A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(58)

She hurried toward the shelves holding all the literature and critical works of each of them. She had to get away from him.

*

[page]Carter watched her go and slouched down in his seat. He picked up another Oreo and began to lick.

Had he done too much with the hair-and-chin thing? Fuck if he knew. He didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of the no-guard, no-camera situation, although he’d thought about nothing but that since the minute he’d woken up. Dammit, recently she was all he thought about.

Three Oreos later, she still wasn’t back. He checked the time on his cell and blew out an impatient breath.

“Fuck this,” he grumbled, standing from his chair. He shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered in the direction she’d disappeared.

“Peaches?” he stage-whispered, searching each aisle.

He’d checked four of the motherf*ckers before he finally found her standing on a tall ladder, reaching for a book on the highest shelf. He walked up to her, slowly and silently, his eyes level with the backs of her calves. He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of the soft creamy skin. She hadn’t noticed him standing there, leaning against the shelves, tracing the curve of her leg with his gaze. His hand twitched of its own volition and, before he had any comprehension of what he was doing, he was reaching out to stroke the back of her knee.

“Carter!”

He jumped at her screech but then righted himself as she wobbled on the step and slipped back, grabbing at the books in an effort to stop her fall. He clutched at her waist, grazing the undersides of her magnificent boobs, making sure she didn’t hit the floor. She landed against him, resulting in a resounding “Oomph” when his back collided with the opposite bookshelf.

“Seriously, Carter, that’s twice today you’ve scared the hell out of me,” she grumbled, pushing away from him.

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” he muttered, rubbing the bottom of his spine. “I just saved your life.”

“You’re the one who made me fall,” she pointed out.

She’d taken a step back from him. What the hell was that about? He shifted near her, placing the flat of his palm against the spines of the books at the side of her face. He could smell her hair. Fuck. It did still smell of peaches.

“Is everything all right, Miss Lane?”

The two of them startled at Mrs. Latham’s voice. Carter blinked, realizing how close they’d been standing to each other.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Peaches replied to the old woman, who was eyeing Carter. He smirked.

“I heard a scream.” She adjusted her glasses.

“Yeah,” Carter interrupted. “That was me. I saw a spider. Fucking huge. I’m terrified of them. Kat saved me.”

He flashed her his trademark smile to seal the deal, but the small librarian didn’t look impressed.

“Well, as long as you’re okay, Miss Lane.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Latham,” Peaches assured her.

The old lady took one more disapproving look at Carter before disappearing back toward her desk. Peaches collapsed into giggles. He laughed, too, watching her nose crease up and emit a small snort.

“Spiders,” she managed.

“What?” he asked, resting against the bookshelf next to her. “I hate them.”

She shook her head. “You’re one of a kind, Mr. Carter.”

He beamed. “You know it.”

They stared at each other for a small moment, seemingly lost in their own thoughts, before Peaches slapped the large book she’d grappled from the shelf into Carter’s stomach.