The Mechanic And The Delicates
Language: en
My freshly laundered delicates. Blown off the line by a freak gust of wind. They landed, of course, right in the apartment patio below. The man who lived there was Rhys. A master mechanic whose reputation for talent was only surpassed by his notorious temper. Every woman in our building lusted after him, and every single one had been turned away by his ice-cold stare. I had no choice. I had to swallow my pride and knock on his door. The door opened. Rhys stood there, shirtless and steaming, still damp from a shower. He looked down at me, his voice a block of ice. “Problem?” My face…