Page 5 of Possessed By Roman

He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him properly. Broad enough to make my small dorm doorway seem ridiculous. He’s tatted up like the kind of man people probably move out of the way for without being asked.

He’s dressed entirely in black: black jeans, a black shirt stretched over an intimidatingly large chest and shoulders, and a black hat pulled low over his head. His expression is serious, his jaw hard. Dark ink covers both arms, disappearing beneath his sleeves. I catch pieces of the designs at first: a compass, crashing waves, the edge of what looks like a naval anchor, all woven into darker patterns that disappear beneath his shirt.

He looks less like someone my father would send to help me and more like someone who has come to drag me into an unmarked van. Yet, I can’t stop looking at him, taking in his finely carved features and the firm but surprisingly soft-looking lips framed by a full beard.

I shouldn’t feel this drawn to a stranger. Self-preservation kicks in and I take one step backward. His eyes immediately soften, easing my defenses a little.

“Sorry,” he says.

My brows pull together. “For what?”

“For looking like I’m about to murder you.”

I stare at him. His mouth twitches and his fierce features relax a fraction. Okay, maybe my father’s friend does have a sense of humor.

“You look a little scary,” I admit. More like absolutely terrifyingly attractive.

“I get that sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

This time, he almost smiles. The expression changes his entire face, but only for a second before it disappears again.

“I’m Roman,” he says, holding out his hand. “Your father and I served together.”

I look at his hand before taking it. A strange little jolt travels down my spine as his palm swallows mine. The reaction catches me completely off guard. “Cora.”

“I know.”

My heart beats hard and I quickly pull my hand back. Focus, Cora. You met him approximately sixty seconds ago.

He looks past me into the dorm room. “Can I come in?”

Something about the question makes my uneasiness return. I should probably say no. I should probably call my father and ask why he has apparently sent a giant tattooed man dressed like the physical embodiment of a threat into my hallway.

Instead, I step aside. Roman walks inside, and my tiny dorm room somehow gets even smaller. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t look around. He simply stands near the door while I close it behind him, and the seriousness on his face finally makes me understand that this definitely isn’t a random visit.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

His gaze settles on mine. “Your father called me last night. He asked me to come here.”

My stomach tightens. “Okay. Why?”

Roman is quiet for a moment, and that silence is enough to make fear begin crawling up my spine. “Your father has been investigating someone. An investigation connected to military weapons and classified information.”

My confusion turns into disbelief. “My dad works for NCIS. He investigates things.”

“I know.”

“So why are you acting like this is unusual?”

“Because this investigation wasn’t official. He was investigating someone without going through the normal channels.”

“Why?”

“Because he believed someone inside the government might be helping the man he was investigating.”

For a few seconds, I simply stare at him. “You expect me to believe that?”