The Man Next Door (An Older Man / Younger Woman Romance) Read online

  The Man Next Door

  By: Mia Madison

  ©Copyright Mia Madison 2017

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  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author or publisher.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to the author. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  The Man Next Door

  “Nina, I have to go. There’s a hot man in need of a cold drink.”

  Constance

  I never thought one small drink could be the start of something big.

  The man next door is sexy, gorgeous and obviously older, but I am done with little boys. I’m ready for a real man. Besides, a little summer fling would do me some good.

  Unfortunately, my heart seems to have other plans. But Ander isn’t just any other guy and before I know it, I’ve fallen in love with him.

  “No way a girl like her is sweet on a guy like me.”

  Ander

  Coming home wasn’t easy. Things have changed but I know it’s where I am meant to be and all it took was a swift boot to my ass in the form of a friend getting sick. Picking things back up is harder than I thought.

  Luckily, my new neighbor seems intent on easing me back into life in Chicago. Sexy, sweet, funny… too young for a rough, half-way dead guy like me. But damn if I can stay away from her. Especially when she shows up with a cold glass of lemonade, dressed like an all-American girl. Not to mention all the little things she does that drive me crazy.

  I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, she’s my friend’s daughter and exactly like him.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Other Stories by Mia

  Chapter One

  Constance

  “I’m telling you, he moved into old Mrs. Matthews place last week. I hadn’t even known the place had sold,” I said in a louder than normal voice as I craned my neck for a better angle, trying to see over the fence into my neighbor’s backyard through my sliding glass back doors. I could see him carrying long pieces of timber and setting them up in neat stacks.

  Behind me being fully ignored by my overwhelming nosiness were my shoved-to-the-side, covered-in-paint-supplies kitchen table and my all but forgotten and very unfinished oil painting of a yoga practitioner in downward dog pose while sporting an enormous boner. I’m going to call it “Dog with a Bone.”

  “Where’s he from?” Nina’s voice called out from my phone. Thankfully she was just as nosey as I was. We’d been friends since grade school and had so much mutual dirt on each other that at this point there was nothing we were afraid to share. There was way too much chance for mutual destruction if we ever had a falling out and one of us started to blab, a fact I found very comforting, kind of like slipping on a favorite old pair of shoes that just felt right.

  “The plates on the moving van said New York.”

  “Well, he’s going to be in for a shock when winter sets in. Winter in Chicago ain’t nothin’ like New York. He’s likely to call them movers back and high-tail it back home. You sure you want to be crushing’ on him?”

  For some reason—call it divine intervention or sheer, glorious luck—my neighbor chose that exact moment to strip off his t-shirt. What I saw dropped my jaw. I’d thought that he was a kind of skinny guy, okay built but not a lot of him. Then he took off that damn shirt. Oh. My. God. The man was a sculptor’s dream! He could make a fortune sitting for nudes with fine art students. His back, shoulders, chest and abs were layers and layers of muscle. He’d lift his arms and a hundred different muscles would reshape the entire landscape of his back. I was in love.

  “Nina, I have to go. There’s a hot man in need of a cold drink.” Twenty minutes later and I had on my sexiest Daisy Duke style cut-off jeans and a spaghetti strap top that did amazing things for the girls. The jeans, cut so short that the cloth front pockets peeked out the bottom, were stained with splashes of paint and played double duty for me. Not only were they sexy as hell but they’d be a great conversation starter, too.

  Grabbing my A-line ladder and carting it perched on one shoulder with a cold glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade in my other hand, I headed over to the tall wooden not-so-private privacy fence that separated my yard with my neighbor’s. A second later and I was up the ladder with my arms leaning along the top of the fence. My toned arms were one of my best features and the position gave me the perfect chance to show them off.

  I didn’t want to be too stalkerish, so I only watched the gorgeous, shirtless man bend, lift and work for a few minutes before saying something. When he pounded a nail through a 2x4 with three hard strikes of his hammer that had his arms bulging in every good way imaginable, I damn near sighed.

  Swishing the glass of lemonade back and forth, I tinkled its ice cubes and Mr. Gorgeous finally looked up from his work. I flashed him a smile. “Thought you could use a drink.”

  Mr. Gorgeous stood up from his bent position and rolled his meaty shoulders back, and I damn near sighed again.

  “I’ve been meaning to come over and introduce myself,” he said as he wiped his hands on a rag that he’d pulled out of his back pocket before walking over to me and offering his hand to shake. His smile was warm and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes, and his light brown, almost blond hair had the tiniest hint of gray at his temples. He was a lot older than I’d thought he was, but that didn’t make him any less cute. He was something between a young Paul Newman and Ryan Gosling. Besides just being cute, he had a handsome quality that was quiet and refined, and I suddenly realized that for my whole life of twenty-three years I’d only ever dated boys. Mr. Gorgeous was definitely all man.

  I reached my hand out to meet his, and he said, “Ander Matthews.”

  The gears in my head finally clicked into place. “Ohhhhh… you’re related to old Mrs. Matthews.” She’d passed away two years ago, and her house had sat empty ever since.

  “I’m her grandson.”

  “I didn’t get the chance to know her very long, but she was a nice lady. I’m sorry about your loss.”

  “She’d had a good life.” His eyes glanced at the lemonade. The glass was dripping with beads of cold sweat. He licked his yummy lips, and I couldn’t hold my smile back.

  “This is for you.” I reached the glass down to him, then as soon as he took it I climbed my legs over and perched on the top of the fence. When he’d seen what I was doing, he set the glass down on the ground and reached up, grasped me at the waist and lifted me down from the fence. It wasn’t even hard for
him. I swear, he could have held me off the ground in those muscular arms of his all day, and I felt my libido kick into overdrive and my cheeks flush with heat. Buying myself some time and trying to keep him from noticing how much I had to be blushing, I bent to pick up the lemonade. But, when I stood up, I stepped backward into a little pot hole, lost my balance and started to fall.

  Ander’s arms were on me in an instant, catching me, but it was too late for the lemonade. As I flailed my arms to keep my balance, the glass went bottom’s up and its icy contents went all over my shirt. I felt my nipples go hard beneath my wet and clingy shirt only to glance down and find that the fabric had turned translucent. I was showing Ander all my goods, and I knew he’d seen them because his wide eyes were now looking everywhere but at me!

  “Any chance you have enough for a refill?” he asked. He wasn’t even trying to fight the big smile he wore.

  “Help me back over the fence?”

  “My front door and the gate to my yard are locked.” I had no idea if that was true, but having his strong hands on me again was worth the fib. And, it worked. His big hands went on my waist and lifted, and just like a gentleman, he kept his eyes on my eyes the whole time as he sat me back up on top of the fence.

  Ten minutes later and I had my top changed and a fresh glass of lemonade in hand, but this time I used the gate.

  Chapter Two

  Ander

  “No way a girl like her is sweet on a guy like me,” I mumbled to myself and then resisted a groan when I stood up out of a deep knee bend. Living a life as a professional carpenter since I was eighteen had taken a toll on my body, and sometimes I felt older than my forty-two years. Despite that, I liked the way her eyes had lit up when I picked her up to put her back on top of the fence, and while I hated to admit it, I was eager to have a conversation with another human soul. I’d barely spoken an accumulative five minutes to anybody since I’d gotten back to Chicago.

  Heading into the house, I washed my face and my pits before throwing on a fresh t-shirt. Looking in the mirror, I was overdue for a shave, but the scruff on my face would have to do. There wasn’t enough time, and I didn’t want to leave Constance wondering where I’d gone to. I wanted that glass of lemonade… and to talk some more to the pretty lady who brought it.

  Stopping in the kitchen, I looked for a snack I could offer to go with her lemonade but the cupboards were bare except for some peanut butter and oranges. I’d been a bachelor too long and had ten different delivery places on speed dial.

  “Hello?” Constance called from the backyard.

  Long strides took me back outside, but I had to slow my pace as soon as I saw her. How it was possible I didn’t know, but she was even prettier than she had been ten minutes ago. She’d changed her top but she still wore short shorts, and she had these Angelina Jolie legs that just went on for miles. They were the kind of legs that a man dreams about having wrapped around his waist while he loses himself inside of the woman who owns him.

  Walking across the back porch, I headed down the stairs and met her half way as she headed up. I took the heavy tray of lemonade from her hands and set it down on the stairs between us before taking up a seat. She followed suit, and I watched as she poured one of the ice-filled glasses with lemonade before handing it to me.

  I took a sip. It was tart with just the right amount of sweetness, and tipping it bottoms up, I downed the whole thing. Best damn lemonade of my life, but that could have been because of who I was looking at as I drank it.

  She didn’t ask if I wanted more, she just picked up the pitcher and I held out my glass for her to fill it except that this time before I drank, I waited until after she’d finished filling her own glass as well.

  “This is good,” I said after taking another gulp. Cut slices of lemons were floating in the pitcher and I could tell from the fresh taste that it was from scratch. “I don’t think I’ve had it from anything but a mix since my grandma made it for me.”

  “And this was your grandma’s place, old Mrs. Matthews?”

  “Mhm. She raised me; me and my sister.”

  “You grew up in this house?”

  “Not this house. She sold the house she raised us in and bought this one. This one’s a little smaller, a little easier for her to take care of.”

  Constance looked from me to the house and back again, and I could tell she had more questions she wanted to ask but was holding back. As for me, I was struggling to keep my eyes on everything above the collar bone. She was a stunner with big brown eyes and full, ruby red lips. I don’t even think she was wearing lipstick. They were ripe with color all on their own, and damn it if I didn’t want to kiss them. But, despite all that, every time she arched her back or shifted those amazing legs of hers, I just wanted to stare at her like some lovesick teenage boy who’d never been to first base with a girl before.

  “It’s okay. Ask anything you want,” I encouraged. The longer she was asking questions, the longer I got to spend time with her, and I couldn’t think of a better way of letting an afternoon pass by.

  I thought I’d seen the cutest thing about her but Constance blushed as her eyes fell away from mine as if she’d suddenly gone all bashful on me. My heart skipped a beat and didn’t steady again until she lifted the gaze of those big soulful eyes and looked right at me.

  “I’ve gotten called out on giving people the third degree sometimes,” she said as she rubbed one of her naked ankles absentmindedly. The way she leaned forward a little to do it gave me a bird’s eye view of the glorious valley between her luscious breasts, and she had the kind of boobs I liked. Big enough to fill my hand and mouth. Asking for anything more than that’s just being greedy.

  I took another sip of lemonade to hide the fact that thinking about her breasts had my mouth watering. “Ask away,” I said after gulping it down.

  “This house has sat empty for two years now. Why so long? I mean, what changed?” Her brows pinched together to make the cutest crease that I wanted to smooth away with the rub of my thumb. Instead, I sat my glass of lemonade to the side near the edge of the step, stretched my legs out in front of me and leaned back on my elbows. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth when I saw her eyes span the length of my body before sucking her plump bottom into her mouth as if she were craving to take a bite out of some delicious morsel. I had to admit, I loved the thought of me being that morsel.

  “I bought my sister out of her half of the house. I was… ready for a change.”

  “You’re from New York?”

  I dipped my chin and lifted my brows, more than a little curious as to how she’d figured that out. Instead of getting bashful this time, though, her smile grew and her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  Damn, I’m going to enjoy knowing this girl.

  “I saw the plates on the moving vans. New York.”

  “That’s right,” I laughed, then swung my arm wide as I sat up, sending the half-drained glass off the stairs’ edge and into the tall grass. I peered over the side. “I don’t think it broke.” I got to my feet and headed down the stairs to retrieve it.

  “What are you building?”

  I stopped. “I don’t think I want to tell you. You’ll laugh.”

  “No, I won’t. Don’t tell me it’s a sex bench or something.” A flushed colored her cheeks and I cocked a brow at her. She shrugged meekly.

  “A gazebo. We had one where we grew up, and it was always a favorite spot for my grandma. Decided to build one here, you know, for nostalgia’s sake.”

  I moved around the side, hoping she didn’t think I was some softy or something. I spotted the glass and stepped with a long stride—I’d felt it instantly but there was a long moment where I couldn’t think. I growled in pain like a vicious beast as the nail from a forgotten plank sliced its way through my shoe and out the top of my foot.

  “Oh my God,” Constance exclaimed as she bounded down the stairs.

  “Wait!” I shouted, not wanting to have a nail go through her per
fect feet.

  She got the hint and carefully waded through the grass. Getting on her knees, she held the board down as I yanked my foot back off it, an action that filled my vision with stars.

  As soon as I could see straight, I lifted my foot to access the damage. A steady stream of blood dripping from my shoe. This was going to be a bad one, I just knew. Not that I did this often.

  “That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital. Right now,” Constance declared in a voice that said that there would be no debating it.

  I wanted to tell her no way was she taking me anywhere dressed in those tiny little shorts and that barely-there top, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t her father, but I sure as hell felt sorry for the poor sod who was.

  Chapter Three

  Constance

  I screeched my car to a stop in front of the emergency room, ran in, managed to snag a wheelchair and brought it out to my car. From there, Anders’ foot left a droplet trail of blood from my car all the way up to the registration desk. As soon as a nurse spotted the drip-drip-drip creating a bright red pool below where he sat, he tied a plastic bag around Ander’s foot. It was an agonizing—and I do mean agonizing—hour and a half wait after that.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said hoarsely and I could tell he was trying not to be a tough guy about it. “Just a bleeder is all.”

  By the time they got us into a little nook of a room behind a drawn curtain and surrounded by odds and ends of medical paraphernalia, Ander’s face had gone from splotchy red to pale cream until it finally settled into a hue that hinted at chartreuse. If I hadn’t been so distressed about the amount of pain Ander was in, I would have been fascinated just to watch the changing palette of his face. It was everything I could do not to pull out a pencil and sketch the tense lines of his brow, eyes and mouth on the little line-free pad I always carried in my purse.