A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(177)

As naked as they were together, there was no sexual charge, no fizzling atmosphere, no desperate hands or manic kisses.

With her palm in his, Kat guided him into the shower, moving so the water hit his body first. As they stood under the stream, she turned the temperature up gradually, not wanting to shock his body with the heat.

She pulled him into her arms. “Let me make you warm.”

He wound his arms around her, dropping his face to her shoulder. He shook his head against her neck. “I couldn’t leave. I know I should have, but I couldn’t.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“I’m so scared. Fuck. I’m so scared.” His voice broke. He pulled her closer, his large frame dwarfing hers, making her spine bend backward.

“Don’t be scared,” she insisted, rubbing his back. “I’m here.”

Carter tried to move closer. “I can’t lose—I—God. It hurts to even think about it.” His voice became hoarse. “Help me,” he begged. “Help me. I can’t …”

“Carter,” Kat urged. “Calm down. Please.”

While holding them both upright and maneuvering as best as she could, she managed to guide them both down to the shower floor, a mass of heavy limbs that never unraveled or lost contact. She’d never seen him this way before. Every barrier she’d ever come up against, every last piece of his armor that remained—the cockiness, the indifference, the anger, and the hate—was disintegrating before her, leaving his body with every drop of water that hit him, running off his trembling skin, and disappearing down the drain.

She cradled him, pulling him closer, winding her arms around his inked shoulders and her legs around his waist, while he pressed his coarse cheek against her chest. His shoulders quaked and heaved with gasps and hiccoughs.

She heard him moan at the same time his body shook.

Oh God.

He was crying.

She ran her hands up his back and neck, trying to calm him while struggling to keep herself together. “You’re all right, sweetheart.”

“I need—I need to …”

She kissed his neck. “Tell me what you need.”

“Jesus, it’s … it’s, it’s here.” He grappled for her hand and pulled it to his thundering heart. “I’ve never felt anything like it.” He licked his lips. “It hurts.”

“Your heart hurts?”

His face collapsed.

Kat watched the hot water fall down his face.

“It’s yours. All of it.” He blinked his sodden lashes. “I know now.

“Kat, I …” Carter lifted his head and, with his nose at the side of hers, his arms wrapped around her, and with the steam of the water cocooning them both, he opened his mouth, gazed into her eyes, and breathed, “I … I … love you.”





31


With her eyes flickering over Carter’s terrified yet expectant face, Kat found herself without words. Hell, what she had for him within her heart, mind, and soul was beyond words. Over and over she opened her mouth to say something, something momentous or meaningful, but found that his confession had left her entirely dumbstruck.

He loves me.

“Carter,” she breathed, closing her eyes. “I love you, too.”

His hand moved to her neck, skimming her wet skin tenderly with the tips of his fingers, tracing the pulse point in her neck she knew was going crazy.

His stare remained fixed on her collarbone. “My Peaches.” He pressed a soft, wet kiss to her throat. “You’re mine,” he said with his lips at her jaw.