A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (9 page)

She wet her lips. “So, tell me about the poem.”

“He uses paradox and antithesis.” He trailed his finger across the page in front of him. “Opposites and contradictions. He does it to highlight the tragedy of what he’s going through, which, when you think about it, is pretty stupid.”

“Why would you say that?”

Carter laughed. “He made his mistakes, so he has to pay the price. His debt.”

“You sound like you know something about that.”

Carter raised his eyebrows and glanced around the room with large, obvious eyes.

“I know you’re paying for your mistakes. But he was so young, too young to die. Don’t you sympathize with Tichborne in some way?”

“Sympathize? No,” he answered firmly. “Envy? Yes.”

“Why do you envy him?”

Carter kept his eyes on the table between them. “The fact he’s about to die,” he muttered. “He begins to see things much more clearly. He has focus, clarity. I envy him that.”

“You want clarity?”

Carter smiled. “Wanting and needing are two very different things, Miss Lane,” he answered. “I need clarity. I need focus.”

Then he stared at her, because Jesus if there was anything else he could do or say at that moment. Carter knew that finding out who she was was the first step to him having any kind of focus in his life for years. And even though he spoke about Tichborne like he knew what the fuck he was talking about, it was only with his Peaches sitting in front of him that he truly understood his own need for it.

“Peaches,” he whispered, taking in every inch of her face: the red hair that had engulfed him when he threw her to the ground and she’d fought against him to get back to her father, and the eyes that had cried heartbroken, terrified tears.

“What?” she asked quietly. “What did you say, Carter?”

And, just like that, the moment was gone.

As if he’d woken from a dream, Carter sat up straight, glaring at the guard before he slumped back in his seat.

“But, you know,” he mumbled, grabbing the cigarette Jack had given him out of his pocket, his barrier snapping right back up. “What the hell do I know, right? You’re the genius teacher.”

A small voice in the back of his head screamed and shouted at him for being such a dick as her face changed from calm to furious. But it was okay, he told himself. He could cope with her anger. It was hot. Her anger turned him on. It was all the other shit that scared him to death.

“Yeah,” she snapped in response. “I am, and I want you to do these activities.” She slammed another piece of paper in front of him covered in questions and tasks. “I’m sure with all your worldly knowledge you won’t have a problem, right?”

She flashed him a look that dared him to say something back, to refuse. He didn’t.

Instead he picked up the pen she’d dropped on the table between them and began doing what she’d asked because, as she sat staring at him in all her rage and loveliness, Carter knew he’d have done anything she’d asked of him.

Anything at all.

Kat set the collected notebooks and pens in neat little piles on her desk, glancing at her students as they were escorted out of the room back to their cells.

“Good work today,” Kat praised Riley as he approached with a timid smile. “Who knew Shakespeare would increase your enthusiasm for the written word?”

She was bursting with pride at the effort Riley had put into his writing. He was trying so hard and, although his dyslexia frustrated him, it was obvious that he was very smart.

Riley smirked, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah.” He shrugged as his index finger touched Kat’s copy of
The Merchant of Venice
. “I don’t care for that poetry bullshit, but I kinda like this Bill dude.”

Kat laughed and leaned against her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. “What can I do for you, Riley?”

He immediately seemed nervous and cracked his knuckles loudly. “You know it’s my parole board meeting next week, right?”

Kat nodded.

“Moore!” the guard behind them shouted. “Time’s up!”

“Excuse me!” Kat barked, standing up straight. “Mr. Moore wishes to discuss something important with me about his education, and doesn’t need you”—she thrust an accusatory finger his way—“yelling at him while he does so.”

The guard at once looked lost for words. Kat turned back to her student. “Sorry, Riley, carry on.”

He clapped his hands together. “Um … yeah, so, it’s my parole board meeting next week, and I was wondering … ” He tapped his fists against one another. “I mean, I know you’re helping Carter out.” He shifted from foot to foot.

“What do you want me to do, Riley?” Kat asked gently, placing a palm over his knuckles in an effort to calm him. “You can ask me anything, and if I can help, I will.”

Riley’s shoulders appeared to slump in relief. “Jack said you’d say that, ’cause you’re cool and shit.”

Kat laughed. “Thank you.”

“Would you give a … a character reference in front of the board? You know, help me get some extra points by telling them how awesome a fucker I really am?”

Kat had received a request for a written character reference that morning from a very agitated Anthony Ward. It seemed he still got all sorts of uppity when his inmates were granted their freedom. Asshole.

Kat squeezed Riley’s forearm. “I’d be honored to.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she replied before he clutched her to his mammoth chest, almost suffocating her .

“Fucking A, Miss L!” he cried, hugging her hard.

* * *

Kat hurried down the corridor toward the session room, late but excited. She was more than a little eager to get stuck in Carter’s mind again. She’d been struck dumb by the knowledge Carter had shown in their first session. She’d known he was intelligent. She’d read it in his file, but Christ. He was something else. The man was intelligent and educated in an extraordinarily seductive way.

She smiled at the guard on the door and walked in, seeing Carter standing in the far corner of the room, fisting his hands together with a droopy, almost finished cigarette dangling from his lips. His face was hard and became even harder when he looked at her. He yanked the cigarette from his lips, causing ash to fall to the floor.

“Oh,” he sneered. “And here was me, thinking you were too fucking busy to keep an appointment.”

Kat slowly placed her bag on the table. She held her tongue, remembering Rachel’s words about routine being vitally important to the inmates.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He strode across the room from one side to the other, his long legs eating up the small space over and over. “I was talking to Riley after class and then I met Jack on the way here and—”

“What?” Carter yelled, making the guard by the door reach a hand to the baton on his waistband.

“What?” she echoed calmly.

“And what the fuck did he say to you, huh?” Carter bellowed, taking a giant step toward her.

Kat crossed her arms, standing firm against the untamed wrath on his face.

“We just talked about your parole officer coming next week,” she replied. “He wants me to talk to her about our sessions. He thinks it’ll help your application if I’m involved directly.”

She watched the ire in his eyes dim and his strong, large chest began to slow. He swallowed hard and Kat stared at his Adam’s apple bobbing at the front of his throat. She shook her head free of the inappropriate thoughts entering it. Not least, the one where her tongue traveled the length of the black neck tattoo that was teasing her mercilessly. She wondered how far down his body it went …

She refocused. “Carter, I apologize. I’m here now, so we can get to work.” She dropped her arms to her sides, trying to appear nondefensive, and gestured to the chair by the table.

Carter ran a hand down his face and finally moved to his chair, where he sat slowly and extinguished his cigarette. “So, what exciting shit have you got for me today, Miss Lane? Because, I have to tell you, I’m on the edge of my seat in anticipation.”

“We’re staying with Tichborne for now,” she replied, ignoring his sarcasm. “I wanted to go over the work you did for me yesterday.”

“Great,” Carter responded dryly, pulling another smoke from his pocket.

While Kat moved her chair to his side of the table, he clicked at the guard to bring him a match, which he did. Carter inhaled the smoke deeply before starting to exhale but stopped abruptly when he noticed she was so close. He stared at her as she sat down, crossed her legs, and began sorting through papers.

“What?” she asked.

With the cigarette still hanging from his mouth, he glanced down at the minute space between them and then at the space she’d left at the other side of the table.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “What’re you afraid of, that you’ll catch teacher cooties?”

Carter pulled the smoke from his lips. “No, I’m not worried about that shit. I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised?”

He scratched his forearm with his thumb. “At how well you hide your fear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh, Miss Lane, don’t tease me.” He smiled sexily.

She stared at him for a beat before she sat back and crossed her arms. “And why should I be scared of you?”

Carter moved forward in his seat, releasing the smoke down his nose so it parted temptingly when it hit his top lip. “You should be scared, Peaches,” he murmured. “I’ve done things that would make your pretty little head spin, and, you being this close”—he gestured with his chin between them—“well, let’s just say”—his eyes met hers—“it just makes me want to be bad all over again.”

Holy. Shit.

The air in Kat’s lungs left her in an abrupt whoosh.

Carter smiled, seemingly pleased with himself, and sat back.

Arrogant bastard.

“I take it you liked my work, huh?” He began to look through the comments she’d made on his writings.

“It’s— I, um … yeah, it— What?”

“I said you liked this shit.” The edge of his mouth twitched with a conceited smirk. “So are we doing some work today or what?”

Still embarrassingly incapable of stringing a full sentence together, Kat pulled the papers closer while leaning forward, placing her arm only half an inch from his. She felt the buzz, the crackle, the hum. She managed to keep her arm in that position for about sixty seconds before she had to move it away.

For the next forty-five minutes, Kat watched Carter complete task after task, dutifully and perceptively. His discussion points were insightful and the sound of his voice as he became more and more enthusiastic about the poem made her insides twist in the most delicious ways. His brow creased adorably when he concentrated and his eyes grew impossibly darker when she said something that challenged him. Sparring with him about iambic pentameter, imagery, and metaphors was undeniably sexy.

An academic type of foreplay that left Kat craving more.

Before she knew it, the guards came to take Carter back to his cell. She packed up slowly, unable to refute the heavy sensation filling her stomach at the thought of not seeing him for two days.

As she reached the door, she heard Carter stand from his seat. “Miss Lane.”

She turned. “Yes, Carter?”

The left side of his mouth lifted. “See you Monday.”

* * *

With a birthday card and beautifully wrapped present in hand, Kat walked into Beth’s favorite Italian restaurant in SoHo and laughed when she spotted her friend. A huge, flashing
TWENTY-FIVE
badge covered the left side of her pink knee-length dress, accompanied by an even pinker sash.

“Kat, you’re here!” she cried excitedly as she approached.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it!”

Beth stood stock-still, looking at her friend in a way that made Kat brush her hands nervously down her black silk top and black jeans. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Something’s different about you.” Beth gasped, then grinned. “You’re all glowy and— Holy hell. What’s his name?”

Kat’s mouth popped open, then she gave a small snort. “God, you’re crazy. Move your ass.”

Beth obediently followed Kat’s index finger, which was pointing toward the bar. “Just making an observation,” she replied with her palms up.

Kat hummed skeptically. “Well, observe this instead.” She smiled, handing Beth her present. “It’s from me and Mom.”

The red Hermès clutch purse was exactly what Beth had not-so-subtly asked for in the run-up to her birthday. She clasped it to her chest and cooed lovingly. If only everyone could be so easily pleased.

Kat glanced around the bar area as they waited for their drinks. “Adam’s not here yet?”

Beth shook her head as she handed the bartender a twenty. “He had to work late. He’ll be here soon.”

“The life of a CFO, huh?” Kat smiled.

“He’s working so hard with his brother,” Beth said. “We’re like ships passing in the night. When I’m not grading and planning for school, I’m planning the wedding, which we’ve decided will be next summer. FYI, you’re going to be a bridesmaid.”

“Oh God,” Kat joked.

“Be nice,” Beth scolded. “I will not be Bridezilla!” They laughed. “What about you, anyway? How’s life behind bars?”

“It’s like nothing I ever imagined.” Kat described her amazing students and the sessions with Carter, while also recounting the hair-raising moments with Corey and Jason.

“You look happy, Kat,” Beth stated sincerely as they took their drinks from the bar. “And it’s a good look on you.”

Kat’s cheeks flushed. “It’s a good feeling to finally be doing something that feels right.”

“Your father would be proud.”

“I think so. I’m helping, and it feels really good.” Kat ran her index finger around the rim of her glass.

“Then why the face? What’s wrong?”

Kat hesitated. “I just wish my mom would see how happy I am. I mean, Jesus, we can barely be in the same room for five minutes, we fight so much.” And it hurt. “She’s convinced something’s going to happen to me, instead of trusting me and being proud. It’s like nothing I do is good enough, and I’m doing all of this to spite her.”

Beth squeezed Kat’s shoulder. “She’ll always worry, hon. That’s what moms do. Even more so in your case.”