"Go into the living room. I know you want to check the texts I've heard coming in on your phone." Chelsea cleared the table while she waited for the teakettle to whistle. As she was about to pour the tea, she looked up. Malik leaned against the doorway, checking his messages. Lord, he was a gorgeous hunk.

"Any news?" Hopefully, his answer would provide a distraction. Anything to keep her from leaping across the room and planting a deep, searing kiss on his delectable mouth.

"My friend, Haddad, is talking about a protest in Place Pasteur this afternoon."

"Do you think there will be a lot of trouble?"

"Trouble? I do not know. But it will be important to go there. I want to gather information. For a report."

He gazed deep into her eyes then shifted his glance to her mouth.

She wet her lips. Was he thinking about kissing her? She hoped he would. But a kiss would really complicate things. "I'm not sure…" Her words reflected nervousness about more than the political situation.

He crossed to her side and linked his fingers in hers. His touch was warm, reassuring. "I am wanting you to come with me."

Chelsea cleared her throat, both disappointed and relieved he hadn't kissed her. Except part of her yearned for more. Much more than interlocked fingers. From his touch and from the frisson of fear skittering down her spine, she knew she was in trouble. Trouble she could handle, she told herself.

"Well?" he asked.

She only hesitated a moment. The old Chelsea would have stayed home, avoided the risks. But this Chelsea, the one who had dared to come halfway around the world to teach, was different. "Joining you would be an interesting adventure."