A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(161)

“Did it work?”

“Every time.”

The sides of his mouth lifted. She’d spoken a lot about her father since they’d left New York. Carter couldn’t deny he would like to have met Daniel Lane, regardless of how the man would have reacted to Carter dating his daughter.

“Do you think …?” Carter wrapped his thumb around the side of Kat’s little finger hopefully. “Do you think that he would have liked me?”

Kat pulled to a stop, as the lights changed to red, and turned to face him. “I think you and my father are more alike than even I realize. I think he would have thought you were awesome.”

God, he wished that were true enough to erase the dark fear lurking just beneath his skin. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she answered with no hint of doubt in her voice. “I do. Kiss me?”

Carter moved so their lips met. Keeping his eyes open, he watched Kat’s roll back into her head. He let the tip of his tongue trace her bottom lip and sighed when she pulled back and continued to drive.

“I don’t remember having my shots,” he confessed quietly.

Kat glanced at him. “You don’t?”

He shook his head, trying to recollect.

Kat scrunched her shoulders, making her voice bright and indifferent, but Carter knew she was feeling sorry for him. The sympathy prickled his skin like a nettle sting, making his molars grind.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Kat offered. “Having shots is awful.”

It seemed like such a ridiculous thing to want to remember. He exhaled hard at the memories he did have. Hurt. Tears. Isolation. Hate. Fuck it, he thought, when the anger began to rise. There was no changing his past; he had to look forward, and having Kat at his side was one giant leap in the right direction. He squeezed her leg, his fingers whispering over the denim seam running up the inside of her thigh.

“Carter?” She swallowed.

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“We’re here.”

Carter snapped his head around to see a huge redbrick house appearing at the end of a long stone driveway, surrounded by gardens. Carter’s heart gave a resounding kick behind his ribs. He was suddenly desperate for a cigarette. Frantically patting himself down, he found the pack of smokes in his jeans pocket and swallowed in relief. Thank God.

Unexpectedly, a terrible thought crossed his mind: Shit, what if Kat’s grandmother hated smokers?

“Carter?”

Kat’s voice sounded miles away and when he turned to look at her, Carter had the oddest sensation that he was floating underwater, unable to breathe.

Kat unclipped her seat belt. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”

Carter rubbed the center of his chest, willing his airways to open up. It didn’t help. A wave of cold sweat crashed over him, shooting down his back like icy claws. He couldn’t breathe. Christ. His lungs were seizing.

What was he doing? Why had he agreed to this f*ckery? He didn’t do this. He didn’t meet families. It was laughable, really, thinking Kat’s grandmother would accept him. She’d never accept him because he wasn’t good enough. He’d never be good enough.

Stupid, stupid idiot.

“Hey,” Kat said, pulling his hands from his face to her lap.

“Kat, I—I’m not …” He gasped. “I can’t.”

“You’re fine, Carter. I’m here and you’re fine.” Kat put her hands on his neck and rubbed his pulse points with the pads of her thumbs. “Tell me,” she murmured, kissing the fingertips of his right hand. “Tell me you know what you mean to me.”