13
“Fuck it!”
Carter looked up from the screwed-up carburetor in his hand to see Max kicking the tire rim of the V8 Pontiac GTO he’d been cursing at for the past hour.
Carter walked over to him, wiping his grease-covered hands on a rag he pulled from his pocket. “Whoa, whoa, man, chill out. We don’t hit the ladies. What’s up?”
Max threw his hands through his hair. “This piece of crap.” He gestured toward the car.
Carter’s eyes widened in mock horror. He placed his palms against the driver’s door of the burnt-orange vehicle. “Don’t listen, baby,” he whispered to the car. “He doesn’t mean it.”
Max shook his head. “Whatever, man, I’m done.”
Carter frowned and propped his forearm on the car roof. “You’re done?” he asked in a baiting tone. “You give up so easy?”
“No,” Max snapped back defensively. “I just can’t—the fucking thing’s still idling high and— For fuck’s sake, Cam, turn that fucking shit down!”
Cam scurried to the stereo in the corner of the room and turned the Foo Fighters down to a dull roar.
Carter kept his stare on Max, knowing there was more to his bitching than the car’s high idling.
Max turned away from Carter’s meaningful look and opened a can of Coke he then proceeded to gulp. Once it was gone, he turned back to his friend, falling against the wall before sliding down. His eyes met Carter’s briefly before explaining quietly, “My blood sugar’s low, man.”
Having been diagnosed with hypoglycemia when he was a kid, Max managed to keep his blood sugar on a fairly normal level, but he was a cranky son of a bitch when it dropped. Carter reached into his back pocket and retrieved his bag of mini Oreos, throwing them at his friend.
Max put one in his mouth and hummed in pleasure. He offered the bag to Carter, who took two for himself.
“So, what else is up?” Carter asked after a moment of Oreo-appreciative silence. Max averted his eyes from Carter, who dropped to the floor next to him. “Since when do we keep secrets, Max?”
“I don’t have any secrets,” Max answered with a shake of his head. He looked so weary. “You know all there is to know.”
“Oh, really?” Carter countered. “So, if I know everything, when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re doin’ blow on the regular again?”
Max kept his eyes on the floor between his feet. “It’s just recreational, man.”
“I thought you were going to cut that shit out,” Carter said in exasperation.
“I know. I tried; you know I did. But it takes the edge off.” He rubbed his face with a somnolent hand. “I’m not … I’m not sleeping great. Truthfully, I haven’t slept great since … since she … Look, it gives me a boost.”
Carter’s stomach clenched for his friend and his inability to speak about the woman who’d broken his heart. He looked so lost. He nudged Max’s shoulder with his own. “I’m here if you wanna talk about Liz—”
Max’s head snapped up, his eyes burning. “Don’t.”
Carter sighed. “Okay. But you need to be honest with me.” Carter gave Max a pointed stare, which Max accepted with a slow nod.
Honesty had always been so important to the friendship they’d built over the years: honesty and trust.
“Dude, you look like shit. Your temper’s raw. You’re handling an expensive habit. Paul told me the books for the shop aren’t good. If you kick this shit, you know I can help you with the money side of—”
Max shook his head. “No, Carter. I don’t want your money. I’ve told you before.”
“It’s not my money,” Carter bit back. “It’s Ford money.”
“Whatever,” Max continued. “I’m not taking it. After you went to Kill for me and Liz …” He trailed off, the name clogging his throat with emotion. Then he coughed a bitter, cold laugh. “What a waste of fucking time that was.”
“Have you heard from her?” Carter hedged softly. Max rarely spoke of the woman who, by walking out on him and disappearing without even a “fuck you,” had shattered his heart six months after Carter was sent to Kill.
Max shook his head before he dropped it back against the wall. “Nothing. Not even a fucking text. Nothing since the day she left.”
Carter placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and squeezed, hating what Lizzie Jordan had done to his best friend. Because of her, the son of a bitch was brokenhearted and nursing a coke habit that was liable to land him in prison, or worse.
“The offer’s there, okay?” Carter said softly. “I’ve got your back, man, you know that, but I’m on parole. I gotta watch my back, too.”
His parole wasn’t the only reason to keep his nose clean, though. Contrary to popular belief, he’d pulled away from all the drug shit a year before he was sent to Kill.
“It’s all good,” Max said, his mask of indifference sliding over the pain. “It’s under control, I promise. Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys next week for a sweet deal that’ll clear everything. You want in?”
Carter’s infuriated eye roll made Max laugh. “Asshole. Yeah, let me just call my parole officer and ask if that’s okay.” He thumped Max’s arm. “You be fucking careful, you hear me?”
Carter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Standing and moving away from Max, he pulled it from his overalls and smiled.
Peaches.
Try not to be late again.
“That your tutor?” Max asked with a knowing smile. “Shit, son, when you gonna hit that?”
“Shut up,” Carter grumbled.
Max laughed again, his game face back on. “What’s with you and her, huh? Is it that way?”
Carter cleared his throat. “No,” he breathed. “It’s not that way.” He licked his lips and looked at his best friend.
“Sure,” Max teased. “If you haven’t boned already you’re desperate to, man. It’s written all over you. Not that I blame you. Damn.”
Carter held back the growl of possessiveness that threatened to creep up his throat. “It’s complicated.” He paused. “She’s … she’s Peaches.”
Max’s eyes popped wide. “Peaches? The girl in the Bronx, with the dad who— No shit?”
Carter raised his eyebrows. “Shit.”
The night Carter had saved her, he’d told Max everything. It was only then, with his friend at his side, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the sound of gunfire still resonating around his head, that he’d openly wept from the fear.
Max scrambled from his place on the floor. “Does she know? I mean, have you said anything to her?”
Carter clutched the bridge of his nose. “No. I haven’t. I wouldn’t even know where the fuck to start.”
Max crossed his arms over his chest. “I hear ya.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “Damn, brother, after all these years. You found her.”
Carter smiled small and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
Max smacked a playful hand to Carter’s biceps. “Get on that. Girl done grown up good.”
Carter snorted. No shit. Though Max’s suggestion that he hit it and quit it would ordinarily have his panty-dissolving smolder firmly in place, with his Peaches it seemed too … crass. She deserved more than that.
He glanced at the clock. It was three fifteen. Less than one hour until he saw her. He texted back.
I wouldn’t dare.
And he was only half kidding. He’d been more than a little surprised at her reaction to his tardiness at their first session. She’d looked ready to rip his head off, and he could see where she was coming from, but, damn, girl had a temper. Not that he was one to talk. But after the whole stern-talking-to, falling-off-ladder debacle, the session had gone pretty well.
It was strange how time passed so fast when he was with Peaches. It seemed so easy to be with her. He liked her sass and enthusiasm. It made him remember his own love of the written word, and he liked talking to her about the writer’s word choices and the intricacies of it all.
In fact, he liked talking to her, period. Talking to her—and now touching her. He couldn’t help but think about how soft her hair was when he’d pushed it behind her ear, or the silkiness of her skin at the back of her knee. Would her skin be that soft all over?
He cleared his throat and shook his head of the image of her wrapped around him as he pounded into her among the bookshelves.
Christ.
He wanted more. And not just in the let-me-see-what-you-look-like-naked sense.
What would it be like just to have an everyday conversation with her? The day she’d spoken about her father and the book he read to her was one of the best days he’d had inside Kill. He’d gotten a glimpse of the Kat Lane who existed outside of the prison walls, and now that he, too, was outside, he wanted very much to see more.
What might her reaction be if he asked her some more personal questions? Only questions about her likes and dislikes, not like her bra size or anything—though he’d wondered about that shit, too. They looked like they would fit in his hands perfectly. His body immediately reacted to that particular thought, which was more than a little embarrassing when he was surrounded by a bunch of guys.
His body still seemed to find it impossible to settle down when he was around her or when he thought about her. Regardless, as much as he would have loved to suggest they just get fucking down to it, he knew she wasn’t that type of girl. He was fairly certain that if he ever heard of any man treating her that way, he would have no problem with fucking. Their. Shit. Up.
His possessiveness could be a problem.
“Carter?”
He came from his thoughts and looked at Cam, who was motioning toward the entrance of the body shop.
“There’s a guy here to see you, man.”
“Who?” Carter asked, putting his coffee down.
Cam shrugged. “No clue. He just said he needed to talk to you urgently.”
“Don’t they all.”
He stopped midstride when he saw who was waiting for him on the sidewalk outside the shop, in a suit that must have cost at least two thousand dollars. Carter cursed and rubbed his palm down his face in aggravation.
“Austin Ford.”
Austin nodded. “Carter.”
There was a moment of overwrought stillness while the two men observed each other. Impatient as always, Carter was the first to break it.
“What are you doing here?” he asked with an incensed shake of his head.
“You haven’t been returning any of our calls,” Austin answered, his tone calm and arrogant.
“You dipshits can’t bully me on the phone, so you decide to come down and do it in person?” he retorted.
“We’re not bullying you, Carter. These papers need signing.”
Carter pulled his smokes from his back pocket and lit one, taking a huge drag. He pointed at Austin with the cigarette still between his fingers. “Those papers were drawn up without my consent as a way of shifting me out of the picture. That, my friend, is fucking bullying: underhanded, conceited bullying.”
“Carter.” Austin rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You don’t want anything to do with the company. You’ve said that time and time again, yet when we offer you a way out, you dig in your heels and say no.”
“Bullshit,” Carter snapped. “You’re offering me a way out because the Fords are scared shitless that WCS shareholders will find out your company is owned by a criminal. Ironic, really, when you consider the men you’ve been making deals with. Casari ring any bells?”
Austin’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “Carter. Rumors aside, we’re family—”
Carter’s eyes blazed. “Don’t play the family card with me, Austin.” He flicked his cigarette away, missing Austin’s left arm by millimeters. “You weren’t my fucking family when I was doing time in prison, so don’t pretend you give a shit now!”
Austin held his hands up in submission. “Okay, okay. I get it.”
“No,” Carter continued, stepping toward him. “You don’t get it. We may be related, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t think twice about laying your ass out, right here and now, just on general principle.”
Austin refused to back down, even when Carter was nose to nose with him. “That wouldn’t be too good for your parole, now, would it?”
“Fuck you, you sanctimonious shit,” Carter hissed. “Don’t stand there looking down your nose at me like you’re cleaner than a nun’s bedsheets. I could make one phone call about your dealings with Casari and the Feds would be all over your ass.”
“And of course you have proof about Casari and me, right?”
The two men glared at each other, neither blinking nor stepping back.
“We okay here?”
Austin’s eyes flickered toward Max, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his wide chest.
“Yeah,” Carter answered, never taking his eyes from Austin’s face. “My cousin was just leaving.”
Austin exhaled in resignation. “Think about what I said, Carter. We’ll be in touch.” He headed back across the street to his car.
Carter watched the car pull away, then turned to Max with a face like thunder.
“What the fuck was he doing here?” Max asked with raised eyebrows.
Carter slumped against the wall next to him. “They’re still tryin’ to buy me out.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him to go fuck himself,” Carter replied with a shrug.
Max bumped his shoulder. “That’s my boy.”
Carter cracked a smile, allowing his body to calm down.
Fucking family? What the hell did Austin know about being family?
The Fords were all the same. All they cared about was getting their hands on his money and having more power. And as much as Carter despised every cent that entered his Swiss bank account every month, he wasn’t about to slink off like some black sheep just because the Fords wanted him to.
Suddenly he bolted upright, wide-eyed and frantic. “Shit!” He patted his chest and jeans pockets as though searching for something. “What time is it?”
“It’s three forty-five, man, why? Where’s the fire?”
“Fuck!” Carter cried, running full speed back into the shop to grab his bag and keys. “I’m fucking late! I’m late!”
He pulled on his leather jacket and shades, and ran back out of the shop toward Kala. “My session!” he called back to Max, then pulled on his helmet and threw his leg over the bike. “I’m late and I said I wouldn’t be! I told her I wouldn’t be!”
“Oh, the tutor,” Max replied as Carter steered the rumbling bike onto the road with his feet. “Hey, if you’re not interested, tell her I’ll show her a damned good time! I always had a thing for redheads.”
He laughed when Carter flicked him the finger before revving the Harley and speeding off like a bat out of hell.
* * *
Kat drummed her nails on the library table in annoyance, wondering why the hell she’d thought Carter had meant it when he’d said that he would be on time.
Oh yes—because she was stupid.
She was stupid for thinking he’d be on time. She was stupid for looking forward to their time together and resenting him for cutting it short. And she was really stupid for having taken time to reapply a little lip gloss before she reached the library.
She pulled the copy of Walter the Lazy Mouse he’d given her out of her bag and reread the note he’d written. “No matter what the obstacles …”
Well, she thought dryly, the biggest obstacle right now was the fact that the guy would be late to his own funeral. She closed the book and glanced at the clock once again. Four ten. She’d waited thirty minutes the last session. She’d wait twenty this time. She picked up her phone, checking for any messages or missed calls from him. Nothing. The only text she had was from Austin, telling her to have a good day and asking if she had plans on Saturday.
She heaved a sigh, avoiding looking across at the shelves of books where Carter’s large, strong, muscular arm had grabbed her and held her so deliciously—
“Dammit!” She dropped her forehead on the table. “It’s just a stupid crush. Get a grip. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean you—”
“Who’s pretty?”
Oh. Holy. Shit.
Kat sat up very, very slowly.
“My … shoes,” she answered, extending her foot so Carter could see the gunmetal-gray Gucci pump. “Aren’t they pretty?” She kept her eyes on her shoes, trying to calm her racing heart.
Carter cocked puzzled eyebrows above eyes that raked over the foot, ankle, and leg she was showing him. “Um, they’re not really my style, but, yeah, great.” He pulled off his jacket and flung it over the back of his seat, grimacing. “So, I know I’m late. And I know I said I wouldn’t be.”
“Yes,” she answered sharply, eager for the change in topic. “Again. I know you have stuff you need to do, but so do I. And your being constantly late just isn’t going to work. We’ve already lost fifteen minutes.”
“Give me a break here, Peaches. It’s only our second session. I’m still trying to find my groove and shit with everything. It won’t be like this forever … I’m trying, okay?”
Kat noticed his face was softer, more vulnerable. She frowned. “What happened?”
Carter sat back, looking surprised. “What?”
“Why were you late? What happened?”
He inhaled deeply and rubbed his neck. “There was a … family issue I had to deal with and I lost track of time.”
Family? That was the last thing she thought he was going to say. She knew nothing about his family. “Is everything all right?”
“Um … yeah, everything’s fine.” His eyes darted away. “Can we start now?”
Kat saw the tension creep back into his jaw. The truth was, she barely knew the man sitting before her, and it was cause for concern. She was lusting after him, yet all she knew for sure was that he’d done time, he had a good education, and he worked in a body shop with his best friend. The fact that he made smoking look sexy as all hell and looked fucking amazing in jeans and Ray-Bans was inconsequential.
Although …
Damn.
“I see you came straight from work again,” she noted with a tip of her head toward his red White Stripes T-shirt smothered in oil.
“Yeah, I get covered in the stuff.” He glanced at her from under his lashes, his gaze like a hot finger pressed to her skin. “Sorry for being late.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “Christ, I need a cigarette.”
Kat stood, scraping her chair across the linoleum floor. “If you need a smoke, let’s go outside and have a smoke.”
“But you don’t smoke.”
Kat put her hands on her hips and took two steps toward the door. “I like to watch,” she sassed. “Come on.”
* * *
Carter watched her for a moment, then followed. Outside of the library, in the warm sunshine, they went to the smoking area.
She gestured with her hand for him to spark up. He smiled and did as she suggested, pulling on the thing for all it was worth. Leaning back against the wall, he caught a waft of her perfume, and closed his eyes briefly at the sweetness of it.
The top of her head only came to his shoulder; how had he not noticed that before? Maybe it was because her confidence, her no-bullshit attitude, made her seem taller. Her hair caught the sun, causing the red and gold to shine. His desire for her grew exponentially every time he saw her and, as he watched her gaze out at the traffic, the stirring she always caused began deep in his stomach.
“Why did you want to become a teacher?” he asked, needing a distraction from his rising libido.
Her head snapped toward him, her big green eyes wary.
“Sorry,” he mumbled around his cigarette. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.” He stared at his feet until she answered.
“My dad. Before he died, I made a promise to him.” She lifted her face toward the sky. “He always taught me that it was important to give back, to not take anything for granted. I loved reading and writing, and becoming a teacher just seemed to … ignite something in me.” She glanced at him. “Sounds corny as shit, right?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with passion, Peaches.”
“Did you want to be anything, before prison?”
Carter crossed his legs at the ankles. “There was a time when I wanted to be a doctor.” He’d never told anyone that.
“A doctor?”
“Yeah, a surgeon, actually. Don’t look so surprised. I’m good with my hands.” He wiggled his fingers.
“Is that why you work in the body shop?”
“Nah. Apart from doing it to help Max, I do that because I love engines. Taking it all apart, seeing how it works, and then putting it all back together.” He closed his eyes. “The sound they make is pretty awesome, too.”
The first time he’d blasted Kala to New Jersey one hot summer afternoon; her engine had been so loud his bones had vibrated.
Carter opened his eyes to see her gazing back at him, innocent and wanting. She was such a fucking paradox. The stirring in the depths of his stomach twisted sharply until it began to bloom into something more, something bigger.
It was more than yearning. It was craving. No, he was ravenous for more of her—in every way she’d allow him to have her.
He sucked in a breath against the crushing need to kiss her.
She blinked. “What?”
He cleared his throat, the need to place his mouth against hers rising like a tidal wave through his body. “Nothin’.”
Well, this shit was new.
He didn’t kiss women—ordinarily, they kissed him. Usually, they begged. He’d wanted to do unspeakable things to Peaches since he’d first seen her, but kiss her? That had never crossed his mind.
Until now.
“So, what do you like to do when you’re not, you know, getting covered in oil?” Her smile was awkward. Her smile was fucking adorable.
He wanted to lick her bottom lip. Maybe suck on it. “I like to play guitar.” His voice was rough. “Watch TV. Drink. Ride my bike. Nothing exciting.”
“Yeah, I noticed your helmet.”
“Yes. My baby.”
Peaches laughed. “Boys and their toys.”
“Damn straight.”
She toed the floor. “My dad rode a bike when I was little. I love bikes.”
Of course she fucking did. As if she could be any more damned perfect. Jesus. He stubbed out his smoke and flicked it to the side. “We should go back in.”
Nodding, Peaches pushed from the wall. Carter followed behind closely, watching the luscious sway of her hips as they went inside. There, out of nowhere, a big, bearded asshole with a huge bag smacked hard into her, sending her flying. Carter grabbed her waist, pulling her upright against his chest before she hit the deck.
“Shit!” she gasped, grasping his forearm.
“Watch it,” the asshole sneered without a second glance. “Blind bitch.”
Carter took three huge strides and grabbed the asshole’s wrist, making him spin around. The bastard winced as Carter squeezed the pressure points he knew would hurt like a bitch.
He tried to pull from Carter’s grasp. “What the hell, man?”
“Carter,” Peaches called, hurrying to his side.
He ignored her and twisted the asshole’s arm farther.
“You’re gonna break my wrist!”
Carter growled, “And I will, if you don’t apologize to this lady.”
The asshole opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.
“Apologize,” Carter ordered.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned, but Carter kept his grip.
“Carter, he apologized. Let him go,” Peaches said.
Smirking at the fear in the asshole’s eyes, he squeezed once more for good measure before he released him. The asshole stumbled back, clutching his wrist. He grabbed for the bag he’d dropped on the floor and hurried away, Carter’s stare burning holes in his back.
Peaches spun around, pushing his biceps. “What the hell was that?”
Before he could answer, she stormed back toward the reading room, heels hard on the floor, arms jackknifing at her sides. By the time he reached her, she was banging shit around on the table.
“What the fuck did I do?” he asked, his voice low.
She didn’t answer him as she flung herself onto her chair.
“Are you mad?” he asked incredulously.
“We have work to do,” she snapped, throwing him a fiery glower.
Carter’s annoyance peaked. He crossed his arms. “Hey, I asked you a question.”
“Yes, I’m mad,” she shot back in a low hiss.
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes. Why the fuck are you mad?” Her ingratitude made his skin crawl, while her rage made his dick harder than titanium.
She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m mad because you nearly broke a man’s wrist in the middle of the library, because you’re an idiot who seems to have forgotten his ass is on parole and who can’t keep his temper.”
Before she could take another breath, he was looming over her, his hands gripping the armrests of the seat she was sitting in, trapping her against the leather at her back. She leaned back, her eyes narrowed, but he moved closer.
“About done?” he seethed, his eyes boring into hers. “Let me tell you something, Miss Lane. Your ungrateful ass would be smeared across the library floor if I hadn’t caught you, and that shitkicker will now think twice about treating any woman that way again. So don’t bitch to me about what I should and shouldn’t do. You’re my tutor, not my keeper. Get that shit straight right now.”
His body heaved when Peaches’ gaze flickered to his mouth.
Dammit, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her, lose himself in her, to nip and bite and steal every breath she had.
His breathing slowed. “Are you scared?”
She shook her head. So stubborn.
“You should be,” he warned. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her pupils enlarged and goose bumps erupted up her neck. He watched them, fascinated.
“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.