A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(153)

Without words, she kissed him again.

“Don’t be sorry, for God’s sake,” he urged. “Christ, hearing those words from you … It doesn’t matter where or how you said it. What matters is that you said it at all.”

She held him close. With her lips by his ear, she whispered once more, “I love you.”

He squeezed her and placed a gentle kiss on her throat. “Thank you for being my first.”

She buried her nose into his buzzed hair. “Thank you for being mine.” Carter sat back, looking at her in question. “I’ve told people I love them before,” she clarified. “You know, family. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Carter.”

Carter’s grin lit the room.

“Wow.” He licked his lips and dropped his head against the back of the couch. He kept his eyes firmly on her. “Look at you.”

He continued to stare at her, holding her captive. Occasionally his mouth would open to speak, before he would close it again.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, running her palms down his sides. “Stop overthinking it.”

His body shook with laughter. He kissed her forehead. “You know me so well.”

“I do.” She sat up. She could see the battle: the fear in believing her and the hope that it was true. Her heart squeezed. “I didn’t say it to hear it back. It’s okay.”

“But—”

“No, Carter, really, I don’t need you to say it. And I don’t want you to think that you have to.” She stroked his face.

He stared up at her. “Why do you love me, Peaches?”

The absolute incomprehension in his expression crippled her. Kat trailed her thumb across his jaw as thunder crashed above the house.

“I love you because you’re very special.” She kissed his right cheek. “You’re generous.” His nose. “Caring.” His top lip. “Passionate.” His bottom lip. “And you are, without doubt, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

He leaned his forehead to her chin. “Christ, I …” He lifted his head sharply, eyes wild. “I have to show you how—why I— There’s more.”

She held his face in an effort to calm him. “Show me whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lifted her from his lap. With her cell lighting the way in the darkness, she hurried with her clothes to the downstairs bathroom, cleaned herself up, and made it back to him in time for him to wrap a large blanket around her shoulders. He had a flashlight in his hand.

He held out his hand for her. “Come with me.”

Kat placed her hand in his palm and let him lead her up the stairs and along the corridor. He came to a stop outside the third door down from their room and put his hand on the knob. He turned it and pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, as though it hadn’t been used for a long time. Kat was hit with a rush of cold air and a musty, aged smell.

With only the flashlight and the intermittent glimpse of the moon through the storm clouds, it was hard to see much. The small room was decorated with dark wallpaper, interrupted only by posters of cars and baseball players. A corkboard hung by the closet, covered in drawings and ticket stubs. White dust sheets hid the furniture, and the small bed was unmade with the mattress bare and unused. Kat turned to face Carter, who was looking at her patiently.

“This was your room,” she stated.

[page]He moved the flashlight over the walls, pausing on a picture of a Triumph. They both remained quiet until Carter placed his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the bed, where she sat down. He ran his hand through her hair once before he moved over to the closet. He mumbled and cursed when he opened it and started to pull out boxes of different sizes. He rifled through them slowly until he pulled out a small book held together with a rubber band.