A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(35)

“Oh, I’m great.” All the more for seeing you.

“So, today we start Shakespeare,” she said, eyeing him carefully while she lifted all her resources from her bag and placed them in order on the table between them. Carter thought her perfectionist traits were at the very least adorable, and at the very most irritating as shit.

“Goodie,” he replied, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

Peaches reached back into her bag and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, which she threw at him.

“Shut up,” she said playfully.

Carter grinned and pulled one out. He placed it between his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once the cigarette was lit, Peaches once again moved her chair around to Carter’s side of the table. He was a little more prepared for it this time, but it didn’t stop the pulse of desire that shot through his body when she crossed her legs. She had f*cking awesome legs. They curved in all the right places, and they weren’t skinny. There was enough there to grab on to. Suck on. Have wrapped around his—

“The Merchant of Venice,” Peaches said, placing the play in front of him. “Tell me what you know.” She rested her cheek in her palm.

He shifted in his seat. “Set in Italy, it’s classed as a comedy but many believe it was a tragedy due to the treatment of the main character Shylock.” Carter picked up the book and thumbed through it.

“Who’s Shylock?”

“Shylock is the loan shark who just happens to be a Jew in a predominantly Christian Shakespearean society. Unlucky for him.”

Peaches laughed. “I guess so. I’m interested, though, why do you say it’s a tragedy? What is tragic about Shylock?”

“He’s classed as a villain because of his religion.”

“He’s classed as a villain because of his demands for payment of a loan,” Peaches countered.

“Bullshit,” Carter continued firmly with an index finger pressed into the center of the book. “The demands he makes are fair.”

“Really? Demanding a pound of flesh to pay off a monetary debt is fair?”

Carter exhaled. She’d no idea how relevant her words were to him and the life he lived. “If you can’t pay a debt, you shouldn’t give your word.” His gaze roamed over the piece of hair hiding her left cheek, and he imagined what it would feel like between his fingers.

“His call for a pound of flesh may sound macabre,” he continued, “but the way he’s reviled because of his religion is even more so. He’s vilified because of his faith; his demand simply reinforces it. His demand is expected because of the prejudice of the narrow-minded bastards around him.”

Peaches stared at him. “You know a lot about debt?”

“I do,” he answered. “Do you?”

“I know what it’s like to give your word to someone,” Peaches said after a moment. Her eyes rested on the play, opened at Shylock’s most infamous speech. “I know what it’s like to pay that word off because you have no other choice but to see it through because you love that person so much it would be a tragedy if you didn’t.”

And that’s when it happened.

Carter couldn’t help himself. It was as if his body was working of its own accord, drawn to her, desperate for her touch. She just seemed so damned sad. His hand moved slowly toward her hair before he tucked it behind her ear. He could barely breathe as his fingertips touched the soft skin at the back of her ear, at the line of her jaw.

[page]The guard by the door cleared his throat.