She watched Michael move around her hotel room as if she were a bystander, watching a scene unfold. The sheer dread and panic that had caught in her throat when she saw the pictures on her bed had faded, and she felt numb and a bit chagrinned. To think that someone had stood by her bed and watched her sleep, having access to her to do God knew what . . . the thought brought a bubble of pure horror back to her throat. If she didn’t stop the train of what-ifs that were trammeling her mind, she would lose her sanity.
Fortunately, Michael distracted her. He all-but scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the hotel. She slid into his black, Audi R8 Spyder and clasped her hands in her lap. She had been rushed out of her room and to his car so fast that she’d had no time to think. What was she getting herself into? Would she truly be safer with the man around whom she could barely breathe?
Michael ignored Kate’s feeble protests as he zipped down the streets and into the garage of his uptown penthouse. Without uttering a word, he parked, opened the door for Kate, and grabbed her two suitcases. He motioned for her to follow him to a nearby elevator. He punched in a key code—oh, a private elevator—and they jerked upwards.
The doors opened directly into the foyer of his home. Kate entered with caution echoing in every footstep. She looked around, first noticing the high ceilings, wooden beams, and exposed brick. His place screamed uptown New York much more than it did Charlotte, but she liked it. The large living space was decorated in warm, neutral colors with oversized, plush furniture. It was nothing like the modern bachelor pads she’d seen from other rich men, whose décor was cold and simple—all right angles and black and white. The handmade oak coffee table and light brown throw rug in front of the fireplace made her want to curl up with a glass of wine and a good book. God, she wished that was what she could do right now—and not be the protagonist of some thriller movie.
She pushed away her fears and refocused on his loft. “I love the rustic look of the place. I mean it’s modern and all, in terms of the features.” She scanned the sophisticated kitchen, its top-of-the-line appliances. “But it’s also so inviting.” She dropped her purse on the marble countertop in the kitchen before stifling a yawn. She shook her head, surprised that she was already feeling so comfortable, and she leaned against the counter. “This is very different from your office.”
“My sister decorated the office. We have different styles.”
“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into coming here.”
“I didn’t give you much of a choice,” he remarked. “Something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I should get some rest.”
“Okay. Follow me.” They exited the kitchen, and he retrieved her luggage before they walked down a long hall that held a series of doors.
The guest room was like the rest of the house—decorated in warm tones, with soft lighting. The king-sized bed was perched atop a dark walnut, sleigh-style frame and adorned with creamy silk linens. Hanging over the headboard was a photograph of a still lake surrounded by mountains. A breathtaking view.
“Did you take that photo?” she asked, seating herself on the bed.
“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s my place in Boulder. A place to escape when the world gets a little too loud.” He was looking down at the floor.
She smiled and waited for him to bring his eyes back up. Was he okay?
“Anything I can get for you? There are towels and stuff in the bathroom,” he said, pointing to the adjoining door.
“I think I’m good.” Well, as good as she could be in her current situation.
“Okay. Well, I’m going to call my friend tomorrow morning about your stalker. We’ll see what he comes up with.” Michael reached for the doorknob.
“I hate to say it, but what can he do with only a few texts and photos? I’m sure there are no prints.”
Michael grinned. “If anyone can find this guy, it’s Jake,” he assured her. He stared down at her as if fighting the impulse to join her on the bed. “Goodnight.”
Michael walked away from Kate’s room and to the master suite, which was on the other side of his house. There were guest rooms closer to his, but he preferred to keep her as far away as possible. He needed to put some distance between them. She’d be the first woman who wasn’t family to sleep over. As much as he wanted to keep her safe, the idea of having her under the same roof had him nervous.
He hurried into his bathroom to take a shower, needing to cool off.
Despite the cold water, his arousal heightened when his thoughts drifted to Kate.
I’m such an asshole. The woman has a stalker, and I’m . . . Jesus.
After showering, he tried to dull his senses by reading the news on his tablet, but he only tossed around in his bed, ruffling up the sheets.
Around two in the morning, he wandered into the living room. He rubbed his jaw and moved toward the long wall of windows that overlooked the city.
“What are you doing up?” he asked when noticing Kate’s reflection. He turned around to face her, which probably wasn’t the best idea.
She was wearing a flimsy silk nightgown that stopped a few inches above her knees. She hugged her arms, out of nervousness or perhaps to conceal the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I can’t sleep,” she replied before sitting down on the oversized, brown suede sofa.
He inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the painful discomfort of unsatisfied lust as she sat there before him, wearing barely any clothes. He had restraint, but he was still a man. He looked away from her and back out the window, trying to calm his erection, which seemed to grow more demanding every time she was near.
“Do you always sleep in sweat pants?” she asked.
“I sleep commando, actually.” He couldn’t see her response in the reflection, but he assumed he’d made her blush. At least her thoughts weren’t on the stalker.
“How come that model Jamie didn’t come to the gala? The real reason.”
Her question took him by surprise. He gripped the back of his neck with his left hand, working out a kink. What was he supposed to say? His tension eased somewhat, and he turned back toward her. “I wouldn’t worry about Jamie.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Kate’s voice was small and distant. He could almost see the pesky shade of green that was her envy. Normally, he couldn’t abide by jealousy, but for some inexplicable reason, it pleased him to see it on her.
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “I turned her down last night after dinner, which was hard for her ego to deal with.”
Kate looked up at him with hooded eyes. Surprise swallowed the features of her face.
“Are you cold?” he asked, trying not to notice her nipples poking through the silk nightgown.
“I’m okay.” She rose from the couch and approached him, her eyes focused on his. She stopped just out of reach.
His pulse ticked up a notch as she wet her lips. “Kate.” The deep sound of his voice was meant to serve as a warning. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“We shouldn’t, I know. I have a crazed stalker. And I know I’ve told you no, but—”
He cut her off. His mouth crashed down over hers, and his hands moved up her arms and slid under the silk straps of her pale blue nightgown, moving them from her shoulders. The nightgown slipped to her feet. His body pressed against hers; his full cock charged and ready. His hands roamed over her breasts, which swelled beneath his fingertips. God, she was perfect.
Kate threw her head back as he kissed her neck.
He caressed her skin until his own was on fire. And then he took a step back and looked at her, taking her all in.
She did something he didn’t expect. Without a hint of modesty, Kate slipped out of her red thong and let it fall to the floor. She stood before him wearing nothing more than a look of deep hunger in her eyes.
A look of acceptance—giving herself over to the moment. To their need for each other. A need that had thrown h
im off guard the moment she spilled her drink on him.
A blazing need that went beyond his normal primal desire to screw.
He groaned before lunging toward her, his hands practically ravaging her body, wanting to touch every inch of her. He grazed her lips with his teeth and tugged at her bottom lip. “I want you so fucking much,” he said with a throaty voice. He swooped her into his arms and carried her to the master suite.
The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed, and the comforter lay rumpled at the bottom of the bed. He set her down on the black silk sheets. She lay before him, naked and ready. He hastily peeled off his T-shirt and removed his pants and boxers, freeing himself.
He positioned himself over Kate, staring down at her body. “You’re so sexy.”
As he leaned in to kiss her again, he felt her soft fingertips touch his chest.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She ran her fingers over his pectoral muscles and abdomen, circling each of his three bullet wounds with her finger tip.
Reality was settling, heavy and thick. Michael’s pulse ticked at his neck, and the muscles in his face strained. He had been in such a hurry that he’d forgotten about his scars. They were scattered over his chest: one just below his ribs, another by his shoulder, and a third dangerously close to his heart. Kate seemed fixated on the last.
He cursed himself for a fool. His friends had died in battle, and yet, women thought these bullet wounds were hot. He usually wore a shirt during sex to hide the evidence of injury. But tonight, with Kate, he had forgotten. He looked down into Kate’s eyes and was surprised to see them glistening. Was she going to cry?
“I didn’t realize it was that bad. I didn’t know you were hurt like that.”
He rolled off of her and squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear the gunshots splicing through the air, loud and sharp. He balled his hands into fists.
He tried to silence the memories, but they assaulted him with deadly force. His heart hammered in his chest when her hand rested on top of his. His eyes flashed open, and he stared at her. “I’m sorry.” He pushed off the bed and grabbed his sweats and pulled them on.
She reached for his bed sheet and covered her body. “Did I do something wrong?”
He looked down at the gorgeous woman in his bed, wondering why he was thinking of Afghanistan when he should have been thinking of all the ways he was going to get her off. “No, of course not, but I let myself get carried away. We shouldn’t do this.” Did he sound convincing? “I don’t want to be an asshole,” he bit out.
“I don’t understand.” She rose to her feet, pulling his bedsheet with her.
“You’re being stalked. The timing of this—it’s not right.” He folded his arms and leaned against his tall, mahogany dresser. He forced his eyes to look past her, pulling armor down over his sight.
“And maybe I need this. I want to forget for a few moments that I’m Kate Adams, the woman who doesn’t do one-night stands and has to have everything planned down to the minute. I’m not Kate Adams, the woman who is being stalked—who lost her mom at birth.” She raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just be Kate tonight? The Kate who wants to sleep with you?”
He looked away from her, toward the double doors that led back into the hall. He was trying to remain steadfast, but he was losing his resolve. She looked captivating in only his bed sheet. His sheets would never look the same. “I had no intention of sleeping.” He directed his eyes back on hers.
The mood in the room shifted as his concern over her stalker found its way to the backseat, and his desire fought to resume control. He beheld her with heavy, lidded eyes, but he remained firm in his stance, arms crossed. “No. We just can’t.” And his indecision was making him ready to claw at his skin in frustration.
“Shouldn’t it be me who decides what I can and can’t handle tonight?” She tilted her head to the side and bit her lip.
“I don’t do relationships, Kate. I screw.” He was crass on purpose—needing to push her away, to keep her safe from him.
His eyes narrowed and focused on her mouth . . . but she was making him forget the gunshots. Forget Afghanistan. “My stance on dating hasn’t changed, and that should be reason enough for us not to get back in that bed together.” He shook his head. “I don’t normally care. I go for what I want—I’ve been after you all week. But tonight . . . what’s happening to you is a game changer.”
“So, let me get this straight. Up until the discovery of my stalker, you were willing to screw me with little regard for my feelings and the aftereffects, but now—now your moral compass is suddenly pointed in the right direction?” She arched her shoulders back, and her mouth opened, but no further sound came out.
“Basically.”
Kate took a step closer to him. “You’re a jerk,” she said, glaring at him. “At least when it comes to women, that is.” When she left his room, the dark sheet trailed after her, swishing against the floor.
He forced himself to look away. His hard-on was growing painful, and he had been seconds away from ignoring his brain and grabbing Kate. He could still smell her delicious scent on his body. He had to find a way to forget the way her mouth tasted and ignore the way her body had felt beneath his.
She was staying with him so he could help protect her from a stalker, after all. The last thing she needed was casual sex and a broken heart.
He groaned, slipped off his sweats and headed back to the shower. How many more cold showers would it take before he washed away his need?
Chapter Eleven
Kate wandered into the kitchen around nine the next morning. She saw Michael perched on a barstool with his cell phone pressed to his ear.
“See you in a bit.” Michael placed his phone on the kitchen counter. “Hi.”
Why do you have to be so sexy? She moved her tongue over her front teeth, wetting them. She studied his messy bedhead hair and the dark stubble that gave him a rugged, dangerous look. She hoped they could put their close encounter with sex behind them and move on and act normal. But was that possible? She still couldn’t believe she’d broken her rules last night.
“I, um, planned on taking a run this morning, but I figured I wouldn’t be able to get back in the building afterward. Is there a key or code I could have?”
Michael guffawed. “You have got to be kidding.” He rose to his feet.
She took a nervous step back as he approached her. “What?”
“You can’t go out alone.”
“I didn’t come here to be a prisoner.” She folded her arms. She was still feeling the bitter taste of rejection. Part of her was angry at him for turning her down, but she was mostly relieved.
“My friend in the FBI will be here tomorrow morning, and I have someone who will be your bodyguard starting tomorrow, as well.”
“That’s fast.” Her shoulders sank a bit, and she decided not to argue with him about going for a solo run. He was stubborn and headstrong, and also trying to protect her. He was right not to let her go. She sighed. Why was he helping her, anyway?
“We’ll get this straightened out and soon.”
Kate walked over to his espresso machine. “Is this for coffee?” Puzzled, she turned toward Michael, her eyes pleading.
“What would you like?”
“Just coffee.”
He opened the cupboard and pulled out a white mug. He pressed a few buttons on the machine, and warm black liquid began pouring into her cup.
“Thanks.”
He nodded and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t dress like that when you’re around me,” he said in a throaty voice.
She dropped her unopened sugar packet on the counter and whipped around to look at him. “Like what?” She looked down at her clothes, confused. She was wearing pink stretch pants and a white tank top. What was the big deal? “I’m in workout clothes.”
“Well, you look hot.”
More mind games? What the hell?
He cleared his throat. “If you w
ant to run, you can use my gym.” He broke his gaze and motioned for her to follow. “I rarely use it. I belong to a gym near the office, but it should have what you need.”
She grabbed her coffee and followed Michael out of the kitchen and down a different hall, the one that led to his bedroom.
“I converted a guest bedroom into a workout room a few months ago, in case I ever felt like working out at home. Although I haven’t used it much.” He pushed the door open, and she was pleased by the amount of equipment the room had to offer. There was a treadmill, elliptical, bike, rower, large punching bag, and a speed bag, as well as a full set of free weights. Two large and long windows allowed in plenty of natural light, which brightened up the room.
“This should work.” She took a sip of her coffee and realized she’d forgotten to sweeten it.
“Make sure you eat before you exercise.”
She nodded.
“I have some work to do in my office. I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything,” he remarked as he walked back out into the hall.
“Um, Michael. Thanks. Thanks for helping me with my problem.” She gulped. “I don’t think I said that, did I?”
“Well, now you have,” he said. “It’s no problem, but, uh seriously, if you have some less sexy workout clothes . . . and more modest pajamas, for that matter . . .”
A smile snuck up on her. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Michael left, and she went back to the kitchen to grab a piece of toast and sugar for her coffee. While dumping the sugar into her mug, she remembered that her father was expecting her home tomorrow. She had texted him before the ball that she would be returning home and had no plans on coming back to Charlotte. What would she tell him now? She couldn’t tell him about her stalker. He would demand that she return home, and if she said no, he would fly down and drag her back to New York.
The Hidden Truths Series Box Set Page 11
