Damaged

by Jeanne St. James

  2

  Colby stirred the eggs around the frying pan, scrambling them.

  She was exhausted since she hardly slept last night, too busy listening to every creak in the dark. Each time she thought she heard footsteps, she’d sat straight up in bed, reaching for her gun. It ended up being nothing, and this morning, she felt like an idiot. A huge one.

  Being it was Saturday, her usual plan to go over to the house to check on the status of the renovations was the only thing on her schedule.

  Since she was sinking her life savings into the old house, she needed to make sure everything was going smoothly. Plus, she wanted to finish painting the kitchen.

  The cabinets were done, but the walls were only spackled and primed, ready to complete. She hoped the yellow color she picked would help cheer up the dreary room. She wasn’t sure. The only thing she was sure of was she stunk at interior decorating. But she just couldn’t afford to hire—

  “Mmm. Smells good. Got enough for one more?”

  The spatula clattered into the pan, flinging bits of egg onto the stovetop. She took two deep breaths to try to slow her heart rate before retrieving the utensil and turning to face the intruder.

  The reason why she hadn’t gotten more than a few winks of sleep last night entered the small kitchen, pushing his slightly damp hair away from his face. He wore an old, threadbare black T-shirt and black sweatpants. Since when did ratty sweatpants ever look sexy on a man? And he was barefoot, his long toes wiggling against the cool linoleum floor.

  “Sure.”

  He looked at home grabbing the freshly squeezed grapefruit juice she had set on the table earlier and pouring himself a glass. Well, he should, she guessed, since it really was his home. Whether she liked it or not.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Of course,” she lied. She hid a chuckle with her hand when he made a disgusted face after the first swallow. The juice tasted a little bitter, and she preferred it that way. It was one reason why she squeezed it herself.

  Mace wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Jeez, any coffee?”

  Colby shook her head. “Don’t drink it.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? What sane person doesn’t like coffee?” He moved around the kitchen, opening cabinets until he found an old, stained coffee maker. He dragged it out, cleared some counter space, and plugged it in.

  “I try to eat healthy,” she explained.

  She couldn’t help but notice he himself looked quite healthy this morning. And, in the light of day, very edible. The cotton tee clung to his broad shoulders and the curves of his chest, accentuating his chiseled pecs. He hunted through the drawers, every little movement causing his biceps to flex against the snug sleeves of his shirt. He was built, but lean, not like an overly huge, ripped body builder. Those details hadn’t been visible last night when he wore that bulky jacket. She turned her attention back to the pan before he caught her drooling.

  Mace dug up some filters from a drawer and then went to the refrigerator. He let out a low curse and slammed the freezer door. “No coffee! You’d at least think my sister would have left some.” Suddenly, he was behind her, peering over her shoulder into the frying pan. “I thought eggs were bad for you.”

  The scent of fresh soap wafting over her, combined with his close body heat, caused her pulse to quicken. Despite not shaving his face this morning, in the light of day, he looked much less like the criminal she thought he was last night.

  Unless it was a crime to look that good.

  “Only if you eat them a lot. A couple a week won't kill you. They’re good protein.” She removed a loaf of multi-grain bread from the breadbox.

  “That’s good to know. I think I’m more worried about the gun you have killing me than a couple of artery-clogging eggs.”

  A chair scraped the floor behind her.

  “I slept well too, by the way. It was nice to be in my own bed,” he said.

  “Yeah, I bet those prison cots aren’t too comfortable.”

  She heard a half-assed groan. “Again? When are you going to stop with the prison cracks?”

  Colby shrugged and bit back a smile, popping four slices of bread into the toaster. “When I run out of them.”

  She schooled the humor from her face before turning. He studied her from where he sat at the table—most likely wondering why she was dressed like a construction worker. She wore her denim overalls over a plain white T-shirt with the oversized short sleeves rolled up. The clunky, steel-toed boots she had on weren’t very feminine either. Definitely not a sexy look for her, but you wouldn’t know it from his heated gaze.

  “Are you a construction worker?”

  “Sort of,” she replied, echoing his equivocation from last night. She plopped a tub of Irish butter on the table.

  “It’s a sin to keep that hair of yours pulled back.”

  She was close enough for him to tug on her long, heavy braid. The sight of his large hand sliding along her hair made her breath catch. And it wasn’t from fear. That was the scary part.

  She yanked her head, releasing her hair from his grasp, and stepped back, giving herself a cushion of safety. “Well, I have to tie it back to keep it out of paint and plaster.” She pointed the spatula at his hair. “Speaking of sin…It’s a sin for a man to have such long, full hair like yours. I bet some women are envious. Men, too.”

  He dragged a hand through it. “It needs a cut,” he admitted ruefully.

  Colby didn’t think so. It seemed to fit him. Not that she knew much about him. She wondered again why he had kept out of his sister’s life for two years. When she couldn't sleep last night, her head had filled with too many questions. A strange man sleeping just across the hallway didn’t help either. Yes, the lack of sleep could be attributed to her being cautious around a stranger, not because he disturbed her in other ways—ways she didn’t want to admit.

  Mace cut into her thoughts. “What are you painting and plastering?”

  “A house,” she said absently, scooping eggs onto two plates and then adding the toast. She slid a plate in front of him. “Don’t bother to ask for bacon.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He speared the eggs with his fork. “Whose house? Is that what you do for a living?”

  Colby rolled her eyes. “No way. It’s a dirty job.” She sat down and grabbed a small container from the center of the table. A swig of grapefruit juice helped her down a couple of vitamin supplements. She offered him the bottle. “Want some?”

  Mace shook his head and pulled out his own bottle from his pocket—the same bottle from last night. He popped two white, oblong pills. “I have my own.”

  “What are they?” Colby looked at the prescription curiously. Before she could read the label, he tucked it back in his pocket.

  “Strong vitamins.”

  Colby lifted an eyebrow at him but refrained from commenting. His business, his problem.

  “So, whose house are you getting dirty over?”

  She swallowed a mouthful of eggs. “Mine. I bought an old house. I’m fixing it up.”

  “By yourself?” He looked intrigued.

  She shook her head. “No. During the week, I have a contractor doing most of the work. On the weekends, I like to go out there and dawdle around. Do little things here and there. Most of the time, I end up sitting in the middle of a half-finished room, daydreaming about what it will look like when the project’s completed.”

  Mace polished off his breakfast and then eyed the lone piece of toast remaining on Colby’s plate. “Sounds like quite a task.”

  She offered the piece to him. He accepted, sinking his white teeth into the crispy toast while she still held it, barely grazing the tip of her finger. He grinned when she jerked her hand away.

  The only way she refrained from trembling was by curling her fingers into a fist while trying to keep on the subject at hand. She didn’t want him to know how he affected her. “It is. It’s all I’ve got. All my money—all the money I�
�ve earned—is in that house. I can’t wait until it’s finished.”

  Taking the empty plates over to the sink to wash them gave her an excuse to distance herself from him, but he followed right behind. He grabbed the dish towel before she could.

  So much for creating a little distance, since he stood close to take the wet dishes from her to help dry. And each time she handed him one, he would brush his fingers against hers. This did not help her nerves.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to build from scratch?”

  “Maybe. But that’s not the point. The house needed saving. I felt it in my bones the first time I saw it. I don’t think it’s right to tear down an old building just because it needs a little work. The house has history since many lives have gone through it. If only walls could talk.”

  “Maybe it’s better they can’t. Otherwise, I’d be blackmailed by many, many walls by now.”

  Colby leaned her hip against the counter, drying her hands. She considered his strong, angular jaw covered by light olive skin and dark stubble. “Ah, so you have done many bad things in your life, huh, Macen Walker?”

  “Just call me Mace. To answer your question: not necessarily. I just wouldn’t want all my shit out there. Good or bad. It’s my story to tell.”

  “Like why you’ve kept away from your sister for so long?”

  “There was a good reason for that, and I’d rather not talk about it.” He folded the dish towel with great care, placed it on the counter, and turned to face her. “Instead, I’d like to come along with you and see this house of yours which needs so much work.”

  His offer was the last thing she expected. He stepped a little closer, and for a moment, she thought he may grab her. Under normal circumstances, his proximity would be too close for her comfort; strange men made her uneasy. But this one…This one did something else to her—awoke some feelings she almost forgot about.

  Colby shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? She’d just met the guy, and all she could think about was how good-looking and mysterious he was, all wrapped up in a sexy package. Just looking at him caused her lower body to react. Her panties dampened, and her nipples pebbled almost painfully. This was not like her. Not at all.

  But he was Maxi’s brother. She trusted Maxi. And so far this morning, this man had been nothing but kind and, mostly, non-threatening. At this point, she had no reason not to trust him. Well, except for the little issue of where he had disappeared to for the last two years. There was that. Which was a little weird.

  It had been a while since she’d been alone with someone like him. A man who was all male, one who made her think of sex and not fear. And this morning, sex was all she could think about when she looked at Mace.

  She opened her mouth to turn him down, but instead, she said, “Great, but we’ll have to take your car.” She assumed he had one though she hadn’t bothered to look. “I

  planned on riding my bike over.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and he looked like he was about to question her but suddenly changed his mind. “No problem. We’ll take my truck.” He gave her a quick smile. “I’ll go get ready.”

  Colby watched him leave the kitchen to change. The last thing she expected was for a mysterious man to come walking into her life. And she should be afraid, very afraid. Suddenly, her quiet little life, one she had worked very hard for, was going to get flipped upside down. She wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

  And if he thought he would remain mysterious, he was wrong. Dead wrong.

  Mace parked his F-150 extended cab in front of the huge, looming old house. It took all his strength to close his dropped jaw. Overgrown, weedy rose bushes surrounded the monstrosity. The lawn appeared barren in some spots and overgrown in others. He tried not to cringe when he saw it, but Colby caught him.

  “Oh, it won’t be so bad after a fresh coat of paint and the wrap-around porch is repaired. I have a landscaper coming in a couple of weeks to take care of the yard.”

  Mace didn’t have the heart to tell her it needed more than that. Way more. The old copper gutters—blackish-green from weathering—hung away from the eaves in places, some of the shutters were MIA and the rest…the rest should be just torn down. Hell, he could see the porch roof sagging from where he sat.

  “You have to see the inside to really appreciate it.” She jumped out of the truck, and he followed reluctantly.

  “I’m sure,” he murmured.

  He really doubted it. What he didn’t doubt was how she felt about the place. Colby’s face lit up when they walked through the wrought iron gate. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. And that eye wasn’t in his head. He thought the house looked like it was the set of a horror movie—a “B” movie at best.

  The only beauty on this property was the slender redhead walking in front of him. He found himself mesmerized by the rock-n-roll of her hips. Even in those god-awful denim overalls, she was fuckable. His cock got hard just thinking about it. Sliding into her tight, wet—

  “Careful.” She took his elbow when they reached the porch and guided him cautiously, apparently knowing just where to step to avoid the rotting floorboards.

  Good thing she showed him the way because her luscious lips sorely distracted him. When she ran her tongue across them, he bit back a groan. Damn, he was no better than a horny teenager. But he couldn’t deny he wanted those lips on a certain hard part of his anatomy. Hell, anywhere on his body would work.

  When they got to the entryway, Colby stopped short, the smile on her face widening. Mace closed his eyes for a second, willing himself to behave. When he opened them again, the first thing he saw was the front double doors needed a good scraping and a fresh coat of paint. Even so, Colby ran her fingers lovingly over one of the oval, stained glass panels. His cock jerked with every slide of her fingers. He desperately wanted to reach down and adjust himself. But he fought it. Hard.

  “Just look at these. I can’t walk into this house without stopping to admire these beautiful doors. I had the stained glass replaced in them. When I bought the place, almost all the windows in the house were broken.”

  Once he could think straight, Mace had to admit the doors were pretty nice. But he couldn’t base his opinion on the house by the front doors alone; he was now curious about the inside. It couldn’t be worse and not be boarded up, even condemned.

  “How long have you owned it?”

  “The bank and I have owned it for five months.”

  “I’m surprised the bank would mortgage a project like this.”

  Colby turned to him in surprise. “Why?”

  Ah fuck. Foot meet mouth. “Uh, because it…” Because it was a dump, and no loan officer in his right mind would—“Because insurance. I bet it was difficult to insure something this old.”

  “Nope. No problem.” She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  Good. She had insurance on it. The best thing would be to burn the place down and start from scratch. If only insurance fraud wasn’t a federal offense. He shook his head, following her over the threshold.

  Later, Mace had to admit the place had character and understood why Colby loved it so much. She was doing a good job restoring it with the help of the contractors. But obviously, it would be a long, slow process.

  They sat on the floor in the empty, oversized dining room. Their “picnic” lunch was spread out on a drop cloth in the center of a wood floor in desperate need of refinishing. Colby had packed leftover fried chicken and some homemade potato salad.

  From the two meals she fed him so far, she seemed a decent cook. He could get used to eating like this very easily. Eating by himself in greasy dumps or fast food restaurants had gotten old quickly. They ate in companionable silence until they were both full. But he wasn’t fully sated…yet.

  With a food-induced contented sigh, Mace stared up at the intricate woodwork bordering the ceiling and the walls. At least the stained wainscoting, which lined the walls below a chair rail, appeared in decent shape and didn’t need a co
at of paint. “This house is pretty large for one person.”

  “Yep. But I love big houses. And I don’t mind living alone. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself now.”

  Although it caught his attention, he let the “now” part go for the moment. “I’ve noticed,” he answered instead, thinking about the gun she had stashed in her purse. She brought it along, probably believing he wouldn’t know. But Mace knew. It was part of his inherent survival instinct. Not to mention, his experience.

  Why did she feel compelled to carry it in the first place? He didn’t know many women who carried weapons unless they were law enforcement. So why Colby? Did she feel unsafe around him, or was there some other reason?

  That would be something he would have to look into if—when—he got to know her better. And on that note, nothing like the present to get started… “Are you planning on filling up these rooms?”

  He forced down another bite of delicious salad, then glanced up in time to catch Colby licking chicken juice off her finger with the pointy tip of her tongue. Something suddenly throbbed, and it wasn’t his leg.

  He’d probably scare the shit out of her if she knew how hard he was at the moment. He needed to be patient. Patience was one virtue he did have since he worked undercover. He could manipulate and “work” almost any situation to his favor. However, he wasn’t on the job right now, and his cock begged for release.

  “I attend estate auctions whenever I can, along with the occasional antiquing. I think that’s the best way to find furniture to match this house. Don’t you?”

  He blew out a breath, clearing his thoughts. It was a struggle to stay on the topic at hand, and he fought the urge to suggest them doing something besides talking. Something more along the lines of getting naked.

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant fill it up with family, with kids.” Talking about the future, family, and kids was enough to get his horniness under control. Somewhat. He’d take what he could get.

  “Oh.” Colby picked up a paper napkin to wipe her lips. “Someday, I guess.”