PAMELA LEANED BACK IN the lounger and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes. It was a beautiful day, warm and cloudless, perfect for lazing around the pool. She couldn’t have asked for better weather. Perfect for a group encounter.
From behind her dark sunglasses, she eyed the pool boy as he dragged a net over the surface of the blue water, sifting out whatever didn’t belong there. He, too, was perfect. Young, though. Couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five, twenty-six years old.
His name was Sean. And his muscular, tanned torso was bare in the sun, his washboard stomach a temptation that made her fingertips itch to play over the hard ridges. He wore a pair of aged jeans, ripped in all the right places and hugging his tight rear end.
Behind her dark glasses, Pamela watched him with impunity, thoroughly enjoying her Mrs. Robinson moment. And anyway, Sean wasn’t actually a pool boy. She didn’t even own the pool he was cleaning.
Pamela had rented the house for the day from a real estate friend. The home had been empty and on the market for over a year, and her friend must have shown it a thousand times without a bite. Sitting on a secluded hillside, it was a beautiful home, a massive rambling place with a gorgeous lawn and a giant pool. But it was overpriced and the owners refused to lower the asking.
Pamela’s friend had welcomed the opportunity to make a few bucks on the side renting the place for the day, figuring she’d earned it with all the time she’d wasted trying to sell it.
Sean stopped skimming and turned to look at Pamela stretched out on her lounger in her skimpy, red bikini. He rapidly scanned her figure, his appreciation apparent, before returning his gaze to her face.
“Sure is a nice place you’ve got here, Mrs. Hunter,” he said. “Don’t know why you’d want to sell it.”
Her last name wasn’t Hunter. She’d chosen it because she liked how it sounded.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s Mr. Hunter’s fault. He’s moving his business offshore, so we’re giving up the place.”
“Losing your home is a big sacrifice to make.”
“Well, I’m happy to do it. He’s my husband, after all.”
He nodded. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll do my best to clean the pool up real nice so you can sell the house quick.”
A voice sounded from nearby. “Me too. I’ve almost got these hedges trimmed up.”
She smiled benevolently, and glanced to the side at the young man working a pair of clippers over a shrub. Kyle. Mmm. He was as delicious as Sean, shirtless, too, of a similar age and fitness level, but he was a sun-kissed blond where Sean was brunette.
“Thank you both,” she said. “I appreciate all your hard work.”
Kyle winked at her, a sexy impertinence that a woman of Mrs. Hunter’s standing might never have tolerated, not unless she had plans for said sexy winker. And this Mrs. Hunter most assuredly did have plans.
The two men returned to work and Pamela enjoyed their show. She felt all warm and fuzzy, basking in the sun in her bikini, anticipation curling in her belly, a low thrum working deep inside her. She sipped her mojito. This was the life.
An older woman in a maid’s uniform stepped out of the house.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hunter,” the woman said, stopping next to Pamela’s lounger. “There’s a worker here. Says you hired him to do some repairs around the place.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about him. Thank you, Angela. Send him out and bring me that list I left on the kitchen table.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Angela said, and off she went to do Mrs. Hunter’s bidding.
Angela wasn’t her real name. Pamela couldn’t remember her real name, in fact. She was an actress hired to do a few hours’ work, who happened to be a little wooden in her delivery, but otherwise was doing okay.
The sound of Kyle’s clipping picked up speed. “If you needed some small jobs done, Mrs. Hunter, I’d have been happy to do them for you.”
“How kind of you,” Pamela said. “I had no idea you had skills in the house as well as in the yard.”
“Ma’am, you wouldn’t believe how handy I can be.” He looked her over, a quick, leering up and down.
Would a real Mrs. Hunter fire him on the spot for his cheek? Pamela didn’t know. Didn’t care. “Why Kyle, I certainly would believe it. You can accomplish anything you set your ... er ... mind to.”
He grinned and made a few pointed clips with the trimmer. “I bet I can hammer better than that fellow you’ve hired.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” said a deep voice from behind her.
Pamela turned, looked up, way up, into the eyes of Mr. Tall, Dark and Don’t-I-Look-Fine-in-a-Toolbelt Guy. “Oh, hello there.” Seriously. Hell-o.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hunter. I’m Miguel,” he said. “I’m here to do the work I discussed with your husband last week.”
She paused a moment to give him a good look over. A dream Latin lover if ever she’d seen one. He was in his early thirties, tall and lean-hipped. His black hair brushed his shoulders and curled at the ends. There were a few tiny smile lines at the corners of his sexy mouth, and she would have traded her soul for his high cheekbones and long eyelashes.
He was dressed in a t-shirt and tight jeans, and yes, a big, loaded tool belt that was slung low on his hips. No husband in his right mind would hire this man then allow him to be alone with his wife. Luckily, Mrs. Hunter’s husband wasn’t the jealous type.
Jasmine had told Pamela to expect someone new, someone who hadn’t been present on her night. Miguel. Delicioso. Jasmine would be crushed if she knew what she missed.
Pamela smiled and pretended she didn’t see Miguel’s lazy perusal of her person. “Of course, Miguel. So glad you made it. Where’s Angela? Oh, there you are.”
Angela was basically lost behind Miguel’s glory. She stepped forward and handed Pamela a sheet of paper, then returned to the house.
Pamela studied the list. “Hmm, okay. My husband wrote this up for you. It says here that you’re to start in the downstairs half bath. There’s a small hole in there you’re supposed to fill. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“Yes Ma’am,” he said, a small smile playing on his face. “I can assure you I’m an expert at filling small holes.”
“Had lots of practice have you?”
“Plenty.”
“Mmm, I bet you have.”
Sean snorted nearby. Pamela ignored him.
“Let’s see,” she continued. “Next up is in the dining room. There’s a loose hinge on the door. And a few of the handles are shaky on the built-in hutch. It says here you may need a drill. Did you bring one?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He patted his hip, where a large drill hung from his tool belt. “I never go anywhere without it. And all the attachments, too.”
“You’ll probably need a really long drill bit for this job.”
“Got it covered. Eight inches of hardened, high-speed steel.”
“Oh, well, that’s good to know.” She couldn’t resist a quick peek at what he was packing under his tool belt, hidden behind his tight jeans.
She licked her lips, unconsciously. “Yes, er ... extremely good to know.”
Off to the side, Kyle coughed loudly, trying unsuccessfully to hide his bark of laughter. Pamela shot him a hard look, one he likely didn’t get since it was hidden behind her sunglasses.
“Next job,” Pamela said a little too loudly, “is in one of the guest bathrooms. There’s a terrible problem in there. A stuck spigot.”
“Stuck spigot. That’s all right. It won’t be a problem.”
“I don’t know. A couple of men have already given it a go, and it doesn’t want to open up.”
“A few good whacks with something heavy should loosen it up,” Miguel said, his brown eyes sparkling.
“I fear it’s going to require a serious pounding before it’ll let go completely. A good, long, firm and steady pounding should do the trick, I think.”
“I can pound harder and longer than anyone.”
“Can you?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“My, my. You are talented. With your skills, I bet you do a bang-up business.”
Miguel cleared his throat. “My father taught me that any job worth doing is worth doing well.” His gaze traveled over her breasts and flat stomach, settling on the tiny triangle of fabric between her legs.
Sean clattered the metal skimmer against the grating on one of the traps. “Sorry about the noise, Mrs. Hunter. I was just trying to get something out of this trap. It’s clamped down on the skimmer and won’t let go.”
He clunked the skimmer around and around in the trap. “Whew! It’s all tight in there, and wet, too. I won’t give up, though. I’ll keep on plunging away until it gives it up.”
Pamela covered her mouth with her hand until she could resume a straight face. “Thank you, Sean. Your diligence will be rewarded some day, I’m sure.”
“Maybe today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You never know,” she said, brushing him aside for the moment. “Now, Miguel, those three chores should be plenty to keep you busy for a while. When you’re finished, come back and we’ll go over the other items on the list.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He turned to go and Pamela admired his tight rear end as he went.
“And Miguel,” she called out after him. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. As you can see, I’m completely at leisure today, not doing a thing.”
“I see that, Mrs. Hunter,” he said, stopping at the door. “And if you don’t mind my saying, you look lovely when you’re not doing a thing.” Then he was gone, disappeared inside the dark interior of the house
She smiled, lay back in her lounger, threw an arm casually over the backrest, bent a leg. Sean and Kyle enjoyed her pose, watched her more than they pretended to do their jobs. She sipped at her drink and appreciated the play of the men’s muscles across their chests and stomachs, the flexing of their biceps, the glimmer in their eyes.
“You’re doing an excellent job with those hedges, Kyle,” Pamela said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hunter. I enjoy a nicely-trimmed hedge.”
“Mmmhmm. Me too.”
“Have you ever trimmed your hedge? I mean, hedges? Trimmed your own hedges?”
She smiled lazily. “Yes indeed, but I have this habit of trimming too much. In fact, I’ve been known to take it down to nothing at all.”
“Bare, then.”
“That’s right.”
“Kind of tough on the hedge,” Kyle said.
“Yes, but then it grows back fuller and fluffier the next spring and —” she stopped, realizing she had clearly lost her way in Double-Entendre Land. She nearly gave full rein to a giggle, but swallowed it down.
Available now:
Pamela and the Hired Hands
Fantasy Guild No. 2