Page 7 of Tempted By Shadow

But none of that is useful right now. Not when every brain cell I have is focused on not staring at the way her jeans fit as she climbs the stairs ahead of me.

She stops at her door and fishes keys out of her pocket. Glances back at me over her shoulder.

“You coming in or what?”

I should say no. I should tell her this isn’t a good idea, that I’m just here to do a job, that we should keep this professional. I should remind myself who her brother is and what I owe him and how badly this could go wrong.

“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “I’m coming in.”

She turns the key. Pushes open the door. Walks inside without looking back, like she already knows I’ll follow.

One coffee, I tell myself as I step over the threshold. I can do one coffee. Keep it professional. Ten minutes, tops. Then I’m out of here and this never happened.

But even as the door swings shut behind me, I know I’m lying to myself.

This isn’t going to be professional.

And I’m not getting out of here in ten minutes.

CHAPTER 3

NAOMI

He’s actually in my apartment.

My brother’s prospect. The guy King sent to babysit me is standing in my kitchen, looking around like he’s not sure how he got here.

That makes two of us.

The apartment looks even shittier with someone else in it. I’m suddenly aware of the water stain on the ceiling, the mismatched furniture I scavenged from thrift stores, the boxes I still haven’t completely unpacked because unpacking feels too much like admitting this is my life now. He doesn’t say anything about it. Doesn’t judge, at least not out loud. Just stands there by the door, hands at his sides, waiting for me to tell him what to do next.

“Coffee?” I ask, because I have to say something, and it’s either that or acknowledge the massive mistake we’re both making right now.

“Sure.”

One word. That’s what I get. I invited him up here and he gives me sure.

I turn my back on him and busy myself with the coffee maker — scooping grounds, filling the reservoir, hitting the button that makes it wheeze to life. The machine is old and loud and takes forever, which is fine. Gives me something to do with my hands that isn’t something stupid.

Behind me, I can feel him. Not moving, barely breathing, just standing there like a soldier waiting for orders. I wonder if King taught him that, or if he came pre-installed with that much tension.

“You can sit down, you know.” I nod toward the small table by the window. Two chairs, neither of which is comfortable. “I’m not going to bite.”

He sits. Doesn’t relax, exactly, but at least he’s not looming anymore.

The coffee maker gurgles and spits. I pull two mugs from the cabinet — mismatched, chipped, the kind you get at thrift stores when you’re starting over with nothing — and set them on the counter.

“So,” I say, turning to face him. “How long were you planning to follow me around before I caught you?”

His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t⁠—”

“Day one, Shadow. I spotted you day one. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I was trying to be.”

“Well.” I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “You failed. Spectacularly. I’ve seen you at the grocery store twice, at the coffee shop once, and parked outside my building so many times I’ve lost count. You’re either terrible at surveillance or you wanted me to notice.”

Something flickers in his expression. Embarrassment, maybe. Or frustration. Hard to tell with him — he keeps everything locked down tight.