Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
He leans across the seat and for a second, I think he’s going to help me with my seatbelt. But instead, he reaches into the glovebox and yanks out sunscreen and a purple floppy hat. He takes a second to apply the lotion before placing the hat on her head.
He explains to me, “She’s at very high risk of sunburn and skin cancer because she’s albino.”
“Is that why she’s so pink everywhere?” I noticed earlier her nose and ears are a shade of soft pink that I’ve never seen on a cat before.
She curls up next to Trace’s thigh. She’s on the seat between us, purring in complete contentment.
He starts the truck and reaches for the stick shift. His big hand grasps it with ease. His biceps bulge as he works the shaft. “Yeah, and her depth perception is off. Sometimes, she runs into things. She’s a happy girl other than that.”
I’d be a happy girl if I had someone like Trace looking out for me too.
Classical music starts playing from the speakers and Trace says, “Watch this.”
He flips the station to one that plays today’s hits, and his cat meows. First once then a second time. She grows louder with each meow until it sounds like she’s singing along with the pop song. He flips it back to classical music and she instantly quiets.
He chuckles, the sound a soft rumble in the cozy truck cab. “She does it with every station but this one. Apparently, my girl likes Chopin and Liszt.”
I laugh. “You have a cat with an ear for classical music.”
He pulls to a stop in front of another log cabin. Only this one is a lot bigger but still just as pretty. Excitement bubbles up in me as I realize where we are. “Is this your workshop?”
He grunts in agreement. “I’ll show you around before we unload.”
I follow him into the workshop after he unlocks the door and disarms the security system. Several large worktables are arranged in various sections of the warehouse over the concrete floors. Tools and safety gear are carefully hung on the walls. But it’s the beautiful statue in one corner that causes my breath to catch in my throat.
The shiny metal gleams in the light as I get closer. At first glance, it’s just a nude woman, but the more I look at it, the more I see the hidden message. She’s not just a woman. She’s a dragon, fierce and powerful and mighty.
“You’re an artist,” I breathe, now fully understanding what he does. “You’re an artist like me.”
5
TRACE
You’re an artist like me.
When she says the words, pride fills my chest. We’re alike in this. More than that, she likes what I make. I can’t explain why I made that piece. It’s entirely different from anything else I’ve ever created.
More than that, I’ve never been able to part with it. I just couldn’t bring myself to sell it. Now I think I know why. I wasn’t making that for anyone else. I was designing it for her. She is the strong woman with a fierce dragon inside. I just have to get her to see that.
She glances at me, a question in her gaze.
I nod, giving her permission.
With trembling fingers, she reaches for the statue and runs her fingertips across the metal surface. Seeing her hands on my art has my cock lengthening and my breath coming in desperate pants.
The beast in me wants her hands on me that way. I want her rubbing my skin and murmuring those little nothings under her breath. Would she do that? Touch me if she understood what I am? Who I am?
I’ve tried to atone for where I come from, but it’ll never be enough. Men like me are dangerous. We deserve to be locked up. The best thing I can do is keep my distance from the pretty little thing in my workshop. Even knowing that, I find myself moving close to her, standing behind her.
My whole body is aching with the need to touch her, to wrap that long pretty braid around my fist and tug her head back so I can press kisses to the column of her throat.
I’ve been alone for decades without touching someone, without getting touched in return. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that it didn’t hurt. That being isolated didn’t leave me aching at night, wishing I had someone to come home to.
But this woman right here, she’s making it hard for me to believe those things. She’s making me ache for a different future. One that she’s a part of.
She turns around and nearly bumps into me. She makes a soft squeak of surprise.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, dropping my head and angling close to her. I can feel her breath against my lips, see the way her pupils have grown wide.