Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters

Hunks, Hammers, and Happily Ever Afters

Get down and dirty with this sexy blue collar bundle featuring seven original contemporary romance novellas that range from sweet to sizzling.

Knockout ~ Cari Quinn

Hot Summer Nights ~ Cathy Clamp

Marked For Love ~ Anna J. Stewart

Knotty Magic ~ Jodi Redford

Against The Wall ~ Amie Stuart

Unashamed ~ Leah Braemel

Love In An Elevator ~ Chudney Thomas

Copyright © 2015

Cover by Brandy Walker/TEZDesigns

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the individual authors, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

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Published in the United States of America

Tapped Out, book 4

By Cari Quinn

Knockout

Tapped Out, Book 4

Copyright © Cari Quinn 2015

A
ll he wants...is everything he shouldn’t have.

MMA fighter Emerson Knapp has a secret. Two secrets, actually.

Secret #1: He can’t deny the simmering attraction he feels toward Lily, the sweetly innocent daughter of an overprotective cop who is like a second father to Emerson. Nor can he fight the pull toward Lily’s friend JC, who happens to be renovating the gym and is always walking around shirtless and sweaty.

Secret #2: Emerson loves women. He loves men just as much. Once he has an unforgettable taste of both Lily and JC, he becomes addicted. One night turns into more, and soon he doesn't know how he's going to give either of them up.

Now with all of his secrets coming to a head, the only question left is how much he's willing to lose.

Just FYI: This book contains lots of naked time in all possible combinations, including m/m/f action.

CHAPTER ONE

Emerson

There was only one good reason to sweat at six thirty a.m.—and it sure wasn’t attacking a heavy bag.

I spun and jabbed the bag, attacking it from all sides. I brought my leg in close to my torso and kicked outward, then sprinted away and came at the bag in a series of flying leaps. Each one was designed to add another weapon to my arsenal. Punching was easy. Landing the perfect well-placed kick that would not only disarm but disable was harder.

Perspiration dripped into my eyes and my muscles sang with exertion. My white T-shirt had already nearly soaked through and clung to me in a way that made me know I’d be losing it soon. My breaths rattled loudly inside my head. My heartbeat was even louder.

Friday night I had a fight, and I intended to win.

For the first time in my life, I was a winner, and I’d be damned if I backed off on my training for even a second. I had too much riding on the outcome of my next fight. But that didn’t mean I’d stand around running my mouth. In my world, cockiness got you hurt—or dead.

I’d forgotten my earbuds this morning, and some of the other guys were being noisy as hell. Posturing, calling out insults, daring each other to bump it up to the next level. I didn’t compete with anyone other than myself until it was time to step into the octagon.

“Hey asshole, you going to keep making love to that bag all day or let one of the real men take over and get the job done?”

I didn’t stop kicking and jabbing, ignoring the taunt as if it had never been vocalized. I’d grown up on the toughest streets of the Bronx, and I’d learned not to show fear. I’d been smaller than the other boys. Scrawny, shy and meek. Every day on the way to P.S. 116, I’d gotten my ass handed to me and my lunch money stolen.

Every. Damn. Day.

Then my father was shot dead in a drug deal gone bad in front of me, and one of the cops who arrived on the scene took me under his wing. With his help, I started fighting back.

A loud squeal sliced through my training haze.

In a flash, I turned away from the bag and ripped the tape from my hands as I stalked out of the workout room. I knew only one woman who’d probably be there that early, not counting other members. If she was the one who’d made that noise, heads were going to fucking roll.

I rounded the circular desk in the reception area and tossed my wraps onto the surface. I’d gladly take on any fool bare-handed who dared to try anything with my girl.

“Lily?” I asked, peering over the counter to where a very shapely ass in a tight skirt pointed skyward. My groin tightened painfully and I shifted, pressing my errant dick into the counter to quiet it the fuck down.

It was about as smart as its owner. Which was to say not at all.

“Yes? Sorry, just a second.” She shifted and stood, staring down in dismay at her white skirt. Her formerly white skirt. A giant navy splotch now marred the front. “Unfortunate pen accident,” she said sheepishly, blotting her finger over the drop of blue ink also along her full lower lip.

My grin surprised even me. With anyone else, I’d be annoyed at being interrupted during my session for a nonsense reason. When it came to Lily Matthews, I’d happily be interrupted every hour of the day.

That surly cop who took a liking to me all those years ago? His name was Lance Matthews, and he doted on his only child Lily with a ferocity only matched by my longing for her.

A longing I would never, ever sate.

“You and your quill pens.” I picked up the one in question. A poufy pink feather bobbed from the top and ink spilled from the tip. “You know better than to chew on these. It never ends well.”

“I wasn’t chewing. I was thoughtfully sucking.” She grinned and turned away to reach for a tissue.

If she kept up talk like that, I’d need one too for a whole different reason.

“Pens are for writing, not for putting in your mouth.” God, I hoped she couldn’t hear how strangled I sounded. Air was in short supply right now, and most of the blood in my body had detoured below the belt.

“So I have an oral fixation.” She picked up a bag of gummy bears, the same candy she’d been toting around since childhood, and popped a handful in her mouth. “So sue me.”

Yeah, I was dying a slow, torturous death. Death by purity was a real thing. I knew it was, because she’d been hammering the nails deeper and deeper since I’d known her.

Not that I’d been perving on her that whole time. Hell no. For one, I’d met her when I was eleven and she was eight. Twelve long years ago that sometimes felt like twelve minutes.

I hadn’t started noticing her as, well, a girl, until years later. We’d hung out together a lot as kids caught between childhood and our teen years, and I’d viewed her mostly as one might look at a younger sister. Guessing, because I’d never had one. Never had any siblings except Lily, who wasn’t my relation at all. No one would ever mistake us for family, that was for sure. She had green eyes to my blue, light brown hair to my black. She was petite and curvy and I’d grown up to be tall and...well, broad. I worked hard to stay in shape, but I’d been granted a few gifts from Mother Nature that hadn’t been apparent back when I’d been getting whaled on every day by assholes in the neighborhood.

Assholes like that bastard who’d taunted me about the heavy bag. Assholes I delighted in mopping up the ring with.

Assholes I would never let touch my Lily as long as I lived.

“I’d rather eat some of your bears.” I grabbed her bag of candy, hoping she didn’t realize how long I’d just resided in the gutter thanks to her innocent comment.

The problem with innocent comments when you have the hots for a girl? They get you harder even faster than dirty talk would from someone else.

“They’re yours, Hands. I’ve already had enough for today.” She yawned and reached for her to-go coffee cup. “I’m wasting the rest of my extra calories on my double-foam mocha latte.”

The nickname made me smile as I tossed some of the gummy bears in my mouth. She’d started calling me “Hands” back when I’d had that crazy growth spurt at thirteen and I’d shot up a foot in a matter of months. Around that same time, her dad dragged me down to his gym.

You’re a man now, and it’s time to learn to defend yourself.

I’d learned, all right.

“Don’t forget the calories from your ink explosion,” I teased. “Wonder how many they have?”

She made a face. “Funny guy.” The phone rang and she held up a finger for me to wait while she answered it.

She’d been The Cage’s receptionist for about six months now, and she did the job as she did everything else—capably and quietly, with smiles and friendly conversation for everyone who passed her way. She’d told me she was signing up so many new members that her boss had mentioned a possible raise soon.

It didn’t surprise me. Lily was impossible not to love. I knew that better than anyone, and I was the guy who didn’t.

Love, I mean.

It wasn’t that I was incapable of the emotion. I just expected a lot from people, and they invariably didn’t live up to it. That wasn’t their fault. It was probably mine. But after losing my dad—who I’d adored in spite of all his issues—and then dealing with my mom, who tried her best but ultimately wasn’t really cut out to be a parent, I took guarded to a whole new level.

Only Lily—and Lance—had pierced that iron-clad cage I’d built around myself for self-preservation. Which was why I would never risk hurting either of them.

I’d hurt myself first.

“Another prospective client.” Lily hung up and made a notation on her pad. “He’s coming for a gym tour in an hour. Guess I better clean up first, huh?” She sighed and stared down at her skirt. “Good thing I have an extra pair of sweats in my locker. Not really professional for the front desk though.”

“I’ll take you home to change at lunch,” I said quickly. Lily’s rustbucket of a car was on the fritz again and she hadn’t scraped together the funds to get it fixed yet. Her dad wanted to help her, as did I, but she was stubborn and insisted on saving up for the new transmission herself.

She grinned and leaned across the counter to kiss my cheek. “My hero.”

Something clattered in the doorway and we both glanced up to see someone struggling with a pair of ladders and a sawhorse. “Hey you two, feel like giving a hardworking guy a hand?” JC O’Connor’s brown eyes twinkled under a careless mop of blondish-brown hair. He always looked as if he’d rolled out of bed and shown up in whatever state he’d awakened in. “I’m down a few crew members at the moment.”

I’d made it halfway over to him when I realized his flannel shirt was open over his chest. And he wasn’t wearing any-damn-thing underneath it. Yet again.

I was used to seeing tons of shirtless men on a daily basis at the gym. This one, however, affected me in ways most of them did not.

The dude loved to be naked. Or at least I had to assume so, judging from how often he shed his shirt while he worked. Hell, even his jeans always seemed permanently slouched beneath the waistband of his boxers, revealing whatever name brand he was modeling today.

He and his crew had started renovating the gym a week or so ago, but I’d known him for longer than that because of Lily. They’d met years ago in a woodworking class, and I’d always kept a close eye on him. Lily claimed they were just good friends, but any guy who named his construction business O’Connor’s Wood shouldn’t be left alone with an inexperienced woman.

“Lose your shirt?” I asked idly, grabbing one of the ladders.

“Aw, you noticed. I’m touched.” He grinned up at me from where he’d bent to tie his shoelace. He could because Lily had grabbed one ladder and the sawhorse.

“Jesus, Lil, give me those.” I pulled them away from her, ignoring her pouty face. She was a strong girl and she was certainly able to help carry some stuff, but it bothered me on a cellular level to watch her struggle when I was right there to help.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying something.” She tugged on the sawhorse and I relented, not wanting to fight. She was right. I was just being stupid.

“You’d deny Knapp his chivalry? Tsk, tsk. Now he’s going to burst a blood vessel and make a mess.” JC leaned against the doorjamb and grinned, shaking his head. He dropped his gaze to her skirt and his eyes widened. “Speaking of messes, did you run into a Smurf or what?”

“Or what.” She turned her back on both of us and carted the sawhorse across the foyer to where JC was framing out a doorway and putting down flooring in the new circuit room.

Since Marks’ Gym in Brooklyn had stopped accepting anyone who even appeared to be training for MMA, due to New York’s laws against the sport, more and more women had joined The Cage. Apparently the ownership had decided to expand their services to cater to a larger crowd, including creating a room where machines could be done on a prescribed circuit.

Some of the guys were bitching it was turning into a pussy fest. Me, I figured they hadn’t gotten any in too long and were fucking crabby.