Chapter 7
Blakely
At the sound of the doorbell, I leap out of bed and charge out of my room. I've been waiting for this delivery all day.
My heart does its usual tap dance routine as I barrel past the living room and see Nicholas sitting on the couch shirtless, watching a movie.
"Hey Blakely." He casually throws that smile my way and I nearly trip over my own feet.
"Hey," I practically whisper with my head down, undeterred on my clumsy voyage to the door. Thankfully, he turns his focus back to the movie instead of trying to pursue a conversation with me.
I yank the door open and the postal service guy stands there with my package tucked under his arm. His eyes do a predatory sweep down my body before he flashes me a smirk that betrays his nasty thoughts. "Hey there, pretty girl," he growls, a toothpick hanging off the side of his grin.
My systems go on high alert. The guy is good-looking enough. Dark hair, blue eyes, medium build. But he just gives off this I-don't-take-no-for-an-answer vibe that's really not cool.
He spits out his toothpick behind him and bites down on his bottom lip as he stretches the signature clipboard to me. "Got a big, special package for a special, little lady."
God - how does he make such a simple sentence sound so slimy?
I sign quickly and pass the paper and pen back to him before he hands me the wide, flat Hewlett Packard box. He pauses for a second and stares at me before propping his hip up against the doorframe, crossing his feet at the ankles. He lowers his voice. "Hey, I get off work in about an hour. What do you say I swing back over here and help you set up that new laptop?"
With the box tucked under my arm, I take a step back, gripping the doorknob. "Uh, no thanks."
His eyes settle on my breasts making me feel dirty. "You sure –" he stares down at his pad for my name "– Blakely? Mmm. What a nice name."
I force a smile. "I'm sure." I try to swing the door shut.
He sticks his foot out to stop me. "Come on, baby. I don't bite."
Okay. Now, I'm panicking. I try to recall the self-defence moves I saw on the Ellen Degeneres Show that one time. Should I strike him first or wait until he puts his hands on me?
I feel a presence closing in over my shoulder right as I'm about to start hyperventilating. "Don't worry about it, dude," Nicholas roars as his arm slides around my waist and he pulls me deeper into the apartment. "She has a man around here to take care of those sorts of things." He stands between me and the mailman, never taking his grip off me.
The guy stumbles back from the doorway, his hands up in surrender. "Was just being helpful, man. No harm, no foul."
"Well, your help isn't needed," Nicholas snares, all tough and alpha.
The man continues to grumble as he hightails it back to his waiting truck.
Nicholas slams the door behind him and faces me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
I'll admit I’m a little shaken up. There’s no telling just how insistent that guy would have become if my roommate hadn’t intervened. But I’ll be fine. “I’m sure,” I promise him.
I risk a peek past his glasses, into his eyes. They’re some nice eyes. Coffee brown with specks of gold and radiating warmth. How come I never noticed before? Maybe because I've been staring at my feet for the past three weeks.
He studies me for a while and when he’s satisfied with what he sees, his arm drops from around me. As he turns back to the couch, I give him a little smile and say, “Thank you.”
Seeing Nicholas stick up for me pushed all my hot buttons. I love a possessive alpha male, a man who makes me feel safe.
Except that Nicholas isn’t my man. He’s my roommate.
Le sigh...
“No problem,” Nicholas says as he resumes his movie. His expression has gone neutral again.
With my new laptop under my arm, I head toward my room.
“Leave that on the kitchen table,” he calls out to me.
I spin around to look at him. “Leave what on the kitchen table?”
“Your new computer,” he says, “I’ll set it up for you. Y’know, download all the programs, install the anti-virus, transfer your files over –”
“No!” I shout a little too hastily.
He gives me a strange look. “Um…”
Now, he's just being misogynistic as hell, implying that I need a man to set up my computer. I don't need his help. I’m a woman of the millennium. Hear me roar! Well, maybe not ‘roar’ roar because I’m Timid Blakely, but you know what I mean.
But aside from all that feminist stuff, the thought of Nicholas playing around with my files, particularly my manuscripts, particularly my newest manuscript, is enough to cause convulsions in my chest.
No, thank you!
“I’ve got really good anti-virus,” he offers again. “Most people don’t adequately protect their computers against hackers –”
I shake my head insistently, holding the box tightly to my chest. “I’m good. I don’t have anything worth hacking on my computer. So, no thanks on the anti-virus and stuff.”
“I’m a tech expert,” he reminds me, “It’ll take me a fraction of the set-up time that it would take you.”
“That’s all right.”
“Blakely…” He pins me with those intense eyes.
“Really, I don’t need help.”
His lips pull into a frown. His shoulders slump in defeat. “Suit yourself, then.”
For a second, I allow my eyes to connect with his again and I instantly get lost. I feel all light and effervescent on the inside. God, he’s gorgeous. I break his gaze and continue toward my bedroom.
I close the door softly behind me and tear the box open, digging around for the manufacturer’s instructions. I settle on my mattress and open the computer in front of me.
It’s going to be a long night.