A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1) (26 page)

Their eyes connected and a flash of something heart-wrenching crossed the green of her irises. He pulled back in concern. “Peaches,” he murmured, but her fingers pressed hard against his lips.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t think. Please. I need you to not think and just be with me.” She pulled his face back to hers and smothered his mouth with long kisses that set his bones alight.

Carter tried to listen to his gut, he tried to listen to the sensible part of his brain, but her mouth and hands were far too distracting. Swallowing his conscience with one huge gulp, he gripped the zipper of her top and pulled it down in one fluid movement.

Jesus.

No bra.

“Shit.” He licked his lips and just fucking stared. She was gorgeous; her dark stiff nipples ached to have his lips and tongue around them. “You’re— My God, you’re perfect.”

Before she could reply, Carter’s mouth fell against her right breast, where he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could. Sweet fruits. Her breasts were so perfectly heavy and full in his hands. With a guttural moan, Peaches’ legs wrapped farther around him, and her nails scored the fabric of his T-shirt. She gasped and whimpered into his buzzed hair.

“I need to feel you,” she groaned, pulling at the shirt’s hem. “Please let me feel you against me.”

Without a second’s pause, Carter released her nipple, grabbed the neck of his T-shirt, and yanked it over his head. He crashed back down onto her, grunting at the feel of her bare skin against his.

While he continued to worship her, she released her arms from the confines of her hooded top and—as soon as she was free of it—he grabbed her hands and pushed them above her head, crushing them into the mattress of the bed.

Their tongues met again between their mouths in the open air, twisting and dancing amid soft moans and silent confessions of feelings too big and scary to say aloud. Peaches gripped Carter’s fingers between hers and lifted her head from the bed, urgently seeking from him what Carter was more than willing to give. He wanted to give her everything, anything.

Fuck, he already had. He knew in his heart that she owned him.

“Say it,” she gasped against his cheek when he began licking at her jaw. “Say you want me. I need—I need to hear it. I need to hear it.”

Carter growled into her cleavage. “I want you.” His teeth grazed her sternum. “I’ve always wanted you.”

My whole life.

“Again,” she croaked, her voice trembling. “Tell me this is right. Tell me we’re right.”

Carter, stunned at her words, glanced up.

What he saw knocked every ounce of breath out of him. Her eyes were clenched shut, her face in an almost grimace of pain, and a small shimmer could be seen at the inside corner of her right eye. She was crying.

“Peaches,” he whispered, and lifted his body, terrified that he’d done something wrong, something she didn’t want. “What’s wrong? Did I— Was I too rough?”

Goddammit, he’d tried to be gentle.

She shook her head from side to side, her eyes remaining shut. “You’d never hurt me,” she murmured. “Would you, Carter? I know you’d never hurt me or lie to me. Would you?”

“Never,” he replied, his throat constricting in fear and confusion. “Please look at me.”

She remained quiet, keeping her eyes closed, but the lone tear trickling down her cheek spoke volumes.

“Christ, Katherine,” Carter begged in a voice even he didn’t recognize. “Please talk; you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

At his words, her eyes snapped open. The fire behind them was so fierce, Carter was momentarily dumbstruck.

“What did you call me?”

Carter stared at her, baffled. He shrugged. “I called you Katherine,” he answered in a calm voice. “Why?”

“You never call me that,” she retorted venomously.

“I know, I just … It just came out.”

“Get off me.”

Carter balked. “What?”

“Get. Off. Me!” She wrenched her hands free of his and pushed against him so hard, he landed on his back, bouncing as the bed took his weight.

“What the fuck?”

But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed for her hoodie, her hands shaking and her face twisted in anger. Carter watched her, helpless.

“Peaches!” she yelled, pulling on her top. “You always, always, always call me Peaches!”

“I know, but—”

“Only my mother calls me Katherine! My mother. Why tonight, huh? Why did you call me Katherine tonight?” She wasn’t even looking at him while she struggled to fasten her zipper. She seemed close to losing her shit completely.

“I don’t know,” Carter yelled back. He rubbed his face in frustration. “Christ, would you just breathe for a second? What the
fuck
is going on?”

Her eyes flew to his, huge and fierce. “What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. I came here for a good, hard fuck that I thought was a sure thing, and all I get is your damn mouth. That’s what’s going on, Carter!”

Even though her words stung, the fury inside him outweighed any part that hurt. He launched himself off the bed, beating her to the bedroom door, blocking that shit with every inch of himself.

“Get out of my way!” she demanded, moving to his right and trying to push under his arm. She was strong, but Carter wasn’t giving in.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” he growled, knowing if he shouted the walls would crumble.

“You are what’s wrong with me.” She pushed again.

He stood firm and, for the first time since they’d entered the bedroom, Carter saw a glimmer of light shine behind her eyes. He’d surprised her.

“Talk to me.”

She moved to his left and pushed. “No!”

“Open your mouth and fucking speak!”

“No!”

He searched her face, seeing only tears, anger, and a profound sadness. “Why are you here?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why? Why are you at my apartment, looking like death, after you’ve ignored my ass for two days?”

The force of her pushing dropped and her fingers began to grip into his skin. That shit hurt, but Carter was determined. “Why are you here, wanting me to fuck you, huh? Is this a game? Am I some sort of sick rehabilitation joke to you?”

She stood up straight and glared at him. “A joke,” she repeated. “My God, Carter. Do you think I find anything about this situation funny?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Carter asked sharply. “You don’t tell me anything.” His palms slapped the doorframe in frustration. “I get ignored or I get half-truths and mixed messages.”

She sucked in a shaking breath and stumbled back from him, yanking her sleeves down over her hands. Her face was desolate and pained, and Carter was sure, from the relentless ache inside him, he was suffering every single ounce of it.

“What the hell happened to you this week?” he demanded. All he could think was that someone had hurt her, and, if that were true, that same motherfucker would be read his last rights.

She began pacing, muttering garbled words. Carter, despising the unfamiliar behavior he saw, took a tentative step toward her, moving slowly away from the doorway.

He sure wished he hadn’t. As soon as she saw he’d moved, she made a mad dash for freedom. Carter moved to stop her and, in her haste to move out of his way, she skidded on the wood flooring and careened heavily into Carter’s arms, smashing the air from his body in a loud whoosh.

“Peaches, please,” Carter begged as the pair of them landed in a jumbled heap on the floor. She was still fighting him, still demanding him to let her go, but he wouldn’t give in.

“I can’t,” she sobbed. “You … you have to let me go.” Her hands were still pushing at his bare chest, but her strength was waning as the sobs began to overtake her.

“I’m not letting you go. I don’t give a shit what you do.” He held both of her wrists so they’d stop flailing about and stared deep into eyes awash with tears.

“I can’t. I can’t be here. Everything. Everyone hates— I hurt, I … Carter.”

Carter tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her hair in an effort to calm her. “Shhh. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t let you go. I’ll never let you go.”

Her small shoulders shook and, when Carter loosened his grip on her wrists, she threw her arms around his neck and held him as tightly as he imagined she could. And that was fine. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted to soothe whatever pain she was going through and then find the culprit and make them pay dearly.

“I want my dad,” she whimpered into his throat, his skin becoming wet from her tears.

Carter froze, his hand stilling against her. “What?”

“My dad. I miss him so, so much.” Her voice was hoarse and weak, but the desperate grief lacing her words was like a foghorn.

“I know.” Carter closed his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on her head. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, each word punctuated with a soft hiccough.

Carter continued to rub her hair, stealing soft kisses along the part. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I … I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them. What they did to him. I couldn’t stop them.” Her arms tightened around Carter’s neck. “He told me to run. I shouldn’t have run.”

Carter’s heart thundered. Did she remember? Did she know he’d pulled her away, saved her?

“Today,” she whispered. “Sixteen years ago today, and I miss him so fucking much, Carter.”

Outwardly, Carter was motionless. Inside his skull, his brain moved a million miles a second. Could it really have been sixteen years since they’d first met under such violent, horrific circumstances?

“It was today?”

Her fingers tightened at the nape of his neck, and her nose rubbed along his jaw.

Carter clenched his eyes shut. Holy shit. He pulled her closer, burying his face into the space between her neck and shoulder. She was perfect against him, so soft and delicate. Images and sounds of the night in question flashed behind his eyelids and blared loudly inside his head: her screams, her whimpers, the police gunfire, the color of her dress, and the paleness of her skin.

“I missed you so much,” she whimpered. “I missed you so much this week, Carter. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She kissed the tip of his shoulder. “I had my whole family around me, and all I wanted was you.”

Carter’s eyes rolled back at the sound of her words and the feel of her lips on his skin. “Shhh, you’re here now,” he replied. “I’ll look after you.”

After a moment of silence, Carter pushed his free arm under her knees and pulled her securely to him. After a couple of attempts, on wobbling legs, he managed to stand, cradling her in his arms. He walked slowly toward the bed; his nose pressed against her wet cheek while he whispered words of comfort to her: “I’m here. It’s okay. Hold on to me.”

Never letting any single part of her go, he lay down on the bed and held her closely.

And, just as he had sixteen years before, in a cold doorway in the Bronx, he held on to his Peaches so fucking hard as she grieved for the father who’d been so cruelly taken from her.

Kat opened her eyes and was certain of two things simultaneously. First, she wasn’t in her own bed. It was far too comfortable and large to be hers. Second, she wasn’t alone. She was being spooned, quite generously, by a very large, very warm, masculine-shaped body.

Kat let her gaze travel down the bare, muscled forearm holding her firmly around the waist, allowing her eyes to wander slowly up past his elbow to the black, gray, and red of the tattoos that decorated the smooth skin: an eagle, flames, and vines that wound their way across strong muscle. Before she got farther, she clenched her eyes tightly as flashes of the night before accosted her.

She’d behaved like a lunatic: embarrassed herself and treated Carter like a damn punching bag. Was she insane? Jesus, what had she been thinking, getting a cab to his apartment when she was drunk?

Speaking of which, her mouth felt like she’d been breathing almond-flavored sandpaper all night, and her eyes were sticky from the tears she’d cried for the better part of three days. How could she have let Carter see her this way? He grunted quietly into her hair, making the area between Kat’s legs heat instantly at the memory of him above her, rutting against her, sucking, licking, and whispering delectably deplorable words.

Christ. They’d almost had sex!

Granted, that had been her game plan from the minute her stupid, drunken ass had called Jack for Carter’s address and hailed a cab, but that was beside the point. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. She rubbed a hand down her face and shifted a little more, taking Carter’s wrist in her hand as gently as she could while lifting it from her waist. His response was quick and immediate. He clamped his arm back around her, pulling her body hard against his. Kat could feel his crotch pressing nicely against her ass, and bit the inside of her lip to stop the moan of surprise from escaping.

Was he hard?

Carter muttered a curse into the nape of her neck. “Where ya goin’?” His breath was warm and his voice was gruff from sleep.

“Um, bathroom?”

Carter’s grip on her didn’t loosen instantly. Instead, he smelled her hair and mumbled something indecipherable before he lifted his arm and rolled back. Kat tried to ignore the bereft feeling that entered her spine when the cold air hit, and pushed the covers back with a sigh.

Her legs were a little unsteady when she stood up from the bed and wandered sleepily toward the en suite, not daring to look back at the man she’d left alone. She closed the door with a small click and dropped her forehead against it with a thump. What was she doing?

Well, the answer to that was fairly self-explanatory. She’d used Carter as a screaming board and potential booty call, in order to clear her head of the anger and the grief that had ripped her wide-open the day she’d left her grandmother’s house. She’d driven for fifteen hours straight from Chicago to New York. And that was after she’d smashed her cell phone against the sidewalk when it had begun to ring incessantly.

Why the hell did her mother or Beth think she would want to speak to either of them again?

Kat stumbled back from the door, looking around at the beautiful marble floor and stunning shower stand, and shuffled over to the huge rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. Jesus Christ, she looked like death. She grabbed some toilet paper and ran it under the faucet before wiping vigorously at the skin under her eyes in an attempt to erase the mascara lying there in all its hideously smudged glory. Her face looked exactly how she felt: tired, angry, and alone.