A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(66)

“Are you mad?” he asked incredulously.

“We have work to do,” she snapped, throwing him a fiery glower.

Carter’s annoyance peaked. He crossed his arms. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

“Yes, I’m mad,” she shot back in a low hiss.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why the f*ck are you mad?” Her ingratitude made his skin crawl, while her rage made his dick harder than titanium.

She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m mad because you nearly broke a man’s wrist in the middle of the library, because you’re an idiot who seems to have forgotten his ass is on parole and who can’t keep his temper.”

Before she could take another breath, he was looming over her, his hands gripping the armrests of the seat she was sitting in, trapping her against the leather at her back. She leaned back, her eyes narrowed, but he moved closer.

“About done?” he seethed, his eyes boring into hers. “Let me tell you something, Miss Lane. Your ungrateful ass would be smeared across the library floor if I hadn’t caught you, and that shitkicker will now think twice about treating any woman that way again. So don’t bitch to me about what I should and shouldn’t do. You’re my tutor, not my keeper. Get that shit straight right now.”

His body heaved when Peaches’ gaze flickered to his mouth.

Dammit, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her, lose himself in her, to nip and bite and steal every breath she had.

His breathing slowed. “Are you scared?”

She shook her head. So stubborn.

“You should be,” he warned. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her pupils enlarged and goose bumps erupted up her neck. He watched them, fascinated.

“When you’re done,” she said quietly, “we have work to do.”

Carter slowly released his grip on the chair. He glanced at the warm flush of her cheeks and took his seat, reaching for the poem.

“Read through it,” she said with authority. “Highlight the lines, phrases, words that you like, and we’ll discuss it once you’re done.”

*

[page]An hour later, as Kat packed her bag, Carter’s cell phone burst to life.

Grumbling, he answered it. “What’s up, J?” His eyes rolled good-naturedly. “Yeah, I’m with Miss Lane now.” He smiled. “Yeah, she’s— I mean, it’s good.”

Kat continued to put her things away, skimming over the notes Carter had made on the poem. Even his damned handwriting was beautiful. It was clear and flowed from one cursive swirl to the next, genteel and calm. How ironic. She watched him surreptitiously, remembering the murderous look on his face as he’d almost broken a man for pushing into her.

It was blatantly clear that under the intelligence, quick wit, and striking face lurked something dark and treacherous. She couldn’t allow herself to forget that for one moment. He unbalanced her. His brooding demeanor worried her. How could he go from being so charming, so funny, to behaving like an animal?

She was so confused. Hot, fiery longing for him rushed through her veins, and the more she tried to extinguish it, the hotter it burned. She glimpsed his mouth, lingering on the soft dip of his top lip. For one split second, when he’d pinned her to the chair, she’d truly thought that he was going to kiss her, and, by Christ, she’d have let him.

“Yeah, I’ll call you,” Carter said into his cell. “Later.” He ended the call and pushed his cell into his pocket.

“‘Miss Lane,’ huh?”