Temperature's Rising by Karen Kelley Page A

her head. This was ridiculous. The whole situation was ridiculous. This was a stakeout, not a love nest.
    As her cousins dragged the mammoth mattress upstairs, she turned on Conor. “It doesn’t matter who sent it.
    The only thing that’ll happen in that bed is sleep,” she whispered furiously.
    “Positive?” He casually leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
    She scowled. “Positive.”
    So that was the game he played. A game of seduction so he could run her off. Humph. Like she would fall for that trick. It did make her wonder just how far he would take it.
    Tantalizing images played across her mind. Conor tugging a black T-shirt over his head, skin oiled down and glistening in the muted light, but not so muted she couldn’t see every bulging muscle.
    Her mouth went dry as the image grew stronger.
    He’d fling the shirt away and slowly undo his tight jeans. First the top button, then he’d slide the zipper down, hook his fingers in the waistband and begin pushing his jeans over his hips.
    “You okay?” Conor asked.
    The vision vanished. She blinked several times. He was fully dressed. She’d hoped for a moment . . . It didn’t matter. They would just see who could turn up the heat until the other cried uncle.

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    Karen Kelley
    She, after all, was a Nelson, and Nelsons didn’t play fair.
    “I’m perfectly fine . . . thank you very much.” She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
    He wasn’t about to run her off.

    Chapter 7
    Someone had a warped sense of humor. Jessica helped with unpacking boxes and putting away stuff, and with each box she died just a little more. There was a small box of cinnamon-scented candles and glass holders to place the votives in. That wasn’t so bad. It was the way they were decorated. Little golden cupids with little bows and arrows, all in the shape of little hearts.
    They were disgustingly cute.
    Then her cousins had lugged in a plush love seat that could only be meant for snuggling. They didn’t even dare look her way when they added heart pillows.
    And really! A white, faux bearskin rug? She could see herself and Conor wrapped in each other’s arms in front of a roaring fire with the temperature outside pushing ninety degrees. It wouldn’t be the sweat of passion rolling down their faces.
    She leaned against the banister as her gaze moved toward the rug. The bear’s mouth was locked open, teeth bared. Her vision blurred and for just a moment she could imagine Conor lying naked on the white fur, leaning back 92
    Karen Kelley
    on his elbow with one knee bent. His skin sleek and tanned. Her gaze moved slowly over him, her mouth going dry. He wouldn’t even try to hide all his . . . glori-ous . . . uh . . . attributes.
    A bead of sweat slid down her face and into the vee of her blouse, tickling her breasts as it slipped between them.
    She drew in a shaky breath, realizing her hands were caressing the knob of the newel post.
    “Oh, now that’s sick,” she told herself.
    When she looked back up, the vision had vanished.
    Disappointment flooded her. She even took a step toward the stupid rug, as if that would make her wanton image materialize once again.
    Damn, it didn’t. Even so, it took a few more minutes to cool down.
    Her eyes narrowed. Whoever set them up had put a lot of thought into their planning, but it wouldn’t work. She’d resist. It was the only choice she had. She stiffened her spine and returned to unpacking boxes.
    It didn’t take long to empty the truck, since the bigger appliances came with the house. Other than what they’d already unloaded, there were a couple of armchairs, a dresser for the bedroom, table and chairs for the kitchen, and some boxes of dishes, along with other odds and ends. Before she knew it, Lucas and Jimmy were gone.
    They were alone.
    Just the two of them.
    She and Conor.
    Jessica covertly glanced in Conor’s direction. Instead of making a smart remark about some of the stuff they’d unloaded, he