A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(56)

Resolute, she crossed her legs and waited.

As the minutes passed, her foot began to tap the leg of the table. Fifteen minutes went by and she was still alone. And now pissed.

She checked her phone for any missed calls or texts from him. Nothing. She bit the inside of her mouth in fury. She should have known he’d let her down. He was a newly released criminal who had wild oats to sow. Why the hell would he waste time with her, even if it was part of the conditions of his parole? She was stupid to think that he’d meant it when he’d said he wanted to keep their sessions going.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and, with a string of quiet expletives, Kat began to pack her things. Screw him. If he didn’t want to take it seriously, why should she care?

A hand on her shoulder made her scream.

“Shit! Don’t!” Carter urged with his hand out to her in surrender. “Fuck. It’s me.”

She clutched a palm to her forehead, gasping for breath. “Christ. You scared me.”

“No shit,” he replied while his eyes danced up and down her body, making her stomach tighten. He grumbled something and ran a hand across his hair. A hand that, Kat noticed, was covered in oil.

In fact, most of him was covered in oil.

She studied him from head to toe. His hair was shorter; he’d obviously made a trip to the barber. His face was, as always, epically handsome, but now it had a smear of oil across its right cheek. His T-shirt, which was a black Strokes affair, was tight and dirty, and his jeans, Kat could only assume, used to be blue denim.

“What the hell happened to you?” She tried to ignore the twist of lust that unfolded in her belly when she saw the bike helmet in his hand.

Carter smirked. “I had a fight with a V8 engine and lost. That’s why my ass is late.”

The cocky look on his face reminded Kat she was pissed. She stood up and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, you’re late,” she growled. “So the session is canceled.” She whirled back around to continue throwing her resources back in her bag.

Carter’s laugh was disbelieving. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Kat snapped, keeping her back to him. “You’re late, and I’m not here for shits and giggles while you mess around with your toys. You didn’t even text or call to let me know!”

Carter grabbed her arm and spun her until she faced him. She gulped at the anger on his face.

“Hey,” he barked, his nose only inches from hers. “Stop bitching and throwing shit for a minute, and calm the f*ck down.”

She caught his scent in her nose and on the tip of her tongue. It was deep, smoky, and metallic and made her lungs tingle.

“Let. Me. Go,” she ordered through gritted teeth.

Carter stared at his hand on her arm and let go immediately. “Sorry,” he muttered, though his eyes were still thunderous. “Look, don’t leave, okay? Just let me explain.”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. Explain.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed. “As stated in my parole,” he started through tight lips, “my job is working at a body shop that my best friend owns.” He gestured at the oil all over his clothes. “Max was having trouble with the engine on a Corvette. I offered to help just before I left and it went to shit. I would have called or texted you, but I was busy making sure that two-hundred-pound engine parts weren’t falling onto the heads of my coworkers.”

Kat considered what he’d said. He was so masculine and strong, standing in his dirty clothes with a day’s worth of stubble. He oozed carnal sex. When he’d gripped her arm he hadn’t hurt her, of course, but the sizzle of his hands on her was hard to ignore. It was still there, buzzing deep inside her in places only he could reach.