A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(139)

“It holds happy memories for you?”

“Yeah, the few that I have from my childhood belong here.” He swallowed. “I wanted to share it with you.”

She placed a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Carter kissed the top of her hair. “Come on,” he whispered. “I’ll get you a drink. Food for dinner is all ready for cooking. You like shellfish, right?”

When she nodded, Carter moved closer to her mouth. “Great, I’m starving.” His words carried an undeniable undertone, but he was under no illusions. The next few days were not just about being naked with her. They were about truth, honesty, stepping up, and being an adult. Now that she had wrecked his punk-ass armor, Carter knew he had to show her everything that lay underneath. It was daunting and scary, but he would do it for her. He had to.

They kissed again tenderly but with a promised passion. “Why don’t you go upstairs, get changed into something really warm so you don’t get hypothermia or some shit, and I’ll start on dinner.”

Strangely, she neither argued nor questioned him. “Third door on the right,” he said. “I put your suitcase at the end of the bed.”

“Thank you,” she said before she disappeared up the stairs.

*

“What else?”

Kat chewed her lip as she thought. “Anchovies and olives.” She made an “ick” face. “And lemons. I hate any lemon food—lemon cakes, lemon dressing.” She grimaced and shivered.

“You drink Sprite,” Carter pointed out through a cloud of smoke.

“That’s different,” Kat countered with a tone that closed the conversation.

Carter rolled his eyes.

“What do you hate?” she asked.

“Tomatoes,” he answered swiftly, “anchovies, pineapple, any fish except shellfish, and macaroni and cheese.”

“Macaroni and cheese?” Kat laughed. “What is wrong with you?”

Carter frowned. “I hate the f*cking stuff.”

“Okay,” Kat conceded. “Favorite food?”

“Peaches.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m serious,” he offered. “Peaches and Oreos.” He grinned. “Favorite movie?”

“I can’t pick just one.”

“Fine, two.”

“The Goonies and Forrest Gump. You.”

“Beetlejuice and Pulp Fiction,” Carter replied as he put his smoke out. “Favorite album?”

“Rubber Soul and Revolver by the Beatles. It’s always been one album for me.” She gestured for him to answer.

“Same,” he smirked. “That and The White Album, tied.”

They’d been at the question game for over an hour. Kat watched from her seat on the back porch, wrapped in a large wool blanket, snuggled and warm, while Carter cooked their dinner on the grill and answered every question she threw at him. The smell of shellfish encircled her in the fresh wind, mixing with the scent of the sea and Carter’s cigarette smoke.

As well as looking unbelievably sexy in a large, black knitted sweater and dark jeans, Kat couldn’t believe how calm he seemed. He looked like he belonged, settled and free, as though the weight he carried around with him in the city had been swept away by the waves crashing against the shore not one hundred yards away.

“You look peaceful here.”

Carter finished his beer. “That’s pretty much how I feel. There’s something about the coast. It makes me feel different.”