A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(70)

How would he feel if he kissed her?

Hard and horny? Most definitely.

Even more desperate to feel what it would be like to be inside of her? God yes.

Happy?

Carter rubbed his palms down his face. Shit. This thought process was far too deep for a Saturday afternoon. He needed to get his head out of his ass and focus on why he was there.

He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Son of a bitch.

She was late.

By nearly fifteen minutes.

Oh, baby, he thought with a smile and a playful shake of his head. He lifted from his seat, grabbed his jacket and helmet, and strolled toward her. He approached from behind, allowing his eyes to dance over her curves. She was ending a call on her phone when he stepped close enough to smell her hair. He bent down to her ear.

“What time do you call this, Peaches?”

She yelped, spinning around in a swirl of white tee and auburn hair. Her face was spectacular in its shock of wide eyes and open mouth.

“Carter,” she gasped. “What is with you and scaring me all the damn time?”

Carter didn’t reply, reveling in her feistiness. He simply cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation for her tardiness.

She dropped her cell into her bag, avoiding his gaze. “I got held up.”

“Mmhm,” Carter hummed. “And here I was thinking that I was the most important man in your life.”

He was messing with her, but a part of him really wanted it to be the truth. His greediness for her was becoming ridiculous.

Peaches huffed and put her hand on her hip. “Delusions of grandeur,” she snipped back. “Besides,” she continued, “I wasn’t with a man.”

Carter’s jaw unclenched in unprecedented and unexpected relief. “I suppose I can allow your lateness to slide this time,” he deadpanned through a long breath that made pieces of her hair move. He shifted closer, lowering his voice in warning. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

She swallowed. “Or else what?”

Carter stared at her, stunned at her question, and hard as all hell that she was ogling the tattoos visible beneath the three-quarter-length sleeves of his Beatles T-shirt. “Oh, Peaches,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Something bright flashed within her eyes, but it was gone before Carter could identify it. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and shrugged.

“Not really,” she replied with an unimpressed scrunch of her nose. “Come on. We have work to do.”

A small laugh escaped Carter when she stormed past him into the park. He had to jog a little to catch up with her, but, once he did, he pushed his free hand into his jeans pocket and followed her lead.

“So,” he said as they made their way through the gates and across the cobbled path, “where are we doing this?”

She glanced up at the blue sky and smiled. It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm. “I thought we’d sit by the boating pond. I know a great spot.”

“Great.”


As was always the case on a warm Saturday, the park was teeming with people and Carter found himself weaving from one side to the other to avoid being pushed or shoved by kids or dogs.

*

Kat noticed how out of place among the normal run-of-the-mill New Yorkers and tourists Carter appeared—not for any other reason than the fact that he was so striking in all his tall, tattooed, buzz-cut glory. She couldn’t help notice the admiring glances he got from the other women they walked past.