Titanium (Rent-A-Dragon Book 3) Read online

  The man disappeared out of his view beneath him, and a second later, he heard the doorbell ring faintly.

  It took an ample amount of Titus’s self-control to not leap down out of the attic, run for the door, and boot the man off Bree’s porch. But the last thing he needed to do was upset Bree in any way. Already, he was inserting himself into her life pretty aggressively. Last night had been a big stretch for her, letting Titus stay at the house and work, in exchange for a portrait of all things.

  If he pushed too hard, she might put her foot down on the whole project. And that would be counterproductive to courting the woman he was certain was his mate (though it certainly couldn’t stop him from pursuing her entirely).

  Besides, it was probably just a neighbor or something coming over to borrow a cup of sugar or whatever it was humans asked their neighbors for.

  A second ring sounded, and he heard Bree get up from the stool, followed by walking as her steps grew gradually fainter, disappearing toward the bottom floor.

  Titus took another nail from his mouth and knocked it into the board, distracting himself.

  But even several floors away, he could vaguely hear the conversation happening on Bree’s porch.

  And when he heard cordial talking change to louder, more angered sounds, Titus could wait no longer to intervene.

  The nails dropped from his mouth, and he sprang for the opening into the attic, lowering himself quickly out of the hole and into her loft. He ran for the stairs, taking them three at a time but cushioning his steps so as to not shake the entire house or knock over her paintings.

  When he reached the bottom floor, the front door in sight, he could make out Bree’s back, arms gesturing as she talked exasperatedly. Before her, Titus could vaguely make out the shape of the man he’d seen a moment ago. Only now, the easy carefreeness had been replaced by petulant vehemence.

  “I keep seeing your dog out on my property, and I’ll have to do something about it,” the man threatened.

  “Biff never goes across the road. He knows better. The only place he’ll go is to the edge of my fence,” Bree said, upset. Next to her, Biff stood erect, growling defensively.

  The dragon inside Titus roared, wanting to kick the man bodily off his mate’s land. But that would no doubt intimidate or even scare Bree, and he didn’t need that.

  So instead, he came up behind Bree, standing ominously, arms crossed.

  “That’s bullshit. Why, just yesterday, I saw… uh,” the man said, sentence fading as his attention rose from Bree to Titus.

  “Can I help you?” Titus asked, practically growling.

  Bree jumped slightly, turning over her shoulder to look up at Titus, who she hadn’t even realized had been standing there.

  “I… her dog,” the neighbor stammered.

  “Do you have any proof of this apparent violation?” Titus glowered, unblinking, as he watched his prey. Titus wished he would give him an excuse to manhandle him.

  “Well, no,” he said, deflating.

  “Then I suggest you leave, seeing as how you’re trespassing now.”

  It didn’t take more for the guy to get the hint, and he turned on his heel and quickly walked away, proverbial tail between his legs. And when he turned back to send one more menacing glance, Titus was watching, glaring right back at him.

  Crisis averted.

  However, when he looked down to Bree, it was clear his mate was still upset.

  “What’s wrong?” Titus asked as the man reached the end of the drive and crossed the road, presumably back to where he’d come from.

  “It’s just… my neighbors are so frustrating. I know Biff doesn’t cross the property line. I’ve watched him. He has enough free space to roam around just on my land. And it’s fenced off so he knows he’s not supposed to go over there. But still, these guys keep harassing me, threatening me,” she said, waving a hand in the direction the man had left.

  Biff looked up a Titus innocently. He believed what she said.

  “What kinds of threats?” Titus asked, instantly on alert at the thought that anyone was threatening Bree.

  “Nothing serious,” she said with a beleaguered sigh. “It just gets on my nerves, though.”

  Titus ushered her back into the house, closing the door behind her.

  “Don’t answer the door alone, okay?” Titus insisted.

  Bree just raised an eyebrow. “Always with the odd requests, given that you’re my hired contractor.”

  “The safety of my client is my number-one priority, remember?”

  “I guess so. Fine. Not that anything would happen anyway,” she said.

  “Good, then that’s settled,” he said, following her as she headed upstairs, back to the loft, Biff close behind. “What were you working on anyway?”

  She exhaled in slight frustration, looking over to the easel where her paint supplies and a white canvas were situated.

  “It’s hard. I was hoping to get some painting done today, but it’s really difficult to work with the hammering going on. And I know it’s not your fault. I just hadn’t thought through the fact that getting my house fixed would involve some noise.”

  Titus didn’t take it personally. Instead, he thought of a possible solution.

  “How about this?” he proposed. “Given that you’re the homeowner, how would you like to learn a little about patching a ceiling?”

  “Sure, why not? I’ll need to know how to do this after you’re gone anyway,” she said with a shrug.

  Titus inwardly flinched at the exclamation but was undeterred.

  Biff seemed to like the idea, and he gave out an excited woof.

  “Sorry, Biff, but you can’t come. Too clumsy,” Titus said as he lowered the ladder into the attic, now sure it was reinforced and safe for use.

  “What if I fall? Or mess something up?” she asked, looking unsure as Titus climbed up first.

  He reached a hand down for her to grab as she ascended.

  “You can trust me.”

  “So when do you want me to start on your painting?” Bree asked when they were done with lunch and quietly relaxing. They’d eaten late in the afternoon after getting lots done working together.

  It had been surprisingly peaceful working alongside him and only continued to build her trust in the mysterious man who’d come to help her.

  Somehow, he’d known just what to do to make her stop thinking about the neighbor and all the other stresses that had appeared in her life and gotten her to just set her mind elsewhere.

  The only problem with hanging out with him was she didn’t know where to put her eyes with such a handsome, sexy, huge guy around her.

  She’d told him she’d have no problem staying professional, but the more he showed what a patient, nice man he was, the harder that seemed.

  Weird.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “We could do a session now. Take a break from hard labor.” He licked the tip of his thumb where some sauce from his sandwich had been, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek without thinking.

  “Ouch.”

  “You okay?” he asked, instantly concerned.

  “I’m fine,” she said, feeling stupid. “Yeah, we could do a session now. I could use a break. Not that any labor is ‘hard labor’ for you. You make it all look so easy.”

  “It’s what I was born for,” he said.

  “Building things?”

  “Fixing things. Protecting things. Being useful in general,” he said. “So what should I wear? I only brought a few work outfits with me.”

  “Um, whatever you want,” she said. “I can also just make something up for you, if there’s something you’ve ever wanted to see yourself in.”

  “Green,” he said. “I want you to paint me in all green. And on the shirt, I want it to say, ‘The best green dragon.’”

  She gave him a puzzled, amused glance. “Excuse me?”

  “Inside joke,” he murmured. “Well, what do you think I’d look good in?”
/>   Anything, her heart said. Especially naked, some other part of her said.

  Shame on you, she told herself, perving on him when he was doing so well at keeping his word and being professional.

  She’d thought he was joking about women having a hard time falling for him, but he was right. Trying not to crush on a Viking with a heart of gold and serious handyman skills was pretty difficult.

  She sighed.

  “What is it?” he asked. “You aren’t still upset about that neighbor thing, are you? Because if he comes around again—”

  “No, no,” she said, cutting him off. Oof, he was so protective, too. But she remembered she had to guard her heart. After all, the last guy who swept her off her feet, who made it seem as if he were solving all her problems… “Anyway, I’ll figure it out as I go.”

  “Okay,” he said, helping her clear away the dishes and clean up lunch.

  “You go change into your most form-fitting tee shirt,” she said. “Your tightest jeans. It’s best if I have a sense of your muscles to paint them.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “I can wear nothing.”

  She snorted. “No. I already told you.”

  “Hey, you were the one saying you needed to see my muscles.” He shrugged those giant, beautiful shoulders. “Not my fault.”

  “I know,” she said, feeling a blush burn its way up her neck and into her cheeks. “Just get out of here.” She shoved on his back, pushing him out of the kitchen so she could calm down. “Go change.”

  “Rude,” he said flatly, but then he jogged up the stairs, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

  She took and released a deep breath, wondering how she was ever going to manage to paint him when it seemed hard to breathe every time she looked at him.

  When she’d agreed to paint his portrait, she hadn’t thought she’d be this affected by him, as if every minute in his presence made her less immune to his considerable charms.

  She’d never had a problem painting a subject before, but she’d never met someone like Titus.

  Someone strong and dependable, who Biff liked, and who really was only here to work on her house and for no other reason at all.

  Well, she’d just have to do her best, she thought, rolling up her sleeves and heading upstairs to put on an apron and wait for her subject.

  4

  As he perched on a stool with one hip, wearing his tightest clothing, Titus wondered if being the subject of a painting was always this uncomfortable.

  Truthfully, all human clothing was tight, but he wasn’t sure it was the kind of tight where she could see his muscles well enough.

  She was sitting on a stool of her own, the top of her head visible over the top of her easel when she was focused on the canvas, her eyes and nose visible when she looked up at him.

  He felt his entire body heat up as those hot, turquoise eyes studied him, and he was glad for his position and his tight jeans that would keep him from giving away any reaction.

  He had been admired before, by many maidens in many villages, especially because of his hair, which he’d always been fairly vain about. But this was different.

  He’d underestimated the power of his mate’s eyes. There was a heat there, slowly building, stoked by the trust between them, calling out to him, making it hard not to answer.

  Hard. Literally.

  He adjusted his position slightly, and she tsked, glaring at him over the canvas.

  “How long will this session be, do you think?” he asked, trying to stay still.

  “Shut up,” she said. “I’m really on a roll here.” Her eyes came up to devour him for a moment before she focused back on the canvas, her hands moving rapidly.

  He sighed. “My butt is tiring.”

  “You said you wanted a portrait,” she said. “You’re doing such a great job on the house, so I’m trying to give you an equally good job on the work I’m doing for you.”

  He was flattered by the compliment, but he hoped she really didn’t consider this hard work. He didn’t really require anything from her but being happy.

  He’d just suggested this as a trade so she didn’t think he was a creep who wanted something else.

  Except he kind of was a creep who wanted something else. He did have a different motive than he’d spoken. But he’d learned enough about her to know he wouldn’t want to tell her that. Not until things were stronger between them.

  Still, it was almost impossible to stay still with his curvy mate watching him. Her gaze was hotter than dragon fire.

  “Talk to me,” he croaked out, his throat feeling tight. “Give me something to focus on.”

  “Is the chair really that uncomfortable?” she asked, moving her hand gracefully over the canvas.

  No, his erection was really that uncomfortable. Trying to stop himself from flying across the room to make love to her was uncomfortable. Wondering if she could ever feel about him the way he already felt about her was uncomfortable.

  “Tell me about the house,” he said. “Where you came from, why you bought it.”

  She glared. “I will if you stop moving.”

  “I promise,” he said sharply. Anything to take his mind off his predicament. And getting to know his mate was a bonus on top of that. They’d already talked somewhat while working, but more about general stuff—how she’d become an artist, her inspiration, things like that.

  “I just knew it was the right place when I saw it,” she said. “So much wide-open space. I mean, I loved the house, too, though I didn’t really understand what rough shape it was in. I actually paid cash, so I was able to skip the inspection. Which was stupid, but I was in a hurry to be out on my own. In my own place, where no one could bother me without my permission.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Who was bothering you?”

  “Who said someone was bothering me?”

  “Well, you said you wanted to go somewhere no one would bother you, which sounds like a change, so someone was bothering you.”

  She paused her painting and looked up at him, blue-green eyes wide as she thought. “You’re perceptive, you know that?”

  “Yes, I am,” he replied. Perceptive enough to know he was getting close to something she didn’t want to tell him. Something he definitely wanted to know.

  “I guess I can trust you. So I started painting in college, after moving away from my controlling father. And after I graduated, I was recruited by this gallery to work for them. The guy running it really liked my work.”

  Titus didn’t like where this was going.

  “Anyway, I got an apartment in the same building as the gallery. It was owned by the gallery owner, and he let me rent it so I could be there to check on the art. He also liked my art, and after a while, he let me display my own stuff for sale there.”

  “Nice,” Titus said, lips tight. He hoped she would mistake his taut jealousy for simply trying not to move too much.

  “Well, anyway… I became really successful, and he became really controlling.” She began painting again, her shoulders moving as she made smooth strokes. Her eyes were on him, then on the canvas, and he felt burned every time.

  “And?”

  “And I don’t know if he was jealous of my success, or maybe it had always been too good to be true, him helping me right out of college and taking me under his wing, but he got pretty dark on me.”

  “Dark?”

  “He didn’t want to let me leave. Other galleries were interested in my work, but he flew off the handle, claiming I’d signed contracts I hadn’t signed, claiming he would ruin me in the art world if I didn’t…”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Be his exclusively.”

  Titus felt like he’d swallowed a bunch of lead. “Exclusively his how?”

  “Maybe just for painting, maybe for something else,” she said. “I ran. As long as I was living in his rental, I didn’t have control. I’d already had enough from my dad, and it hurt to think I thought I’d found a safe place only to be a
trapped bird once again.”

  “I can’t ever see you as a trapped bird,” Titus said. “You’re too much of a free spirit.”

  She looked at him over the painting, a few stray wisps of hair dancing in the breeze from one of the open windows. “I want to be. I really want to be, Titus. I don’t want to ever be tied down again. It always goes wrong.”

  Uh-oh.

  He hoped his sheer panic didn’t show on his face. He’d gone into this thinking she’d met some real jerks, but as soon as she realized he wasn’t one, she’d be open to him.

  He hadn’t realized it was much more complex than that, because at least one of the jerks hadn’t started as a jerk.

  And had only become a jerk when he wanted her all to himself.

  Like Titus did.

  “Wow,” Titus said. “What an ass. So why are you still scared of him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You get nervous just talking about him. I can… tell.” He could actually scent her fear in the air. Just something he could do as a dragon.

  “Because he found out where I live, and when he saw the house, he threatened to get me evicted. Get it inspected and condemned. He has to know I sank everything I have into it, and he thinks I would have to come back to him if I didn’t have it.”

  “But you wouldn’t,” Titus said, feeling cold at the thought.

  “No,” she said. “But I have to be honest and say I don’t know what I’d do.” She smiled at him ruefully. “So I guess you’ll just have to do a good job fixing the house.”

  He nodded. “Can I be done? Getting sore.”

  “Sure,” she said, taking off her apron.

  He came around to look at her painting and grinned at how well she had translated him onto the canvas. He was kind of touched by it. So many little things with her just hit him deeper than anything else ever had.

  Looking at her art, at her beloved little curvy figure in front of him, he vowed he would fix up her house. Buy her or build her ten more houses if she wanted.

  She was going to be his, but she could still be free.

  After dinner, she settled in on the couch for a movie, having invited Titus to join her if he wanted to.