous shade of yellow-brown. Every now and then one of the overly large sleeves slipped down her slim shoulder, revealing a tiny white tank top that hugged her sleek midsection and framed her high round breasts.
He lived for those sightings.
The stubborn woman was so damn hot his insides flamed into a raging inferno every time she swept by him with her perfect button nose pointed in the air. A light fruity scent hovered around her, wrapping around his balls and squeezing tight.
For the first and only time in his life a hardhat turned him on. Watching her move, toting that battered metal clipboard around like a shield, sent blood rushing to his groin and his brain cells packing for vacation. Of course, the object of his lust liked to pretend he didn’t exist.
He planned to change all that today.
He pushed away from the doorframe and stepped into the dismantled kitchen of the historically protected house, careful not to trip over an unopened box or one of the pieces of heavy equipment scattered around the refurbishing project. "There’s something you need to see."
"Look, Thomas, if you want this job to come in on time, you have to give me some space." She kept her intense gaze centered on the thick wedge of papers clipped together in her hands. She tapped her pencil against her front teeth then perched it behind her ear.
"You can call me Whit. Everyone else does."
"I’ll call you toaster oven, if you want. The problem’s still the same. I don’t have time for chitchat today."
She continued. "Maybe one of your wealthy friends can keep you entertained until I can finish these calculations."
"Ahh, there it is."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"The subtle ‘you’re a rich asshole’ crap you always pull on me."
She smiled. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"Right. You just don’t like architects, I guess."
"Actually, I like most of the architects I work with."
Subtle as usual. Never mind that the National Trust handpicked him to oversee this job. Never mind the fact she wasn’t supposed to lift a hammer without his approval.
Never mind the fact he owned the damn house she was ripping apart and piecing back together again.
The little vixen had worked her way into his brain until all he could think about was working his way into her tiny silk panties. And it was time to do something about it.
"Since this is my property-"
"Your family’s property."
He mentally grabbed for his last ounce of patience. "Last time I checked, I was vice president of Thomas Properties, the group that owns this house."
This time she actually snorted, an unattractive sound that only stoked the heat running through his veins.
"As such," he continued over the offensive noise, "I’m in charge. Not you."
That did it.
Those stunning high cheekbones of hers seemed to fall flat. If he was bothering her before, he was clearly pissing her off now. She emphasized her displeasure by dropping her clipboard on the table and letting it land with a loud clank.
He finally had her attention. He wasn’t so sure he wanted it anymore.
"Please go on. I’m hanging on every word."
Definitely not good. "Hannah, we have a problem."
"You mean in addition to an ancient electrical system, walls so thin they’re peeling off like tissue paper, and a plumbing mess bad enough to warrant consideration of a permanent port-a-potty off the library, something more than that?"
"Yeah, in addition to all that."
"If that’s the case, maybe this should wait until Monday. I’m not sure I can take another setback."
"Sure you can." Whit suspected Hannah could handle almost anything. He was ready to see if she could handle him. "This problem is downstairs."
"Up until now the basement was the only floor of this three-story disaster you call a house that didn’t require a major overhaul."
"This isn’t a construction problem."
"Is the problem breathing? If so, just kill it. You don’t need me for animal control duties. It’s Friday. I’ve sent everyone home and I’d like to get out of here myself."
"As the boss, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist."