A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(57)

She dropped her arms and shrugged. “Fine. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry. What?” Carter bent down so he was eye level with her.

“I said fine. Let’s get on with it,” she retorted sharply. Condescending ass. She gestured brusquely to the chair on the other side of the table.

Carter dropped into the chair and began rummaging through his bag as Kat watched surreptitiously. He pulled out a large pack of Oreo cookies and placed them on the table.

Kat gaped. She hadn’t had an Oreo in years. She’d never been able to bring herself to, since they were a thing she and her dad had had. He’d always eat the center; she’d eat the cookie. Together they could demolish a whole pack in minutes. “You’re not allowed to eat in here.”

He glanced around the otherwise empty room. “Are you gonna tell on me?”

Kat sat down with a thump. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“Sure, Peaches.” He took a cookie, pulled it apart, and licked the cream center.

Fascinated, Kat watched his tongue as it flicked up, down, and around. How could eating a cookie be so sensual, for God’s sake? She cleared her throat and pushed his work toward him. He put the two cookie parts back together and rested them carefully on a napkin.

Carter perused the paper in front of him. He looked up to see her staring at the remains of his Oreo. “What? You want my cookie?”

“You … um, you only eat the inside?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “I don’t really care for the rest of it. You’re free to have the side I haven’t had my tongue all over.”

Her cheeks flamed. “No. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, the offer’s there. And don’t worry”—he dropped his voice—“I won’t tell, either.”

Kat held her smile. Barely. “Tell me what you know about this poem.”

He glanced down. “Well, well. This is quite a change from ‘Tichborne’s Elegy.’ You make me blush.”

Kat waved her hand for him to continue.

“ ‘The Flea’ by Donne takes a usually insignificant action—killing a flea—and turns it into a sexually deviant metaphor.”

“Sexually deviant?” Kat questioned with a thick throat. His dark gaze and sexy smirk were not what she needed to stay focused and professional.

Carter dropped his chin. “Don’t get coy with me, Peaches. You know as well as I do the poem is about Donne wanting to f*ck his mistress.”

The way his mouth curved around the word “f*ck” made Kat’s pulse race. “Care to elaborate?”

“When Donne talks of the blood that the flea has taken from both him and his mistress, he’s talking about sex, their bodies coming together.”

“Hmm,” Kat mused, keeping her eyes on the table and away from the devastatingly long lashes that swept over Carter’s cheekbones.

Carter shifted his chair closer to her. “Is that an I agree with everything you just said, Carter hmm, or a You have no f*cking clue what you’re talking about hmm?”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right,” Kat said, looking down at the table, cursing her choice of poem. What the hell had she been thinking?

Without word or hesitation, Carter pushed her hair behind her ear and lifted her face to his. The sensation of his callused fingers against her skin shot through her body like a bullet.

“Peaches,” he murmured. “Where are you? You’re miles away.”

“I was just thinking … I know there’s a critique on this poem here somewhere.” She pulled her chin from his fingers and stood up. “I’ll go and find it. Why don’t you make some notes on your copy so we can discuss them when I get back?”