DirtyBeautiful (2 page)

He made a mental note of the level of work needed for the
next day. He’d already lifted the carpet yesterday, which removed much of the
musty scent in the house, but it left the unvarnished wood exposed. That left
him to treat, varnish and polish the sucker and he’d no doubt it’d be a
pain-in-the-ass job. He shrugged it off. At least it’d get his mind off jerking
off every ten seconds.

He knocked back another mouthful and surveyed his backyard.
Landscaping had to be last on his list as he knew next to nothing about plants.
His yard remained mostly bare save for a blueberry tree fast losing all its
leaves. His gaze drifted over the landscaped garden next door. The smell of
roses filled the night and he appreciated the fresh air that’d long been absent
in his life.

Light slanted over his yard from the adjoining property and
he caught sight of Erica in her kitchen. She wore a flannel cow-print pajama set,
not at all what he thought she’d wear. She’d been in his thoughts for the
better part of the day after her brief visit and he pondered on the instant
camaraderie that’d flared up between them. For once, he didn’t feel too much
like a sack of shit when he looked her over. She didn’t fit his type and
perhaps that made her a safe bet. Her curvaceous figure was a far cry from the
athletic frames he went for, but he found himself intrigued nonetheless.
Perhaps it was the way her hazel eyes sparkled with sharp wit or perhaps it was
her lips, the bottom one plumper than the top.

A silent voyeur, he followed her about the kitchen. She
opened her fridge and pulled out one of her brownies. She knocked the fridge
door closed with her hip and bit into her dessert. The moan of delight carried
the distance. Jesus Christ, she was a moaner. His dick hardened at the sound
and he followed her every movement as she devoured the brownie. Her eyelids
fluttered shut in a picture of pure ecstasy. Shit, he didn’t think he’d find a
girl like her sexually attractive, but his body decided to prove him wrong. He
shifted in an attempt to ease the tightness in his jeans. His dick throbbed and
he hated himself for getting turned-on. It’d been about an hour since he’d
wiped one out but his body remained unsatisfied. The manual method didn’t cut
it anymore. He glowered at his knee. He was sick of jacking off at the
slightest inclination and wanted to find the balance of healthy sexual interest
rather than total sleezeball.
Don’t shit where you eat, Dylan.
If he
knew anything about women who lived in yellow houses and wore cow-print
flannels, it was that they were wholesome little homebodies. Those types of
gals didn’t do anything casual.

With a muffled curse, he stood and slipped into his house.
In the semi-darkness, he found the light switch to the living room and clicked
it on. He turned the LCD TV to ESPN and watched the highlights of sports from
the day. He settled into the leather recliner to watch some football. The play
followed through without the least bit of attention on his part. Instead he
found his thoughts on Erica and imagined how she’d look, ruffled up, naked and
moaning. His cock thrummed with a need for release. He tried to shake it off
but he couldn’t concentrate. His Goddamn sex drive was ruining his life.
Flicking off the television, he stood and marched up the stairs to take matters
into his own hands…again.

* * * * *

Dylan pulled his truck into the parking spot outside the
hardware store and stepped out. The early-morning sun slanted long shadows
across the dark asphalt and the town was pretty quiet. Although he knew his
time would eventually be up and he’d have to face the residents of Templeton,
for the time being, Dylan preferred to keep his anonymity. Vane’s words still
haunted him and had kept him up for part of the night. Sure, men watched porn,
but it all depended on what type they watched and which production they liked.
It stood to reason maybe, just maybe, a couple of guys might recognize him. But
Dylan was pretty confident that if they did know him, they wouldn’t say
anything.

He grabbed a cart and guided it down an aisle. The smell of
fertilizer and woodchips caught him full in the face. Navigating by the bags of
garden produce, he ambled to the back of the store and selected a few small
items he needed for floor preparation before heading toward the paints and
varnishes. He selected his choice of lacquer and an application mop then
searched for high-end drum sanders.

“Excuse me.”

Dylan twisted around to find himself confronted by a woman.
Blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant twist, her lips the color of cherries
as she smiled at him. Unwittingly his gaze fell on her slim frame and pert
breasts encased in a skintight dress. And damn if he didn’t notice the lack of
a panty-line. She was just his type. Tall, slim and blonde. Dylan began to make
comparisons between her and Erica and he cut it off. He wasn’t here to sleep
with the female population. He forced his attention upward and attempted to
look politely interested. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could please get that tin of
ocean-blue paint for me.”

Dylan followed her finger to the tin she could’ve reached if
she stretched a bit. With a friendly smile, he pulled it from the shelf and
handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, a husky vibrato to her voice.

“No prob.”

“Oh, it’s heavy!”

“Want me to take it to the counter for you?”

She preened. “How kind of you.”

He started toward the front of the store and the woman
followed him, her pumps clacked on the cement surface. “I haven’t seen you
around here before. I’m Mary-Mae,” she said by way of introduction.

Dylan nodded and shook the dainty hand she offered up like
the Queen of England. “Dylan.”

“I heard a new person had moved into Samuel’s old house and
since I’ve never seen you around before, it must be you.”

“Yep.”

“That place must be a dump, so I guess it takes an
innovative person to move in there. Are you planning on selling it off and
making a profit?”

“Nope.”

“Oh… I’m doing some renovations on my house. I find myself
rather handy with a hammer now that I’m divorced.”

Dylan ignored the blatant hint and the hand that stroked his
forearm.

The woman behind the counter turned to him.

“Do you have a drum sander?” he asked.

“No. You can probably go by Bill’s Carpentry. He might have
one.”

“Where might I find that?”

“I can show you,” Mary-Mae interjected.

Wordlessly he dropped his stuff on the counter, deciding it
better to get this over with. Mary-Mae was sexy as hell, but Dylan couldn’t
afford a distraction, let alone indulge in some drive-by necking no matter what
his dick demanded of him. He collected his items, stepped out of the shop and
dropped them onto the back of his truck. He turned to face Mary-Mae. She stood
on the curb for him, hands clasped together.

“Where’s your paint?”

Dylan could literally see the wheels turn in her head. “Oh
Jessica will keep it for pick-up later,” she lied.

“Right. Look, you don’t have to walk me to Bill’s Carpentry.
If you just point me in the right direction, I think I can manage.”

She waved her hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, I need
to ask him a question about the doggy door he built for my Talya.”

Interest perked, he glanced down at her. You could always
tell something about a person by the way they treated dogs they had. “You’ve a
dog?”

Hooking her arm around his, she dragged him along with her.
“Yes. I have the cutest miniature Pomeranian. All white and so pretty.”

Dylan zoned out sometime when her rambles turned to costumes
she dressed the poor thing in. Soon after, he found himself in a store lined
with wooden furniture. He breathed in the fresh scent of wax and sawdust. The
sound of sanding from the back of the shop drew him farther into the store.

The proprietor looked up at their approach, sawdust peppered
his cheeks and white mustache. He pushed his bifocals up his nose and stood.
“Morning, Ms. Grear, how’s that little dog of yours?”

“Good, Bill.” Her arm tightened around Dylan’s, her body
glued to his side. “I’d like you to meet the newest addition to Templeton. Dylan.
He bought Samuel’s house.”

Rheumy blue eyes peered up at him and he held out a
weathered hand. Dylan shook it, subtly surprised by the man’s strong grip. “You
needing some work done?”

“Oh no, he’s doing it up himself,” Mary-Mae said.

Irritation spiked inside him, but he kept it at bay.

“Is that right, son?” Bill asked.

“Yes. The internal structure isn’t too bad. It just needs a
bit of TLC and elbow grease.”

“You familiar with carpentry?”

“I worked in the construction industry for a bit.”

The old man nodded, impressed. “Well, what can I do you
for?”

“I’ve got plans to fix up the floors. I was wondering if you
have a drum sander and edge sander?”

Bill hitched up the side of his jeans. “Sure do.”

“Great. How much to hire out?”

“Aw, don’t you worry about that. You just volunteer a bit of
your time here and you can use it. My hands are a bit arthritic and with winter
approaching, I could do with a lad who knows his way around a flat end of
timber.”

Dylan found himself smiling at the older man. He’d wondered
what he could do with his life outside the adult film industry and with this
opportunity, he could end up in the same profession he started out in. Things
felt as if they were finally coming together. “Sounds like a deal.”

“Good.” Bill turned and waved for Dylan to follow.

After a brief struggle, he slipped from Mary-Mae’s boa-like
grip and trailed after the fellow into a back room. The extension of the shop
consisted of a steel structure complete with a ventilation system to capture
the excess sawdust. The room was big enough to fit four cars inside. In fact,
he noticed an oil pit and winch. “You used to be a mechanic too?”

“Huh.” He glanced around then flicked his hand. “Nah. That
was my brother. He liked his cars. But when he got too sick, he gave it up. Another
lad took over, he’s up on Crescent Street. Now I just use this as my workshop.
Ah, here we are.”

Bill dropped his hand on the handle of the drum sander
propped against the back wall. “You got a way to transport it?”

“I have a pickup.”

“Good. Just bring it around the back and I’ll open the
roller door. It’ll save my back.”

Dylan smiled. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

He returned to the front of the store to find Mary-Mae still
there. Eyelashes fluttered. “How fortunate you’re a carpenter! I was meaning to
ask Bill, but with him being so busy, I can ask you. I was thinking of
extending the porch. Perhaps you can come around and have a look?”

Dylan recognized the ploy. He’d be lying if he said he
wasn’t interested. Here was a woman who fit more into his line of thinking.
She’d let him take her behind the building if he wanted. He glanced over his
shoulder, unsure why he even hesitated. Shit, he was sick of being so damn
horny all the time.

“Uh, sure. After I load up the sander I’ll follow you.”

Heated lust flashed in her eyes and she sashayed from the
store. “I’ll be waiting.”

Dylan ignored his conscience, loaded the sander and drove
his truck behind Mary-Mae’s car. Within twenty minutes he found himself in
front of a prairie-style house. Dark brick and white columns contrasted against
each other. Mary-Mae opened the front door and waved him inside. Now was the
moment of truth. The zipper pressed against his cock in a bite of painful
pleasure. He could taste her desire on the air, his body on high alert, ready to
get his load off. But he stood at the base of the stairs, unable to make his
feet take the required steps into the house.

She exuded sexuality and knew how to present herself.
Probably wore a damn sexy negligee to bed rather than flannels. Dylan grimaced.
Shit, what was wrong with him?

Mary-Mae frowned. “Are you coming inside?”

Was he? “Yeah.”

Each step toward her felt wrong. He thrust aside his
apprehension and focused on her hot body. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her,
and she had legs that could go for miles. Perfect. But why did his stomach turn
at the idea of being inside her? As he passed the threshold the door clicked
shut behind him.

In a heartbeat she was on him like a starved lioness. Dylan
grunted as he hit the wall. Heavy perfume assaulted his senses as she pressed
her body against him. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him but he turned his head.

“No kissing.”

Too intimate. He never did that with quick fucks.

She pouted, but relented. The top button of his jeans popped
open and her fingers brushed over the head of his cock. He groaned as pleasure
spiked down to his balls.

“Shit, yeah,” he mumbled.

She fisted his shaft. It felt good, damn good, he couldn’t
deny it. But this didn’t feel like him. It felt like… Drake.

The thought killed his desire like nothing else had.
Sickened, he jerked from her touch and stepped away. Heaving out a breath, he
buttoned his jeans with unsteady hands.

“What’s wrong?”

Confusion lowered her manicured brows, the hard nipples
underneath her dress reminded him how easy it would be to fuck her. To get off
and get out. But he didn’t want to do that anymore. He wanted to be different.

“I can’t do this right now. I remembered I promised Bill I’d
be back.”

Her gaze hot with unconcealed lust, she ran a finger down
his chest. “But what about my porch?”

He shook his head. “You and I both know you didn’t want me
to look at your porch.”

She pouted again. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” he lied.

Dylan hurried out of the house and all but ran down the
steps to his car. As he slammed the door shut, he leaned back in his seat and
sighed. His dick hurt like hell but at least his conscience was clear. As he
drove down the street he wondered how long he could hold out when what she
offered was there for the taking. Jesus save him from man-eating women like
her.