The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Patrice’s living room, casting a warm glow over the slightly cluttered space. A half-empty coffee mug sat on the table, surrounded by a scatter of design magazines and a rogue sock that had somehow escaped the laundry basket. Patrice lounged on her worn-in leather couch, one leg draped over the armrest, her tight black tank top clinging to every curve of her toned frame. The fabric stretched just enough to tease, her confidence as bare as the skin she showed. She glanced at the clock, her full lips curling into a smirk. Rob was late. Again.
The doorbell finally chimed, and she didn’t bother to adjust her posture as she called out, “It’s open, handyman. Don’t make me wait any longer than I already have.”
The door creaked open, and Rob stepped in, his rugged frame filling the doorway. His faded jeans hung low on his hips, and his flannel shirt was rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with dark hair, evidence of a man who worked with his hands. He carried a toolbox in one grip, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he met her gaze. “Sorry, Patrice. Traffic was a bitch. You know how it is.”
Patrice arched a brow, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief as she swung her legs off the couch and stood, her hips swaying with purpose as she closed the distance between them. “Traffic, huh? That’s what you’re blaming this time? I swear, Rob, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re dodging me on purpose. Afraid you can’t handle a real job?”
Rob chuckled, his voice a low rumble as he set the toolbox down by the door. “Oh, I can handle anything you throw at me, darlin’. Just name the task.”
Her smirk widened, and she tilted her head, letting her dark curls cascade over one shoulder. “Careful what you wish for, big guy. I’ve got a real emergency on my hands, and I’m not in the mood for half-assed fixes.” She turned on her heel, beckoning him with a flick of her fingers. “Follow me. Bedroom. Now.”
Rob’s brows shot up, but he didn’t hesitate, grabbing his toolbox and trailing behind her. His eyes couldn’t help but wander, tracing the way her leggings hugged every inch of her as she led him through the narrow hallway. “Bedroom emergency, huh? What, did your mattress finally give up under all that… energy of yours?”
Patrice tossed a sharp glance over her shoulder, her laugh low and throaty. “Keep dreaming, Rob. It’s the bedframe. Wobbly as hell. I can’t have my throne shaking every time I… well, you get the idea.” She winked, pushing open the door to her bedroom with a dramatic flair.
The room was a chaotic sanctuary of silk sheets, scattered pillows, and a vanity littered with makeup and jewelry. The queen-sized bed sat in the center, its dark wood frame looking sturdy enough at a glance, though Patrice pointed to it with mock severity. “See? Total disaster. I need a man who knows how to tighten things up. Think you’re up for it?”
Rob set the toolbox down beside the bed, crouching to inspect the frame. He glanced up at her, his blue eyes catching the way she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her chest, deliberately accentuating her curves. “I’m always up for a challenge, Patrice. But I gotta say, this frame looks fine. You sure it’s not just an excuse to get me in here?”
Her lips parted in a mock gasp, though the gleam in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Excuse? Please. I don’t need excuses to get what I want, Rob. If I wanted you in my bedroom for… other reasons, I’d just say it. But since you’re here, get to work. I’m not paying you to ogle.”
Rob grinned, shaking his head as he pulled a wrench from his toolbox. “Paying me? Last I checked, I’m doing this as a favor. Unless you’ve got some creative currency in mind.”
Patrice stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor as she hovered just behind him. She bent down, her breath warm against his ear as she murmured, “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas for payment, but you’ve gotta earn it first. Tighten those bolts, handyman. I’m watching.”
His hand faltered for a split second on the wrench, the heat of her proximity sending a jolt through him. He cleared his throat, focusing on the task, though his voice came out rough. “Damn, woman, you don’t play fair. How’s a guy supposed to concentrate with you breathing down his neck like that?”
She straightened up, laughing as she perched on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs in a way that made the fabric of her leggings strain. “Concentrate harder, Rob. I’m not a patient woman. And if you think this is distracting, just wait until I really turn up the heat.”
Rob glanced up, his gaze locking with hers, and for a moment, the air between them crackled. His fingers brushed against her calf as he adjusted his position to reach a lower bolt, and though the touch was fleeting, it was enough to make his pulse kick. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize,” she cut in, her voice sharp but laced with a teasing edge. “I’m not made of glass. You can touch me… if you’ve got the guts. Or are you just gonna keep fumbling with that wrench?”
He laughed, a little breathless, as he tightened the last bolt and sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Bedframe’s solid now. But I’m starting to think the real fix is something else entirely. You gonna keep playing games, or are we getting to the point?”
Patrice slid off the bed with feline grace, stepping close enough that her knees brushed his chest as she towered over him. Her smirk was wicked, her eyes dark with intent as she leaned down, her face inches from his. “Oh, Rob, I don’t play games. I win them. So here’s the deal: you’ve got those hands all dirty from my bedframe, but I’m thinking it’s time to get hands-on with something a little more… personal. You in, or are you just gonna sit there looking pretty with your tools?”
His breath hitched, but a slow grin spread across his face as he met her challenge head-on. “I’m in, boss. Just tell me where to start.”
She straightened, her laugh low and triumphant as she pointed to the bed. “Right there, handyman. Let’s see if you can handle a real job.”
The tension hung thick in the air, a promise of what was to come, as Patrice held his gaze, daring him to make the next move.
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