Perfecting the Odds (3 page)

“Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” he asked. Or, maybe he was just like the hundred other losers in this bar. At least he’d managed to stop her tears. Instead, she bit down on her lip, a pitiful attempt not to laugh at his poor attempt at flirting.
Was this guy for real
? He was way too gorgeous to not know how to do this. And he undoubtedly knew how hot he was. Hot men always did.
So why deal with trivial things like meaningful conversation
, she quipped inwardly. Jeez.

“
That’s
your go-to weapon in your arsenal of pick-up lines?” She snorted before meeting his eyes, which looked pleasantly amused by her retort. Mercy squared. His irises swirled with the color of rich toffee rimmed with a dark chocolate. Decadent eyes. Her heart quickened just slightly before the wave of guilt swept over her again. Stupid hot men and their stupid pretty eyes.

“
It earned me a smile, so it’s my number one line now. Michael Finn,” murmured from his firm lips as he extended his right hand in her direction. He grinned, and she felt her nipples pebble against her lace demi bra, which meant only one thing: Having a sexual response to a man while your husband is dying is a nonstop ticket to Hell. Yep, she just sealed the deal. It didn’t matter that she’d not had sex in months. God, was she fucked up. Karis let out a slow breath as she glanced at his hands. Long fingers. Trimmed nails. Callouses on the inside of his middle finger…synonymous only with writers and painters…or teachers who graded piles of writing. He didn’t look like any of those. He looked like her own personal serpent in the garden of hell she called life.

***

Michael watched carefully as she stared at his hand, debating whether or not to return the gesture. Karis had been strong and confident with that asshole Chad, even offering her hand to him first, but she seemed flustered by Michael. And there wasn’t anything more alluring than a genuinely coy woman. As Karis shifted toward him and hesitantly slid her hand inside his, the palpable spark had them both lurching. His breath caught in his throat.

Holy shit.

Lovers talked about it; writers mused about it; painters tried to capture it. Michael
absorbed
it for the first time in his life. The energy literally robbed the air between them. True, it was sexually elemental, but the density of it possessed a deeper mass of emotions. Logic had Michael equating the feeling to something familiar. Strangely, his mind returned to one time in his childhood when he “experimented”. Rummaging through his mother’s pantry, he gathered and dumped into a bowl every ingredient he could find--the good, the bad, and the crazy--and when he’d mustered the guts to actually taste it, it was good. Really fucking good. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t pinpoint which ingredient made it that delicious, so he finally decided, it didn’t really matter. That whatever he inadvertently made was a union of experimental perfection.

And
that
unexplainable perfection rolled between them like a wave coursing for shore.

“
Karis”--she said before clearing her throat-- “Karis Bennett.” He smirked at the repetition of her name in James Bond fashion. Definitely nervous. Michael squeezed her small hand before breaking the connection, and damn if the air didn’t crack, as disappointed with the separation as he was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,
Karis, Karis Bennett,” he answered quietly. Her chest rose with a quick shot of breath, and he savored that little victory.

“Uh
m, listen, Michael. You seem nice enough, but I-I’m really not in the mood to talk, so if you don’t mind…” Her request trailed as she took a sip of her drink and rubbed her temples with slim index fingers. Ice bath round two on his arousal. Something was definitely wrong and that bothered him more than he’d like to admit. Yes, Michael could be a pompous jerk, but he wasn’t an asshole by any means. Hell, when his father died, he all but raised his younger sisters. But he wasn’t one to push his help on someone or pry into issue that had nothing to do with him. So then why the hell did he want to ask her what was wrong something fierce? Why was she in a ‘bitchy’ mood? Why did she continue to sigh and hold her head? Why did she look like she hadn’t slept in days? Did someone hurt her? Was she in pain? These questions swarmed in his head like horde of angry bees. And then it was like one of those little bastards stung him and the questions halted… for first time ever, he was the one asking the questions he’d avoided like the plague, and didn’t really give a fuck. He had to do something.

He
gripped his glass, fighting hard not to claim that kissable mouth just to distract from whatever crammed her thoughts. “Karis, what do you say we just sit here and get blitzed together? In silence of course.” She shut her eyes, but then released a breath and a sexy grin formed.
Damn right
, he cheered inwardly.

“Sounds
more perfect than you know, Mr. Finn,” she said, glancing briefly in his direction. Then she raised her glass, and he clinked his against it. He couldn’t help but follow with a wink and relished the blush that tinted her cheeks.

And they sat there in silence, with that unexplainable energy swirling around them.
She sipped her drink almost rhythmically, ordered another, and grated her teeth over her bottom lip contemplatively.

He
almost fell off the stool when she cleared her throat.

“I apologize for
being rude earlier,” she said quietly before gifting him a ghost of a smile. “Really bad day. Hell…really bad few months.” Michael watched her rub her lips together and furrow her brow. It was almost as if she couldn’t help being honest about her emotions. And he liked that, a hell of a lot.

“Quite alright,
Karis.” And with a mind of its own, his hand covered hers, his thumb grazing lightly over her knuckles. Yes, it was selfish, but he needed the comfort of her touch as much as he thought she did his.

She jerked her hand away, shooting him a look of shock.
She held up her left hand, her gaze trailing after it as she pointed to her ring finger. “Shit!” The panic in her eyes mirrored his thought--
Fuck, she’s married!
“I can’t believe I forgot it. Damn you, Eve! No wonder you assho--.” She cut off her thought and shoved her head into her palms. He raked his hands through his hair and sighed heavily, an attempt release his disappointment.
Isn’t that my fucking luck?
He should have noticed the faded line striping her tanned finger.

Despite the disappointment curdling viciously with the vodka in his stomach, h
e mustered some sympathy. “It’s my fault. I should have asked, Karis.” But he couldn’t help but pissed at any man who ever let her out of his sight, in her state, in a shitty bar like this?

It’s a dealbreaker, and you sure as
hell aren’t a homewrecker. Retreat now before you get yourself into something not even you can talk your way out of.

“Excuse me, Michael,” she
threw over her shoulder before sliding off her stool. She walked toward the dance floor, and he dropped his head dejectedly.

Screw this. He needed air and made his way up the death stairs.

As soon as he inhaled his first lungful of unseasonably hot May air, the doors to the bar flung open almost ramming into his back. Karis gasped as if coming out of water. She abruptly turned left, stopped, and whispered, “What was I thinking?” She began to pace: two strides right, two strides left. Michael’s eyes darted back and forth, dizzily trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Patrolling like a caged lion, she was agitated but still graceful. And, good
god
, she had amazing legs, muscular yet womanly. She continued her whispered rant: “I don’t wanna be here. I want my sweats, a big frickin’ glass of wine, and bed.”

Without warning,
she stopped and gestured to him without looking up. “Have a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” he answered politely
, his eyes sweeping over her quickly.

Still staring at the sidewalk, s
he swiped the droplets of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Neither do I,” she said then muttered something about ‘weed being better anyway.’ He stifled a laugh with a cough. She returned to pacing, her toned little biceps flexing as she fanned her face with both hands.

S
top staring and talk, Finn
. “Is there anything I can do, Karis?”

Karis
’s eyes widened as her gaze quickly swept over him, and for a moment, her frantic look softened. It was only a few seconds or so, but Michael swore she was indulging, stowing away every detail of his body. Scott had always told Michael women drooled at the sight of him; he hadn’t cared all that much. But Karis’s single glance, a look that suggested she wanted to run her tongue over ever last inch of him, he didn’t want her to stop. Ever. Fuck. His shoved his hands in his pockets to shield the evidence of that thought. His body may have other plans, but she was suffering badly, and of course there was that whole marriage debacle. And even though Michael would never act upon them, he couldn’t deny his pull to her. Karis tempted him more than any woman ever hat, and he was more than unnerved to be drawn to a complete stranger, and by her reaction to the missing ring, she was most likely a happily married stranger.

Still
, he couldn’t move his feet.  Scrupulous reasons about minding his own business and allowing her husband or friend to comfort her rolled around in his head. They should have been enough to move his damn feet. But then again, he could be her friend for a few moments. He would listen. He would help in any way she would allow, and he would comprise neither his nor her morals.

When
she met his eyes again, she realized that he was watching her, watching him. She flushed a lovely pink, and her nervousness had him wondering if she weren’t married, would she have given him a chance. Remorse weighed on him like a wet blanket.

She
cleared her throat again. “Needed to get out of there, too, huh?”

Relieved
by her mood change, he nodded. “Honestly, I hate that damn bar. I only come here for my friend.”

She
wrinkled her nose, drawing his attention to the spattering of freckles. He wondered where else those freckles were scattered, bringing his cock to the ready again.
Ease down, Finn.
“Yeah, it really is awful. I’ll be shocked if I didn’t contract something when I used the bathroom, and I didn’t actually
use
it….Hey, do you want some antibacterial?” He chuckled at her sudden mood swing as she began rummaging through her purse.

“I’m fine
. Really. I’m headed home soon anyway.”

“Oh, okay
,” she said quietly, zipping her purse closed. She turned and tilted her head up at the sky. He couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by the beauty of her profile beneath the dark sky.

“
Tell me something, Karis?” She lifted her brows with inquiry and glanced toward him. “You seem really upset about a little forgetfulness.” God, if her husband had a temper, or worse, abused her, Michael didn’t know how he’d react. Already, he felt anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Suddenly, she belted a laugh
like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “The phrase for someone with a great memory is ‘a mind like an elephant,’ right? Yeah, mine is the complete opposite. Whatever the opposite of an elephant is.” She shook her head. “Robert would just roll his eyes. He knows I’m forgetful. I…it’s not really about the ring.” Her smile turned down then. Her eyes welled with new tears. She tried to blink them back, her expression ruthlessly fighting for impassiveness, and that’s what set off another round of panic within him. Her demeanor changed. A steady gaze, pressed lips, and an oddly relaxed posture took the place of panic.
The calm before the storm
, his gut warned. And he was stuck firmly in the eye of it. He had to make a choice. Fight or flight.

“Karis?”

“Do you think misfortune follows people, Michael?” His breath caught, but before he could swallow and answer—not that he a damn clue how to respond—she smiled distractedly and turned toward him. “You have a nice smile. The way your eyes sparkle and crinkle in the corners”--she paused --“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say that...any of this. Can-candor is my weak—uh, weakness. And apparently now stuttering is on my list of flaws as well.” She gave an awkward chuckle, an attempt to hide the blush he saw slowly creeping up her neck. He stopped himself from telling her those flaws…well, they weren’t; they were both adorable and becoming unbearably addicting.

“
Uh, what are you? twenty-seven, twenty-eight?” she asked. “Staying out here with me will just ruin your chances of a fun Saturday night. Like I said, I’m having a shit day. You probably couldn’t even get good conversation out of me. A guy like you should be…crappy bar or not, you should go back in there and flash that smile, those pretty eyes, and you’re sure to find a lovely girl.”

Michael
couldn’t help but wince at the word
girl
, as if he wasn’t man enough to handle a woman,
or her
, for that matter. Normally, he would have been pissed. Not enough to start a verbal battle, but enough to walk away. But he was already over it. Karis was different, and not because she was married and strangely despondent, but different in way that made Michael want to beg her to keep talking. So perhaps when she said girl, she implied a different connotation—almost as if she was offering a reprieve from the behavior of an off-limits, forlorn woman. Or perhaps Karis was merely finding any excuse to remove Michael as a temptation.