Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84496 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Mace was a good deal taller than me – at least three inches, if not four. Which put him at nearly six and a half feet. And I didn’t even want to guess how much he outweighed me by. He wasn’t huge like some of the guys from the wrestling shows I’d watched in fascination when I was younger and just starting to realize I was more drawn to muscles than curves. No, Mace was built but not bulging. His hair was a muddy combination of blond and brown and on the long side. His dark eyes and darker skin tone had me thinking he had some Latino blood running through his system. Everything about his face was hard and rough – sharp jaw line, coarse stubble that I suspected would feel good against my suddenly itchy skin, and a slightly crooked nose that suggested he’d seen his fair share of fist fights where he hadn’t walked away unscathed.
The heat wafting off of Mace was intense but I didn’t get to enjoy it for long because he pulled his eyes from mine and straightened, and then let out a curse as he reached to shove away a piece of wood that had been leaning against his body. But the second I saw the blood coating his fingers as he tried to look over his shoulder where the wood had hit him, I knew it hadn’t just been leaning on him – it had impaled him. A glance down at the wood showed three rusty, blood soaked nails jutting out from the end of the offending object.
The sight of the blood actually helped bring my fading panic, and the other emotions I didn’t want to examine too closely, under control and I pushed away from the wall and stepped around Mace to examine the back of his shoulder. There wasn’t a ton of blood but enough that I couldn’t actually make out the three holes I knew would be in his shirt and in him. Guilt went through me at the sight and before I could think too much of it, I wrapped my hand around his lower arm and said, “Come on.”
* * *
It only took a minute to climb the stairs leading to my studio but I spent all of it intensely aware of the man behind me. I’d had enough sense to release his arm once I was sure he would follow me but since he was only a half a foot behind me, I could still feel the strength and heat that radiated from his big body. But it was the unexpected scent of citrus and mint that was driving me crazy, because I wanted to know if he just happened to be chewing some kind of fruity gum that had given off the aroma or if he smelled that good all over.
“In here,” I said as I opened the door at the top of the stairs. I stepped back to let him pass and then shut the door and tried to swallow back the nerves that were threatening to overtake me. Although the guy had put himself between me and potentially serious injury, I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked at me earlier. But one glance at the smeared blood on his shirt reminded me that his motives didn’t matter. I’d patch him up and then get him out of here and then I’d figure out how to find the help I needed to get the repairs done to the first floor in time. I’d purposefully posted the ad on a general Help Wanted site in the hopes of finding some cheaper labor but since no one else had answered the ad except for this giant of a man, I’d have to find a way to come up with more cash to pay a professional to do the work…preferably someone who didn’t look like he wanted to rip me limb from limb.
“Sit here,” I said to Mace as I pulled out one of the only two chairs I owned. I’d found them at the thrift shop and was glad I’d splurged on the sturdy wood ones instead of the spindly metal pair I’d been eyeing, because I doubted they would have been able to hold Mace’s weight. I hurried to the bathroom at the other end of the open space and searched out the few first aid supplies I had. When I came back out, I saw Mace hadn’t heeded my instruction to sit and was exploring my combined studio/apartment. Although calling it an apartment was a generous use of the term. The building I’d chosen for my studio and gallery wasn’t designed for residential living but it hadn’t made sense to waste money on an apartment when I wouldn’t be spending much time there. I had all the things I needed including space for my bed, a bathroom that included a small but working shower and a kitchen area that had probably been more of a break area in its former life. I didn’t have a stove, but my microwave and mini fridge met most, if not all of my needs. Takeout food took care of the rest.