Hammered (Getting Dirty Series Book 4) Read online

  Hammered

  Getting Dirty Series, Book 4

  Tory Baker

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Chance

  2. Peyton

  3. Chance

  4. Peyton

  5. Chance

  6. Peyton

  7. Chance

  8. Peyton

  9. Chance

  10. Peyton

  11. Chance

  12. Peyton

  13. Chance

  14. Peyton

  15. Chance

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  What’s Next?

  About the Author

  Also by Tory Baker

  Copyright © 2020 by Tory Baker

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  “I love you for all that you are, all that you have been and all that you will be.” —Unknown

  Prologue

  Peyton

  “I told you it needed to be done today, Peyton.” That’s how I’m greeted after coming back from my lunch break. It causes me to pause. I mean, my desk is a footstep away. I cock my head to the side, taking in every nuance that is Chance Adams, my boss. He’s ruggedly handsome with his messy dark hair, moss-green eyes, and a nose that’s slightly crooked from an on-the-job accident that happened a couple of months ago. Add his days’ worth of beard growth on his jawline that travels to his neck, and even when he’s being a dick, which seems to be most days lately, he’s still melt-your-panties hot. I would know firsthand too, because this happens to me daily. Today, Chance is working in the field, something he does four out of the five days I’m here. It makes for a peaceful day, mostly. Unless he’s on a tangent like he has been lately. The gray shirt he’s wearing with his company logo, Adam’s Construction, molds to his tall frame, his well-worn jeans clinging to his muscular legs. He’s the whole package, except today it’s not helping. Nothing is. When I went on my lunch break, he was yelling the office down. And not just at me either. The guys were getting a ration of shit, as was the lady I was talking to on the phone on the other side of town, apparently, when Chance took the phone out of my hand as I was relaying a message and yelled that she better get her boss on the phone. I rolled my eyes, stood up, slammed my laptop down, and walked out of the office to him saying, “I’ll fire you, Peyton!”

  I rolled my eyes. Chance is full of shit. No one could deal with him the way I have and still continue to. It’s not that he’s a complete and utter dick; it’s just that he takes it out on the person closest to him. Which, unfortunately, tends to be me.

  “It’s on your desk. You would have known that before throwing a temper tantrum earlier.” He didn’t hear me mumble, “Jerk” at the end of that, or at least I don’t think he did. Chance has been on a rampage all morning and someone must have peed in his cheerios. So, I did what every person would do. I left for my break, a cup of hot tea and a sandwich helped me breathe through the fact that I was ready to quit when he said he’d fire me. I’m not a quitter though, so I’ll deal with it until I can’t bear to anymore.

  “Not sure why I put up with your sassy-ass mouth, Peyton Jennings,” he grumbles, stomping his feet to my desk. He’s worse than my overbearing brother, Bridger, with the way he is acting today.

  “Because no one else can deal with you. Didn’t the temp agency tell you that before you finally saw the light and hired me?” My hip is propped on the edge of my desk. This morning I felt great when I woke up and had a smile on my face. I took my time with my hair, not that I had to do much in that regard. I lucked out in that department and barely have to do anything to it, since it dries in soft waves and only requires some serum to tame the small amount of frizz. My makeup was soft, some blush, mascara, and lip gloss, not really liking the feel of a lot of products on my face. Keeps it simple. My outfit was what took me forever to decide on. I tried on a pant suit, nixed that completely, then a pencil skirt, and I definitely wasn’t feeling that. I found a shift style dress that fits loosely around my body, light and dark purple flowers over a white background. The three-quarter-length sleeves gave me the coverage I’d need to keep warm in the office, the hem stopping at just above my knees, keeping it business casual, tying it all together with my cork-screw wedges.

  “That mouth of yours, it’s going to get you in trouble one day.” Chance’s eyes eat me up, as if he’s just now seeing me for the first time. Today is different though. He’s making his way towards me, his long legs eating up the distance between us until my ass is planted on the desk.

  “Are you sure about that?” I taunt him.

  “One hundred fucking percent.” Chance’s eyes aren’t on mine. Instead, they’re on my legs. His hands reach out tentatively, the tips of his fingers lightly caressing my thighs.

  “God,” I moan out when I feel them dip under the hem of my dress. I’ve dreamed about this more times than I care to admit. A deep-seated yearning for my boss, just like this, so entrenched within me. The world falls around us, and still the only thing that captivates his attention is me.

  “Fuck, you’re soaked. Is this for me, Peyton?” One hand is gripping my thigh now while his thumb caresses my pussy through the lace of my panties.

  “Yes, who else would it be when it’s just the two of us?” My head tilts up as I let my words seep in.

  Chance slides his thumb beneath my panties, working my clit, slicking me with my own wetness until he goes for broke. Two of his fingers slide deep inside me, working back and forth. The palm of his hand giving me that added friction on my clit.

  “I’m close,” I breathe out. His mouth is near my throat, not where I want his lips the most. I want Chance’s lips on mine. I want to feel his tongue slide against mine, for him to devour me like he is with his fingers.

  “Peyton,” he rasps against my neck, his fingers working me up, his tongue licking at my skin. It’s only a matter of moments before he pushes me over the edge. My hand moves to the one that’s working me up, holding him there, as my hips are rocking up to meet every movement, while my other hand clutches at his shoulder, my fingernails biting through the fabric of Chance’s shirt.

  “Chance.” I’m weak and breathless. When he nips at my neck, that’s when I’m catapulted into the most amazing orgasm ever.

  I’m still convulsing around his fingers when his cell phone starts ringing. His body goes taut, and I know our cocoon is broken when he wrenches his body away from mine. My dress is still rucked up where he left it. I don’t look away from him. There’s absolutely no way I can.

  “Fuck, that shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again.” Those are the words he says, words that will forever be ingrained in my mind. He stomps out the door, yelling, “Yeah,” into his phone, and I’m left sitting on my desk after having the best of the best, yet Chance just made it feel like the biggest mistake of my life.

  “So stupid. Why would I ever allow this to happen?” I mutter to the empty office, which is more of a modular trailer that we keep at a job site as a central location. Which provided him with the easiest way to le
ave instead of talking about what happened like normal adults. I fix myself up the best I can, reluctantly get back to work, my emotions a jumbled mess, and put Chance Adams away in the furthest cavity of my heart. Locking him away and throwing that damn key in the garbage. There’s no way I’ll ever get close to him again, not after what just happened.

  One

  Chance

  Present

  “Fucking hell,” I grumble to the empty office. Another day, and still Peyton is just as frosty as she has been for the past six months. The only person to blame for that is me. And I do that, every single morning when I look in the mirror. I fucked up, I know I did. That still doesn’t sit well when we work together day in and day out. Now, she wants vacation time. I’m not a fucking idiot. I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Peyton asked for a full week off. The only time someone asks for that amount of time off is when they’re hunting for a new job.

  That’s why, when I got a phone call the other day from my brother, Fox, to work on a beach house he just bought in Kelson Beach, South Carolina, I knew it would sway Peyton. A completely paid-for vacation, and the only thing she’d have to do is sit in on the initial meeting and help me project budget totals. A job I fucking hate, but one of the many tasks Peyton performs for me.

  When I told her about a working vacation today, she was hesitant at first, asking what the catch was. Her normal firecracker self would have demanded what this was all about, but in the past month, she’s changed. Once again, that place in my chest aches, no matter the amount of rubbing it. It doesn’t go away. She’s branded deep inside me. Her scent still haunts me in my dreams, every single night. And I’m the idiot who screwed it up. So, yeah, this vacation may have me working while Peyton relaxes, but the summer nights will have us both burning up if I have anything to say about it.

  When she left today, Peyton said she’d be ready in an hour. From there, we’re heading right to the airport. Something about picking up something last minute. I go through the process of closing everything down for the week. This week was the only one I could afford to have this office and jobsite closed down. Adam’s Construction is on the smaller side, and it’s costing me a whack to let the guys have this week off, but I do it every year. The week between Christmas and New Year’s, they need that time off. Fuck, so do I, now more than ever. Especially if I’m going to pull my head out of my own ass, like my brother so aptly put it when he called me.

  He’s not wrong though. Shit, he probably knows way more than I do. The military definitely changes people. After his last tour overseas, he didn’t move home. Fox said the beach was calling him and to fuck with those long cold nights. He had enough of that in the hellhole he was stationed at. Now, he lives in a Goddamn cabana on a small patch of oceanfront property that he got for a song. The place literally has a bed, bathroom, and he’s using a microwave or a grill outside.

  I shake my head, because despite all that, he’s happy. I take one last look around, making sure everything is turned off. Peyton’s desk is immaculate. Christ, it’s practically a shrine in my eyes these days. A memory I think of so damn often my cock feels my fist every damn night while I’m in the shower.

  “Put it away. Operation Win Peyton Jennings is about to commence. And I’m not taking no for an answer,” are my last words as I make my way outside to my truck. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s paid off and has never left me deserted, that’s for damn sure. My bags are already packed and sitting in the backseat of the cab.

  The only thing on my mind is how to win Peyton over, something I know I’ll have to get on my knees and beg for, I’m sure. The Jennings wouldn’t be any other way, not her brother or her sisters. Hell, they’re all known around town for their stubbornness, and for that I’m grateful. It tells me Peyton will be worth everything in the end.

  I drive through our small town of Lodgeview. A light dusting of snow is settling on the roads, the town still lit up from Christmas yesterday. Hell, I wouldn’t have had Peyton out in this weather had I looked at the damn forecast. It’s a damn good thing she lives right around the corner in a small condo community. Shit, it wasn’t long ago that Taylor was staying in this exact same place. Not the same condo, but in the same building. Of course, Bridger made sure it was secure before she even thought of moving in here after she came home from college. Not that she moved into her own place straight out of college, Peyton stayed with her parents until she landed a job before coming to work for me. Which, let me tell you, took a whole lot of finagling on my part. The temp agency wasn’t cutting it with who they’d send over, and I finally had to reach out to Bridger and ask him if he even thought for a minute Peyton would be interested in working at a construction company.

  He gave me the third degree, not that I could blame him. Bridger has always been overprotective, like a papa bear, when it came to his sisters. When our talk was done, we shook hands, and he gave me the look that said If you break my sister, I’ll break you. Which is exactly what I did six months ago.

  Five minutes later, I’m pulling into Peyton’s place. She’s standing under the eave of her condo, suitcase standing up, bundled up in a jacket and a pair of sweats of some sorts. I slide into a parking spot, slam my truck into Park, my only thought getting Peyton out of the weather.

  “Woman, what the fuck?” I question, hustling to get to her.

  “What? You act like some frozen water is going to hurt me. I’m no princess, Chance,” she smarts back, but I see the way her body is shivering. I grab her bag. My hand touches to the small of her back while I escort her to the passenger side of the truck. I don’t even respond until she’s settled inside and I’m in the driver’s seat.

  “I know you can handle the elements, that doesn’t mean I like the thought of you standing in them, just to throw your sassy mouth at me either.” I’m gripping the steering wheel, trying to keep from grabbing her by the nape of her neck and finally tasting those sweet bee-stung lips of hers.

  “But it’s what I do best.” She’s facing the window, her arms crossed over her chest, and now I’m the one cursing all the clothes she’s wearing. I want to see more of her luscious fucking body. It’s been taunting me for months, the way her hair hangs loose, in dark waves, her gray eyes, high cheekbones, and once again, Peyton’s fucking lips, full and a deep cherry color. I bet her nipples are the same color. Fuck. I shift my legs trying to hide the hard-on I’m sporting.

  “That you do.” I nod my head. Her hand leaves its safe haven to switch the radio station until she lands on a song she’s happy with. A country song at that, talking about memories you don’t mess with. It resonates with me on a deeper level. Peyton’s hand rests on the center console. Mine gravitates towards it, and without thinking, I take it in my own, even when she tries to pull it away.

  “Stop,” I caution her.

  “I’m not sure I should do that, do you?” I glance at her, that arched eyebrow conveying everything she isn’t saying.

  “Probably not, but I can admit when I’m an ass. And, Peyton, I’ve been an ass entirely too much to you,” I admit.

  Her hand relaxes. Peyton won’t give in this easily. I may have won holding her hand, but I know there’s so much left to work through.

  “At least you can admit that, though it’s taking entirely too fucking long.” I hate the way that word sounds coming from her lips, not unless she’s deep in the throes of an orgasm, that is.

  “Not gonna argue with that, but gotta say, I’m not digging that word you just threw out.” I pull up to a stop light, my eyes moving to hers.

  “I’m not sure I care. That being said, you do realize that word flies out of your mouth more often than not, and we do work with a bunch of construction workers. I’m bound to let it slip off my tongue every now and again.”

  “Touché,” I respond. We are both silent as we finish our ride to the airport. Our hands never leave one another’s, and I’m counting that as a silent win.

  Two

&nb
sp; Peyton

  The entire time, I’m not even exaggerating, the entire freaking time Chance Adams has been touching me in one way or the other. Throughout the car ride, at the airport, on the plane, and even when we grabbed a hired car to get to the hotel we’re staying at. His hand would be entwined with mine, or a hand would touch the base of my spine, and even my elbow if we were in bigger crowds.

  Though Chance has another thing coming if he thinks I’ll forgive him after one day. The dang man hasn’t even apologized. Plus, he may have made me orgasm, but he didn’t even kiss me. I think that’s what burns my ass more than anything. A kiss, that’s all I’ve dreamed about, before, during, and after our one and only time together.

  “Thank goodness.” The warmth and sun are like the balm to my soul. I’m already taking off my jacket, wanting to get out of my winter clothes and out to the beach as soon as possible.

  “Hold your fire, woman, I’m don’t really want the whole fucking hotel to see you stripping,” Chance says beside me. This man, I’m not sure where this is coming from, and while part of me loves that he’s possessive, the other part of me, let’s just say I’m ready to tear into him.

  “Jesus, Chance. It’s not like I’m stripping down to my bra and panties. I’m taking my jacket and flannel off. It’s too hot to wear all of this at once. Not all of us can walk around in what you are and not freeze when we’re in Virginia,” I huff out, finishing divesting myself of said clothes.