Perfecting the Odds (8 page)

P
lease kiss me already
, blasted out of her every pore, but the words wouldn’t escape.
Take what you want. For the first time in your fucking life, just take it!

She bent down, gazes steady… lower and lower she moved, his
fingers tightening around her hips; she bent lower still until she was close enough to trace her tongue along his top lip, sampling the warm vodka flavor. His warm breath became her own as he parted his lips, and she pulled back. His lips curved. Sobering. If she thought for one second she had the control--that she was seducing him--she was dead frickin’ wrong. Michael embodied erotic enticement.

Her defenses lifted briefly. She leaned back farther and cleared her throat. “Marines always carry a gun, right?” His brows lifted, and he nodded. “And I don’t know if you’re shy or deliberately mysterious, but that gun between your legs says you like this.” Michael’s eyes widened, his jaw slackened. It was the perfect expression of surprise.

Yeah, she sounded slutty, but she didn’t give two shits. Her conscience was literally fist pumping. Karis had balance now--an even playing field.

He had no choice but to reveal himself.

His tongue tickled the edge of her ear as he whispered, “Sweetheart, I can smell how much
you
want this, see your pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, feel your hard nipples against my chest and the wet heat of your pussy against my cock.” She gasped at both his vulgar words and aggressive nip to her earlobe. Oh, yes. Cupping her nape, he nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. It was mere seconds…a frozen lapse between the moment his lips brushed over hers and when he lightly teased the crease with his tongue. She whimpered at the intimacy of it, treasured it within herself for safe-keeping. When would she every have a moment like this again?

He
held her bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue inside with a single sweep. She moaned, overcome with the silkiness of his tongue against hers, exploring and teasing every corner of her mouth. The scratch of his beard shadow braised her cheek. He tasted exactly how she knew he would—warm and vodka-clean. So distinctly Michael. Large hands slid down to cup her buttocks beneath her skirt. God, how she missed this… the firm touches, the heat, the urgency, the little nuances that made a man, a man.

With one final
suck to her bottom lip, he pulled away, and a sound, so much like a whine, escaped her mouth. She felt the heat bloom on her face as the sound hit her ears. Brain function wasn’t hazy; it had completely halted. And it took every bit of her control to not straddle him and rub out her release against his rock-hard cock.

Wow
. She blinked her eyes open, and he was grinning. She couldn’t help but smile back. Whatever someone would call
that
had rocked her to the core, making her question if she’d ever been really kissed before.

And
that
begged the question, how could one kiss stand alone as possibly the most intimate conversation she’d ever had with a man?

Before she could debate further, he cupped her cheek gently
. “I knew it would be good, but,
fuck
, that was…” His voice trailed as he inhaled deeply.

“
Perfect,” she whispered, unable to censor the truth.

“
Christ, Karis.” Michael’s words escaped like a desperate call. He shoved his hand in his back pocket and threw a few bills onto the bar. Clutching her hand, he pulled her toward the stairs, bounding toward the exit.

Stopping outside the door, the cool October air swept over her sweat-sheened body, taking the breath from her lungs. She shivered just as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his hard warmth.

Michael
stopped, peered into her eyes, then backed her against the brick wall of the bar. He rested his forearms on either side of her head, shadowing her….staring at her…studying her, his breath releasing little clouds of warm air inches from her face. The man was just so
male
. 

H
e rested his forehead against hers. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop, Karis…
Goddammit
,
I’ll stop.” Karis wasn’t drunk enough to miss his word choice, and the man knew she was (stupidly) honest. He didn’t ask if she wanted him to stop; he asked if she
wanted him
. Well, hell. She should stop. Really should. But, dammit, she did want him, especially when his body was giving off so much sexual dominance, she wanted to wrap her legs around him and have him take her right against the brick wall, hard.

The mask.
He’s deceiving you
, her conscience argued.

Before
Karis had time to argue with the reminder, the sexy bastard dipped his head. She closed her eyes just as he peppered his soft lips along her jaw and down her neck. Her body went boneless. Damn if each kiss didn’t strip her of every bit of control, every fiber of fear, layer by needy layer.

When she opened her eyes, his lips were curved into the sexiest grin she’d seen on him yet.

“
I don’t think I’ve wanted anyone more, Michael.” What the Hell was happening to her? She had no idea how her mouth moved. In fact she was pretty damn sure her vagina had taken control of her brain and said those words. They were insulting to her past, to her husband, but what scared her more was the statement was absolutely, irrevocably true.

Before she knew it,
she heard her heels scrape the sidewalk as he pulled her past two door fronts. Little bursts of inhibition fought their way through her intoxication. But just as prudence dug its nails into recklessness, Michael stopped in front of a red brick façade and pulled his keys from his front pocket. He turned and searched her eyes as he teased the key against the lock.

“
God,
yes
,” she breathed again.
Shut up, Karis. Play a little hard to get for godssake
.

He grinned
and kissed her mouth hard before pulling her up the staircase. Stopping at the opening of what she could only assume was his apartment, she jerked her hand away.

I’m
a mother for godssake.

He opened
the door and stood inside, starring at her trembling like a fool. But beyond bold, beyond dangerous, she hadn’t felt this alive in years. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her dormant heart beat wildly in her chest. She closed her eyes, savoring the rush of blood through her body, allowing her other senses to heighten. With one final Michael-infused breath, she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze flickered his gorgeous features, his huge stature. Intimidating? Hells yeah. Enticing? Like an oasis in the hottest damn desert on the planet. If she crossed that threshold, she accepted Michael—his desires and, ultimately…his deception, settling like a crevasse between them. Damn cogent thoughts. Only a desperate idiot would go into that apartment under such pretense.

Well, she’d been
called worse.

Stop lying to yourself, Karis
. The decision had been made back at the bar. His mouth was now her drug of choice. She was an addict and each second without it felt like withdrawal. It dulled her nagging thoughts and made her hyper aware of the missing yet integral part of herself. She was a woman with needs, dammit. And she was beyond tired of thinking, tired of incessant questioning, and tired of assessing risks.

Karis
crept slowly toward Michael, feeling half like a predator and half like prey. Lifting her hands to his face, she rubbed her thumbs along his sexy stubble and pulled him to her mouth again.

“Karis,
” he murmured, vibrating his soft lips against her mouth. Her chest rose and fell with quickening gasps. His thumbs caressed the swells of her breasts, leaving the tingling trail to find its own way to her rosy peaks, budding desperately beneath the lace of her bodice.

“Karis?” he asked.

She slowly blinked her eyes and met his gaze. “Hmm?”

“
Sweetheart, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” The endearment affirmed sincerity and offered that security she felt whenever he was near.

“
I know…I--” She choked on her words and bit down hard on her lip. Sadness, longing, and guilt formed a mass in her gut. Why did he have to say that? She didn’t want any more goddamn choices.
But can I even do it?
Shit
.
The question invaded her mind like a goddamned germ. She often pondered how much time was enough time to wait before moving on. Before she could expand that thought, his arms were around her, pressing her head into the crook of his shoulder. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the medicinal effects of his sweet, musky scent to work their magic and stop her tears.

He
feathered his lips over her temple. “We can just talk. I promise...” But the end of his statement blurred.

Promise
.

The
word shrieked like an alarm in her head. Karis knew one thing about men and their promises. They always broke them. Always. Her father, her husband, and now her…Michael. And she was about three scars too wounded to hear another one.

She shoved away from him
. “Cut the shit. I know it’s you.”

Michael’s
wide eyes filled the holes in his mask.  Even though Karis knew it was him, a mix of anticipation and panic churned in her stomach. Her eyes followed the mask rising above his lips, over that perfect Roman nose, and above those chocolate-lined toffee eyes. And with a deep breath, he exposed his identity.

Michael.

D
ropping her forehead into her hands, she tried to settle the verbal fury threatening to explode. Without the disguise, it all seemed too
real
. Too wrong. With that one word—promise—he had summoned emotions in her that he wouldn’t be prepared to handle.

“I’m sorry
,” he whispered. Well, she had to give him credit. He wasn’t arrogant enough to apologize. Clenching her teeth together, she walked toward him and stabbed one finger to his chest, and cursed inwardly at how hard he was. “That’s exactly what you are.
Sorry
. So, what was your sorry-ass plan, Michael?” He stared, and the anger trickling out of her spurred goose bumps over her flesh. “Take advantage of the lonely widow,” she hissed.

His jaw ticked before he
opened his mouth, but shut it quickly.

“
Say something!” She shoved his chest before balling her fists at her sides. “God, I’m so angry I can’t see straight!”

“
You can’t see straight because you’re fucking drunk,” he deadpanned.

She narrowed her eyes
to slits. “Don’t you dare judge me, Michael. You’re the liar.” Her chest heaved, struggling to suck in enough oxygen to avoid the threatening panic attack. She should have never allowed it to go this far. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He deceived her, lead her to believe he was a complete stranger. Truth was, the embarrassment of it all stung worse. Michael knew more about how she felt about her husband’s deception than anyone else. She had confessed her soul to him, her fears, her mistakes, her sins. And for the first time, she understood the reason behind the confessional booth, the barrier between the confessor and exonerator--anonymity protected both parties.

But here he was
staring at her, his lips deliciously swollen and ruddy from their kisses, his eyes piercing hers with tenacity. Michael was so much more than an unobtrusive listener, wasn’t he?

And here
she
was, her soul shredded. Yet, she had done nothing to stop him from thinking she wanted more. In fact, she went and encouraged it, for godssake.

“
Karis,--,” he said then reached for her.

“
Stop.”—his hand dropped—“Did you know I would be at that bar tonight?”

“
Of course not.” He walked within a few inches from her.  The air cracked. The tension, the need, ruthlessly lured them closer to each other.

Her mouth formed a sneer of a smile.
“So you get your rocks off on saving widows from their lonesome misery?” He winced and backed away from her. She countered and stepped toward him. “I am pretty pitiful, aren’t I…hitting on the first guy who showed interest?”

“When did you know
?” Shit on a hot tin roof. “You recognized me as soon as I spoke. I saw it in your eyes, Karis. Yet you didn’t say anything.” His face cringed with desperation, maybe even pain. “Why, Karis? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything? Why did you let it go that far—“

“
I
let it go that far! You were the one in the goddamn mask,” she retorted before turning toward the door. She had to. Although she accused him of lying, she knew her behavior was no better. Quite frankly, the whole situation was one big shitty mistake, of which she was all too accustomed. She smoothed her hands down her costume in a vain attempt at dignity and headed toward the door. “I have to go,” she threw over her shoulder. “Eve’s probably a basket case by now, and I need to get my kids from the sitter.” Maybe the mention of children would help him back off.