Bare Ass in Love: Hard, Fast, and Forever, #1

By Sasha Burke

The woman's killing me.

I'm not the kind of man who would normally even consider blurring the lines between landlord and tenant or boss and employee, but Summer is a walking temptation. Neurotic and obsessive when it comes to work details, sure, but a damn cute temptation nevertheless.

She's been a good tenant and an even better worker. Plus, she doesn't simper or throw herself at me like a lot of women who find out my net worth. I've grown...fond of her, oddly enough.

But if she drags me out of bed in the middle of the night to talk about work one more time...

* * * * *

The man's a saint.

Not only did Jason hire me for the greatest project I've ever run point on, but he also let me move into an amazing loft in his building as an extravagant job-relocation perk. Sure, he can be a grouch when I accidentally wake him up to go over the project, but he's still a saint nevertheless.

He's been a fantastic boss and a surprisingly protective landlord. But...when did his shoulders get so wide? And why is that growling voice of his making me all weak in the knees lately?

Also, is it still considered morning wood if it happens in the middle of the night...or something more?

 

NOTE: This high-heat, low-drama standalone is a quick & steamy rom-com chock-full of simple, feel-good fun. Contents include: One hot, burly blue-collar billionaire who curses a lot. One strong, feisty tomboy heroine who inspires much of said cursing. Lots of schmexy good times and swoony romance throughout. And of course, a sweet, melty HEA. No cheating. No angst. No stress. No cliffhanger. Enjoy! 

* * * * *

The HARD, FAST, AND FOREVER Series
- Book 1: Bare Ass in Love (Jason & Summer)
- Book 2: Hard Ass in Love (Logan & Nicole)
- Book 3: Gruff Ass in Love (Cade & Katelyn)

 

***Previously titled Show Me Yours – same fun story, just with a fresh title/cover makeover***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sasha Burke
• Release date: May 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386755968

Sasha Burke

Sasha Burke has been reading romances ever since she discovered her local library would let her borrow whatever kind of books she wanted…probably far younger than she should’ve started. Fun, schmexy, and swoony stories with possessive, protective alpha heroes have long been Sasha’s biggest weakness. Reading and writing about them, especially when there’s an awesome feisty heroine involved, has resulted in her staying up many a night over the years. You’ll usually find Sasha out and about spoiling her many dogs, or trying to perfect the world’s greatest mac & cheese recipe (and tirelessly taste-testing practice runs in that pursuit), or hosting outdoor fajita nights for her friends as often as she can. Join her email list for new release alerts, bonus books & scenes, sneak peeks, and other goodies! Email List: http://eepurl.com/cYJpUr Website: www.sashaburke.com FB: facebook.com/sashaburkebooks                

Book preview

1

| JASON |

MONDAY

(Time: 1:53 a.m.)

---

I kick off the sheets and glare at my alarm clock. It’s still fucking dark out and I know that knock. It’s the same frenzied little knock she’s done every other time she’s gotten me up at a ridiculous hour.

After a month and a half of this, you’d think I’d be used to dragging my ass out of bed in the middle of the night because my construction manager is losing her shit over some detail of a job. Doesn’t keep me from being grouchy as hell over it though.

I jerk open the door to find her standing there. Summer Davis. Yes, she’s every damn bit as pretty as her name.

Per usual, her hair is in a messy bun with a couple of pencils stuck in it. And per usual for this hour, she’s flushed and out of breath from her run up the four flights of stairs to get here.

With the elevator access to my penthouse floor automatically redirecting the rider back down to the lobby for clearance from the front desk, and Summer somehow managing to convince my night manager to risk early retirement by waking me up over a half dozen times her first two weeks after moving in, I decided to just give the woman her own security access code to get onto my floor via the fire escape stairwell.

She’s now accessed it so many times my building security doesn’t even bother to check with me after she codes in anymore. They assure me that they watch her on their monitors until I let her in though.

Mostly for non-security reasons, I’m sure.

Meaning they’re probably zoomed in on her heaving chest right now.

I cut a dark look up at the snowglobe surveillance cam bolted to the ceiling near the elevator and almost crack a grin when the electronic eyeball instantly whirs into motion, jerking to a new vantage angle as far away from my front door as possible.

Miracle of miracles, at least tonight she’s got on something other than those white button-down men’s shirts she wears to sleep—and more often than not, goes down to the lobby to sign for UPS deliveries in…sans anything underneath but panties.

I know for a fact that my security guards used to love calling her down for deliveries as late as they could, hoping like a bunch of pervs that she’d come down without remembering to throw on a pair of shorts first.

Firing two otherwise reliable security guards for ogling her ass as she struggled with some boxes is probably the reason why none of my workers enjoy getting deliveries for her anymore.

So yeah, in comparison, the yoga pants and loose tank-top showing most of her sports bra is a marked improvement. Sort of. As long as she doesn’t turn sideways and inadvertently flash me that tiny little, distractingly sexy birthmark on her—

Hell. Too late.

Distractingly. Sexy.

The woman’s killing me.

Normally, I’m not the kind of man who would even consider blurring the line between tenant and landlord or boss and employee, but Summer is a goddamn walking temptation. And if she were even remotely aware that her nipples were poking through the thin fabric of her bra and saying hi to me right now, I’d be pissed as hell that she was making me rethink my own rules.

"Summer, I finally manage to grit out in a barely civil growl. It’s two in the friggin’ morning. Can’t it wait until at least sunrise for a change?"

She frowns in that cute, confused way she does when she realizes the rest of the city is sleeping like she should be. Oh. Sorry, boss. I guess I can come back in a few hours—

I close the door before she can say the but I hear waiting in the wings, hoping like hell she won’t take the sunrise suggestion literally.

2

| JASON |

MONDAY

(Time: 4:21 a.m.)

---

I head to the front door and pull it open midway through her second round of knocks.

She’s standing on the doorstep, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Almost impossibly chipper. Chased of course with her usual dose of excessive and usually unnecessary worry over whatever is racing through her thoughts right now.

’Morning, boss. She flashes me a hasty but genuine smile and promptly hands me a large paper cup of what smells more like sugary liquefied hazelnut than coffee. Where on earth she went to get fancy coffee to go at this hour, I don’t even want to know. I’ll check with my security folks later. For now, I take the cup and leave it on the table in the foyer. I’m not ready for coffee. I’m not even dressed.

She steps over the threshold, grabbing the abandoned cup to take a quick gulp—like she needs more caffeine—before she says in a rush, So I had some things to run by you.

Maybe it’s because she pulls out an unbelievably over-stuffed folder—one of many in her bag—or and maybe it’s because she did take me literally on the sunrise thing, but I feel perfectly justified in reaching out to put a hand over her mouth to stop her from overloading me with information before my brain has had a chance to wake up.

Her eyes widen the instant my skin touches hers.

Great. At the sound of her breath catching softly in surprise, every muscle in my body is tensed up and ready to go. Now all I can think about is drawing that same gasp from her again, preferably along with my name, as I plunge hard and deep into her wet little—

The way her eyes shoot down south grabs my attention, and I notice she’s looking at the front of the sweatpants I’d had to start wearing to bed after the crazy little insomniac began these invasions of my private sanctuary.

Sure, I’d normally have concealed my morning wood better, but I’m in my own goddamn home, and I’m not some kid who needs to hide the fact that my cock is rock hard from thinking about a beautiful woman.

I am curious about her reaction though.

She’s staring at my hard-on as if I’m some kind of alien who just showed her a third eyeball. As if she’s noticing for the first time ever that I’m a man and she’s a woman. As if she’s never had a man react to her this way before.

Bad idea, dude. Just walk away. Now.

I need breakfast, I say, turning and heading into the kitchen. She can follow or not.

She follows.

And thank fuck, she seems to be back to her usual oblivious-to-everything-but-work default because I hear her rattling off what sounds like a long-ass checklist of things on her mind as I take out eggs and a few other things from the fridge. From some issues she foresees coming, to the design details she’d wanted to talk to me about earlier, to some interior construction constraints she’s figuring out, it’s all standard stuff, and I tune in with one ear as I make some food.

Are you hungry? I ask when she finally pauses to take another breath.

No thanks. I already ate, she says before launching back into an in-depth analysis of our progress on the project.

As always, her attention to detail is impeccable; if only she had nearly as much insight to how much I’d like her to leave right now. It would be nice to just enjoy my once-quiet morning rituals again. But, I get it. This is a big project I handpicked to have her run point on. I know it’ll take time for us to get into a groove that doesn’t drive me up the wall. The important thing is that she’s damn talented, even if her process is damn unorthodox.

I finish making my skillet scramble and sit at the counter to eat while she begins easing into what sounds like the start of a marathon explanation about how the guy we’d been considering for an open position on her project isn’t the best decision, and how she knows a guy who’d be much better suited.

He’s hired, I interrupt her, and she pauses, her mouth hanging slightly open as she stares at me.

I calmly take another bite of eggs, studying her as intently as she’s watching me. Does she not realize I trust her opinions on this sort of thing? If she says her guy is better, he’s fucking hired. I wouldn’t have her on the job if I thought she was in any way incompetent.

Oh, she says, her eyes wide, okay. Thank you.

She still seems surprised at my response. Has no one ever taken her seriously? So far, she’s been running a tight ship, and even when snags come up, like they always do with any project, she’s been ironing them all out before I have to get involved.

I walk over to put my plate in the sink and she watches me, utterly silent for a refreshing change. The fact that I actually miss hearing her voice, however, makes me think I’m still way too fucking tired to be functional at the moment.

I’m going to shower, I inform her then, leaving it to her to see herself out as I walk back toward the master bedroom.

A half a minute later, I’m standing in the shower, under a pulsing spray of hot water when I hear her start talking again.

Okay, I guess she’s staying. And now I’m butt-ass naked and she’s in the doorway of my bathroom, talking about the team and how they’ll love the new hire. Great. Fine. Whatever. The glass shower door is frosted. The woman’s not going to keep me from my shower.

She keeps talking, and I start soaping down, avoiding soaping too far down, just like I avoid the unexpected desire I suddenly have to yank her into the shower with me.

Because that would be bad.

In a so-fucking-good-it’s-bad sort of way.

3

| SUMMER |

MONDAY

(Time: 5:05 a.m.)

---

Jason’s in the shower and I’m rifling through my notes to make sure I get through everything I need to talk to him about before we both get slammed like we always do once we get to the jobsite. Seems like these impromptu early morning hours in his penthouse are the only times I can grab a few minutes to hammer out these details with him. So much so it’s become our thing. Over the past month and a half, we’ve had countless productive meetings just like this.

Well…maybe not just like this. His deciding to shower during one of our meetings is