A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (18 page)

“When you’re done,” she said quietly, “we have work to do.”

Carter slowly released his grip on the chair. He glanced at the warm flush of her cheeks and took his seat, reaching for the poem.

“Read through it,” she said with authority. “Highlight the lines, phrases, words that you like, and we’ll discuss it once you’re done.”

* * *

An hour later, as Kat packed her bag, Carter’s cell phone burst to life.

Grumbling, he answered it. “What’s up, J?” His eyes rolled good-naturedly. “Yeah, I’m with Miss Lane now.” He smiled. “Yeah, she’s— I mean, it’s good.”

Kat continued to put her things away, skimming over the notes Carter had made on the poem. Even his damned handwriting was beautiful. It was clear and flowed from one cursive swirl to the next, genteel and calm. How ironic. She watched him surreptitiously, remembering the murderous look on his face as he’d almost broken a man for pushing into her.

It was blatantly clear that under the intelligence, quick wit, and striking face lurked something dark and treacherous. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that for one moment. He unbalanced her. His brooding demeanor worried her. How could he go from being so charming, so funny, to behaving like an animal?

She was so confused. Hot, fiery longing for him rushed through her veins, and the more she tried to extinguish it, the hotter it burned. She glimpsed his mouth, lingering on the soft dip of his top lip. For one split second, when he’d pinned her to the chair, she’d truly thought that he was going to kiss her, and, by Christ, she’d have let him.

“Yeah, I’ll call you,” Carter said into his cell. “Later.” He ended the call and pushed his cell into his pocket.

“‘Miss Lane,’ huh?”

He shrugged. “Peaches is my name for you. No one else’s.”

“So I gather,” she replied, ignoring the covetous tone of his voice even though it sent warm flutters through her chest.

“So, our session Friday.” He grimaced and pulled his beanie over his ears. “I’m not going to be able to make it.”

Disappointment teased at Kat’s throat.

“I have my first meeting with Diane. Jack’s coming,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It just means we have to book those two hours elsewhere.” She retrieved her planner from her bag and flipped the pages to the date. Carter picked up his bike helmet and walked to her side.

Kat groaned in frustration. “I can’t make tomorrow. I have a work meeting and the library shuts at six and I haven’t requested a stay-open …” She trailed off, deflated.

“It’s not a problem.”

“Actually, it is,” she countered. “We have to have six hours a week, per parole orders.”

Carter stared at the floor. “Well, um … what are you doing Saturday?”

“Saturday?”

Carter shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Ye— Well, yeah.”

“I haven’t booked the room for Saturday.”

Carter huffed. “Are you being obtuse on purpose? We could meet on Saturday if you have nothing planned. Go to the park or something and study there. I don’t know.”

“The park?”

“Holy shit, woman!” Kat smiled at the same time that Carter eyed her distrustfully. “Are you playing with me, Peaches?”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a small giggle. “I’m just surprised. I thought the last thing you’d want to do would be to study on a Saturday.”

“I’m a good student, what can I say?” Kat snorted. “So,” Carter pushed, “are you busy Saturday?”

Kat looked at him with trepidation. His face appeared eager, apprehensive, and very young. She didn’t need to check her diary. She knew she was free. Austin’s text flashed through her mind.

“No, I’m not busy,” she answered, wondering fleetingly if she would go on to regret the words that now slipped so easily from her mouth.

The resulting smile on Carter’s face was beatific. “Well, good. Saturday it is. What time?”

“One?”

“One is great. Fifth Avenue and Fifty-ninth entrance?”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Carter tucked his helmet under his arm and gestured for Peaches to lead the way.

The pair meandered through the nearly deserted library and out into the cool New York City evening. They descended the front steps and turned onto the sidewalk.

“Is this your bike?” she asked, approaching the exquisite piece of machinery.

“This is she,” Carter said fervently. “Kala.”

“Kala?”

“Fire. It means art, too, but it was the fire part I liked.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I always liked the 2010 Harley Sportster Forty-Eight,” she continued. “It was so much sleeker than the Nightster. Faster engine, too.”

The sound of Carter’s jaw popping open and his cock straining against his fly was heard as far away as Philadelphia.

Holy. Fuck.

He watched her small hand skim across the leather of Kala’s seat, knowing it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. His mind was immediately accosted with obscene images of Peaches spread naked on Kala.

Peaches riding Kala.

Peaches’ thighs tight around his waist.

He moaned softly, deep in his throat.

Usually, if a woman touched his bike, Carter would go ape shit, but somehow, seeing Peaches do it made him dry at the mouth and twitching at the crotch.

“You know your bikes,” he stated.

“Not really,” she replied with a shrug. She touched the handlebars. Carter licked his lips. “I would ride with my dad sometimes when we went to the beach on holiday twice a year. It was my favorite time with him.”

“If you ever …” Carter pointed to the bike, tongue-tied. “We could. The beach isn’t that far away.”

He rubbed his hands together as if that would explain what the hell he was trying to say so inarticulately.

“Maybe one day,” she muttered.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

Her cell phone began chirping from her pocket, shattering the moment.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” she said, walking backward away from him.

Carter rubbed his chest, where warm excitement wound around his lungs. “You bet.”

* * *

The following Friday evening, Jack and Diane arrived at Carter’s apartment to amuse him with their usual bullshit about rehabilitation and being in the right mind-set to make a “valuable contribution to society.”

Jack, Carter conceded silently, wasn’t as bad as he’d feared he would be. He simply begrudged them both for taking his Peaches’ time away from him. They’d stayed at his apartment, drinking coffee and discussing his work at the body shop, his workouts with Ross, and the anger therapy he was still to start. Jack, the sly shit, had waited nearly an hour before he’d brought up the library sessions. Carter had answered his questions, pleased that Diane had received Peaches’ paperwork detailing the progress they’d made, while dodging Jack’s suspicious stares.

“So”—Jack glanced at the bathroom door Diane had just gone through—“you and Miss Lane are okay?”

“Yeah,” Carter replied with a nonchalant shrug. “We’re fine. Good, actually.” He smiled. “The sessions are … interesting and we get a lot done.”

Jack inclined his head. “And you’re behaving?”

“Of course I’m behaving. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack put his coffee cup down. “I didn’t mean that, Wes. Miss Lane’s already stated in her papers that your attitude is much improved.”

Carter was a little surprised by that considering what had happened with the fat asshole and his lack of manners.

Jack breathed deeply. “Wes, I meant …” He lowered his voice before continuing. “I meant are you managing the sessions with it being just the two of you?”

Carter tried to hold Jack’s stare but found his eyes settling on his own sock-clad feet, fidgeting nervously on the floor.

Was he managing with it just being the two of them? Yes.

Was he about ready to blow a fuse with the tension between him and Peaches? Fuck yes.

He lifted his head and gave Jack a pointed look. “I’m not an idiot, J.”

“I know you’re not,” Jack agreed. “But you have to understand the implications of, you know, if—if anything …” He trailed off. “The nonfraternization clause she signed—”

“I know.” Carter dropped back in his seat.

He knew Jack had seen firsthand the chemistry between Carter and Peaches. Carter stared at Jack, silently accepting the line that lay between himself and his tutor. As blurred as it had become, he knew he couldn’t cross it. He knew he shouldn’t cross it.

The silent question that hung between them was whether he had the strength to remember that or, rules be damned, cross it anyway.

After stopping at the clinic to give mandatory blood and urine samples, Carter decided he was starving and, with half an hour before his park session with Peaches, the golden arches of McDonald’s started beckoning him mercilessly.

With the brown bag in hand and Kala parked safely away, Carter took a seat outside of FAO Schwarz and began people-watching while he ate his Big Mac. He groaned in satisfaction when he took a bite of his burger, not realizing how much he’d missed that shit while he was inside.

Once he’d polished it off, along with the large fries and large Sprite, he sat back and tried to relax.

It was the first time he’d really slowed to any kind of stop since his release, and, as much as he liked being busy, he also appreciated the need to simply take a moment. Before Kill, he would quite often sit in Central Park or Battery Park with a full pack of Marlboros and a bottle of Jim Beam, sit back, and enjoy being still.

Under the warm New York sun, Carter watched the crowds on Fifth Avenue. He smiled when two twenty-something girls smirked flirtatiously and giggled as they passed him. They were so blatant that Carter—used to such reactions from most females—couldn’t help but pull down his shades and smile back.

It worked like a damn charm, making the two girls stammer and stumble away from him. Carter snickered into the back of his hand and pushed his shades back in place. Too easy.

He sat back, his attention falling on a couple who were kissing not ten feet from him, oblivious to the world around them. The guy held his woman’s face, lost in a kiss that was gentle and slow.

Carter frowned, confused. How could that be pleasurable? He’d never kissed that way—when he’d kissed at all—and he’d certainly never “made love.” Although Max had spoken about making love with Lizzie, Carter wasn’t even sure such a thing existed. Before that relationship had gone to shit, Carter had watched dubiously when his best friend had kissed and held his woman carefully, softly, as though she was the most precious thing in the world. It was clear that he’d cherished her. Not that that shit had made a difference when she’d decided to walk away.

Carter liked sex. No, he liked fucking, and when he did, there was nothing soft and tender about it. Maybe he was a prick for doing it that way, but he’d never had any complaints. Every woman who’d left his bed had done so satisfied, and many had come back wanting seconds.

No, Carter thought, pulling his stare from the man and woman, soft and tender wasn’t his bag at all.

Looking across the busy street, he caught a glimpse of red hair. He craned his neck, looking past the people standing in front of him, his mouth lifting into a smile. It was his Peaches, wearing … goddamn her. She was wearing a loose-fitting white T-shirt that showed her neck and shoulders and black jeans. She was dressed, as always, with an edge of class. She oozed sexiness without even trying.

The strange feeling that had occurred in his stomach outside the library three nights before began to snake its way through his intestines. It was the oddest sensation—the hunger—and he didn’t like it. It wasn’t the sensation he didn’t like as much as it was the unease and the overpowering sense of being out of control that accompanied it.

He knew, had he not had his wits about him, he would have kissed Peaches on the steps of the library. After his conversation with Jack, their kiss would have been … it would have been …

Carter’s mind went blank.

How would he feel if he kissed her?

Hard and horny? Most definitely.

Even more desperate to feel what it would be like to be inside of her? God yes.

Happy?

Carter rubbed his palms down his face. Shit. This thought process was far too deep for a Saturday afternoon. He needed to get his head out of his ass and focus on why he was there.

He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Son of a bitch.

She was late.

By nearly fifteen minutes.

Oh, baby, he thought with a smile and a playful shake of his head. He lifted from his seat, grabbed his jacket and helmet, and strolled toward her. He approached from behind, allowing his eyes to dance over her curves. She was ending a call on her phone when he stepped close enough to smell her hair. He bent down to her ear.

“What time do you call this, Peaches?”

She yelped, spinning around in a swirl of white tee and auburn hair. Her face was spectacular in its shock of wide eyes and open mouth.

“Carter,” she gasped. “What is with you and scaring me all the damn time?”

Carter didn’t reply, reveling in her feistiness. He simply cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation for her tardiness.

She dropped her cell into her bag, avoiding his gaze. “I got held up.”

“Mmhm,” Carter hummed. “And here I was thinking that I was the most important man in your life.”

He was messing with her, but a part of him really wanted it to be the truth. His greediness for her was becoming ridiculous.

Peaches huffed and put her hand on her hip. “Delusions of grandeur,” she snipped back. “Besides,” she continued, “I wasn’t with a man.”

Carter’s jaw unclenched in unprecedented and unexpected relief. “I suppose I can allow your lateness to slide this time,” he deadpanned through a long breath that made pieces of her hair move. He shifted closer, lowering his voice in warning. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

She swallowed. “Or else what?”

Carter stared at her, stunned at her question, and hard as all hell that she was ogling the tattoos visible beneath the three-quarter-length sleeves of his Beatles T-shirt. “Oh, Peaches,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”