The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(32)

And then she did something stupid.

She pressed up and touched her lips to his, but pulled away almost immediately, her heart racing in her chest.

Before she could mutter an apology, Michael reached for her hip with one hand and cupped the back of her neck with his other as he pulled her back against him. His mouth found hers, parting and coaxing her lips open. It all happened so fast. He swung around, so they were both inside her room and kicked the door shut behind him with his leg, never losing grip on her body, her mouth.

He kissed her with tenderness at first, but as his tongue roamed her mouth, he seemed to lose control. His hand wandered from her neck and through her wavy blonde locks. His other hand held her tight against him.

When Kate broke contact, she struggled to catch her breath. The desire she’d felt from that kiss had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It was sexually stimulating to her and yet way too intimate—exposing her to the very core.

“I’m sorry.” Fear of tomorrow, of the unknown, settled back inside of her. “That shouldn’t have happened.” She ran her hand over her face, and slipped off her strappy heels and walked toward the bar. “I haven’t had a drink all night, but I think I might need one now,” she said, reaching for a cold bottle of Riesling.

Michael moved up behind her and touched her shoulder. “Sorry, Kate. I don’t normally come undone like that.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “I told myself I would leave you alone after last night.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the window.

She set down the unopened bottle of wine and turned to him in surprise. “Michael, I . . .” She stopped talking when she saw the open bedroom door. “I know that I shut that.”

“Maybe a cleaning person came up here.”

“At night?” She walked to the bedroom and stopped at the sight of her bed. A stone sank in her stomach, and she fought the urge to let go—to break down and cry.

The stalker had been in her room. Pictures were splashed all over her bed.

“Kate?” Michael came up behind her.

“No, don’t.” She held up her hand, almost too afraid to take a close look at the photos herself.

“What in God’s name?” He grabbed a handful of pictures and looked back at Kate. “There are so many. And they’re all of you sleeping.”

She approached him and reached for the photos he was holding. “He was in here while I was asleep?” How had she allowed this to happen? Who could have gotten so close?

“Who is ‘he’?” Michael demanded.

“I need to get out of this. I can’t breathe,” she mumbled while tugging at her dress. She stumbled toward the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

Kate slipped out of her gown and pulled a T-shirt over her head as Michael burst into the bathroom. “Michael,” she shrieked as her face flushed with embarrassment. She was standing there in only a pink T-shirt and red thong.

“Fuck,” he practically hissed the word and left the bathroom. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he hollered out. “But what the hell are these pictures all about?”

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know,” she answered when she stepped back into the bedroom. She had paired gray yoga pants with her T-shirt. As she walked toward the bed, she began to yank her hair into a ponytail. She sat down beside him on the bed, careful not to look at the pictures.

“Well, I’m worried.” He rose to his feet and tossed the handful of pictures back onto the bed. He crossed his arms, making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere without answers.

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. Some creep has been stalking me. Ever since I got to Charlotte, I think. I don’t know why.” She bit her thumb and looked down at the ground.

“You have a stalker? Does Julia know about this?”

She shook her head no.

“Aside from these pictures, what else has happened?”

“I’ve seen someone watching me. Once at a club, and then again at the Mexican restaurant, and tonight at the ball. And—”

“Shit. You should have told me.”

“Why? I barely know you.” She stood up and started for the living room. She needed more space to breathe. Michael had a way of absorbing all of the oxygen in the room.

“Who cares how well you know me! You should’ve asked for help if you were—are—in danger.” He followed her into the living area and pulled out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“The police.”

“No,” she cried, grabbing his phone and tossing it on the sofa. “I don’t want to make this a big deal. I don’t need the police getting involved. This is my life. I’ll handle it.”

“You can’t be serious. You think I’m just going to let you handle this?”

“Let me? Yes, you are going to ‘let me’ handle this. Thanks for caring, but I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her hands over her arms to calm her sudden chill.

“You’re so damn stubborn.” He heaved out a deep breath. “I have a friend in the FBI. I’ll ask him to do me a favor. Off the books.”

Why do you care? But she nodded. “Fine.”

“Anything else I should tell him?”