“Is there a good place I can stick this?” A deep, husky voice came from behind me.
Directly behind me.
I shot up, barely missing cracking my head on the edge of the desk, and scrambled to my feet.
“Excuse me?” I said, shuffling a bit unsteadily on my heels.
I tugged the hem of my skirt down, tucked back the few strands of hair that had come loose from my bun, and prepared to address the man—
Only my words dried up, while the exact opposite happened to my mouth—and panties.
Tall, built, and one hundred percent bad boy. He sported a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged bulging biceps and obviously chiseled abs. The cotton looked just slightly sweaty, but he smelled like cologne and spice and man. He held a small brown box for delivery, and I had never been caught more off guard by a package in all my life.
A SAVAS SHIPPING ball cap was tugged low on his head, but thick, jet-black hair stuck out and curled around the back of the band. Some sort of tribal tattoo peeked out from under his left T-shirt sleeve, and when those intense blue eyes locked on my face, a flash of heat radiated through my whole body. As his gaze traveled lower and landed on my breasts, I completely melted. And forgot to exhale.
“You alright there, sweetheart?”
My eyes snapped to his, and I realized I had just been staring at his package. He grinned, and his expression was so confident it could have had its own personality.
“You’re breathing a little hard there.”
“I, ah…” I shook my head, trying to regain my composure. This man, with his sexy smile and even sexier tattoo, was making me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Lust. The kind that started a slow simmer in my blood. Then I shook my head slightly. Nope. Not going to happen. Time to pull the composed Paige back together.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked with all the professional polish I possessed.
Apparently unaffected by my “serious” voice, he openly scanned my entire body and licked his lower lip, giving me the sudden urge to do the same.
“Yeah.”
He just stared, blue eyes blazing. Silently assessing. A small smile revealed a set of amazing dimples.
“Ah, okay.” I tried again. “What is it?”
“This.” He held up the small box. “It’s for Roman Reese. I’ll just drop it in his office.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “We don’t let delivery boys actually drop items off to public officials. You can leave it with me.”
He balanced the box between his hip and forearm, raised a single eyebrow, and unleashed the sexiest expression I’d ever seen. “Delivery boy, huh?”
I tried to size him up in return, show him that he didn’t affect me and that I meant business, but that was a mistake. Mostly because it made me drool a little, a problem I had just gotten under control.
I knew his type. Man, did I know his type. Way too good looking for his own good—and he obviously knew it. He was cocky and tattooed, and I’d lay ten-to-one odds he owned a motorcycle. He was exactly the kind of guy I would never go for again. The kind of guy I’d been screwed over by before. The kind I’d left back in Indiana, right along with my past.
I’d figured out a long time ago that if I wanted to get off the trailer park I’d grown up in, I’d have to start dressing, acting, and living the life I wanted—not the life I had.
And that life entailed upstanding gentlemen who wore suits and had ambition.
“Well, angel, I don’t think the governor would mind if I just popped in.”
I stepped in front of him. “He’s not in. And I mind.”
“What’s your name?” he asked with a little tilt of his chin that signified he thought my protest was cute, at best. If there was one thing I understood, it was silent mockery.
“You can call me Miss Levine.”
“Oh, I can, huh?”
I lifted my chin and crossed my arms, which only seemed to amuse him more.