A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(32)

“What?” she asked.

With the cigarette still hanging from his mouth, he glanced down at the minute space between them and then at the space she’d left at the other side of the table.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “What’re you afraid of, that you’ll catch teacher cooties?”

Carter pulled the smoke from his lips. “No, I’m not worried about that shit. I’m just surprised.”

“Surprised?”

He scratched his forearm with his thumb. “At how well you hide your fear.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh, Miss Lane, don’t tease me.” He smiled sexily.

She stared at him for a beat before she sat back and crossed her arms. “And why should I be scared of you?”

Carter moved forward in his seat, releasing the smoke down his nose so it parted temptingly when it hit his top lip. “You should be scared, Peaches,” he murmured. “I’ve done things that would make your pretty little head spin, and, you being this close”—he gestured with his chin between them—“well, let’s just say”—his eyes met hers—“it just makes me want to be bad all over again.”

Holy. Shit.

The air in Kat’s lungs left her in an abrupt whoosh.

Carter smiled, seemingly pleased with himself, and sat back.

Arrogant bastard.

“I take it you liked my work, huh?” He began to look through the comments she’d made on his writings.

“It’s— I, um … yeah, it— What?”

“I said you liked this shit.” The edge of his mouth twitched with a conceited smirk. “So are we doing some work today or what?”

Still embarrassingly incapable of stringing a full sentence together, Kat pulled the papers closer while leaning forward, placing her arm only half an inch from his. She felt the buzz, the crackle, the hum. She managed to keep her arm in that position for about sixty seconds before she had to move it away.

For the next forty-five minutes, Kat watched Carter complete task after task, dutifully and perceptively. His discussion points were insightful and the sound of his voice as he became more and more enthusiastic about the poem made her insides twist in the most delicious ways. His brow creased adorably when he concentrated and his eyes grew impossibly darker when she said something that challenged him. Sparring with him about iambic pentameter, imagery, and metaphors was undeniably sexy.

An academic type of foreplay that left Kat craving more.

Before she knew it, the guards came to take Carter back to his cell. She packed up slowly, unable to refute the heavy sensation filling her stomach at the thought of not seeing him for two days.

As she reached the door, she heard Carter stand from his seat. “Miss Lane.”

She turned. “Yes, Carter?”

The left side of his mouth lifted. “See you Monday.”

*

With a birthday card and beautifully wrapped present in hand, Kat walked into Beth’s favorite Italian restaurant in SoHo and laughed when she spotted her friend. A huge, flashing TWENTY-FIVE badge covered the left side of her pink knee-length dress, accompanied by an even pinker sash.

“Kat, you’re here!” she cried excitedly as she approached.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it!”

Beth stood stock-still, looking at her friend in a way that made Kat brush her hands nervously down her black silk top and black jeans. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Something’s different about you.” Beth gasped, then grinned. “You’re all glowy and— Holy hell. What’s his name?”