by Jayne Blue
“Maybe I didn’t nuke it long enough.”
“Nukeit? What is nukeit?” She was using an English phrase he did not understand.
“You know microwave it.” She pointed to the kitchen.
“You don’t nukeit coffee you brew it. You grind it then brew it or even press it. But you don’t nukeit to coffee as you say.”
“Well, la dee dah. You’re on for the next pot then.”
All he could think was that he should not be here at all much less be here for a next pot.
“Oui,” He said oui even when he was telling himself to stop engaging with this engaging woman.
Raleigh pressed a roller to his chest and breezed by him to a ladder.
“I’m going to try to cut in the ceiling trim. You get to rolling, Frenchie.” Mace watched as she climbed up a ladder that he had no confidence in. He moved forward to hold on to it as she perched on the top. He could not deny it was an excellent view looking up at her.
“I am not sure about this ladder and with the seizure, is it safe for you?”
“It wouldn’t have been without a buddy, but now I have a buddy, quit stalling buddy and start painting.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Miss, and hey Mace, do catch me if I fall okay? That’s how the buddy system works.”
“Yes, buddy system.” Nukeit and Buddy System. He was learning all types of new English today.
He dipped his roller and got to work. Before long, they were engaged in an easy back and forth about each other.
“You work from home eh?” He wondered about what she did from the moment they met.
“Yes, I’m a computer security expert. A total geek but it pays my rent.”
“I would not have guessed you for a computer person.”
“We come in all shapes and sizes Mace. So how did you get into MMA fighting?”
“I am not an MMA fighter.”
“Mrs. Strong said you were on an MMA tour and then last night you looked like an MMA fighter. SO if it quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
“I am confused.”
“Forget it.”
He was surprised at how easy it was to want to share with her. He had not opened up to anyone since he fled Europe. It was nice and for a moment, he forgot how dangerous it could be.
“I just train. I am also a good sparring partner for the fighters to work out with. I do the unsanctioned event under the table like last night for extra money. Nothing really professional about it.”
“Well, tell that to the other guy. His face was professionally rearranged.”
They laughed, painted, and Mace found his eyes wandering to her long legs, her derriere, and mentally slapped himself.
He hated to admit it, but the morning he had spent painting with Raleigh was the best time he had had in literally years. The realization reminded him why and he forced himself to turn inward. He must put up his guard.
It was best to be quieter and squelch the curiosity she had about him.
“There, how does it look?” She had finished the trim.
“For a computer hacker you are a très bien painter.”
“Merci.” She started to climb down and the ladder again looked like it would topple so Mace quickly grabbed it to steady it.
He should have stepped back when she got to the last few steps, but he did not. Raleigh climbed down the final steps and was caged between his arms, her back to him, and she brushed against him as she reached the ground. He smelled her neck. His neighbor said she was a computer geek, but he thought temptress was a better word for her. He was fiercely tempted.
Mace wanted to reach around her and slide his hands into those short shorts. But he did not. The moment passed. He was disappointed and grateful in the same breath.
Mace stepped back away from her. She was teasing him and quietly daring him. He knew. He also knew he would have to resist. Thank God, the painting was almost over.
She did not push it further and grabbed a roller. The two of them finished her wall quietly, they worked side by side, but he had effectively stopped her questions and deliberately turned cold to her.
Raleigh
The wall looked awesome despite the fact her painting assistant was driving her nuts. He was hot and then just when she got close he had shut down. But she was not a quitter. Once she set her mind to something Raleigh was persistent. She knew this about herself and it was how she would survive her epilepsy alone without any help. Mace really was not a match for her determination she decided.
Most men bragged, wanted you to know their list of accomplishments, not this guy. He was quiet, humble, and even mysterious. There was for sure a story there and she was curious to find out what it was. She had been in her own head so much since the accident it was good to have something else to think about.
She wanted to crack the firewall he was living behind. Raleigh decided that fate dropped a handsome neighbor next door. She may be afraid to venture too far, but next door she could do.
“So are we even?” He asked her.
Raleigh had been stealing little glances of his chest in that tight t-shirt so her mind was otherwise occupied and mistook the meaning of his question.
“I think it looks pretty even. I’ll know in a day after it’s totally dry.” She assessed their handy work.
“No, I mean is my debt paid to you?” Their communication was good, but his English left room for some crossed signals.
Mace was trying to get out of there. Raleigh realized it with heaviness in her heart. But she gave it one more try. She looked him squarely in the eye, no flirting, just a little taunt in his general direction.
“Your debt? Let’s see. I fed, cared for, and pretty much doted on the love of your life for nearly three weeks. Does one measly wall seem even to you?” Not so fast gorgeous French neighbor, not so fast she thought.
“It does not seem even. I am still in debt it appears.”
“It appears.” She tried another gambit.
”You hungry?” She realized they had worked through lunch and it was near dinnertime. She was starving.
“Yes, I am.”
“I can make us some pasta?”
“I’ll clean up your painting supplies in the meantime,” Mace offered.
“Perfect plan.” He got to work collecting brushes and consolidating paint trays. Raleigh began making the one meal she had a marginal grip on how to prepare.
But apparently, she did not. She felt a hand on hers as she was about to dump the box of spaghetti noodles in the water and turn it on.
“What is this?” Mace had her wrist in his hands. She felt that same jolt of current between them. He had to feel it too because he removed his hand as if he had stuck it in an electrical socket.
“I am putting pasta in water.”
“Pasta from a box and water not even started to ze boil?”
“Ze boil? No, I guess not. So?”
“You’re a disaster in the kitchen I see.”
“Well. I,” she thought about trying to defend herself but realized that was useless, “Yes, I’m going to go with yes I am a disaster in the kitchen.”
“Let me.” She watched as Mace took the noodles out of her hand and set them aside.
“You have fresh tomatoes or just this can?” He asked her and looked disgusted.
“The can. But it is a really good can.”
“Hmmph.” This was some sort of French word or noise that she could not translate.
Mace started water, rummaged through her cabinets, and essentially took over. It was heaven.
She had no knowledge, skill, or desire to cook. She nuked her frozen meals and usually ate them at her computer screen. Maybe if he cooked for her occasionally, she would actually get the courage to walk all the way to the farmer’s market and buy real ingredients.
Of course, that was getting ahead of herself. What was eminent was a delicious plate of pasta.
Mace was clearly in his element. The scary looking muscle man wa
s focused and intent on creating dinner where she was just going to heat it up and hope for the best.
Watching him cook was not all that different than watching him fight. He commanded his space, he moved fluidly and with confidence.
Before long, he had pasta, sauce, and even garlic bread. She had forgotten to buy that and he made it? Not even possible in her mind.
“Sit.” He pulled out a chair for her and then wrapped a kitchen towel around her neck. She was not used to being ordered to do anything but, in this case, she complied. She was hungry and it smelled delicious.
“Open.” And she did. Mace slid a fork full of pasta into her mouth. With his own take on the rudimentary ingredients she had, he had created something fantastic. She moaned. It was delicious. Perfect and unintentionally sexy as hell.
“Well?”
“It’s fantastic. I love it. You’re amazing.” She was not exaggerating and she closed her eyes and opened her mouth for another bite. Mace provided one.
“Imagine what we could do with an actual tomato,” He said and she laughed.
“I’ll buy you all the produce you want if I can have another mouthful of that.” She saw his jaw clench. Aha. He was thinking what she was thinking.
As she focused on his delicious food, she also found a new line of conversation. Her questions about his MMA fighting had effectively shut him up but food? That topic opened the floodgates. He nearly gushed and Raleigh was able to get a look at what was behind tall, French, and muscular.
“My father is a baker, my mother excellent at preparing all else. I grew up in a small village in the valley, uh, you would say wine country, so food and wine are everything. Canned sauce. Don’t ever tell her.”
“I’m properly ashamed and will never speak of it again.”
“Good. Now let me get these dishes.” He stood up and began to clear the table. What? How is this guy available? Looks like a god, cooks like an angel, and now he is cleaning up? It was too much.
Raleigh insisted on washing the dishes, though. It was only fair. She nudged him away from the sink and took over the task.
Mace worked behind her, drying dishes, putting them back, and tsk-tsking the state of her pantry. It was fairly meager and admittedly sub-par for anyone who knew a thing or two about food.
Mace reached around her as she stood at the sink. She felt his hard chest brush against her back. And then he was still.
Something in the air had shifted between them and she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. She was going to give seduction one more try.
She tilted her head back onto his shoulders and arched her body. She sank into him. Her body insisted on it.
Mace ran his lips down the side of her neck and she felt his hands slide around her hips and press them close to him. She felt herself sway into his powerful frame. She felt the strong evidence of his attraction to her no matter how cold he wanted to play it.
She wanted him to take her, right there, on her kitchen table, her counter, wherever. She had never been overwhelmed or swept off her feet like this.
She wanted to be swept away.
Mace’s hands roved up over her breasts. She wanted him to rip off her clothes. She wanted to do the same to him. He had unlocked some wild part of her and it had taken only seconds. They had been talking canned tomatoes for god’s sake. She still had a dishrag in her hand.
She wanted her mouth on his. To touch more of him. To have him in her hands. She bucked back and turned to face him. His hands slid around to cup her ass and his lips locked on hers.
Their second kiss was hotter than the first one in the alley. And that had been the hottest of her life. His tongue invaded her lips and she opened to him. Her mouth her body, whatever he wanted, she wanted to give.
Then he stopped again. Again?? He pulled back.
Mace looked at her with what she could only categorize as pain in his eyes. His hands were still pulling her close.
“What?” She felt confused. Why had he stopped? What the hell was going on? Is this some weird French thing?
All those thoughts were running through her mind and at the same time, a heat had built in her core that ached to be satisfied. What had this man done to her in seconds?
“We cannot. I cannot be involved. We must stop.”
“Excuse me? Was it something I did?” She became unsure of herself. Raleigh hated being unsure of herself. She was sick of it. There had been nothing but fear and doubt since her accident and she was fed up. She knew he wanted her and yet he kept pushing her away.
“You did everything right. It is a dangerous thing to be ah, involved, with me.” He stepped away from her. She felt bereft when his hands left her body.
“I’m a grown woman. I can handle myself. What do you mean dangerous?”
“I have to go. Let me know if I can repay you for your services. I’ll pay cash.” He turned and walked out. Raleigh was worked up, pissed off, and determined to not let Mace Alois under her skin again.
She flung a glass at the wall and it shattered into a million pieces. She shocked herself. That little outburst would not be in her log. There was a lot that would not be in her log over the last few days. Dr. Hardy would blush if he read what she’d been up to the last few days. Or almost up to.
She did not need her log to tell her that she was in near agony when Mace stopped himself with her.
Then the word 'dangerous' rang in her ears.
It is a dangerous thing to be involved with Mace Alois? What did he mean?
She had to admit, she did not even know who Mace Alois was. Maybe it was time to find out. Time to hack that firewall.
Chapter Five
Mace
He had not been a monk. He was a man after all. But it had been so long that he felt anything more than just a casual and temporary affair with a woman that it was stirring pain and desire in a torturous mixture.
He would not be able to stop with Raleigh. She was strong, funny, independent, and yet vulnerable.
Every inch of her drew him closer. This was not some casual way to pass the time or satisfy a momentary urge. That is where the terror came in.
Mace’s past was far away. Surely five years was enough time? Surely an ocean, a continent, and his quiet existence were enough protection.
These thoughts ran through his head as he went to work them out at the GWG.
He was punishing a heavy bag for the past when Sawyer, the manager of the GWG approached him. Sawyer was not a fighter, he was a biker, and bikers owned this place. That is what he had heard anyway. By the look of Sawyer, it was true.
Did MC mean gangsters? Mafia? That was what he did not know. That was what he had tried to avoid.
When he first worked out here, there was just the old man trainer, now this Sawyer, with leather patches, and a very distinct feeling that Great Wolves was a bigger operation than just MMA gyms.
“What that bag do to you brother?” Sawyer took a place on the other side and steadied it as Mace punched. Mace issued a 'humph' noise in return. He did not like questions from anyone and they seemed to be coming from all directions lately.
“Whitey tells me you don’t have any interest in a bankroll to go pro.”
“I do not need help going pro.” Mace was not the young naïve and hungry fighter he had been growing up in France or like the men here, willing to do anything for a professional contract from the 21C Fighting League.
“I looked you up.” That phrase set his teeth on edge and Mace stopped punching the bag and looked Sawyer in the eyes. Was that a threat? What did he really know?
“You’ve never lost and yet you don’t fight anymore. Haven’t for years. One fight away from the European light heavyweight title and poof. You disappear.”
Mace did not answer, but he looked Sawyer in the eyes. Did he know more? Was it time to run again?
“Your motorcycle club, is it dirty?”
“Dirty?” Sawyer raised an eyebrow at him.
“Is it connected to
other activities?”
“I’d say we’re clean as a whistle these days Mace. Now, how about you answer my question? Why’d you quit fighting?”
“Personal reasons.” And he left it at that. Americans could be very nosy.
“Ah, well too bad. You are better than the guys we want to sponsor this year. I know it. Saw it when you were in Zeke Powell’s corner. It is a shame you do not want to give it a run here. Seems like personal reasons have taken Powell out of the game, too.”
“It happens.” Mace went back to punching the bag. He hoped the questions were over.
Sawyer was quiet and direct but not satisfied with Mace’s evasions. Mace returned to punching the bag.
“As far as I’m concerned you’re a GWG fighter and it’s no one’s damn business if you want to keep a low profile. Even though you think you are some sort of lone French wolf. I consider you a Great Wolf Gym guy. So you do your thing. We got your back here.” Sawyer handed him a card with a number on it.
“Just keep it. I might come in handy someday.” Sawyer left him to think about his next move and how quickly he needed to make it. It was clear that Sawyer had suspicions about Mace. Rightly so.
Raleigh
Raleigh was determined to learn more about Mace, but he was not making it easy. He was not on Facebook, Twitter, or any social network she knew about.
Google provided some insight. He was an MMA fighter. Mrs. Strong had that exactly right. But it was a long time ago. Headlines from over five years ago were tough to find and then she had to translate them from French to English. It was a process, which took her longer than she had wanted to spend.
In the end, she found that Mace Alois was as badass as he appeared on the surface. In the six fights she could decipher that had been covered in the European press, he had won them all. Words like “ride” and “vicious ground game” and other things she had no idea what they meant kept popping up in the articles.
What she did not find was a title or a loss. Which, while her sports knowledge was limited, seemed incongruous.
If he never lost, why wasn't there a million dollar lifestyle and a bunch of shiny belts in his apartment? Hell, why did he even live in an apartment in the Midwest? There were so many gaps she finally gave up.