Page 39 of The Biker Needs A Nanny

“It’s warm enough today. I guess I could do it now.”

I go to the garage and get the new prop and my tools, then change into my swim trunks.

Walking across the dock, I set my tools down, pull my shirt over my head, and jump into the waist deep water.

I notice Grace watching while I tilt the outboard motor out of the water.

“Need any help?” she asks.

I grin. “You offering to get down here in the water with me?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of handing you tools.”

“Sure. Hand me that socket wrench.”

She does, and I loosen the nut that holds the bent propellor and remove it.

“Catch,” I say and toss the large nut to Grace.

She surprises me by catching the thing, and I grin.

I pull off the propellor and set it on the dock, then grab the new one and wiggle it into place.

“Give me the nut,” I say, holding my hand out.

She does, and I tighten it in place.

“Is that all there is to it?” she asks.

“I told you it wouldn’t take long.” I lower the outboard motor into the water. “There. Good as new.”

Then I get a crazy idea and hold the socket wrench toward her, handle side out. “Here.”

When she goes to take it, I yank her off balance and into the water.

She shrieks and splashes next to me, coming up, wiping her face and sputtering. My laughter carries across the water, and she smacks me in the arm.

“That wasn’t nice. Now I’m soaking wet.”

When she stands, her white t-shirt is practically see-through, and even with her bra, I can see her nipples harden. My dick jumps in response, and my mouth goes dry.

Of course, she notices where I’m looking and crosses her arms.

“Sorry. It was a dumb prank. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“I bake you cookies, and this is what I get.” She heads for the ladder and climbs up.

My eyes travel over her wet, shapely body, and I grab her ankle.

“I’m sorry.”

She turns and our eyes connect. Something flashes between us, and the sexual tension is so thick I could cut it with my knife.

She jerks free and stalks into the house.

“Shit.” I heave myself out of the water, then sit on the dock, my legs dangling over. I give her a minute, then follow, going to my room to change into dry clothes.

Drying off with a towel, the framed photo on my dresser catches my eyes, and I pick it up. Melanie looked so pretty that day out on the boat.

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