Irresistible Bachelors: Books 1-5 by Landish, Lauren (classic literature books .TXT) 📗

Abandoning the food, I walk further into the house, following the music and the . . . singing? Stopping in the doorway, quiet as a mouse, I spy on Caleb. He’s screwing drywall to the studs, and holy shit. Every time he presses the drill bit into the screw, his bicep flexes, his shirt sleeve up just far enough to let me fully appreciate the power in his arms. His corded forearms work and his biceps pulse, but the best part of the scene before me is not his muscles. The best part is the show he’s putting on as he sings, nodding his head a little and even wiggling his hips as he stomps around. Damn, he’s in the groove.

“Livin’ it up as I’m goin’ dowwwwwnnnn!” he sings, throwing his head back. He does a little slow turn and jerks when he sees me staring. He grabs at his chest, nearly hitting himself in the chin with his drill, and turns beet red. “Shit, Cassie. How long have you been standing there, gawking like a perv?”

“Oh, just long enough to enjoy the show. Who knew you could sing so . . . well? And such intellectual lyrics, too!”

Caleb’s face turns an even deeper red, but he laughs. “Hey, I know I can’t sing for shit, but it’s a damn good song.”

“I’m not hatin’, but it’s old man rock. That song hasn’t been heard outside a strip club in decades.”

“First, you say old man rock like it’s a bad thing. Second . . . how would you know what music they play in a strip club? Got something to share with the class, Miss White?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I tease back, leaning against the door frame and stretching out all that my five foot one allows me to and sticking out my boobs until they’re just nearly a respectable bump in front of me. “I’ve got some moves. Just because I never took my clothes off while I dance doesn’t mean I can’t shake it like a hundred-dollar stripper.”

Laughing, I walk as sexily as I can toward him, pointing at his chest to stop him still. When I get close, I flip my hair around and sway my hips back and forth to the beat as Aerosmith gives way to Pour Some Sugar On Me, and I’m reminded that for Caleb, music decades are nothing more than suggestions. Caleb grabs my hand and twirls me around, starting a grinding partner dance. I’m surprised that he’s actually a pretty good dancer, moving gracefully to the rhythm and turning us around but never losing contact with me as we grind. The feeling of his hips pressed against my ass is amazing, and my blood starts to pump harder in my veins as I feel a long, thick, and delicious bulge press against me.

“Is that what I think it is?” I tease, pressing back against him. Caleb responds by bringing a hand up and teasing the side of my left breast, breathing hard in my ear.

“You know exactly what it is,” he says, rubbing a thumb against the soft flesh of my breast and sending more tingles through my body. “Now, were you a good girl or my naughty girl today?”

I gulp, loving the sound of his voice. His naughty girl . . . goddamn. “I guess you’ll have to check out my panties to see,” I reply, desperate to keep from tumbling out of control. “But first . . . dance!”

We keep going, teasing and toying with each other until the song crescendos to a finish with a throbbing hook and Caleb lip-syncs as he dips me in a final move.

He steps away while I’m left breathless and wanting to rip his damn t-shirt off—I’m so turned on—acting like he’s accepting applause from an invisible audience. “Thank you, thank you. See you next year!” as he bows, then disappears through the doorway. I hear him yell back. “Elvis has left the building!”

I take a moment to inhale and let it out in a big laugh before I follow him back out to the living room for dinner. We settle down on two five-gallon paint buckets to eat our sandwiches and fruit from the brown paper bags I wrapped them in and drink our wine from plastic cups. It might be my favorite meal ever, to hell with the high-class restaurants. Give me this honest to goodness food, some good music, and most of all, a hot and sweaty man like Caleb. “That was hilarious. Who knew you could dance like that to ‘80s hair metal bands? I think I need to introduce you to some music from this decade though.”

Caleb has a look of horror on his face and starts clutching at his chest in mock agony. “I’m doing just fine, woman. My musical taste happens to be amazing. You’ll just have to learn to appreciate the genius of Def Leppard.”

I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head. “We do like some of the same music, but yeah, I’m going with no thank you on that one. What’s next, Guns N’ Roses?”

“I was thinking Twisted Sister,” Caleb says before breaking out in laughter. “No, just kidding on that one. Seriously, though, you know I’m not only a rocker. I guess I’ve always just associated do-it-yourself work like this with old rock. And when I’m smacking a hole in a wall or pulling up tile, that’s heavy metal, Drowning Pool or Slipknot. When I’m at the gym, it’s hip-hop.”

We finish dinner, talking about music from all decades and genres. We find some common ground in the great Johnny Cash. Apparently, both our folks listened to The Man in Black, and it took root in our psyches, reminding us of happier times. That, and we both got the shit scared out of us watching the remake of Dawn of the Dead when we were younger and Johnny was the opening credit music there.

“Hey, I’ve got one last thing I’d like to finish today if