Naughty Naughty Mattress Monkey

By Ellay Branton

Viola Winters has finally settled into a peaceful life after years of dealing with emotional instability. As the live-in housekeeper of a very busy globetrotter, she has a swanky address, really great coffee, and quiet mornings.
 
Except for this one.
 
Hank Dresden (aka Hank the Hunk) is a little cranky. He was just helping out his brother with a little remodeling while James was away on a business trip. So maybe he did swing his hammer a little early (ahem)... he had no idea it would bring on a sexy, mouthy woman in a soaked shirt... or a house fire!
 
With the interference of their matchmaking brothers - and the help of two very naughty sock monkeys - Viola and Hank discover the sparks that fly between them cause a whole different kind of fire. But Viola's much more fragile than she seems, and Hank's never been known for mincing words.
 
If Viola gives her heart to Hank, will she get the happily-ever-after she never dared hope for? Or will she lose the security and peace she's finally achieved?

Note: Adult themes including emotional distress triggers and graphic sexual situations. For readers (and sock monkeys!) 18+

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellay Branton
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311492678

Ellay Branton

Ellay Branton is a tiny little useful human who bears a slight resemblance to a shaved hobbit - except her feet and ankles are dainty. She has an inappropriate sense of humor that has often landed her in trouble. She believes that life is meant to be fun and isn't afraid to be silly - no matter who is watching. Bonus points if you join in! Ellay lives in Northern California with her husband, her children and more animals than humans. She can often be found on Facebook fangirling over her favorite authors, artists, and of course, Star Wars. She loves to hear from readers! Email: [e-mail] Friend me: https://www.facebook.com/ellaybranton Like me: https://www.facebook.com/ellaybrantonauthor Follow me: https://twitter.com/ellaybranton

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Dedication

Cynthia, your work is my Gold Standard and the mark for which I strive. Thank you for All The Things! - Especially your friendship, and indulging my voice habits. Your fateful choice of the story of two monkeys took on a life of its own, and so, this one is for you. 

Acknowledgments

I believe in gratitude – even for the smallest things. Therefore, I want to make sure those who made this work possible get their due. To all the friends and family that I flaked on or put off in my creative selfishness: I'm sorry, and thank you for sticking around and being patient with me.  Brandi, you are the voice in Viola's head, thank you for making me laugh! Smashley, I forgive you. You and R.L. Merrill know why. Mushkaba – don't read this book until you're older – thank you for giving an overworked mom room to write, picking up the slack with chores without complaint, and giving the best hugs ever. I love you fifty-bajillion.  Kylie, thank you for teaching me that dreams need to be chased in order to be caught. I am the mother of dragons!  To the most supportive husband ever, the man that believes in me more than I do myself -  I love you more every day. Thank you for giving me my happily-ever-after.  And finally, to Rochelle and Kimberlie - the two of you have been my sanity anchor through this entire process.  Without you, Hank and Viola's story would be forever unfinished.  Thank you for long chat fests, breathless laughter, empathy, sympathy, and the best platonic love-triangle ever.  Sex, Gods, and Rock n' Roll!

Chapter 1

Viola trudged into the kitchen, her steps barely resembling a straight line. 

Coffee... she croaked, dragging her hand through a sleep-teased mass of dark hair. The bright morning sun's cheerful greeting screamed into her skull by way of choir-worthy beams of light.  The very large windows were rarely covered; the nearest neighbor was over a hundred yards away.  There was ample foliage to block unwelcome eyes at the back end of the property.  Not for the first time, she wished her boss would spring for some Roman blinds.  Then again, she'd just have to clean those, too. Working as a live-in housekeeper had its perks, though.  Excellent food, a swanky address, and most of the time, she had the place to herself. He was the first boss she'd had in a while that wasn't interested in her aside from her housekeeping skills. Been there, done that. Bought the t-shirt. And burned it. 

She looked down at her light pink tank top and boy shorts.  Yeah, she was hot.  But no matter how firm one's T&A were, a gay man was a gay man. 

She put fresh beans and water into the coffee maker.  Today called for a double batch. Since James left on yet another month-long business trip to Hong Kong, he decided to have some work done on the house. Aside from her normal tasks, furniture needed to be moved and drop cloths laid down. 

Built during the Golden Age of Hollywood, the house had seen some years.  The only timeless thing about it was the strong foundation built into the hill. The last real refurbishment was done in the seventies, and it showed.  The kitchen got new appliances when he moved in, but it was months later that he had time to meet with a contractor for anything else.

He asked if she would feed the contractor and crew lunch so they could stay on-site. James Dresden always worried about the little guy. Viola didn't argue.  The faster they were done, the faster she could clean up after them. 

The workers were due tomorrow.  They were going to expand James' man cave, replace some windows, do some re-wiring and plumbing, and, to her delight, put in an intercom and recessed wireless speakers in every room.  Cleaning without her headphone wires getting in the way was a spanking new perk. Especially as she wore as little as possible when she cleaned.  Storing an iPod in your waistband was a bitch. In the span of two months, she lost two when they fell into a toilet.

Viola stared at the coffee maker. She hated this part. 

She pushed the Start button.  The machine growled. Then howled. Then shrieked. After her last nerve was frayed by the noise, it wound down and began to gurgle. Dripping its freshly ground offering reluctantly into the carafe, the smell of wake-the-fuck-up began to waft into the air.  In an oft-practiced maneuver, Viola switched out the carafe neatly for her mug.  As soon as it was full, she deftly pulled out her mug and replaced the carafe.

Yeeeesss..she moaned as the large mug warmed her hand.  She sipped the scalding liquid without dressing it up with cream or sugar.  They'd just dilute the pure Kona taste. 

The coffee maker finally fell silent.  Viola sighed.  Quiet.  She detested noise in the morning. 

Just as she settled into a chair at the small dinette set, a loud crunching BOOM shook the house.

Viola squealed first in startled fear, then in pained outrage as half of the mug of hot coffee sloshed onto her shirt.  She ran to the sink, turned on the cold water full blast, and grabbed the sprayer. She doused herself with the cold water, desperately trying to cool her scalded skin.

Mother FUCKER! she yelled, then stilled. Wait. What had made the noise?

She glanced out of the window to the large circle drive.  Her blue MINI Cooper gleamed in the sun.  But it was alone.  The car service should have arrived for James thirty minutes ago.

Earthquake? The hanging lights were swinging slightly. But the sound had seemed to come from inside the house.

She turned off the taps and slowly turned around. 

James? Is that you? Are you okay?  There was no answer.

Grabbing a shiny copper frying pan in one hand, and a hefty tenderizing mallet in the other, Viola silently padded toward the kitchen doors. She eased through the swinging door, peeking around it.

Muffled sounds were coming from the slightly ajar door on the other side of the formal dining room.  Someone was in the small den. It was a tiny room, with barely enough space for a couch and entertainment center. Back in ye olden days, it was a butler's station. 

James had all of his favorite toys in there. An Xbox, PlayStation, Blu-Ray player, mammoth television and surround sound system were all crammed into an entertainment center on one wall.  That room kept Best Buy in business. 

Someone was in there.  It had to be a thief.

The tinny sounds of music met Viola's ears as she neared the door.  What thief would wear headphones...playing Work Bitch by Britney Spears? And was he...humming?

She pushed open the door slowly with her elbow, holding the pan as a shield, mallet at the ready.  The sight of the would-be thief almost caused her to drop them as her blood flooded south, numbing her hands.

Work boots on large feet met very worn jeans. Jeans that caressed thick calves and hinted at taught thighs. Jeans that fit just right over the most beautifully male ass she'd ever seen.  A green sleeveless tank hugged his narrow waist, and lay lovingly over the muscles in his back and shoulders.  His arms were bare, tanned, and glowed with a light sheen of sweat. They were muscular - sinewy all the way to his forearm where the tendons stood out in stark relief.  His hands were large, like his feet. His long fingers were tapered and elegant, but bore the strength of the rest of his body.  His physique was not solely from a gym, it was from real work. His dark hair tufted out from the back of a ball cap. It curled, slightly damp from sweat. 

The music in his ears was so loud he didn't hear the door softly bump the wall as it opened completely. He was dancing a slow grind, as he shifted the couch further away from the door.  His hips swayed and his shoulders dipped as he spun around and grabbed a sledgehammer.  A man that held something so heavy that effortlessly could easily fuck a woman against a wall.  The only breathlessness he would suffer would be lust induced.

Voila's wide eyes drank in the muscles of his shoulders as they bunched when he lifted the large tool swiftly and brought it down against the bottom of the wall. He didn't wait, didn't aim, he just swung. For a split second, Voila imagined that sex with this man would be that way. Quick, hard, and wall-shaking.

The loud sound immediately startled Viola out of her stupor. Adrenaline and residual pain from the coffee burn skipped along her nerves, and she forgot her fear. He pulled back for another swing.

Hey! she shouted, and banged the mallet on the pan.

The man jumped and the heavy hammer went flying out of his hands, crashing into the large flat-screen on the wall.

Viola screeched as the TV bounced from the impact and lurched forward, having unseated itself from the French cleat. Instantly she realized it was going to land on her. Before she could move, she was slammed sideways into the couch. Pain shot up her spine as she teetered over the back of the couch and tumbled onto the cushions. Her foot stuck out over the top. Viola yelled as the edge of the heavy appliance glanced off of her foot and ankle, the pain so sharp it made her stomach lurch.  She was vaguely aware of the flat-screen crashing to the ground, the sound of broken glass and plastic shrapnel skittering across the hardwood floor.

A lithe muscled body lay half on her. She glanced down and could see the top of a baseball cap.  His face was mashed into her breasts as he floundered to get some leverage.  The couch was flush to the wall, and the tight space meant he couldn't reach the floor.  He drove his knees between Viola's. A large arm rose over her head against the arm of the couch, the other against the back cushions. He levered himself up off of her. Holy crap he smells good, the thought lobbed across her overstimulated  frontal lobe as she looked up into his face.

Bright green eyes framed by dark, thick lashes grabbed her gaze. His cheekbones were model sharp, angling toward a nose that had definitely been broken at least once.  Her gaze drifted to his mouth.  His lips were full, almost feminine, except for the dark stubble surrounding them.  A corner of his mouth tugged up slightly into a smile and her eyes flew up to his.

Are you okay? He asked.

The raspy rumble of his voice twanged her nervous system like a guitar string. The receding adrenaline made her hyper aware of the vibrations as they spread through her.

She blinked, processing his question.  He watched with amusement until an angry fire lit her gaze.

What the fuck, dude?! She shouted into his face, suddenly struggling to get up. Why are you here a day early? And why didn't you knock on the door like a normal person, instead of breaking down a wall at eight o'clock in the morning?

Whoa, whoa, whoa! He said, gently pushing her shoulder back into the cushions. Relax lady, I'm just here to work on the house. I wanted to get the demo done before the crew came in. Now, answer me.  Are you okay? he asked again, concern forming a tiny wrinkle between his brows.

I'll be fine when you get off of me, grab that behemoth hammer, and GTFO until tomorrow. Like. You're. Supposed. To. Viola shoved at his chest, ignoring the urge to run her hands up and over his shoulders. Oh hell no. Her libido was not going to sidetrack her.

He didn't move an inch. Her body purred at the strength in the muscles beneath her palm.  A man this strong could whip her around like a ragdoll. She'd be at his mercy.  She bit back a groan at the thought of his wide shoulders blocking out the ceiling as his narrow hips lay cinched between her thighs, grinding against her.

Viola pulled her knees together, nearly emasculating him in her haste. He shoved himself up to a kneeling position and leaned back as she awkwardly rolled over. On all fours in front of him, her ass bumped his chest and his hands shot out to her hips instinctively as he nearly tumbled backward over the arm of the couch.

She sucked in a breath at the feel of his fingers sinking into her flesh. Once again her libido stretched and arched its back, digging flexed claws into her thighs, begging her to open them to him.

He gently anchored her as she straightened and looked over the back of the couch.  Chaos and destruction lay before her. The downed TV took up most of the space on the floor. DVDs, Blu-Rays and game boxes lay like jagged teeth half out of the entertainment center and spilled onto the floor.  Broken glass and plastic fragments glinted in the light from the window.  Two very large holes in the wall were surrounded by dust and chunks of plaster on a folded drop cloth. In just seconds, the room was destroyed.

Do you smell smoke? his voice jerked her out of her daze and she whipped her focus to the holes. The shorn wiring dangled from the wall, sparks popping between two of them.  A small curl of smoke wafted up. 

The wiring in the house was old, and James had warned her about the possibility of wall-fires.  She froze for a second in fear, then bolted upright.

Fire extinguisher. In the kitchen! She swung her legs over the back of the couch and stepped onto the TV, an island free of broken glass in the sea of destruction around her.  John McClain, she was not.  Pain zinged up her foot and ankle and stabbed into her brain. Hissing, she nearly buckled.  She popped her foot up and half-turned toward the couch.

With an easy grace, he vaulted over the back.  Debris crunched under his work boots as he took a long step toward her.

Go! It's under the sink! The TV hit my ankle on the way down, and I can't walk on it.

Before she could yell more orders at him, he swung her up into his arms and charged toward the door. She looked over his shoulder at the wall.  More smoke was pouring from the hole in the plasterboard.

Put me down and go! she shouted.

He ignored her as he carried her into the dining room. He quickly but gently deposited her on the table and sprinted toward the kitchen.  In the seconds he was gone, the smell of smoke intensified.

Viola tried to scoot off of the table just as he returned with the red canister in hand.  He was already pulling the pin and hose.

Stay put! He barked, and ran past her.

His bossiness rankled, and she obstinately slid toward the edge of the table. She needed to get her phone to call the fire department.  Being up in the hills, a house could be fully engulfed before the engines got there.

The hissing exhalation of the extinguisher drowned out her groan as she tentatively put weight on her ankle. She hop-hobbled through the kitchen toward her rooms as quickly as she could.  Her phone lay charging on her nightstand.

Viola elbowed the door shut and sank gratefully onto the unmade bed as she reached for the phone. Unplugging it, she dialed 911.

911, please state your emergency, a calm female voice answered after two rings.

My house is on fire. I need the fire department immediately. She rattled off the address, her name and her phone number before the operator could ask.  This wasn't her first rodeo.

Are you in a safe place? the operator asked.

I'm still in the house. The fire is in a small room, but hasn't spread, yet.

Get out of the house now and stand at the side of the road.  Is anyone else in the house with you?

Yes, a gorgeous hunk of a man with a chest as wide as a mountain is here with me. I'm going to pretend to have smoke asphyxiation so he can give me mouth-to-mouth.

Viola shoved the thought from her mind.

There's someone here with me. He's using a fire extinguisher, but the fire is in the wall, she took a shaky breath.

Both of you need to leave the house, now. The unit is on its way. It should be there in about ten minutes. The operator's voice was calm and impersonal.

Ten minutes meant fifteen.  Crap. Viola hoped the extinguisher had at least slowed the fire.

I'll stay on the line until they arrive. Has anyone been hurt?

Viola stared down at her rapidly swelling and discolored ankle.

I think I sprained my ankle, she said, the pain suddenly welling up and throbbing in time with her fearful heartbeat.

Her door flew open. Six feet three inches of angry male suddenly loomed. Her room shrunk to the size of a shoebox.

I told you to stay put! he growled and scooped her up.

Viola slapped his shoulder with her free hand. Shut up! I'm on the phone with emergency services. A fire truck is on the way.

A sound of irritation rumbled up from his chest, vibrating through her hips.  She suddenly felt wet and warm.

Wet! Shit! She looked down. In the chaos of the last few minutes, she'd forgotten the dousing she'd given her shirt.  Her pink nipples were clearly visible beneath the soaked tank top. The water had run down the material and onto her shorts.  They clung to the vee of her legs and the shadow of her muff was clearly outlined.

Her gaze shot up to his. His eyes swept over her chest and locked onto her nipples. His jaw tightened, and she felt his arms tense around her. Before he could look any lower, Viola quickly threw her arms over her chest and crotch.

Put me down! She hissed. She was starting to sound like a back-up singer with all this repetition.

Once again, he ignored her. Grabbing her blanket, he strode out of the room and headed through the kitchen and dining room.  Hank must have closed the door to the den.  Smoke pushed out of the cracks around it, creating an acrid haze. The smell of melting plastic was thick in the air. He turned right and walked through a massive sunken living room toward the front door.  Somehow he managed to open it and get them outside.  He lowered her to the hood of her car.

I couldn't get to the fire in the wall, he said. He pulled the cap off and dragged his hand through the thickest waves of hair she'd ever seen. It looked so soft and shined in the sunlight. Viola wanted to tangle her fingers in it while she nibbled on his sexy mouth.

Angry at herself for being so easily distracted, she lashed out.

This wouldn't be happening if you waited until tomorrow, like you were supposed to!  Dude, James should sue you for this!

He bristled at her rage.

Look lady, if you hadn't surprised me as I was swinging the hammer, the TV would still be on the damn wall!

You didn't even knock on the front door! How the hell did you get in? And stop calling me 'lady'! My name is Viola!

Ms. Winters? the tiny voice came from her phone.

Crap, the operator was still on the line. She put the phone to her ear.

I'm here, sorry. We're out of the house.

Are you safe? I heard yelling. Do you know that man?

No, I don't know him, she said, irritation coloring her tone. He came to do some construction on the house.

May I please speak to him? the operator's voice turned crisp and cool as a fresh head of lettuce.

Viola silently held out the phone. His brow arched.

She wants to talk to you.

His fingers brushed hers as he took the phone. She ignored the rush of blood to her thighs as the callouses rasped her knuckles. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

Hello? he said into the phone.

The operator spoke but was muffled by his ear. Viola couldn't make out what was said.

No, I didn't harm her. I saved her, for Christ's sake! Now he was irritated. He glared at her while listening to the operator.

I'm a contractor. My name is Hank Dresden, his eyes sparkled for a moment as he looked at Viola, not Dude.

He paused, then glanced down at her ankle.

Yes, it's swollen and it's bruised pretty bad.

Viola let his name sink into her brain. Hank Dresden.  James' brother. Mentally face-palming herself, she realized his beautiful face graced many a frame in the living room. Frames she had dusted and polished for the past nine months. To be fair, he wasn't wearing a hat in any of them, and she was freaked out by his unexpected presence in the house.  He must have a key. Dammit! She just screeched at her boss's brother like a plucked harpy. Well, there goes another job...

She sighed. Pain and worry dragged her anger out of her in a swirling vortex of sudden self-pity.  If the house burned down, everything she owned would be gone. Determinedly fighting back the waves of emotion, she lay on the car's windshield and rolled to her side.  She stared at the house.  Smoke was now rolling out of the front door. Viola focused on the pattern it made and blanked her mind. She allowed a light blanket of shock to numb her. No. Tears.

He must have hung up the phone because he set it down on the roof of the car.

Warm hands gripped her knee as Hank gently inspected her ankle. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

Does it hurt? He asked gruffly, not looking up at her face.

Like a bitch, her reply was subdued.

It's pretty swollen. The EMTs should have an ice pack. That will help.  Roll onto your back and lift it up above your heart.

Viola opened her mouth to argue, but knew he was right. The swelling and throbbing would just get worse if she didn't elevate it. She rolled flat and lifted her leg.  She imagined she must look like a discarded doll with it sticking up. The blanket under her gave her no purchase on the sloped hood of the car and she began to slide off.  She yanked it out from under her hips and braced her bare foot on the edge of the hood. Leaning back on her elbows and flattening her palms against the slick surface stopped the sliding. It wasn't comfortable, but hopefully, she wouldn't have to hold the position for long.

Hank gently grasped her calf and placed it on his shoulder to keep her steady.  Leaning over her, his hands braced his body on either side of her hips.  She had to open her legs to give him room.  The intimate position suddenly made her feel vulnerable. Viola looked at him.  She prayed her tears didn't show.

I'm sorry I yelled at you, she said. The first time you hit the wall, I spilled coffee on myself and I was pretty pissed.

He made a non-committal sound as he stared at her. The fire trucks would be here soon. She had to fix this, quick. If she needed x-rays, who knows how long it would be before she spoke to Hank again, and she wanted to mend fences before he called James.

I didn't know you were coming today, she said, trying to keep the resentment from creeping into her tone and failing. She swallowed and noticed a slight dusting of extinguisher foam clung to the tips of his hair. How bad do you think the damage is?

Hank continued to stare at her for a moment. Viola wondered what he was thinking when his eyes darkened with anger.

How long have you been leeching off of my brother?

The question surprised Viola and she sucked in a breath, anger rising quickly.

What the hell does that mean? she spat. The sudden disgust in his gaze changed their proximity from intimate to intimidating.

James loves his strays.  He's a bleeding damn heart.  So what's your sob story? Addict? Street-walker? Both?

Viola struggled to keep her composure as the barrage of insults battered