A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(102)

“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 f*cking hard as she grieved for the father who’d been so cruelly taken from her.





20


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.

[page]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?