Inseparable

Inseparable Book Two, Chapter 2: Sleeping Arrangements

Nash

I wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room with anyone. I had a contact in the university administration who had hooked me up with a room in the Bleakley House so that I could keep a low profile.

Two weeks into my task, I was no closer to identifying my target. I was already starting to feel frustrated with all the dead ends, and then I was informed that due to some sewage f.uck up in the regular dormitories, I was going to have to take a roommate.

I hadn’t had time to thoroughly vet my new roomie, but from what I had gathered, D. Redhawk was in the last year of a masters program in clinical psychology. Model student, excellent grades, a regular name on the Dean’s list. In other words, boring as f.uck. As long as the kid didn't try to use any psychobabble on me, I figured I could put up with the guy for the few weeks it might take me to wrap up my assignment.

Except, the D. Redhawk that showed up at the door to Bleakley House was not a guy at all. It was a woman. A very young woman with big blue eyes and thick reddish brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was fresh and innocent, without a trace of make-up, and her body...

Oh hell, it had to be a mistake. I knew the university was trying to be all woke and gender-neutral, but there was no way they could send a sweet, beautiful girl like that into a house full of horny, drunk, acne-scarred college-boy a.ssholes!

After I showed her the room, my room, I made a quick and discreet call to my administrator contact. She assured me there was no mistake. The all-girl dorms were full. Bleakley House had the only available bed.

“Look, if you are that uncomfortable with the sleeping arrangements, have one of the other boys switch rooms with you,” she had suggested.

I took one look at Rodney Beckmann, who was still sleeping it off on the couch, and shook my head. He had vomit on his t-shirt and his pants were still unzipped. No way was I going to subject that girl to one of those asswipes.

Better keep her close, where I could keep an eye on her. And then, when I left, she would at least have the room to herself.

I swore softly and slipped the phone back into my pocket, and then I went out the front door, jogged down the steps to the place where she had parked on the street, and offered to help her carry her belongings up to the room.

She really was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. She was taller than average, with a sort of innate feminine strength that seemed at odds with her psychology major. It would have made more sense if she was here on an athletic scholarship. Lacrosse maybe. With those long legs, I bet she was fast. Or, on the other hand, those legs could have easily landed her on a runway, displaying the latest in undergarment fashion.

Either way, it was hard to imagine her sitting prim and proper, in a pencil skirt, trying to psychoanalyze some crazy guy who probably collected succulents and lived in his mom’s basement.

I must have stared too long. The next thing I knew, she had dropped an insanely heavy box of textbooks into my hands. “Sure, thanks,” she said, her voice a little crisp and frigid. “I’d love a hand.” She grabbed another cardboard carton and marched back into the house, leaving me no choice but to follow behind.

Her ass was right at eye-level as we climbed the stairs, and it was a flawless specimen; firm, round cheeks, the perfect size and shape for a man’s palm.

And I was worried about the college kids harassing her? What the f.uck was wrong with me? My brain was acting like I had just crawled out from under some dusty rock somewhere. Like I’d never laid eyes on a pretty woman before. Which was ridiculous. My work in the private security sector had often put me in proximity to some of the world’s most beautiful women. I had provided security to actresses, singers, politicians’ daughters, and recently, one very feisty writer.

I’d always maintained my professional distance, no matter how attractive I found the client.

I set the box of books on the floor and then turned to go retrieve the next. Daphne Redhawk was no different from those other women. I brushed past her, and went back to the car. That strange magnetic pull I felt when she was standing too close to me was probably just my body telling me it had been too long since I had sought the comfort and release of a warm and willing woman.

Immediately an image popped in my head of the sweet, innocent Miss Daphne wearing one of my button-down shirts, and nothing else. She sat on the edge of my small bed and spread her knees in open invitation, leaning back on the heels of her hands while her baby blue eyes practically smoldered with desire...

“Hey, are you okay?” Daphne, still fully clothed, pushed a fully loaded duffle bag into my arms. “You can’t be tired already!” She poked a finger into my bicep. “Or are all of these muscles just for show?”

I frowned down at the slender, delicate finger. She must have poked me just right to hit a nerve or something, because it sent an electrical charge down my arm until my fingers were tingling with sensation.

“Nah, I’ve got it.” I slung the duffle bag over my shoulder and reached in her car for a stack of pillows and a fluffy comforter.

She grabbed the last few things and pushed the car door shut with her hip. “Hey, you never told me your name, by the way?” she said a little breathlessly as she jogged to catch up with me again.

I paused at the top of the steps. “Nate,” I lied. I couldn’t tell her my real name, because I was supposed to be undercover. But for some reason, giving her my fake identity really didn’t feel right. It was like my tongue was itching to tell her the truth. But I couldn’t jeopardize my mission just to make nice with my new roommate, “Nathan Straight.”