I broke his bed frame. Then I broke his control.

My dorm is under renovation and now I'm crashing in the spare room of a six-foot-four carpenter who smells like cedar and makes me grip the counter every time he reaches for the top shelf. He barely talks. He jaw-clenches instead. I've been cataloguing every single one.

There are eighteen years between us and I live under his roof.

None of that stops me from dropping down on his workshop floor and asking him to be my first.

His restraint snaps like cheap lumber.

Turns out this carpenter knows exactly how to handle raw material?on the workbench, on the sawhorse, and in his bed where he's already decided I'm staying permanently.

He's a brooding older carpenter who fixes everything except the way he looks at her. She's a bold younger woman who is done waiting for what she wants and has zero regrets. She'll do anything to make him hers for the first time ? and forever ? in a filthy sweet happily ever after with a baby to build a nursery for.