A. Arthur - Temptation Rising

Who was Kalina Harper and why did she have this effect on him? Why was he here, tonight, at her apartment? And why had he been there, that night two years ago, in the alley to save her?

His mother would say there were no coincidences in life, there was only fate. A destiny mapped out for each and every breathing being. Rome didn’t believe that; he refused to believe in a plan that included someone’s death. His mother’s death. That wasn’t fate. She wasn’t meant to die and neither was his father. They weren’t meant to go, but Rome had allowed it, because he hadn’t been strong enough to stop it.

Turning away from the door but still standing utterly still in front of it, he vowed he’d never make that mistake again. He would never fail to act when he needed to, would never be caught off guard again.

He turned to walk away. Kalina Harper wasn’t a part of the plan, she wasn’t what he needed to focus on. Revenge was.

A hot tongue swiped over thick lips as eyes remained trained on the window. She was there, in a thin robe that did nothing to disguise the delectable body he craved. She sat in the windowsill—thank goodness for bay windows—knees pulled to her chest, the silk sliding down to her waist so that her calves and thighs were bared to him. Did she know he was there? Was she giving him a treat?

His pulse quickened, arousal lengthening along his thigh.

Her head fell back, resting against the wall, her breasts jutting forward. Her nipples were hard, kissable. He cursed, opened the car door, and stepped out. Rain sprinkled over his face, falling to his arms and hands as he stood paralyzed by her beauty, her sensuality.

He wanted like never before, craved the touch and taste that had been denied so long ago. At his sides his fists clenched. The time wasn’t right. It wasn’t now. There was more to it than just having her physically. There would be pain and suffering, long coming and well deserved. It was the way it had to be, the way it would be.

“Soon,” he whispered, still looking up at the window to the second-floor apartment of the corner house.

Slowly stepping back into the car, water dripping all over the leather upholstery, he started the ignition and drove away. “Very soon.”

Today was a new day.

Kalina awakened on time, showered and dressed, and was in her car on her way to work before the first tingles of wariness itched along her spine. Stepping out of the vehicle she looked around, assured herself nobody was following her before stepping into the elevator.

She’d felt this way before, yet today was somehow different. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that this was a job. She was experienced in working undercover. There was no need to feel like something was about to happen that she wasn’t prepared for.

Whenever she walked into a sting, garbed in her street clothes and black MPD jacket, gun in hand, target in sight, she felt something. Anxiousness. Pride. Adrenaline. She proceeded with caution, always. Knowing she had backup, knowing they were fighting a huge evil—drugs. She took down the bad guys without blinking an eye. She aimed her gun, gave orders, handcuffed and processed criminals for a living. It was an important job, a necessary one. And she was damn good at it.

So riding an elevator up to a law office shouldn’t make her nervous or have her looking over her shoulder. And yet stepping off the elevator she did just that.

Focus.

Walking to her desk, the conversation with herself was like a pep talk of sorts. Despite what had happened yesterday she was back to finish up the job she was hired to do. Ferrell had been adamant yesterday when he called that she find something. And later when she’d stopped by the precinct, he’d been pacing in his office. She remembered thinking he’d looked like some kind of caged animal behind the glass doors moving intently back and forth, muttering to himself as if he were in his own little world. Of course she found that only minutely strange since Jack Ferrell wasn’t exactly the sanest person she knew.

That could probably be said for a lot of law enforcement agents who’d been on the job for twenty, thirty, sometimes forty years. Something about working on the right side of the law tended to wear on people if they weren’t careful. This job could become all-consuming, making any semblance of a normal life practically impossible. With a cringe she thought she was dangerously close to that very description and she hadn’t even been on the force for ten years yet.

Still, Ferrell’s behavior registered as strange, but not enough for her to forget the real priority. Dropping her purse into the desk drawer, she booted up her computer, all the while thinking of what else she’d discovered yesterday.

Roman Reynolds was one hell of a kisser.

That tidbit of information would not go into her report, but she remembered it just the same.

He was also hiding something, of that she was beyond sure. Catching her in his office the way he did called for more dire actions than tossing her on the desk for a little touchy-feely. Actually, the touchy-feely was out of line, but she wasn’t going to argue that since she’d been breaking and entering.

But Roman hadn’t called the police, and he hadn’t fired her. Why?

Keying in a password to the company’s financial database, she thought about more possibilities. He couldn’t know who she was or why she was really at the firm. Her cover was airtight; Ferrell said his superiors made sure she was a normal working girl when they’d given her the résumé and references for the interview with the firm. She couldn’t be traced back to the DEA, either, since she wasn’t even on their official payroll. So why did Roman look at her as if he knew all her darkest secrets? And why did the look make her want to tell him anything he didn’t know?

“Good morning!”

Kalina jumped at the sound of a cheery female voice.

“Oh,” she said, fingers stilling on the keyboard as she looked up to see a woman she’d seen every day for the past two weeks. “Good morning,”

“Sorry I startled you,” Melanie Keys said with her customary smile. In her hand she held a Tweety mug that spoke again of cheerfulness.

A forty-something woman, Melanie was about five foot three with riotous flaming red hair and creamy ivory skin with a parade of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was a legal secretary. Roman’s secretary.

There was a small kitchenette on each floor of the firm that housed coffeemakers, a small sink, and all the accoutrements to having a hot morning beverage. Kalina was generally a tea drinker, but each station had tea bags and hot chocolate packets as well. She was on the main floor with the large kitchen, which she assumed Melanie was headed to. Kalina just wasn’t sure why.

“Coffee??” she said as if reading Kalina’s mind and wiggled her mug.

The one thing Kalina had learned so far being at the firm was that the employees stuck together in clusters. Everybody seemed to migrate into one clique or another. She was sure that if she worked here on a permanent basis, she’d continue seeking the solitary confines of her cubicle. But since her main goal was to obtain as much information about Roman and his dealings as possible, getting coffee with his secretary was a prime opportunity.

“Sure,” she said backing away from her desk. “I don’t have my own mug.”

“It’s okay, they have firm mugs in the cabinets,” Melanie said as they began walking side by side past empty cubicles of co-workers who hadn’t yet made it into the office. “But I suggest you bring your own tomorrow. Just because they load the dishwasher in there doesn’t mean they actually run it, or that it runs well, if you know what I mean.”