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Hands On

  • Publisher: Kensington Publishing
  • Release Date: 6/1/2007
  • eBook ISBN: 978-0758218926
  • Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance
  • Available Formats: eBook, Out Of Print

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Monday through Friday they’re known as Alex, Mel and Carl. But come Friday night Lexi, Lanie and Carlotta trade their blue collar personas in for high heels, martinis and men. They’re smart, sexy and successful, and they’re taking HANDS ON to a whole new level.

Lexi Kimball has the unenviable position of Safety Supervisor on a construction crew.  The one person everyone loves to hate, she’s caught between bringing a job in on time and getting it done without any accidents.  Not an easy task in the best of circumstances, but throw in a sexy foreman with an adventurous streak and a construction site plagued with problems and you’ve got a recipe for trouble.


Melanie Daniels comes from a long line of mechanics and has no illusions about working in a man’s world.  To the men who work under her at Chick’s Garage, an auto shop that caters exclusively to women, she’s Mel.  On the weekends she’s Lanie, a bisexual completely comfortable in her own skin…until she finds herself challenged by her brother’s best friend.


Carlotta Quintanilla isn’t your average blonde.  The sexy Nicaraguan can wire anything, anytime, anywhere better than any man, and she looks hot in a tool belt.  When it comes to men, not only does she know how to play the game, she wrote the rules.  She meets her match in a quiet computer geek who has a thing or two to teach her about control.


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click title or images to see complete reviews

“Sexy, scrumptious, finger-lickin’ good! ” – Monica Jackson

“From sweet to spanky, Stuart’s gritty heroines sizzle across the page.”Lucinda Betts


Copyright 2007 Amie Stuart

Hot bath; cold beer.  Hot bath; cold beer.

This mantra sustained me on the long drive home, on the long walk up my  driveway, and even as I’d shoved the key in the back door and unlocked  it.

I was so tired that I almost regretted the fact it was Friday night.  Friday was Girl’s Night. And there was no getting out of it.

Weekends were this blue collar girl’s guilty pleasure. Weekends were  spent on the white collar side of town, in white collar bars, dancing  and teasing and flirting with men who didn’t think burping should be an  Olympic sport. No blue collars allowed. Not after Melanie, Carlotta and  I spent our week dealing with them daily.

<em>Dealing </em>being the operative word.

I dropped my hardhat on the washer and struggled out of my filthy work  boots. They were covered in mud, as was I, from the knees down. Thanks  to the heavy spring rains that had saturated the site and put us behind  schedule. And a rogue forklift that had gone crashing through a wall  with a load of bricks. Luckily no one had been hurt, but this  afternoon’s descent into hell had killed any excitement or anticipation  I had about going out tonight.

<em>And you wanted to go into construction why, Lexi Kimball?</em>


Stripping out of my jeans and work shirt, I padded into the kitchen and  retrieved an icy cold beer from the ‘fridge. That first long drink hit  my empty stomach at lightening speed and didn’t stop until it reached  my feet. After being trapped in steel toed boots all day they  practically steamed on the tile floor. With a sigh, I rubbed the chilly  bottle against my hot neck.

Momentarily satisfied, I headed for the bathroom and a nice long soak.  One of the first things I’d done after I’ bought the house two years  ago was gut the extra closet in the master bedroom and put in a Jacuzzi  tub for days just like today.

While the tub filled I stripped off my tanktop and tossed it into the  hamper. The rest of my clothes quickly followed. I ran a hand across  the flat plane of my stomach and smiled. Tanned and fairly firm–I  certainly didn’t get many complaints. My breasts were average, but  still perky. Working construction had always kept the arms and legs in  shape. Yoga took care of the rest.

Hmm, not bad for 34.

Despite the fact that I’m a natural redhead, I’m lucky enough to be of  the variety that tans easily. Rare, but not unheard of. I leaned in  closer to the vanity mirror and ran a hand through my short shaggy  hair. Soon I’d have to do something about those silver threads starting  to peek through.

The tub was almost full and I added a generous amount of jasmine bath  foam, inhaling the relaxing fragrance. Relieved to see the end of  another awful day, I sipped at my beer and set the bottle on the edge  of the tub, then slid in with a deep sigh.

I liked the satisfaction of seeing something I’d helped build as a  finished product, and the money was really good. But construction  workers are a breed unto themselves. Being a female Job Supervisor on  an all-male crew had been stressful enough. Adding Safety Supervisor to  my title had made things ten times worse, and I didn’t believe for a  minute that the rest of the job would be any less difficult than the  last 88 had been. Nothing like overseeing a group of men who resented  the hell out of you to take the wind out of your sails. I’d worked  tough gigs before but none this bad.

My sex meant everything to them; my femininity meant nothing.

Shaking off my reverie, I took another long pull off my beer. The  combination of warm water and Miller Lite were definitely doing the  trick; unworking knots of stress and loosening tense muscles. With  another sigh, I closed my eyes and relaxed, my mind drifting to Wade  Wilkins, as it had far too often lately.


He didn’t strike me as the typical construction crew guy–married,  settled, kids, running to fat around his middle and bitter at the  chances he’d pissed away or let pass him by. Wade seemed like the type  who enjoyed gambling, and he was the only man on the crew who didn’t  seem fazed by my sex or my charms (or lack thereof, depending on who  you ask). Too bad his part of the job would be done soon.

Compact, tanned, and muscular, Wade topped my own 5’6 inches by only a  few more, but the man knew how to fill out a pair of Levis, and he had  these thick, tanned forearms that rippled and flexed from all the  manual exertion. You could tell he spent a lot of time outdoors–no  Farmers Tan for him. I heard he played sand volleyball on the  weekends. With his easy-going personality and bright green eyes, he had  charmer written all over him. I’d miss watching him work once his  drywall crew finished up, but then again, he was a distraction I  couldn’t afford.

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