Free Perfecting the Odds by Brenna St. Clare

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