Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(71)

She groaned and threw an arm over her eyes. It wasn’t the fact that she and Grant were on some sort of siesta. It was crystal clear now she wasn’t in love with him and never had been. If she never saw him again, yes, she might be disappointed, but she wouldn’t be heartbroken.

She swiped away a tear that had the nerve to escape down her cheek and threw back the covers.

She wouldn’t go there. She’d cried those tears for Carter already, hadn’t she? She wasn’t a starry-eyed sixteen year-old anymore. She was a grown woman who had charted her course in life. Yes, they’d enjoyed something wonderful and memorable, but Carter didn’t fit in her life and never would. Fantastic, mind-blowing sex didn’t change that fact. Neither did a foolish, hopeful heart.

Liz swung her legs to the floor. She couldn’t hide in her room forever. She needed to put on her big-girl panties and face things like a grown-up.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she found Carter sprawled on the sofa. His shirt was off. No doubt it lay splattered with paint somewhere. She smiled, noting he’d at least taken the time to throw an old sheet over the sofa before falling asleep.

The faint light from the hallway illuminated his face.

He looks so vulnerable, she thought. Awake, he was a dynamo. Always moving. Always using that never-ending charm and mega-watt smile to get what he wanted. Go where he wanted. But in sleep, it was as if all artifice melted away.

As if he, too, could be hurt by what they were doing.

Ridiculous. He was a grown man. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, and it wasn’t falling in love.

Liz shook off the depressing thought and headed to the kitchen. She was thirsty, she rationalized, getting a drink. She wasn’t peeking.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Liz froze, her hand on the kitchen door, as Carter’s sleep-groggy voice touched her across the darkened room. “I’m thirsty.”

“There’s water in the upstairs bath.”

“I need a cup.”

“Liar.”

She could hear the smile in his voice even as she pursed her lips and peered into the darkness.

“Go ahead and take a peek,” he said. “If you can’t wait. Go ahead.”

“I just want a— Oh.”

He’d left the under-cabinet fixtures on, and even in the predawn light, the room was cool, serene. Breathtakingly lovely.

“Surprise,” he whispered. She knew he was right behind her now, could feel the heat radiating from his sleep-warm body as they stood in the doorway.

“It’s just as I pictured it,” she murmured.

And it was. Soft, fresh, celery green nearly shimmered on the cabinet doors. Tomato-red ceramic knobs fought with brushed nickel hardware in her mind’s eye before Liz could push the fanciful thoughts away.

Who was she kidding? Pretending she could keep this vision was as delusional as pretending she and Carter had a future together. She shook her head. “I know you meant well, but you shouldn’t have. It’s— You know I chose white.”

“You chose this first.”

She let out a sigh of regret. “But, then I decided on white.” She squared her shoulders and turned toward him. “It’s a neutral that will appeal to most buyers.”

“But not to you.”

“I’m irrelevant. I’m not a buyer.”

“Maybe you could be.” His hair was lightly mussed, bottle green eyes heavy-lidded with sleep, and seeing him barefoot and bare-chested in her home was as surreal as what he was suggesting.

She blinked. “Buy...? This? I’ve got a job, Carter, a… a ... place in Chicago. My life is there. We both know that.”

But his words hung between them nonetheless. It was a ludicrous idea. It wouldn’t bear the light of day, she told herself, even as the possibilities swirled like fairy sprites in her mind.

His lips formed a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he wiped a weary hand over his face. “Right.”

“It’s beautiful,” she rushed to assure him. “And I know you meant well. I just don’t think—” But he cut her off with a single hard kiss that left her stunned, speechless, yearning for something she couldn’t even name.

“Then don’t,” he ground out, the ferocity of his words catching her off guard. His lips hovered fiercely, temptingly, over hers. “For once in your life, Liz, don’t.”

Then he let her go, gathered his clothes, and said a curt goodbye before she could even ask what, exactly, she wasn’t supposed to do.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

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CARTER SAT AT THE DESK in his home office and closed his eyes, remembering Liz’s whispered words from the day before.

The truth had hit him like a ton of bricks. It had been him. He’d been the one to give her her first kiss. He didn’t know why it mattered or even if it did, but there was a sense of fate in knowing, a sense of relief that he’d intervened that night at the Whitmeyer’s and it hadn’t been Dan in there.

Not only for Liz’s sake, but his own.

And yesterday, he’d relived the memory of that kiss right along with her—experienced its power all over again.

He’d always thought the fight with Dan had made the kiss more intense than it actually was. He couldn’t believe a girl he’d overlooked so many times could blow him away with a single kiss.