A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (10 page)

“I know, but—”

“Maybe try to show a little more understanding.”

Kat clenched her teeth. She didn’t want to hear it. She loved Beth dearly, but her constant understanding of Kat’s mother was starting to grind. “So,” she said, changing the subject. “Apart from working tirelessly, how’s Adam?”

“He’s good. He invited his brother, Austin, tonight. He’s the CEO at WCS. He got divorced last winter and Adam’s determined to get him ‘back out there.’ He’s really nice and very handsome.”

It took Kat a moment to recognize the tone in Beth’s voice. “Oh no, no, no,” Kat exclaimed with a shake of her head. “I don’t need a man right now.”

“Pfffft. If you say so.” She gave a mock serious scowl. “Is reclaiming your chastity at twenty-four, like, a thing now?”

Kat pushed her friend playfully. “Shut up!”

Beth laughed while her eyes widened over Kat’s shoulder. “He’s here!” She all but skipped across the restaurant and kissed and hugged Adam. He was only a couple of inches taller than Beth, with neatly cut brown hair. He was dressed in a dark blue pair of jeans and a red button-down. He had green eyes and beautiful white teeth.

“Nice to see you, Kat,” he said as she approached. “What can I get you to dri—”

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was fucking terrible and the cabdriver was a complete ass!”

Kat turned toward the voice to see a head of chaotic black hair. It was that just-got-out-of-bed look, and he worked it well. The man was tall, towering over Kat and Beth, who was still at her side, and smiled at them both before turning his attention to Adam, who slapped him on the back before ordering a round of drinks.

“Kat, this is Austin Ford, Adam’s brother,” Beth said. “Austin, this is my friend Kat Lane.”

“Hi,” she said, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Austin stooped and took her hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of it. “Likewise.” He smiled.

Yeah, he was very attractive. He had broad shoulders covered in a black polo shirt that was open at the neck, showing a black string that hung down underneath it. His arms were tanned and strong-looking, which matched his masculine, angular face. He resembled Adam but appeared rougher around the edges.

Kat studied him discreetly while sipping her martini. He had all the traits she usually went for and, if he was as nice as his manners, he’d be golden. Yet a feeling of unease in the pit of her stomach made her pause in her visual examination of Austin. It twisted uncomfortably, settling like a weight deep within her.

The sensation became stronger when Austin smirked.

It was an unnervingly familiar gesture, which made Kat’s skin heat.

“So what do you do, Kat?” Austin asked, noticing her stare.

“I’m a teacher,” she answered quickly. “English literature.”

“Like Beth,” he offered. “That’s great. What school do you teach at?”

“I teach at a prison, actually. Arthur Kill.”

Austin’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Wow,” he said, glancing surreptitiously at his brother, who coughed uncomfortably into his palm.

Kat frowned. Okaaaaay.

“Beth didn’t mention it,” Adam said quietly, staring at his fiancée.

Beth shrugged. “Why would I?”

“Kill, huh?” Austin mused, his eyes still on his brother. “What a small world. We know a guy who’s spent time there. It must take some patience.”

Kat nodded, the loaded looks between the two men making her very curious.

“Come on,” Austin said, gesturing Kat toward their table. “Tell me all about it.”

* * *

Monday morning couldn’t come fast enough for Carter, and he made sure to take out all his nervous energy on the punching bag Ross held in front of him.

He’d been allowed into the prison library Sunday afternoon. After learning from a verbose Riley which play the class was studying, Carter immediately found a copy of
The Merchant of Venice
and some analytical studies on the text, which he proceeded to read from cover to cover through the night. He’d read the play before and knew the characters and storyline, but, once he was finished, he knew he was ready for anything his Peaches could throw at him.

He was sitting at the table of their usual room when she entered. Shit, she looked great. Her hair was down and a soft wave had appeared in the sections that framed her face. As much as Carter loved her hair, he loved seeing her face more, and he was at once annoyed that it was partially covered. He crossed his arms to stop the urge he had to push it behind her ears.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lane. How are you today?”

She paused, looking puzzled. “I’m well, and yourself?”

“Oh, I’m great.” All the more for seeing you.

“So, today we start Shakespeare,” she said, eyeing him carefully while she lifted all her resources from her bag and placed them in order on the table between them. Carter thought her perfectionist traits were at the very least adorable, and at the very most irritating as shit.

“Goodie,” he replied, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

Peaches reached back into her bag and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, which she threw at him.

“Shut up,” she said playfully.

Carter grinned and pulled one out. He placed it between his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once the cigarette was lit, Peaches once again moved her chair around to Carter’s side of the table. He was a little more prepared for it this time, but it didn’t stop the pulse of desire that shot through his body when she crossed her legs. She had fucking awesome legs. They curved in all the right places, and they weren’t skinny. There was enough there to grab on to. Suck on. Have wrapped around his—

“The Merchant of Venice,”
Peaches said, placing the play in front of him. “Tell me what you know.” She rested her cheek in her palm.

He shifted in his seat. “Set in Italy, it’s classed as a comedy but many believe it was a tragedy due to the treatment of the main character Shylock.” Carter picked up the book and thumbed through it.

“Who’s Shylock?”

“Shylock is the loan shark who just happens to be a Jew in a predominantly Christian Shakespearean society. Unlucky for him.”

Peaches laughed. “I guess so. I’m interested, though, why do you say it’s a tragedy? What is tragic about Shylock?”

“He’s classed as a villain because of his religion.”

“He’s classed as a villain because of his demands for payment of a loan,” Peaches countered.

“Bullshit,” Carter continued firmly with an index finger pressed into the center of the book. “The demands he makes are fair.”

“Really? Demanding a pound of flesh to pay off a monetary debt is fair?”

Carter exhaled. She’d no idea how relevant her words were to him and the life he lived. “If you can’t pay a debt, you shouldn’t give your word.” His gaze roamed over the piece of hair hiding her left cheek, and he imagined what it would feel like between his fingers.

“His call for a pound of flesh may sound macabre,” he continued, “but the way he’s reviled because of his religion is even more so. He’s vilified because of his faith; his demand simply reinforces it. His demand is expected because of the prejudice of the narrow-minded bastards around him.”

Peaches stared at him. “You know a lot about debt?”

“I do,” he answered. “Do you?”

“I know what it’s like to give your word to someone,” Peaches said after a moment. Her eyes rested on the play, opened at Shylock’s most infamous speech. “I know what it’s like to pay that word off because you have no other choice but to see it through because you love that person so much it would be a tragedy if you didn’t.”

And that’s when it happened.

Carter couldn’t help himself. It was as if his body was working of its own accord, drawn to her, desperate for her touch. She just seemed so damned sad. His hand moved slowly toward her hair before he tucked it behind her ear. He could barely breathe as his fingertips touched the soft skin at the back of her ear, at the line of her jaw.

The guard by the door cleared his throat.

Peaches instantly sat back and brushed her hand down the skin he’d touched. Carter rubbed his fingertips down his thigh to ease the heat that resided there.

“I’m— Shit,” he mumbled, grabbing for another cigarette. “I shouldn’t have. Sorry.” He lit his smoke and inhaled three times in quick succession. “You just … you looked upset, ya know, and— Fuck it. I shouldn’t …”

All he’d wanted to do was make her feel better, smile, maybe.

“Carter,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot to hers, cigarette dangling from his speechless mouth. “It’s all right.” She gave a small smile. “I appreciated it. Thank you.”

Carter blinked. ”Yeah,” he offered. “Yeah. Whatever. Cool.”

Peaches released his shoulder after giving it a reassuring squeeze and pulled the book closer. “Shall we continue?”

Carter groaned and rubbed his palms down his face. “Bring on that Shakespeare shit, Peaches.”

“Peaches?” she asked with a dip of her chin. “You keep calling me that. Where does that come from?”

Panic sliced through Carter. “It’s, um …” He fingered the cigarette pack. “I dunno. Why? Does it offend you?”

“No, I was just curious.”

He pulled long and hard on his smoke. “I can just call you Miss Lane, if you prefer.”

She was silent for a few seconds. “No,” she replied finally. “Most people call me Kat, but I guess you can call me Peaches—on one condition.”

“What’s the condition?” he asked with a wry grin.

Peaches folded her arms, pushing her boobs up in ways that looked all kinds of awesome. “If I can call you Wes.”

Carter stared at her. Well, hell. His name had never sounded so soft, so … nice. “I— That’s a … I’m not sure. I mean, only Jack calls me that,” he stammered, throwing his cigarette into the ashtray. “I’m not— I mean, Christ.” Both hands found his scalp. How could he explain his hatred of his Christian name? That was a long-ass, depressing story.

“Okay, I get it. Carter it’ll be,” she said, touching his right shoulder blade. “Actually, instead, maybe I’ll name
you
after a fruit. How about Kiwi?”

The burst of laughter that exploded from him felt new and fantastic. Peaches laughed along with him. Dammit, she was gorgeous when she laughed. Her whole face lit up and her eyes crinkled, almost disappearing. Carter was mesmerized.

“Okay, enough of this.” She chuckled. “Let’s get to work.”

The discussion points she produced elicited heated debates, which they both enjoyed more than they should have. They argued and undermined one another, but the atmosphere was playful and light and, Carter couldn’t deny, sexy as hell.

“Shit,” Peaches cursed, taking Carter by surprise. “It’s late.”

He glanced at the clock. They’d run over by twenty-five minutes. “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” The wink he sent her way caused her cheeks to pinken. “You, um, you got a date or something?” Carter asked as she rushed, throwing her shit into her bag.

“Oh no!” She gave a vigorous shake of her head. “I don’t have a date. I—I’m single.” She snapped her mouth shut and briefly closed her eyes.

Carter could barely hide his elation. Or his relief. She belonged to no one. No man had claimed her, made her his. His mind boggled. Christ, were they all fucking insane?

“Hey, Miss Lane,” he called with a grin as she set off with her things across the room. “I enjoyed today.”

“Me too,” she answered, mirroring his smile. “Oh, and Carter …” She turned back to him while the guard opened the door. “The name’s Peaches.”

Carter was anxious. He was anxious and nervous and dammit, where the
hell
was Peaches?

He was sitting in a nicer room than normal, alongside Jack and his rat-faced attorney. Diane, his case manager, was due in fifteen minutes and Peaches
still
hadn’t arrived. She was definitely in; Jack had told him so when he’d asked indifferently of her whereabouts. He hadn’t been able to ignore the way Jack eyed him. That shit made him nervous.

The door opened and Carter’s leg ceased its bouncing when Peaches entered. She was stunning in a pale blue top and black pencil skirt. Her hair was up in a loose twist and Carter immediately wanted to unfasten it and grab a handful, just so he could smell it, to see if it still smelled of the sweet peaches he remembered.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she told Jack while glancing at Carter.

He caught the look and smiled. Jack cleared his throat at his side and Carter’s face dropped instantly. Shit. Jack was aware of there being “something” between the two of them, and had asked frequently about Peaches ever since his stupid ass had passed out. It was only a matter of time before Jack would figure it all out.

He’d have to be more careful. He knew he’d been a lot calmer around her. Where Peaches was concerned, his temper had been under control and, as positive a thing as that was, it could prove to be very dangerous. With that thought, he slouched in his seat, averting his eyes from her, and went to work picking at the cuticle on his right thumb.

As if on goddamn cue, Ward entered the room, followed by Diane. She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, with large dark eyes and brown hair that rested just under her shoulder blades in deep waves.

Ward began by making the introductions to Peaches, who blushed wonderfully when Diane praised her on the work she’d done. Diane walked over to Carter’s table and, without a word, pulled out all the necessary papers. She took a seat opposite Carter and began writing at the top of the application form.

“How are you?” she asked him. “You look well.”

“I’m just dandy,” he answered in his usual blasé, cocky tone.

Diane ignored it. “The parole board is convening in six weeks. Your hearing will be then. But I have a few concerns regarding some instances that may have an impact on your application.”

Carter bristled.

“I have evidence here,” Diane stated while she held up another form, “that you’ve shown aggressive behavior toward other inmates, staff, including Miss Lane and Mr. Ward, and have threatened guards while in their charge.”

“That’s because one of them assaulted me,” Carter fumed. “Damn near broke my wrist!”