Temptation Rising

Temptation Rising by A.C. Arthur Page B

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Authors: A.C. Arthur
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talked as if he hadn’t just brought her to an amazing climax, his tone neutral—like they were just co-workers.
    The simple fact was they were something more. He was the object of her investigation. This attraction wasn’t going to work for them. In fact, it was probably going to make her job a hell of a lot harder. So maybe him acting as if nothing happened in the truck was a good plan. Hell, she didn’t know what plan was good or bad at the moment. She’d messed up so royally tonight, she didn’t know how she’d backtrack by Monday morning.
    The one thing she did know without a doubt was that being in the same room with Rome right now was destroying any coherent thought she could muster. Taking a deep breath she put her purse and keys on the table then turned to bid him good night. But he wasn’t there. Moving through her small living room, she entered the closet-like space that served as her dining area. He was at the window, looking out.
    “What are you doing in here?”
    “Shhhh.” He turned to her, bringing a finger to his lips. “Maybe you should pack a few things and come stay with me.”
    It was eerily quiet, the dimness of her apartment cloaking them while slits of moonlight peeked through the open slats of her mini blinds.
    “What? Are you crazy? Who’s out there?” She was at the window instantly, looking out to what seemed to be the quiet street. “They didn’t follow us.” Assuming the “they” she was talking about were the three goons from the party.
    Not that she could know for sure, since she was obviously preoccupied during the drive over here—another feather in her cap to make the DEA want desperately to hire her.
    “Something’s not right,” he said, but he didn’t look at her. Instead his gaze moved around her apartment like he was trying to find something. He didn’t seem to miss a spot.
    It was strange and not the nightcap she’d had in mind when she’d left for the evening, watching Roman Reynolds, the hotshot attorney and drop-dead-gorgeous bachelor of the year move about her apartment. But she did watch, did wonder what was going through his mind as he wandered around. He looked almost predatory the way he opened the hallway closet, moved to the bedroom, opening that door, the bathroom, the kitchen. He was thorough in his search, quiet and focused and scaring the hell out of her. “Look, everything is just as I left it. Maybe you should go, Rome.” And maybe she should take a couple of those anti-depressants the therapist was convinced would help her recover. A nice dreamless sleep would probably do her a world of good, especially tonight when things hadn’t happened the way she’d planned.
    “Not until you’re safe.” He spoke as if that was a no-brainer.
    He was in the living room now, looking around again. His broad body appeared strangely out of place in the modestly decorated space, her space. Kalina instantly felt claustrophobic. There wasn’t enough air in here for both of them to breathe. He didn’t belong here with her; she was used to being alone. Her temples throbbed as a headache made its debut. Dammit, at this rate she was going to have a real nervous breakdown, just like the one the therapist predicted.
    “I’m fine and I definitely think you should leave. Now.” He was making her edgier by the minute.
    As if he hadn’t heard a word she said, he kept moving and talking. “There’s something…” His voice trailed off. “Lock the door behind me,” he said suddenly, pushing past her.
    She didn’t move but looked at him, their gazes locking. For a second, just a split second, she would’ve sworn there was something different about his eyes. The color changed, the shape. Or did it?
    “You sh … should go,” she managed to say even while the look he was giving her had heat flowing instantly through her body, prickles of alertness creeping along her skin.
    “Lock the goddamn door,” he said, his voice low, deep, almost like a

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