Kate was saying goodbye to some of the few lingering guests when the man with the winning auction bid called out her name. She looked over at the handsome man and feigned a smile. She wasn’t in the mood to be friendly to this pseudo-date, but what choice did she have? “Hi. Ethan, right?” She reached for his hand. “Thank you for the donation. It will help a lot of people.”

His gray eyes lit up when he reached for her hand. “Will Friday work for you? The New York Times and Charlotte Observer want to take a few photos of us during our date. They approached me after the auction ended.” Unlike most of the men at the gala, he wasn’t wearing a tuxedo. He was sporting a sleek, gray, three-piece suit with a bright red necktie.

He was handsome and seemed nice enough, Kate thought. Could be a lot worse. She hated herself for wishing the date was with Michael, though. “I was planning on leaving for New York tomorrow. Is there any way you could come there? If not, I can fly back for the date.” But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to come back to Charlotte ever again.

“I would, but I’m making a quick trip to China this week, and I won’t be back until Friday afternoon. We could change the date if you would prefer?”

At least he was agreeable. “No, that’s okay. We can meet here.” Just change the date. Meet him in New York! Before she had a chance to voice her change of heart, he was leaning forward and pressing a kiss on her cheek.

“Until Friday.” A grin touched his lips, and he walked away.

“I hate that guy,” Michael said. He’d walked up beside her after Ethan left.

“Oh yeah? Why?” Kate asked, fighting back a smile.

“Because I know what his intentions are. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Was he acting like a brother, or was he jealous? She had no clue at this point. And it shouldn’t matter to her.

“His intentions can’t be any worse than yours.” Kate watched the corner of his lips quirk as his eyes moved over the length of her body. The things he could make her feel with one look. God, help me.

She forced her attention away from Michael and looked around the almost empty ballroom. She had already said goodbye to Julia, who had walked a few prestigious guests out of the hotel. “You can head out. Everything is all set here.”

“I’m walking you to your room. Remember?” He held up his hands. “My intentions are honorable, I swear.” There was a tone of mild amusement dancing in his eyes, which had a hint of steely gray in them tonight.

“Okay.” She found herself agreeing not because she felt sure that she could control her feelings, but rather because she was more afraid of her stalker than of making a mistake with Michael.

She looked down at the elevator floor once they stepped in, toying with her keycard on the ride up. “Thank you again for allowing me to put this event together. You’ve helped a lot of people, and the work you do is important.” She could feel him watching her. She forced her eyes up to meet his, and neither of them moved to exit the elevator when the doors opened. He looked so broody and contemplative—what was he thinking about?

The doors began to shut, and he thrust his arm out to stop them.

“I’m this way,” Kate said, tipping her head to the left as she exited.

“I remember,” he said before grinning. They walked the short distance down the hall to her room. “I guess this is goodnight.” She could hear disappointment echo through his voice.

“And goodbye,” she added. She unlocked and pushed the door ajar before turning back toward him. “I probably won’t see you again until we launch the next event. I was thinking we might try the Hamptons at New Years? I mentioned it to Julia, and she loved the idea.”

Michael studied her for a moment. “I’m not a Hamptons kind of guy. Too many rich, uppity people there.”

She smirked at him. “And you are?”

“Not uppity.”

Was that a school-boy smile? “Okay, no Hamptons, then. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“And no auction.”

She laughed. “Definitely no auction. Although I have to say, we raised quite a lot of money tonight. So, nice job.”

“Won’t you be in town all week now?”

“I’m still going to leave tomorrow as planned. I’ll just fly back down for the date Friday.”

“Maybe we could get dinner when you come back. Or the next time I’m in New York?” His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer to her. “You know, maybe hash out some of the details for the next event.”

“I don’t know,” she replied, although her body screamed yes. She felt hot and a little dizzy in his presence, which was a feeling she was learning to live with whenever he was around.

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?”

She pursed her lips together, deciding how much to divulge. “Yeah. I got a few texts from him as well.” She retrieved her phone and showed him the messages. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to show him the photos inside the red envelope. “I think he sent me those flowers the other night.”

“Is this the real reason you changed hotels? You were scared?” he asked after viewing the texts.

“Yeah. And there’s more.” She walked over to her purse and reached inside for the envelope. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

He opened the envelope and removed the photos. “I don’t understand,” he said after looking through the images. “What the hell does this have to do with me?” He grimaced and took a seat on the couch.

“The one of us dancing—turn it over.”

He read the message and looked up at Kate. “There’s no way you’re going back to New York.”

“Of course I’m leaving Charlotte. Are you kidding?” She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Did it ever occur to you that this person wants you back in New York for some Godforsaken reason? Maybe running back to Manhattan would be even less safe than staying. You just don’t know.” He rubbed his hand over his clean-shaven jaw and tossed the photo on the coffee table. “I don’t know why in the hell your stalker is sending you pictures of me with other women, but I do know the situation is out of control.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You need a bodyguard until my friend catches the bastard who is following you,” Michael said while lifting his eyes to meet hers. “And you need to cancel your date on Friday.”

“What? No way. I made a commitment . . . for the foundation. I can’t back out now. I will not let some psycho scare me out of doing the right thing,” she said, vehemently shaking her head. “And hell no, I’m not having some bodyguard follow me around—I’m already being followed enough.”

“That part is non-negotiable,” he said as he rose to his feet. “Listen, Kate, I may not know you that well, but like it or not I’m going to help you. I’m not about to let someone hurt you. I won’t let it happen.” His words were stern, but his actions were now gentle. He placed his hands on her arms and slid them down to her wrists.

“Okay, fine. Call a watchdog. Let me know how much he’s charging, and I’ll handle the bill.”

A smile slipped to Michael’s lips. “Go ahead and pack your bags.” He pulled away from her and picked up his phone.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll be staying at my place.”

“Now you’re out of your mind.” She gaped at him.

“Julia’s going back out of town for a few weeks, so you won’t be secure at her place. I can keep you safe. If you’re worried I’ll try to . . . you don’t need to worry about me, okay? I can restrain myself. Just don’t go walking around naked or anything.”

Before Kate had a chance to rebut, Michael was on the phone with the concierge, requesting that the hotel retrieve her luggage and bring the bags down to his car. He collected the photos from her bed during brief lulls in the conversation, and this suited Kate fine. She never wanted to see the pictures again.

She watched Michael move around her hotel room as if she were a bystander, watching a scene unfold. The sheer dread and panic that had caught in her throat when she saw the pictures on her bed had faded, and she felt numb and a bit chagrinned. To think that someone had stood by her bed and watched her sleep, having access to her to do God knew what . . . the thought brought a bubble of pure horror back to her throat. If she didn’t stop the train of what-ifs that were trammeling her mind, she would lose her sanity.

Fortunately, Michael distracted her. He all-but scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the hotel. She slid into his black, Audi R8 Spyder and clasped her hands in her lap. She had been rushed out of her room and to his car so fast that she’d had no time to think. What was she getting herself into? Would she truly be safer with the man around whom she could barely breathe?

Michael ignored Kate’s feeble protests as he zipped down the streets and into the garage of his uptown penthouse. Without uttering a word, he parked, opened the door for Kate, and grabbed her two suitcases. He motioned for her to follow him to a nearby elevator. He punched in a key code—oh, a private elevator—and they jerked upwards.

The doors opened directly into the foyer of his home. Kate entered with caution echoing in every footstep. She looked around, first noticing the high ceilings, wooden beams, and exposed brick. His place screamed uptown New York much more than it did Charlotte, but she liked it. The large living space was decorated in warm, neutral colors with oversized, plush furniture. It was nothing like the modern bachelor pads she’d seen from other rich men, whose décor was cold and simple—all right angles and black and white. The handmade oak coffee table and light brown throw rug in front of the fireplace made her want to curl up with a glass of wine and a good book. God, she wished that was what she could do right now—and not be the protagonist of some thriller movie.

She pushed away her fears and refocused on his loft. “I love the rustic look of the place. I mean it’s modern and all, in terms of the features.” She scanned the sophisticated kitchen, its top-of-the-line appliances. “But it’s also so inviting.” She dropped her purse on the marble countertop in the kitchen before stifling a yawn. She shook her head, surprised that she was already feeling so comfortable, and she leaned against the counter. “This is very different from your office.”

“My sister decorated the office. We have different styles.”

“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into coming here.”

“I didn’t give you much of a choice,” he remarked. “Something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I should get some rest.”

“Okay. Follow me.” They exited the kitchen, and he retrieved her luggage before they walked down a long hall that held a series of doors.

The guest room was like the rest of the house—decorated in warm tones, with soft lighting. The king-sized bed was perched atop a dark walnut, sleigh-style frame and adorned with creamy silk linens. Hanging over the headboard was a photograph of a still lake surrounded by mountains. A breathtaking view.

“Did you take that photo?” she asked, seating herself on the bed.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s my place in Boulder. A place to escape when the world gets a little too loud.” He was looking down at the floor.

She smiled and waited for him to bring his eyes back up. Was he okay?

“Anything I can get for you? There are towels and stuff in the bathroom,” he said, pointing to the adjoining door.

“I think I’m good.” Well, as good as she could be in her current situation.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to call my friend tomorrow morning about your stalker. We’ll see what he comes up with.” Michael reached for the doorknob.

“I hate to say it, but what can he do with only a few texts and photos? I’m sure there are no prints.”

Michael grinned. “If anyone can find this guy, it’s Jake,” he assured her. He stared down at her as if fighting the impulse to join her on the bed. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Michael walked away from Kate’s room and to the master suite, which was on the other side of his house. There were guest rooms closer to his, but he preferred to keep her as far away as possible. He needed to put some distance between them. She’d be the first woman who wasn’t family to sleep over. As much as he wanted to keep her safe, the idea of having her under the same roof had him nervous.

He hurried into his bathroom to take a shower, needing to cool off.

Despite the cold water, his arousal heightened when his thoughts drifted to Kate.

I’m such an asshole. The woman has a stalker, and I’m . . . Jesus.

After showering, he tried to dull his senses by reading the news on his tablet, but he only tossed around in his bed, ruffling up the sheets.

Around two in the morning, he wandered into the living room. He rubbed his jaw and moved toward the long wall of windows that overlooked the city.

“What are you doing up?” he asked when noticing Kate’s reflection. He turned around to face her, which probably wasn’t the best idea.

She was wearing a flimsy silk nightgown that stopped a few inches above her knees. She hugged her arms, out of nervousness or perhaps to conceal the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I can’t sleep,” she replied before sitting down on the oversized, brown suede sofa.

He inhaled a sharp breath, feeling the painful discomfort of unsatisfied lust as she sat there before him, wearing barely any clothes. He had restraint, but he was still a man. He looked away from her and back out the window, trying to calm his erection, which seemed to grow more demanding every time she was near.

“Do you always sleep in sweat pants?” she asked.

“I sleep commando, actually.” He couldn’t see her response in the reflection, but he assumed he’d made her blush. At least her thoughts weren’t on the stalker.

“How come that model Jamie didn’t come to the gala? The real reason.”

Her question took him by surprise. He gripped the back of his neck with his left hand, working out a kink. What was he supposed to say? His tension eased somewhat, and he turned back toward her. “I wouldn’t worry about Jamie.”

“Did you sleep with her?” Kate’s voice was small and distant. He could almost see the pesky shade of green that was her envy. Normally, he couldn’t abide by jealousy, but for some inexplicable reason, it pleased him to see it on her.

He cocked his head to the side and stared at her. “I turned her down last night after dinner, which was hard for her ego to deal with.”

Kate looked up at him with hooded eyes. Surprise swallowed the features of her face.

“Are you cold?” he asked, trying not to notice her nipples poking through the silk nightgown.

“I’m okay.” She rose from the couch and approached him, her eyes focused on his. She stopped just out of reach.

His pulse ticked up a notch as she wet her lips. “Kate.” The deep sound of his voice was meant to serve as a warning. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“We shouldn’t, I know. I have a crazed stalker. And I know I’ve told you no, but—”

He cut her off. His mouth crashed down over hers, and his hands moved up her arms and slid under the silk straps of her pale blue nightgown, moving them from her shoulders. The nightgown slipped to her feet. His body pressed against hers; his full cock charged and ready. His hands roamed over her breasts, which swelled beneath his fingertips. God, she was perfect.

Kate threw her head back as he kissed her neck.

He caressed her skin until his own was on fire. And then he took a step back and looked at her, taking her all in.

She did something he didn’t expect. Without a hint of modesty, Kate slipped out of her red thong and let it fall to the floor. She stood before him wearing nothing more than a look of deep hunger in her eyes.

A look of acceptance—giving herself over to the moment. To their need for each other. A need that had thrown him off guard the moment she spilled her drink on him.

A blazing need that went beyond his normal primal desire to screw.

He groaned before lunging toward her, his hands practically ravaging her body, wanting to touch every inch of her. He grazed her lips with his teeth and tugged at her bottom lip. “I want you so fucking much,” he said with a throaty voice. He swooped her into his arms and carried her to the master suite.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed, and the comforter lay rumpled at the bottom of the bed. He set her down on the black silk sheets. She lay before him, naked and ready. He hastily peeled off his T-shirt and removed his pants and boxers, freeing himself.

He positioned himself over Kate, staring down at her body. “You’re so sexy.”

As he leaned in to kiss her again, he felt her soft fingertips touch his chest.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. She ran her fingers over his pectoral muscles and abdomen, circling each of his three bullet wounds with her finger tip.

Reality was settling, heavy and thick. Michael’s pulse ticked at his neck, and the muscles in his face strained. He had been in such a hurry that he’d forgotten about his scars. They were scattered over his chest: one just below his ribs, another by his shoulder, and a third dangerously close to his heart. Kate seemed fixated on the last.

He cursed himself for a fool. His friends had died in battle, and yet, women thought these bullet wounds were hot. He usually wore a shirt during sex to hide the evidence of injury. But tonight, with Kate, he had forgotten. He looked down into Kate’s eyes and was surprised to see them glistening. Was she going to cry?

“I didn’t realize it was that bad. I didn’t know you were hurt like that.”

He rolled off of her and squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear the gunshots splicing through the air, loud and sharp. He balled his hands into fists.

He tried to silence the memories, but they assaulted him with deadly force. His heart hammered in his chest when her hand rested on top of his. His eyes flashed open, and he stared at her. “I’m sorry.” He pushed off the bed and grabbed his sweats and pulled them on.

She reached for his bed sheet and covered her body. “Did I do something wrong?”

He looked down at the gorgeous woman in his bed, wondering why he was thinking of Afghanistan when he should have been thinking of all the ways he was going to get her off. “No, of course not, but I let myself get carried away. We shouldn’t do this.” Did he sound convincing? “I don’t want to be an asshole,” he bit out.

“I don’t understand.” She rose to her feet, pulling his bedsheet with her.

“You’re being stalked. The timing of this—it’s not right.” He folded his arms and leaned against his tall, mahogany dresser. He forced his eyes to look past her, pulling armor down over his sight.

“And maybe I need this. I want to forget for a few moments that I’m Kate Adams, the woman who doesn’t do one-night stands and has to have everything planned down to the minute. I’m not Kate Adams, the woman who is being stalked—who lost her mom at birth.” She raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just be Kate tonight? The Kate who wants to sleep with you?”

He looked away from her, toward the double doors that led back into the hall. He was trying to remain steadfast, but he was losing his resolve. She looked captivating in only his bed sheet. His sheets would never look the same. “I had no intention of sleeping.” He directed his eyes back on hers.

The mood in the room shifted as his concern over her stalker found its way to the backseat, and his desire fought to resume control. He beheld her with heavy, lidded eyes, but he remained firm in his stance, arms crossed. “No. We just can’t.” And his indecision was making him ready to claw at his skin in frustration.

“Shouldn’t it be me who decides what I can and can’t handle tonight?” She tilted her head to the side and bit her lip.

“I don’t do relationships, Kate. I screw.” He was crass on purpose—needing to push her away, to keep her safe from him.

His eyes narrowed and focused on her mouth . . . but she was making him forget the gunshots. Forget Afghanistan. “My stance on dating hasn’t changed, and that should be reason enough for us not to get back in that bed together.” He shook his head. “I don’t normally care. I go for what I want—I’ve been after you all week. But tonight . . . what’s happening to you is a game changer.”

“So, let me get this straight. Up until the discovery of my stalker, you were willing to screw me with little regard for my feelings and the aftereffects, but now—now your moral compass is suddenly pointed in the right direction?” She arched her shoulders back, and her mouth opened, but no further sound came out.

“Basically.”

Kate took a step closer to him. “You’re a jerk,” she said, glaring at him. “At least when it comes to women, that is.” When she left his room, the dark sheet trailed after her, swishing against the floor.

He forced himself to look away. His hard-on was growing painful, and he had been seconds away from ignoring his brain and grabbing Kate. He could still smell her delicious scent on his body. He had to find a way to forget the way her mouth tasted and ignore the way her body had felt beneath his.

She was staying with him so he could help protect her from a stalker, after all. The last thing she needed was casual sex and a broken heart.

He groaned, slipped off his sweats and headed back to the shower. How many more cold showers would it take before he washed away his need?