Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

“How did you get in here?” I’m thankful my voice doesn’t betray my scattered emotions.

“I don’t think that’s the question you want to ask, Lia. Shouldn’t you be more worried about why I’m here?”

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper, choking on the words.

“Why? Have you been talking?”

“No. I swear.”

“I’m aware you haven’t, or we wouldn’t be standing here.”

He knows I’ve kept my mouth shut, but he’s still using the intimidation factor to corner me. I’m so thankful that I didn’t decide to play detective. While those men’s deaths shouldn’t go unnoticed and I haven’t stopped having nightmares about them, I also don’t want to die. I still have so many things to do and I refuse to be an indispensable pawn in someone else’s chess game.

However, the fact that he’s here while knowing I didn’t talk means he’s not done with me.

Not even close.

And that realization, although I’ve been contemplating it all this time, snaps my spine into a painful line.

“Are you going to hurt me?” My voice is small, divulging my erratic heartbeat.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On your ability to follow orders.”

“W-what orders?”

“Have dinner with me, Lia.”

“What?” I mean to snap, but it comes out as a bewildered murmur. Did this killer/stranger/the one who threatened and continues to threaten my life just asked me to have dinner with him?

His face remains the same, caught in that eternal calm that only monks should be allowed to have. “Dinner, something where people eat and talk.”

“I know what dinner is. I just…I just don’t know why the hell you’re asking that of me.”

“I already answered that question. To talk.”

“About what?”

“You’ll know once we have dinner.”

“Can’t we talk here?”

“No.”

It’s a single word, but it’s so closed off that I know he’s done entertaining my questions.

Still, I have to ask this, “What if I don’t want to?”

“As I said, your safety depends on your ability to follow orders, Lia.”

I swallow at the subtle threat in his tone. His message is clear. If I don’t have dinner with him, he’ll act on that threat. Worse, he might even finish what he started a week ago.

“It would’ve been easier to take you to an unfinished construction site or ambush you in your apartment building, but I’m offering you dinner in a restaurant with people around. You’re smart enough to realize the difference, aren’t you?”

The difference between getting hurt and not. My ability to stay alive and the complete opposite.

While everything in me revolts against the idea of going anywhere with him, my survival instinct rushes forward.

Dinner is definitely much better than being killed in a parking garage and having all traces gone in the morning.

Besides, he awakened something inside me earlier by merely sitting in the audience. I chalked it up to coincidence, but now that he’s standing in front of me, my legs tingle with the need to move, to do something, anything.

If I have to do this, I might as well find out why someone like him, a dangerous criminal, was able to draw that reaction out of me.

“I need to change,” I say, tactfully avoiding his gaze, not only because of its intensity, but also because he seems to peer into me whenever we make eye contact.

“Then change.”

“You need to leave for me to do that.”

“And allow you to call for help or escape? I don’t think so.”

“I won’t call for help. If that was an option, I would’ve done it already.”

“You would’ve done it already,” he repeats, rolling the words over his tongue with that sinful accent.

“Yes, and I won’t escape either. There’s just one door.”

“There’s a window in the bathroom that you can climb through.”

God. He already went over this entire place, didn’t he?

“I won’t escape. Just go. Wait outside the door.”

He pulls the chair and sits down, his long legs stretching in front of him before he crosses them at the ankles.

“I’m going nowhere, Lia. Now, change.”





5





Lia





My knee-jerk reaction is to yell or somehow run from him.

But I’m logical enough to know that won’t deter him. If anything, it could—and would—put me in danger.

However, if he thinks I’m changing in front of him, he has another thing coming. He may be a terrifying monster, but I won’t be his willing prey.

I loosen the pins in my hair, then remove them and throw them on the dressing table beside him not so gently. I’m sweaty from rehearsal and in desperate need of a shower, but that will have to wait because there’s no way in hell this stranger and my naked body will exist in the same room.

My dark locks loosen, falling to my shoulders, and I resist the need to sigh in relief.

He’s watching my every movement like he did when he sat in the audience. His gaze zeroes in on my actions instead of my body in a mechanical kind of way, and although he doesn’t seem to be weighing me up sexually, I’m suddenly self-conscious about my skirt that barely covers the crack of my ass and my leotard, which molds against the curve of my breasts.