Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
PENELOPE
Standing outside the building entrance to Mabel’s punishment bunker, I quickly realized I probably should’ve grabbed fewer items from my car. But I wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, preferably before my new roommate arrived.
I struggled to hold my potted plant and a cat carrier containing eleven pounds of pissed-off judgment in one hand and fumbled the key in the lock with the other. All while keeping my leg hooked around my front-heavy suitcase so it didn’t topple over.
Not exactly how I’d envisioned beginning my first day in my temporary home, but it could’ve been worse. At least no one was here to witness me fully aboard the struggle bus. Especially Dec—
My thoughts were cut off as the distinct rumble of a motorcycle I’d know anywhere purred and rounded the corner. And then there he was—the very last person I wanted to see rolling to a stop at the curb directly behind my car.
Declan wore those ever-present boots, dark jeans, and a black jacket. His hair was windswept and unkept, but he fixed that right up with a quick hand through it.
Ugh. It was unfair how hot this menace was.
Sunglasses shielded his eyes, but I felt his stare raking over me in a way that had me forcing back a shiver.
Without a word, I turned back to the door, redoubling my efforts on this damn lock.
Seeing Declan before I’d settled in hadn’t been part of the plan.
I’d intended to get situated as much as possible before he’d even stepped across the threshold.
Make sure I had the lay of the land. Find my bearings in the new place.
But as he strode up behind me, the height and breadth of his body looming in a way that cast a comically large shadow over me, it was painfully obvious that hope was futile.
“Is this the part where you insist you’ve got it handled?” he asked.
“I do have it—”
Without allowing me to finish, he hefted my suitcase as if it were nothing more than a bag of groceries and swiped the cat carrier from my hand. Then he looked at me with a raised brow. “Didn’t realize we had a third roommate.”
“His name’s Darcy, and he hates everyone.”
Declan hummed under his breath. “We’ll see.”
Then he turned the key in the lock, held the door open with his boot, and tipped his head, gesturing for me to go first.
What—what the hell? Was this…chivalry? From Declan Steele?
I eyed him warily as I walked past him, leading the way inside and up the stairs to our joint ruination.
After unlocking and opening the apartment door, I stepped inside. The scent of fresh linen, clean and calming, greeted me, and I closed my eyes to inhale deeply.
Except Declan chose that moment to step directly behind me, and I sucked in a lungful of him—leather, cedar, soap. And something else I couldn’t name but was probably the scent of audacity seeping from his pores.
It wasn’t fair how much space he filled. Not just with his size—though, yes, he did seem to have shoulders designed to block out the sun, and he positively dwarfed me as he loomed—but with the air around him. The presence. The confidence.
The absolute nerve.
Declan gave the apartment a cursory glance, his gaze flicking over the modest space.
Tiny dining nook that barely fit a table for two right off the entry.
Galley-style kitchen with an eat-in peninsula that opened to a surprisingly inviting living room.
A hallway extended off to the right, no doubt leading to our bedrooms and the bathroom.
Without a single word, he hefted my suitcase and Darcy’s carrier down the hall like he owned the damn place.
Typical.
Still hugging my emotional support pothos, I stood rooted in place while Declan glanced into both bedrooms. Then, without hesitation—and without asking me—he placed my suitcase and the cat carrier inside the bedroom on the left at the end of the hall.
He reached down, opened the carrier, and let Darcy out of his cage. Good. Maybe my little buddy could knock Declan down a peg or twenty.
But instead of hissing or gouging his claws into all that bare, tattooed skin, Darcy…nuzzled Declan’s legs?
What in the actual holy hell?
“Yeah. He seems like a real asshole,” Declan said dryly before tossing his duffel into the room on the right and claiming it.
Like it was a done deal.
I didn’t know who to deliver my glare to first—my traitor of a cat or the bane of my sanity.
I marched down the hallway, plant still tucked securely in the crook of my arm and glanced into his room.
It was huge. A king-size bed sat in the middle of the space, bracketed on either side by large windows.
A walk-in closet was visible in the back left corner of the room, and a lounging chair and ottoman—perfect for reading—sat in the right corner.
Oh, he had a lot of nerve choosing what was clearly the best room without so much as a discussion. I was already mentally crafting my speech about equity and shared decision-making and not being a heavy-handed dick as I stepped into the other room and—
Oh.
Oh.
My breath caught as I darted my gaze around, trying to absorb everything all at once.
Fairy lights draped a canopy arching over a cloud-like bed that was stacked with fluffy pillows in mauve, golden yellow, and moss.
A cozy quilt that looked well-loved and welcoming all at once was folded across the foot of the bed.
While I’d thought the chair in Declan’s room was the perfect place to read in this apartment, I’d been wrong. That award went to the cushioned window seat with too many pillows to count, all surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
My fingers itched for my laptop already. Besides being a reading nook, the seat practically begged for late-night writing sessions—the kind where I lost track of time and surfaced hours later with aching fingers and a chapter I hadn’t planned.
This was a girlie space. A book lover’s space. It radiated a calm, feminine energy, and I wanted to spend hours curled up in here, tucked away from everything, getting lost in the worlds I created and the ones I didn’t.
Darcy hopped onto the window seat, curled up like he’d done so a thousand times before, and flicked his tail at me in what I could only assume was his begrudging approval.
The room of my dreams given to me by the man of my nightmares, and my grumpy cat was happy—or, okay, accepting—of it?
This had to be a trap.
With narrowed eyes, I turned around to find out what the hell Declan was up to. He was leaning against the doorframe of his room, arms crossed, face impassive. I thought I caught the briefest hint of satisfaction in his gaze, but it was there and gone in a blink.
“Why’d you give me the book room?” I asked, suspicion heavy in my tone.
He blinked like it was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “Because you’re a librarian?”
“That’s an evasive answer.”
He lifted one huge shoulder in a shrug. “Seemed like the one you’d want.”
“Exactly,” I said, pointing my finger at him. “And that’s why it’s suspicious.”
“Didn’t peg you for the type who questioned getting what they wanted.”
“Your past behavior has made me the type who questions why you’re not trying to win.”
He pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer, bringing him within touching distance. I had to tip my head back…and back and back…to maintain eye contact with him.
In the library, there was always a desk between us. In our run-ins around town, there was at least a foot of distance separating us. But here…now?
This was the closest we’d ever been.
Between that and this private space we were confined in, the air around us grew thick…charged. I swallowed back my apprehension and steeled my spine, refusing to break eye contact first.
Just when I thought I’d combust from the tension, he leaned down and murmured, “Maybe I am trying to win, and you just don’t see the board yet.”