7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

M ara

My pulse thrums as I watch Krull’s broad back disappear through the threshold. He glances over his shoulder, amber eyes glinting with resolve in the strong beam of the flashlight he’s holding.

“I’ll be back soon. Try not to worry.”

Easier said than done when my entire world might be in ruins downstairs. But I manage a jerky nod before Krull vanishes into the stairwell.

In his absence, the chaotic sounds from outside seem amplified. Hugging my arms around my middle, I fight the tremors threatening my limbs. I’ve never felt so powerless.

Wandering the apartment aimlessly makes me feel so helpless. If we had electricity, I’d cook something to keep my mind off things. But I’m not sure if the stove will work, and I’m afraid to open the fridge for fear everything will go bad even faster .

In my mind’s eye, I imagine Krull downstairs as I play various scenarios of what he’s going to find. I pause, motionless for a full minute as I wage an inner argument with myself.

I’ve never been one to sit idly by and let someone else determine my fate. It goes against my stubborn streak to leave everything to Krull when this gallery is my blood, sweat, and countless tears. I need to lay eyes on the wreckage, then I can form plans of how to recover.

Controlling my fear of what I’ll find down there, I grab a pathetic little battery-powered tea light off the kitchen counter and ease toward the doorway on quivery legs. But then my gaze lands on Krull’s neatly folded work coveralls on one of the stairs.

Seeing his clothing lying there makes my stomach swoop. It makes sense he wouldn’t want to get his one piece of clothing drenched—he certainly won’t be able to borrow any of my clothes. It’s just such an intimate act, to disrobe in a stranger’s home.

Shaking off my wandering thoughts, I make my way downward, one cautious step at a time. I clutch the railing, blinking against the velvety darkness. The engulfing black reminds me of exploring underground caverns on a childhood vacation. I hated every suffocating moment in that lightless void. This descent evokes the same primal dread.

But then the illumination from Krull’s flashlight spills from the open gallery doorway, casting dancing shadows into the gloom. I creep forward, heart lodged in my throat when I step into standing water that comes to mid-calf .

Stepping over the threshold into the gallery, I freeze, arrested by the sight before me. The dim light reveals Krull in all his naked glory, emerald skin glistening as he works.

I’m momentarily incapable of checking out the gallery. All my focus is zeroed in on the play of muscles across Krull’s broad back as he wrestles with some unseen obstacle under the water. Twin stripes of tattooed symbols march the length of his sculpted spine, coming together gracefully just above his crack.

What I should be doing is assessing the damage, making mental notes of which of my friend’s artwork has been ruined so I can contact them the moment our cellphones come back online. I can’t do that because I’m mesmerized, entranced.

My mouth is suddenly dry and as surely as two plus two equals four, I know this sight will be burned into my brain until my end of days. I shouldn’t be looking. If places were reversed, this perving would be unforgiveable. Lord help me, I can’t tear my gaze away.

Graceful, swirling tattoos trail from his neck to his biceps on both sides and I have the absurd urge to trace their intricate loops with my fingertips… among other impulses wholly inappropriate given the circumstances.

Get it together, Mara! Now is so not the time to thirst over your unexpected houseguest, no matter how mouthwatering he looks.

I tear my gaze away from temptation and force myself to inspect the poorly lit space. Thanks to our preventive efforts earlier, things could definitely be worse. The largest pieces escaped the flooding, still dangling from the nails Krull hung them on in his frenzy to secure my treasures. But the floor is submerged beneath a foot of brackish water. Area rugs float and debris is strewn atop the surface like lily pads. And the drywall will require extensive repair.

My hopes sink, but I steel my spine against despair. This is salvageable. I can fix this somehow!

Krull glances up. With his powerful hearing, perhaps he heard the rabbit-quick pace of my pulse.

“Mara! I thought you were going to wait upstairs where it’s safe.” Though at first blush his words contain a scold, their tone is filled with warm concern.

“It was impossible to resist… I had to see for myself.” I meet his concerned gaze. “You’ve gone above and beyond today, but this is my dream on the line here. I need to deal with this wreckage, not sit upstairs avoiding it.”

Krull studies me for a weighted moment, water and sweat gleaming on his bare torso. Between the water and the lack of A/C, it’s like a sauna in here. He’s stark naked but seems entirely unabashed. If I can just keep from staring, we should be able to handle this like adults.

He nods slowly. “I understand why you came to inspect. Please be extremely careful. I yanked the table lamp cord out of the wall, but the electricity could come back on suddenly, or some of the boards from that new painting’s container could be lurking under the water. Watch your step.”

“I’ll be careful,” I promise, although how do you do that in low light when you’re calf-high in debris-filled water ?

I slog my way to Krull and lurch when my foot hits something underwater. Krull’s arm instantly loops around my waist, rooting me against his side. His naked side.

“Slow down. I’ve got you now.” His voice rumbles through me where my body aligns with his. Being tucked under him makes me feel petite and protected. Heat curls through me as I wrap myself against all that warm emerald-green skin. “We’ll take this nice and easy. I cleared a path along here.”

I cling gratefully to Krull’s sturdy frame as he guides me on a careful circuit of the room. Somehow, I manage to ignore that gorgeous expanse of naked green skin as I focus on my business.

Up close, the damage seems less catastrophic than my initial assessment. Because of Krull’s quick work, hanging everything at ceiling height, none of my friends’ artwork is damaged. With extensive cleanup and restoration, I wonder if I can rebuild better than before.

“I have to give you credit, Krull. When you helped prepare for the storm, you really delivered.”

“Very funny, Mara. A delivery-man joke.”

By the time we complete the loop back to the stairwell, I’m soaked, but no longer panicking. Working side by side with Krull to navigate the wreckage helped normalize things. His calm strength eases some of my hopelessness. I can almost envision light at the end of this nightmare.

Krull lifts me easily onto the third step where it’s dry, steadying me with one large hand until I regain my balance. I offer him a tired but heartfelt smile. “Thank you for all this. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Why is he so close, and so handsome and so, so naked ?

Krull’s expression softens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You give yourself too little credit. But I’m glad to help.”

He slowly removes his palm from my hip, and I immediately miss his heat. I waver on my feet. Krull frowns, glancing toward the stairs. “You should get into dry clothes before you catch a cold.”

Too exhausted to argue, I climb the stairs ahead of him, thinking that’s a better strategy than lagging behind and watching his perfect, green ass ascend in front of me.

“You wash up and change while I grab the flashlight,” Krull mutters hoarsely. “I think the water in the shower should still work unless the water mains are broken. When you’re in bed, I’ll come in, wash up, and, uh… get dressed.”

By the look on his face, I wonder if he’d forgotten he was nude until this very moment.

He turns away quickly, raking a hand through his damp braids. The candlelight plays enticingly over all that bare emerald flesh, and my fingers itch to trace the exotic swirls adorning his skin.

Get a grip! This intensely masculine creature just endured a calamity by your side and never laid an inappropriate hand on you. Maybe dial back the ogling?

Shaking off my hormone-fueled stupor, I grab dry clothes and a candle and dash into the bathroom, pulse skittering like rainfall on glass.