The Safe Bet (Hidden Truths #1)(50)

He cleared his throat and looked up at her. “I don’t have much of a story.” His voice gave her a chill colder than the Arctic. Gone was the carefree, charming companion—in his place was now an aloof stranger. He reminded her a little of Michael, in that way. Warm one minute and steel the next. Of course, steel could get hot pretty quick. “Connor, you don’t need to tell me anything. You don’t owe me your story. I was just making conversation.” She released her hand from his shoulder and looked down at her drink.

“Kate, Michael trusts me to keep you safe, but I think most of us—those who spent a lot of time in the Middle East—well, we don’t like to talk about our past. We don’t like talking about ourselves all too much. Michael and I are kind of fucked up, to tell you the truth. Afghanistan was the breaking point for us.” He took a swig of beer. “I think he’s a bit more messed up, though,” he said with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood. “I try to be a happy-go-lucky guy, in spite of everything, but Michael, well he . . .”

Kate was curious to hear more, but Connor was looking at something behind her. She swiveled around to see what had grabbed his attention.

Michael, wearing his powerhouse, three-piece suit, was standing at the entrance of the bar. He looked even more out of place than she did.

He crossed the room in a few long strides. “Kate,” he gruffly said. “We need to talk.” His eyes were focused on hers, ignoring Connor’s presence.

“How’d you find us?” Kate mumbled as she stood.

“Never mind that.” He directed his heated gaze Connor’s way. “What were you thinking having her leave the loft?”

“Oh come on, she’s fine.” Connor stayed seated and finished his beer.

“I’ll bring her back to my place. Jake will be there at two—come over then.”

Kate looked up at Michael, a shiver darting up her spine. “Bye Connor. Thanks for the drink.”

Connor raised his brows at her and grimaced in apology. Did he feel bad for getting her into trouble?

Michael rested his hand on the small of her back and nudged her forward. She wouldn’t normally allow a guy to boss her around, but he was trying to help her, so she let it slide this time.

Kate had to blink a few times as they exited from the dim bar and burst into the bright, sunlit outside.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked while folding her arms.

“What were you doing in there with him? Is there something going on between you two?” They stopped walking, and he turned to face her, ignoring the small audience of pedestrians that subversively observed the scene as they walked by.

If it were possible, her jaw would have hit the ground. It would have come unhinged and plummeted. “You’re crazy.” She leaned against the brick building next to the dive bar.

“Kate.” He ruffled his hair, pieces sticking out, making him look a little disheveled, and she had to assume that was a new look for him. She was sure he was used to being in control and composed at all times.

“What you saw earlier—” he began in a low voice.

“Was none of my business,” she said with a little more fire to her voice than she had meant to.

She pushed away from the wall and attempted to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him. “What?” she rasped, hating that she was still hurting from seeing him kiss that other woman.

“Kate.” His voice was a plea. “Come on, let’s talk at my place.” He motioned for her to follow him, and she agreed. Where else did she have to go?

*


They walked the six blocks back to his home in silence. When the elevator doors opened, she rushed out.

“What’s your problem?”

She pivoted back around and walked toward him, failing to mask her look of total madness. “I don’t have a problem. I was perfectly fine having a drink with Connor until you showed up, looking like the Hulk.”

If he weren’t so angry, he would have laughed.

He chucked his keys on the hall table. “Can we talk?” He took off his blazer and tossed it on the recliner as he moved toward the living area. He unbuttoned his black vest and threw it off, as well.

She ignored his question and went out onto the balcony.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said, taking a seat on one of the lounge chairs. He crossed his ankle over his knee, his slacks stretching over his quads. He rolled up the sleeves of his black collared shirt and drummed his fingers on his knees.

She finally turned around so he could chance a look at her eyes—to see the expression on her face. She was hurting. This is exactly what he didn’t want happening.

“You don’t owe me any explanations.”

“It sure as hell feels like I do,” he bit back. He shut his eyes, trying to calm the hot thread of frustration that spun through him, winding him up.

“Michael, I don’t care about some pretty redhead. Kiss whoever you want.”

He let out a slow breath as he opened his eyes. His attention wandered to her lips. She was the only one he was in the mood to kiss. Didn’t she know that? “She kissed me. I didn’t expect it, and I didn’t want it.”

“Who is she?” she asked meekly a minute later.

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to reassure her. They both knew they couldn’t be together. They couldn’t play by each other’s rules, so why were they even having this conversation? Why did he need to explain himself, to show her . . . what? That he’d been faithful? He groaned and looked over her shoulder and at the hotel across the street.