The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(39)

“I don’t know what happened, but you’re here for a reason.” She placed her hand on his forearm, not backing down, even though he was doing his best to scare her away. “How many lives have you saved since that day? With the technology you’ve designed . . . how many people are alive because of it?”

Michael gripped Kate’s shoulders and pulled her against him. He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with an intense fierceness, a desperate need. But it was also a punishing kiss—forceful with anger that she’d made him remember, made him feel . . .

He felt a slight tremble in her body, and he pulled away.

“Michael,” she whispered.

His eyes widened just slightly before he tore off the balcony without another word.

It was for the best. The sooner she came to terms with the fact that he was a prick, the better.

*


The sound came as a shock to her. It started slow and guttural, but it grew louder.

Kate left her bedroom and went to the living room, searching for the noise that had awakened her from her dreams.

He was screaming.

A blood-curdling yell.

Kate picked up her pace and ran to Michael’s room. She opened his door without thinking and darted to the bed. Tangled in his sheets, his naked body jerked in convulsive movements.

He was having a nightmare. Jesus.

“Michael,” she whispered his name, afraid to startle him.

No response.

He continued to flail on the bed.

She moved toward him and sat on the edge of the bed. She touched his chest and said his name again, a little louder.

And then she was on the floor. Breathless. And he was on top of her, his weight punishing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. His eyes were dark and unrecognizable. “Michael, please.”

Realization must have hit him; he jumped off. “What the hell?” he mumbled.

He kneeled down and helped her off the floor, scooping her into his powerful arms and set her on his bed. “Shit. Are you okay?” He brushed the back of his hand down her check, standing naked before her.

It took her a moment to process everything. One minute she was trying to help him, and the next she’d been pinned beneath him. “I’m okay,” she lied.

“What happened?”

“You were having a nightmare, I assume. I heard you all the way from my room. I tried to wake you.”

“I’m so sorry.” He sat beside her and reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. She couldn’t even look at him. His body was hard—rock hard. And glistening with sweat. Greek gods had nothing on this man.

He rose to his feet and grabbed a pair of boxers from his dresser.

Kate attempted to rise to her feet. Her knees buckled, and she sat back down.

“I thought your room was far enough away so that I wouldn’t wake you.” He leaned against the nearby wall, placing some distance between them.

“Does this happen often?” she asked as her eyes landed on his hard chest, and she tried not to obsess over the scars there.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

She attempted to flex the muscles in her legs. Would they hold her if she tried to stand again? “What are the nightmares about?” she pushed.

His eyes narrowed. “I said that I don’t want to talk about it.”

The grit in his voice should have served to her as a warning—leave him the hell alone. The man was cold, bitter, and angry.

But she ignored the warnings in her head and rose, crossing the room to where he stood.

Kate reached out and touched his chest, and his pectoral muscles flinched beneath her fingers. Without thinking, she leaned in and kissed the bullet wound near his heart.

His hands came down over her forearms as if he were trying to push her away from him.

But she resisted. Instead, her fingertips glided over his six-pack, and then she brushed her lips over another scar. “I want to take your pain away,” she said, looking up into his blue eyes.

He stared at her for a beat, and then lifted her up and carried her to the bed. His gaze was intense, focused. It burned through her as he laid her down.

“Michael.”

He joined her in bed, and he gently pulled her on top of him. He cupped both sides of her face and brought her lips to his.

She moaned against his mouth, and he parted his lips, his tongue dipping inside—twining with hers. Her body rubbed up against his, and she hated the feel of her clothes as a barrier to his skin. She wanted to be naked. To have his skin touching hers—she needed to feel him. She couldn’t lose this moment.

Their lips parted as he grabbed the hem of her tank top and lifted it. She sat up a little, her groin pressing against his erection, her center throbbing as her breasts became tight and heavy beneath his stare.

He cupped her breasts as she lowered back down, her mouth running over his jawline, down the side of his throat.

The feel of his thumbs hooking each side of her shorts had her gasping, and she pushed back up to help him rid her body of them.

She stood in front of him, and he sat up, resting on his elbows as he stared into her eyes. His gaze was steady on hers, even though she was naked before him. He was the one sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

Suddenly he rose and lifted her into his arms, and she wrapped her legs tight around his hips. Supporting her weight with one hand, he pressed a palm to her collarbone and then spread his fingers up to the base of her throat. He gently tossed her back, and she landed on the plush comforter.