I mow the Dawson’s yard while rich housewife Tracy lounges by the pool, watching me from behind her dark sunglasses. Her flirtatious banter and low-cut swimsuits fuel my fantasies, but I try to stay professional.
One day, Tracy leads me into the guest house to pay me, and I start having impure thoughts. When she asks me to have a little afternoon delight…well, what guy could resist?
When Tracy admits her husband was home and watching us from the house, I panic and worry about getting my ass kicked. But handsome and dominant Eric Dawson makes me an offer I can’t refuse, turning my whole world upside down.
The Landscaper is perfect for fans of short, steamy romance starring a hot, fit, landscaper.
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I was having impure thoughts about a client, and it wasn’t the first time.
I loved Friday afternoons, the day I saw my favorite client, Mrs. Tracy Dawson.
Tracy’s husband left the house every morning dressed in a suit and didn’t return until dark most days. I saw him come home early only once, pulling into his garage in his fancy car and walking into the house. He was tall and thin, and his dark hair had a bit of grey, but I didn’t see his face.
Tracy’s days were filled with shopping, nail appointments, and lunches with friends. On hot summer afternoons, she sat by the pool, reading magazines, chatting on the phone, and drinking fruity cocktails.
Her friends came over some Fridays. They stayed in the house and chatted. Sometimes they paraded out to the pool and swam in their bikinis, showing off their tanned bodies and squealing with laughter.
I preferred days like today when Tracy was alone.
The Dawsons lived at the end of a quiet road. Their house had large windows that showed a sweeping view of the mountains. It was a modern design with five bedrooms, four baths, almost four thousand square feet of luxury. It had a home office and a gym, and the garage held three cars. The backyard had a large pool and a one-bedroom guest house. The Dawsons employed a housekeeper, a cook who came in twice a week to pre-make some meals, an on-call handyman, and my company, Bowden Landscaping.
I employed three guys—friends from college and the neighborhood. We took care of Mrs. Dawson’s yard, and she took care of my fantasies.
Today, she was reclining on a lounge chair in a black one-piece bathing suit, sipping a drink. The suit was one of her more modest pieces, as long as she didn’t bend at the waist. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a dark red, and her engagement and wedding bands sparkled in the sunlight. A wide hat covered her dark hair as she watched us from behind dark sunglasses.
Jacob, my best friend and first employee, looked at Tracy and raised his brows at me. I grinned but looked down at the mulch I was spreading. My guys noticed Tracy prancing around the yard, but like me, they tried to ignore her.
“The yard looks beautiful this year, Jacob,” she said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Dawson,” he said. The tips of his ears turned pink when she spoke to him directly.
“Yeah, great job,” I said. “You and the guys can take off.”
“You sure?” Jacob pulled off his work gloves. “This mulch bed isn’t finished.”
“I’ll finish up. Go ahead. See you Monday.”
He picked up his rake and left. The guys called out their goodbyes, and a few minutes later, the truck started up and pulled away from the house.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. I loved being outside, but the day was a scorcher, and humidity was creeping in. Ten more minutes and I could head home in my own truck for a cold shower and a beer.
“That was kind of you,” Mrs. Dawson said.
“They work their ass—they work hard.” Squatting, I pushed the last of the mulch into place. “Only a few minutes until quittin’ time, anyway.”
Mrs. Dawson adjusted her chair to a sitting position. She pursed her lips and took a long sip of her red, slushy drink.
“You’re a good leader. The men look up to you. I like that.”
I was single, but usually immune to the charms of my clients. Most of the wives worked or stayed in the house when the landscapers came to mow, hiding from the dirt and noise.
Tracy liked to watch.
And she liked to be watched.
My skin tingled when she was near. I wondered what it would be like to stroke her soft skin, to slide down the strap of her bathing suit and expose her breast. I’d lean down and suck a nipple into my mouth until it grew stiff.
Sometimes, Tracy starred in my thoughts when I showered after work. Letting the water wash the dirt from my skin, I stroked myself and came, wishing it was Tracy’s soft hands caressing me. I daydreamed about lifting her long legs around my waist and pounding into her. I’d fuck her while she dug her nails into my back and screamed my name.
Damn. Scooping up big handfuls of mulch, I patted it down, hoping the boner in my jeans would go away. I felt her eyes on me as I finished up and put my tools into the wheelbarrow. I’d bet a day’s pay her eyes were glued to my ass.
I looked, too, when her back was turned. I loved when she walked around the pool in bathing suits and high-heeled sandals. The sandals defined her calves and made her ass swing when she walked. Watching her emerge from the pool with her long, dark hair clinging to her back made my insides clench.
Must be nice to swim and lounge by the pool all day. I rented a small apartment, and had mostly second-hand furniture. No money to spare for luxuries, when I needed new tires for my truck. I’d just ordered expensive parts for my lawnmowers, but I did the repairs myself. The economy wasn’t exactly hopping in this area of Vermont. Times were tough. Customers called to cancel their service, apologizing. Some of them started hiring their neighbors’ kids to cut the lawn.
I hoped the Dawsons still had deep pockets. I needed their business.
Mrs. Dawson stood, then walked—no, slinked—around the edge of the pool and descended the steps into the water. She swam a few feet, then flipped over and wet her hair, her breasts floating in her suit. I tried not to stare.
“How about a dip, Kyle?”
“What?” I dropped my spade, and it narrowly missed my toes. Thank God for steel-toed boots.
“A dip in the pool.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
She chuckled. “Please, call me Tracy. How old are you, Kyle?”
“I’m only thirty-four.” She smirked. “How old did you think I was?”
Oh, no. I wasn’t playing that game. It ranked right up there with Does my butt look big in this dress?
“Don’t know. Never thought about it.” I’d thought more about swimming naked in the pool with her. I’d lift her breasts to my mouth and suck her nipples while the water cooled our bodies.
I piled my tools into the wheelbarrow, taking my time.
“Any hot weekend plans?” she asked.
Catching up with laundry. Going over business paperwork. Deciding which bills to pay and which to put off.
“Might go out for a few beers with my crew.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
Pulling off my gloves, I stuffed them in my back pocket. I didn’t mind the flirting, but all talk and no action was getting old.
“Don’t have a girlfriend. Didn’t have one when you asked me last week, either.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She swam to the edge of the pool. Tracy was a natural beauty, with long legs and curves a guy could grab onto. Her straight, dark hair looked silky to the touch. Besides being a knockout, she was kind to the help, and smart. I liked her.
Mr. Dawson was a lucky bastard.
I pushed the wheelbarrow toward my truck, feeling the heat of her gaze on my ass.
“Don’t leave without your pay,” she called.
I put the rest of the gear in my truck bed and closed the gate. When I walked back to the pool, she was swimming, her legs breaking the surface. Where was she hiding the money, in her bathing suit?
“The water’s perfect. I hate to get out.”
I focused on the clouds while she swam over to the stairs. When she climbed out, I watched as she emerged, water dripping down her body, her dark hair clinging to her back. My cock stiffened.
Why the hell did her husband leave her alone so often? A guy’s gotta work, but the housekeeper said Tracy slept alone one or two nights a week when he traveled for work.
If I was with Tracy, I’d strip off that bathing suit and fuck her so hard she’d have trouble walking the next day. I pictured Tracy clutching the headboard while I pounded her from behind. I’d grip her long hair in my fist and bend down to kiss her neck.
She picked up a towel and slowly dried her skin as she held my gaze. Was I going to stand here and gawk while she toweled off?
Stuffing my hands in my front pockets, I tried to camouflage the tent I was pitching.
“The roses are so pretty this year.” She rubbed the towel over her thighs, then bent to dry her calves, giving me a deeper view of her cleavage. “If you need more work, I can recommend you to my neighbors.”
“Sure.” My cock pressed against my zipper. “Thanks.”
Tracy dropped the towel and pulled on her cover-up and tied it at the waist.
“Come get your pay,” she said, heading for the guest house.
She opened the glass door and entered. Friday afternoons, I’d usually wait at the back door of the house while Tracy produced an envelope. Most of my clients paid their bill by credit card, but the Dawsons paid cash, which I didn’t mind since it saved on credit card fees.
I followed her into the guest house, and air conditioning cooled my skin. Tracy stood at the small table, looking through a pile of papers. The living room was connected to a small but modern kitchen. The furniture and decor looked expensive. A short hall led to a bedroom and bathroom.
“Have a seat,” Tracy said.
“Can’t, I’m filthy. Appreciate the offer, though.”
“Here it is.” She pulled out an envelope. “Your pay, plus a bonus.”
Hot relief shot through my limbs. A bonus might cover a set of tires.
She stood at the table, holding the envelope. I waited for her to bring it to me, but she gave me a devilish smile that made my body tingle. Stepping closer, I reached for the envelope, but Tracy held it against her chest. Her tongue darted out to coat her bottom lip.
A bead of sweat slid down my temple.
“My God, you’re a specimen.” Her gaze traveled over my chest, then down to the bulge in my jeans. “Are you in a hurry?”
I wiped my temple with the back of my hand.
Another moment of hesitation. Was she breathing louder? She handed me the envelope, and I stuffed it into my back pocket.
I waited, excited she was making a move. I’d fantasized about this very thing the two summers we took care of her yard, but now that the prospect was in front of me, my hands trembled.
“I’d like to get to know you better, Kyle.”
She was standing so close, I felt her breath on my chin, and my pulse jumped. Her brown eyes were mesmerizing, and she smelled like a combination of pool water and sunscreen.
Was she going to stand there and tease me? Or would she finally do something about the sexual tension that had simmered between us all this time?
My questions were answered when she took off her cover-up and dropped it on the floor.