Silenced Memories

by Brittney Sahin

  “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,” he said, his voice warning, his face tight. “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 on 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 just looked at her, taking her all in.

  She did something he didn’t expect, something remarkable. 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.

  He groaned before lunging toward her, his hands ravaging her body. 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 naked body into his arms and carried her to the master suite.

  The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed, and the expensive and soft 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 stripped off his T-shirt and removed his pants and boxers, freeing his thick, hard cock.

  He leaned over her and stared down at her body. “You’re so fucking sexy.” His voice rasped low in her ear.

  As he lifted up 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 ripped abs, 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 to devour her 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. The pain had been as deafening as the explosions that blasted the earth beneath his feet. 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 blue eyes flashed open, and he stared at her. “I’m sorry.” He pushed off the bed and started getting dressed.

  She reached for his black bed sheet and covered her body, which was suffused with a crimson blush. “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 make her cum. “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 just a few moments that I’m Kate Adams, the woman who doesn’t do one-night stands. I’m not Kate Adams, the woman who is being stalked.” She raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just be Kate tonight? The Kate who wants to sleep with you?”

  He licked his lips and 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 after adorning someone so magnificent. “I had no intention of sleeping.” He directed his eyes back to 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.

  He wanted to bite that lip. Damn you and your luscious lips. “I don’t do relationships, Kate. I fuck.” His eyes narrowed and focused on her mouth. 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 sucked in a breath. “I don’t normally care. I go for what I want—I have been after you all week. But tonight . . . what’s happening to you is a game changer.” His voice was resolute. His eyes were warm and still signaled his desire, but the rest of his body was on some sort of ‘hell no’ autopilot.

  “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, careful not to trip over the sheet. “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 soft, toned 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. Of course he had the feeling that sex with Kate would hardly be some mild-mannered, casual thing. It would most certainly be mind-blowing. He saw the way she had danced. He’d seen her naked body. Her tongue had flickered sensuously against his.

  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, 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?

  “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?” Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she was wearing pink stretch pants and a white tank top.

  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 pri
soner.” She folded her arms. She was still feeling the bitter taste of rejection. Part of her was angry at him for turning her down, and the other part was 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 pristine 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 Splenda on the counter and whipped around to look at him. “Like what?” She looked down at her clothes, confused, and back into his eyes, which were registering a look of lust. “I’m in workout clothes.”

  “You look hot. Really hot.”

  Her brows popped up, and she shook her head at him.

  He cleared his throat. “If you want to run, you can use my gym.” He broke his gaze and motioned for her to follow. “I rarely use it, as I belong to a gym near the office, but it should have what you need.”

  Confusion sprawled across Kate’s face as her lips tightened. What just happened? One minute he was sending sexual messages with his eyes, and the next he was as hard and cold as stone in a New York winter. She grabbed her coffee and followed Michael out of the kitchen and down a different hall, the one that led to his bedroom. That was the workout she wanted—the only equipment she needed was Michael. Cut it out. What is wrong with you? She needed more sleep. Either that or she was using thoughts of sex with Michael as a distraction from the real problem at hand, her stalker.

  “I converted a guest bedroom to 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.

  “You should eat before you exercise, though.”

  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 . . .”

  Just like that, Michael Maddox, sex god, was looking at her again with hunger burning in his eyes. He had to stop doing that, or she, too, would lose her control. How would she make it through the next week being so close to a man with such raw sex appeal? She hadn’t been able to control herself last night, so her only hope was for Michael to keep up with his so-called good guy routine.

  “I’ll see what I can find.” A smile snuck up on her as he rubbed his eyes as if rubbing away his guilt.

  Michael left, and she went back to the massive kitchen to grab a piece of toast and sugar for her coffee. While emptying Splenda 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.

  Then again, wouldn’t she be safer in New York? Or was Michael right—was her stalker taunting her to get her back to New York, which might pose an even greater risk?

  “Kate?”

  Michael entered the kitchen; his brows snapped together, his mouth in a straight line. “I have to leave. I have to take an emergency call with the DoD.”

  “Department of Defense?”

  He nodded. “I can’t do it here, or else I would. I may be gone all day. I need you to promise me that you will not leave the house, under any circumstances.” He stood only a few inches away from her, smelling delicious.

  “Yes. I’ll stay here.” She brought her coffee to her lips and added a head nod in case he didn’t believe her.

  “I have security cameras inside the place. I don’t want to have to turn them on.”

  “What? Can you see in my room?” She set her coffee down and crossed her arms.

  “No. They’re only in the main living areas. And they only work if I activate them. So . . . don’t make me activate them.”

  “No way. I don’t need another person spying on me.”

  “I would feel better knowing that I could just check up on you from anywhere,” he mused. Then he shook his head. “Please, just don’t leave. I can’t be on a call with the government talking about ISIS and—”

  “Wow. You’re helping the government with ISIS? That’s a bit intense.” She tilted her and looked down at the floor, realizing her problems were rather minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

  “Just be good and stay here,” he said. “There are cold cuts in the fridge. Help yourself to lunch, and I’ll bring some Thai food back with me for dinner.”

  She looked up at him. “Thanks.” She watched as he exited the kitchen. God, that man can be infuriating. And sexy. She bit her lip and looked down at her coffee. She was no longer in the mood to eat or drink. She needed to run. Do yoga. Do something to distract her mind from her stalker and free herself from Michael Maddox’s spell.

  ***

  “We need you back. At the very least, we need you out in the field to train the men directly. We appreciate that you’ve been helping out at Camp Lejeune, but we need more from you. Your country needs you,” General McKinsey said, leaning back in his chair.

  Michael stared at the general, whose image and audio was live-streamed via the secure internet at the office. He tried not to betray his shock. He looked down at the pen he was tapping and let it go. “I need some time to think about it.”

  “I know you left because of your injuries, but—”

  “That’s not why I left. I left because my family couldn’t handle the pain of worrying about me anymore.” That, and because I just don’t know if I can kill again . . . and stay sane. He shifted in his seat and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Your family needs to understand that you’re keeping them safe with your time in the service.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He glanced over at the family portrait that he had taken with his parents at Hilton Head. Guilt pulled him in all directions. “I’ll be in touch.” He ended the call and hung his head low.

  The general had taken him by surprise with his request. They had spent hours discussing military tactics in relation to his intelligence designs, which were currently used to locate terrorist cells. Then bam! The old man had tried to rope him back into the service. It wasn’t enough for him to be one of the leading experts in observation technology—what his sister called spy shit—they wanted him back in the Middle East, too.

  I can’t think about this right now, he decided. He checked the clock. It was already close to six. He dialed up his favorite Thai place and preordered the food before leaving the office. He had left Kate alone for far too long.

  He called her name
as he walked into his living room, but there was no answer. Panic had just begun to grip his throat when he noticed a flash of blonde hair on one of his balconies. He set the bags of food down on the coffee table and walked toward the double glass doors to the terrace. “Kate.”

  She rose from the lounge chair with a wide, lazy smile. “Hi.”

  “I thought we agreed you would stop dressing like that.” His eyes combed over her white shorts and yellow halter top.

  “Okay. You need to get your eyes checked,” she teased. “I am completely covered.”

  “I think a baggy T-shirt would be good,” he said, eyeing her chest. “And loose-fitting pants. Maybe a pair of my sweats.” He tilted his head and continued studying the curves of her body. He had touched those curves.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen.” She clasped her hands together and peeked inside the house. “You bring food?”

  “Yeah, I got sushi, Pad Thai, and Red Curry Chicken. I remembered that you like spice.” He smiled at her as she walked past him and into the house. His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she moved. Focus. He shut his eyes for a moment, hoping to quell his desire for her, and he took in a deep breath and stepped inside. He looked over at Kate as she sat down on his couch, and he reached for the remote to turn on the radio.

  “Lady Gaga’s Poker Face?” A smile slipped to her lips.

  Michael had started to change the channel but stopped when he saw the bright look in Kate’s eyes. “You like this song?”

  “Just reminds me of playing poker with you.” She was beaming, which he preferred to sulky and depressed. Most people would have tended toward the latter if they had a shadow creeping after them.

  He set the remote down, leaving the song to play, and took a seat next to her. He watched her shut her eyes and move her shoulders a bit. There was no way he’d survive the week. He’d have to buy her a chastity belt.

  They dipped back into their food, and he tried to ignore the odd feelings that swirled inside his gut.

  “How’d your call go?” Kate asked, a few minutes later.