The Safe Bet

by Brittney Sahin

  “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 him 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 fuck.” 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 h
e 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 want 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.

  Then again, wouldn’t she be safer in New York? Or was Michael right?

  “Kate?”

  Michael came up behind her in the kitchen and she turned to face him. “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.”

  “Yes. I’ll stay here,” she mumbled and brought her coffee to her lips.

  “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 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 head and looked down at the floor, realizing her problems were rather minuscule in the grand scheme of things.

  “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.”

  “Thanks.” Once he was out of sight, she glanced down at her drink, no longer hungry or thirsty.

  She needed to run. Do yoga. Do something to distract herself before she lost her sanity altogether.

  *

  “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. “I’ll be in touch.” He ended the call and hung his head low.

  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 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.

  H
e called her name as he walked into his living room, but there was no answer. Panic had begun to grip his throat, but he noticed a flash of blonde hair on the balcony. 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. “Hi.”

  “I thought we agreed you would stop dressing like that.” He was joking. Well, sort of.

  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 grinned at her.

  “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 again as she walked past him and into the house. His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she moved.

  Stop. 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 was about 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 playing, and he 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.

  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.

  He looked at her as he brought a piece of sushi to his mouth. After he had finished chewing, he responded, “It went well, but there’s only so much I can do from here. It’s hard to help when I’m not out in the field.”