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.

Connor stepped out a moment later, wearing faded blue jeans and a dark green T-shirt. He’d clearly stopped shaving, Michael noted when assessing his scruffy beard. Michael felt strangely uneasy as he watched Kate’s eyes wander over Connor’s body, before adjusting to meet his green eyes.

A muscular arm extended toward Kate. Her dimples were exposed as she smiled back at Connor. “Hi, I’m Kate.”

“I wish I were meeting you under different circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Connor.” He flashed her a bright smile.

“Thank you for coming,” Michael said and looked back at Kate. “Connor was with me in the Marines—he joined the year I did. He’s been out of the military for about as long as me.” Michael motioned them into the living room.

Connor studied Kate’s long legs as he followed behind her, which Michael observed with pained annoyance. “How do you know each other?” Connor asked before taking a seat on the suede sofa next to Kate.

Michael stood by the fireplace and trained his attention on Connor. Now that he noticed how captivated Connor seemed to be with Kate, Michael was beginning to question his choice of bodyguard. Connor was thirty-two, single, and a handsome guy. He’d have to be blind not to notice Kate.

God, what is wrong with me? He shouldn’t care if his friend checked out Kate—she wasn’t his.

“I planned the ball for Michael. I didn’t see you there the other night, did I?”

Connor shook his head. “No, I just got back from London yesterday. I was working on a special assignment so I couldn’t make it.”

“Do you, um, keep people safe for a living?” she asked, her eyes widening with curiosity.

Connor smirked. “When it pays well,” he joked. “Michael explained to me the situation. I’m glad to be at your beck and call until he finds the bastard who is following you.”

“I don’t think we’ll need you today,” Michael found himself saying, deciding he could protect Kate today and skip his meetings. “I’m not needed at the office today.” So maybe he’d piss off about ten different people by not showing, but at the moment, he didn’t give a damn.

He had another meeting with the DoD tomorrow, though. He’d have to go in for that one. “If you could be here by eight tomorrow morning that would be great.”

Connor nodded. “I’m staying at the hotel across the street, so I’ll be close by.”

“Thank you. I think this is all a little extreme, but Michael insists, so I guess I have no choice.” She smiled at Connor and rose to her feet when he stood.

“We’ll keep you safe. Don’t worry.”

“Let’s talk for a minute,” Michael said. He motioned for Connor to follow him into his office.

“It’s good to see you, man.” Connor patted Michael on the shoulder.

“You, too. How’s your brother? Mason on his last tour of duty?” Michael folded his arms and stood in front of his desk.

“He signed up for another one, and then I think he’s done. My dad wants to groom him for the family business.” Connor rubbed a hand down the side of his head before he swept it to the back of his neck.

“When are you going to stop running around—risking your neck?” Michael chided gently. “You could work at your dad’s place, too, you know.”

Connor shook his head. “Fuck no.”

Michael didn’t press. Instead, he filled Connor in with all the details.

“And Jake managed to get time off to come help tomorrow?” Connor asked as they made their way back to Kate a few minutes later.

“Yeah, fortunately.”

“Good. Well, see you guys in the morning.” Connor smiled and said goodbye after they chatted for a few more minutes.

“So, what do you think of him?” Michael asked after the elevator doors closed.

“I like him,” she said.

Michael’s jaw clamped shut for a brief moment. “Good.” He looked down at his watch. “We have a few hours before Jake gets here. I was thinking that maybe you could try and sketch a picture of what the guy looked like—the one you saw watching you at the club, restaurant, and ball.”

Kate released a small laugh. “Me? I can try, but I doubt it will do us much good. Drawing is not exactly my forte.”

He gave her a slight nod. “Come on, I’ll let you use my office.” After providing her with paper and a pencil, he left without saying another word. He didn’t want to be alone with her. He couldn’t breathe around her right now. She smelled too good—looked too good.

And he had promised to keep her safe.

* * *

“You’re gorgeous.” Those were the first words that Jake uttered to Kate. Not “hi,” “how are you,” or “nice to meet you.” He opened with, “You’re gorgeous.”

Michael pushed his fingertips against his right temple. “Jake,” he muttered in a low voice.

“So, some asshole has been following you, huh?” Jake released her hand and smiled.

Kate decided that swear words sounded sexy with a Texas drawl. “Unfortunately.”

“Perhaps we could sit and get acquainted and discuss what you already know,” Jake replied before heading toward the living room.

“Sure. Let me just grab something.” She left and went to the office to get her drawing.

“You could have warned me about Kate before I met her.” Kate paused in the hallway on her way back at Jake’s comment.

“Warn you about what?” Michael asked. She could just imagine Michael rolling his eyes.

“She’s an incredible looking woman. And with no make-up on . . . she looks like that? Tell me you’re not screwing her. Tell me she’s available.”

“Jake, you’re a good friend, but if you even think about making a move on her . . .”

A small pebble of hope bounced around her stomach.

She must have made some small sound because Michael looked up and found her standing still in the doorframe of the hall. “Kate.”

Kate glanced at Michael as she made her way to Jake. “Ugh. Here,” she said, handing her drawing to Jake, playing off the weird tension in the room by offering a forced but tight-lipped smile. “I can’t draw well, but that’s the best I could do. I saw this guy a few times. I don’t know for sure if he’s the one following me.” She sat down in a nearby armchair.

“This will help. Thank you,” Jake replied. “So, tell me what’s been going on.” He focused his attention on Kate, ignoring the glower that Michael was shooting his way. Fanning the flames a bit more, he added, “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s no great surprise that you might have a stalker.”

She studied Jake as she thought about what to say. He had short, dirty blonde hair. He was tall and muscular, but a little leaner than Michael and his warm brown eyes seemed to smile whenever he flashed his dimples at her. Like Connor, he was handsome. Did Michael only have good looking friends?

“Show him your phone,” Michael said, almost as if he were impatient with Kate.

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to her phone, which sat on the coffee table just in front of Jake.

Jake nodded and grabbed it. “Michael said your stalker started off by sending text messages, right? I assume they’re from the blocked number in here.” He scrolled through the images. “What else do you have?” He put the phone back down and looked at Michael, and then to Kate.

The red envelope was sitting on the end table by the armchair, alongside the dozen or so pictures that had been on the bed at the hotel. She reached for them, noticing her fingers trembling slightly. “Here,” she said, trying to steady her hand.

Jake flipped through the photos and opened the envelope. If he was worried at all, his face didn’t show it. In fact, she couldn’t gauge any type of reaction from him whatsoever. He was an FBI agent, she had to remind herself, and her situation probably didn’t even rank on the weird meter to him.

He set the photos and envelope on the table next to her phone and leaned forward, perching his elbows on his knees. “Stalkers generally send messages and photos for one of a few reasons. Sometimes the stalker actually believes that he or she loves the person that they’re following, and the messages are meant to serve as a token of appreciation and love. Sometimes a stalker sends messages because they get off on the fear. They like seeing your face when you receive the message and the person enjoys your reaction.”

Kate pulled the side of her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before realizing it. She shifted her focus to Michael, who rose to his feet and walked to the wall of windows. The cloudy sky was growing darker, matching their somber mood.

“But it may not be either of those reasons,” Jake announced.

Her shoulders slumped as her brows lifted. “What else could it be?”

“The person might not be obsessed with you in an infatuation sort of way, but rather just wants you to think that he is. Considering that your stalker demanded you go back to New York suggests that the motive of the texts and photos was to frighten you out of the city.”

“But why?” she asked, her voice cracking a little as she spoke.

He sunk back into the couch and clasped his hands together. “I have two theories. Your stalker wants you back in New York for whatever reason, maybe to do you harm there. Or, there’s also a chance that this is somehow connected to your mother’s murder.”

“I’m sorry, what?” she snapped.

Michael turned away from the window, zoning in on Jake as though he had a grenade in hand.

“I did some research on you after Michael called me yesterday. Sorry,” Jake said.

“Apparently, your research sucks because my mom wasn’t murdered.” She closed her mouth and pushed to her feet, walking to the fireplace, where she stared down at the fake, gray logs.

“Kate, I’m sorry. But what do you know about your mom’s death?” Jake asked.

She turned around and looked at Michael. He was beholding her with the same worry that rippled through her own body.

There was no way she could deal with this right now. No way. “She was eight months pregnant and went into labor early. They had to do an emergency C-section. There was a lot of bleeding. Her blood pressure spiked. She died.”

“Shit, I didn’t expect to be the one to tell you this. I assumed your father—or, at least someone would have told you the truth.” Jake reached into the duffel bag by his foot and retrieved a folder.

“Your mom was murdered in her parents’ home on Lake Norman, in your grandfather’s office. She was shot in the chest.”

Kate trained her eyes on the FBI agent, who was killing her on the inside with tiny little knife jabs of unwanted truth.

“Your dad arrived on the scene right after it happened—your mom was still alive, but barely. The medics couldn’t save her, but the ER doctors were able to save you.” He took a breath.

Jake might as well have put a gun to her heart. It felt like her life was seeping from her. She looked down at her chest to see if there was blood.

Jake continued, despite the fact that Kate was ready to collapse into an abyss of darkness. “The police decided it must have been a robbery gone bad, that maybe the burglars expected the home to be empty, and your mother confronted them with her father’s gun. Perhaps they took the gun and shot her . . . and then when her boyfriend—your father—showed up, they took off.”

She was touching her chest now. There was real pain there. She could feel it. She couldn’t possibly be imagining the feeling—her heart was constricting against her ribcage. Her nails clawed at her chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Kate?” Worry lit across Michael’s face. “Are you okay?” He darted toward her, holding her arm as if she might fall. He guided her back to the armchair.

She sat down for a few minutes in silence.

Murder?

No, it wasn’t possible.

“My dad would have told me. I don’t believe it,” she mumbled.

Jake let out a breath and continued to speak with a steady but softer voice. “Your father took you to New York as soon as the hospital let him. And your grandparents abandoned their home after the shooting. Either it was too painful for them to be in Charlotte or they suspected the murder was more . . . personal . . . than the police explanation.”

Her legs felt heavy, even though she was sitting down. “My dad left Charlotte because my mom died here. He left because this city was a painful reminder of her existence. Not because she was murdered.”

“Kate, I’m sorry, but it’s true. I can show you the police report if you’d like,” Jake said.

Michael’s eyes narrowed on Jake as he held up his hand. A warning.

“She needs to know this,” Jake insisted. He stood up and walked over to Kate.

Her attention shifted up to meet Jake’s eyes. “Go on,” she whispered.

“DNA evidence was brand new back then, and forensics didn’t reveal much. There was evidence of a break-in at the door to the back entrance. Your father reported that a family necklace your mother always wore was missing from her neck. Since your father saw no sign of a vehicle, the police assumed the robbers had parked down the street and approached the house on foot. Because your father worried there was more to the story, the cops interviewed friends and classmates of your mother, but they came up with a bunch of loose ends.”

Kate wasn’t sure how she would manage to stand. “I need to make a call. Excuse me.” She stood, but her legs had that weird, rubbery sensation as she walked. She didn’t remember how she got to her bedroom or dialed her father’s number, but she was now listening to him say her name for the third time.

“Are you okay? Kate? Say something.”

She shut her eyes. “You lied to me. Why?”

“What in God’s name are you talking about? What’s going on?” Her father’s voice had lost its cool edge. It broke with stress.

“Mom was murdered.” The words sounded strange as they rolled off her tongue.

Silence greeted her on the other end of the line.

“Why did you lie to me?” Her eyes flashed open, and she gripped the phone tight to her ear.

“Who told you this?”

“I just want the truth. What happened to her?”

“I’m taking the next flight to Charlotte. I’ll call you when I land, and then I’m picking you up and taking you home.”

The line went dead.

She continued to hold the phone to her ear as though answers would pour forth from it.

“Kate?” Michael rapped at the door. “Are you all right?”

“Go away.” It was her turn to blow him off. To close herself up and hide behind a fortified wall of steel.

“I can’t do that.” Michael opened the door, and she regretted not locking it. She dropped her phone on the bed and focused her attention on the plush carpet beneath her toes. Don’t cry. Don’t break down in front of him.

“Kate.”

She shifted to lie down. Turning away from him, she pleaded, “Please, leave.”

But he ignored her, damn him. She felt the weight of the bed shift as he joined her, and when he wrapped an arm around her, tugging her flush to his body, she cried, “Let me go. Leave.” She started to struggle, to shift her shoulders, to move away from him, but he only tightened his hold.

“I’m here for you, Kate. Let me be here for you.”

“Damn you,” she hissed. He had no right to be her savior right now. To be the friend she’d tried to be to him.

But as he nuzzled his face to her neck, sweeping his hand down the side of her face, she gave in to the warmth. To the comfort and feeling of safety.

And tears began to stream down her face as she remained tucked against the one man who could possibly hurt her more than her stalker. The man who was slowly possessing her heart.