4. Chapter 4
It was morning. Maddie sighed, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t want to get up.
Soft light filtered through the curtains, casting lazy streaks of gold across the old walls of her childhood bedroom. An unseasonably warm breeze blew in from the open window. It was a hot October in San Diego—and this house left her feeling stifled and roasted.
An oddity in the old home, the bed she lay in was new. The sheets, fresh. But the room? The room still carried ghosts. She had left this house at eighteen, determined never to return, but life had its way of dragging her backward.
She turned her head and glanced at her phone on the pillow beside her. Still nothing from Heath. She reached for it and typed out a quick message.
Hey, what time are you coming by today? Just trying to plan my day.
She hit send and dropped the phone onto her stomach, staring up at the ceiling again.
The quiet pressed in around her, thick and heavy.
The house was always like this now—silent, except for the occasional creak of settling wood or the distant hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower.
She’d lived so much of her life in motion, racing from one responsibility to the next, barely stopping to breathe.
Now, with nowhere to be, nothing urgent demanding her attention, she felt untethered.
The minutes stretched, slow and heavy. She flipped onto her side, tucking her hands beneath the pillow, closing her eyes just to pass the time.
Her phone buzzed an hour later, jolting her from the haze of near-sleep.
Shit, sorry. Worked late last night. Just woke up. Give me a few?
Maddie frowned at the screen, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
Worked late? Doing what? Heath had not talked about what he did, just a few vague mentions of long shifts and unpredictable hours.
She knew next to nothing about him, other than that he was good with his hands and built like a goddamn soldier.
She rolled onto her back again, exhaling slowly. None of it should matter. He was just the guy fixing up her house. A contractor. Someone she was paying.
Except, he wasn’t just anything.
Her mind drifted as her body sank deeper into the sheets.
She could see him standing in the middle of her bathtub, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening on his forearms as he worked on the sealant.
Or better yet, without a shirt at all. Just those broad, sculpted shoulders flexing as he lifted something heavy.
That cocky half-smile he gave her when she frustrated him yesterday.
The way he looked at her—steady, unrushed, like he saw more than she was willing to show.
She swallowed, her skin warming.
Her marriage had been… cold. Not in a way she’d noticed at first, but looking back, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt truly desired.
She had told herself she wasn’t a sexual person.
That she wasn’t built for heat, for passion, for the kind of hunger other women seemed to feel so easily.
But thinking about Heath—about him in her space, in her home, in her bed—sent a slow, liquid heat curling through her stomach.
She let her hand drift lower, fingers skimming over the waistband of her shorts. The thought of him, strong and effortless, of those hands that were so capable, so steady, working on more than just her house, had her pressing her thighs together, warmth pooling low.
She exhaled, slipping her hand beneath the fabric, her breath hitching as she imagined him above her, hands braced on either side of her head, voice rough in her ear. The house was quiet, no one to hear the soft sound that escaped her lips as she let herself get lost in the fantasy.
Maddie’s breath came faster, her fingers moving in slow, teasing circles, her body humming with a heat she hadn’t felt in… God, how long?
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself get lost in this. The last time she’d chased this feeling just for herself, without guilt, without rushing.
Her ex had called her cold more than once. It had been easy to believe him, easy to tuck away that part of herself, to convince herself she wasn’t built for this kind of raw, clawing need.
But thinking about the handyman?
Thinking about him half-naked in her house, muscles flexing, sweat slicking his skin as he worked with quiet, confident efficiency?
That wasn’t cold. That was burning.
Her mind unraveled the fantasy slowly, feeding it, fueling it.
Heath in her shower, fixing the leaky faucet.
His bare torso streaked with water, droplets running down the defined ridges of his stomach.
The way his jeans would hang low on his hips, his tool belt riding even lower, the bulk of it emphasizing his strong waist, the sheer masculinity of his form.
Maddie shifted restlessly on the bed, sinking deeper into the sheets, her fingers moving faster.
She could almost hear him, that voice, deep and rough with amusement.
“You just gonna watch me, McAuley? Or are you gonna come over here and get wet too?”
God. Her hips lifted into her own touch, heat pulsing between her legs, her skin damp and burning.
In her mind, she was standing at the bathroom doorway, watching him work, arms crossed, trying to act unaffected. But Heath saw right through it. That smirk. That knowing look.
“I see the way you look at me.”
He’d say it like it was fact. Unshakable truth.
And she wouldn’t be able to deny it. Not with the way she’d be pressing her thighs together, biting her lip, aching for something she couldn’t put into words.
“C’mere, Maddie.”
Her breath hitched at the thought of him saying her name like that—low, rough, meant just for her.
“I’m not gonna touch you until you ask me to.”
She would try to fight it. She would. But she’d break first.
“Please.”
And then he’d be on her.
He’d back her against the sink, gripping her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, his mouth hot against her neck. He’d make her feel small in the best way, pinned between his hard body and the cold porcelain.
“You want me to fix something, McAuley?” His lips would trail lower, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“Or do you want me to ruin you?”
Maddie gasped, her back arching, pleasure tightening in her core.
Her fingers moved faster, slick, desperate, her breath catching on every ragged inhale.
She imagined his mouth on her, his fingers replacing hers, stretching her, teasing her, pulling her apart piece by piece until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—
Her climax slammed into her like a tidal wave, her body shuddering, heat rolling over her in pulsing waves. She pressed her face into the pillow, swallowing her moans, thighs trembling as she rode it out.
When it finally passed, she lay there, chest rising and falling, her skin damp, her mind still tangled in the fantasy.
Holy. Shit.
She just fucking fantasized and orgasmed to the thought of the handyman. She swallowed hard, reality slowly creeping back in, but her body still humming, still thrumming with the aftershocks.
She hadn’t felt this alive in years.
And all it took was one ridiculously handsome, cocky, infuriating contractor to set her on fire.
Maddie exhaled, a slow, breathless laugh slipping from her lips as she covered her face with her hands.
She was so, so screwed.
Maddie was still catching her breath, sprawled out on her bed, the sheets warm beneath her, her skin flushed and humming when—
Ding-dong.
Her stomach dropped.
No. No way.
She jolted upright, heart hammering.
Ding-dong.
Oh my god, he was here. Already?!
Maddie shot a wild look at her phone—twenty minutes had passed, not an hour.
Shit.
She was still damp with sweat, her pulse still thrumming, her body still tingling with the remnants of her own touch. And now Heath was at her door?
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
She scrambled off the bed, yanking up her tiny black Lulu hottie shorts, nearly tripping as she tugged them into place. They hugged her hips, too short, too clingy—but whatever, she had no time.
Her white tank—where was it?!
She grabbed it from the floor, pulling it over her bra, the fabric sticking slightly to her overheated skin.
Ding-dong.
“Coming!” she shouted, voice breathless, wrecked. God, she needed to get it together.
She sprinted to the mirror, swiping fingers under her eyes—cheeks were still way too pink. She grabbed a hair tie off the nightstand, twisting her hair into a messy ponytail as she rushed out the door, taking the stairs two at a time.
She made it to the entryway, pausing just before the door.
One deep breath. One last glance down—her legs still bare, her tank loose but dipping just enough to be dangerous.
Okay. Okay, she could do this.
Maddie closed her eyes for a half-second, steadying herself, forcing every thought of what she had just done out of her head.
Then, she reached for the handle and opened the door.
* * * * *
Heath was still rolling the tension out of his shoulders from last night’s op as he stepped up to Maddie’s door, tool bag slung over one shoulder, a cup of coffee in his free hand.
His body was still wired from resuscitating Zach, exhausted from too little sleep, but he’d promised her today. And a job was a job.
He rang the doorbell, rocked back on his heels, waiting.
A few seconds passed. Then—the door swung open.
And Heath’s cock pulsed.
Maddie stood there, framed in the doorway, bare legs, little black shorts hugging her hips, a loose white tank hanging just right over her breasts, revealing high, handfuls of flesh that looked fucking delicious.
Her hair was in a high ponytail, golden strands slipping free, a little wild, like she’d thrown it up last second.
Her face was flushed.
Like, really flushed.
And her breathing wasn’t normal either.
His gaze flicked to hers, and for the briefest second, she looked guilty as hell.
Huh.
He didn’t let his expression shift, didn’t let his curiosity show. Instead, he stood casually on her doorstep, taking a slow sip of coffee, letting her stew under his gaze.