8
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.”
“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.”