The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(41)

“You don’t need to be nervous with me, Kate.”

She wasn’t going to come away from this unscathed . . . was she?

Michael cleared his throat and stepped back, turning away from her. “You should get some rest, Kate.” He was closing himself off. Of course, what else did he do when things got real?

She looked over as his hands swept up to the railing. He gripped it and bowed his head forward, and she noticed the muscles in his back tense.

“If you change your mind about talking, well, I can be a friend. I can listen,” she said with a slight tremble in her voice.

Without turning around, he answered, “I have enough friends, Kate. But thanks.”

And like that, the icy mask slid back into place, and the Man of Steel was back.





CHAPTER TWELVE




MICHAEL WAS STANDING IN THE kitchen cooking an omelet when he looked up to see Kate. Although she’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, she looked rested. He was relieved when she had left the balcony to sleep in her own room. He didn’t want to send her any more mixed messages. Besides, what if he’d had another nightmare? What if he hurt her?

The sex had been amazing with her, but she was too good for him. So sweet and innocent. She should have come with a warning label.

“Hi.”

She was standing at the edge of the kitchen, and he could already see the damage he’d done.

“Morning,” he said before focusing back on the frying pan. He was unable to look into her eyes, afraid of what else he might see.

“A man who can cook. Smells good. Can I help?”

He turned back around, not wanting to be rude, even though he knew he shouldn’t be nice. She wouldn’t fall for him if he acted like a dick, he hoped. Hell, but what if she already had? He tilted his head to the side and studied her for a moment. He couldn’t stop himself from appreciating the sight of her.

She was in her gym clothes again, and he’d be damned if he ever saw someone wear workout clothes better. A fitted, bright orange tank top showed off her curves, and her tiny workout shorts revealed defined legs and hinted at an equally toned backside.

He scratched the back of his head and turned back to the eggs, pushing at the omelet with the spatula. “I’m just about done. Have a seat.” He grabbed two plates and slid the food onto them before sprinkling a dash of salt and pepper.

“Looks good. Thank you so much,” she said when he set the food in front of her.

He sat on the stool next to her, and then he did something stupid. His hand came up over the top of hers. “Are you okay, Kate?” When he looked up at her, her eyes were focused on his hand, her mouth in a tight line.

Shit. What am I doing?

“I—ugh . . .” she started.

He lifted his hand from hers and pressed it to his lap.

“Michael.” She kept her eyes trained on her dish, and that was fine with him. He didn’t want to see pain on her face. He didn’t think he could handle it if he did. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I’m sorry.” And then she stood up and came around behind the stool. “Thank you for the food, but I don’t have much of an appetite.”

He rested his elbows on the edge of the counter. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Last night was amazing. I mean, like, amazing with capital letters. But we have been thrown together under unusual circumstances, and that would never have happened otherwise.” She paused and rubbed her hands against her sides, fixating on the floor. “The girl in the bedroom with you last night—that’s not me.”

He swallowed as he turned to face her and stood, his eyes studying her high cheekbones and full mouth. She could have been a model or an actress, but he was immensely relieved that she wasn’t. Not all celebrities were pretentious and shallow, but most of the ones he dated were—and that was just the way he liked it, usually. That way, he was in no danger of falling for anyone.

But Kate, she was the entire package, wasn’t she? And while he adored every new perfection that he discovered, each thing pricked him with the pain that he would have to lose her.

“When I walked into the kitchen this morning, and I saw you—”

“I’m sorry, Kate.” He couldn’t let her continue. He couldn’t hear what she’d say. “I enjoyed last night. It was great. But I can’t be anyone else—this is me. I only do casual. You know that.” He dragged a palm down his face, hating himself right now. “I can never give you what you need—what you deserve,” he added, and he wasn’t exactly sure what possessed him to note that point.

“And why is that?”

He looked down at the hardwood floors and stepped back from her, needing some space. “I just can’t get into this right now.”

Or ever.

He paused and forced his attention back to her eyes. “Listen,” he began, reaching for her hand, but she stiffened and pulled away. He deserved that. “I promise I’ll keep you safe. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you—that is something you need that I can give you.”

Before she had a chance to respond, Michael’s phone began ringing. “That’s probably Connor, your bodyguard.” He reached for his phone. “Yeah, come on up. I’ll buzz you in.”

He went to the foyer and tapped at the keypad by the elevator doors.