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

“Wait,” he interrupted, breathless, taking a wobbling step toward her. He was so close, Kat had to lift her head to look at him, her eyes level with the sharp edge of his rough jaw.

 

“Please, Peaches. I want”—he exhaled in frustration—“I want to do the right thing. I know I should walk away. I know I should have put my ass on a plane and gone home instead of standing outside of this hotel for four hours in the snow. I know you deserve better. I know all of that, Kat. But the truth is … the truth is …”

 

Kat closed her eyes, swaying toward him. She shivered when his ice-cold hand cupped her neck and moved to her cheek.

 

“The truth is,” he whispered, his lips by her ear, “I’m so damned scared to walk away. I can’t. I’m hopeless without you.”

 

Kat clutched his forearm, rested her head on his biceps, and released a soft, pained sound of relief.

 

His nose glided up her temple. “I’m yours. You have to know that. Christ. Tell me you know.”

 

“I know,” she whimpered. “I know.”

 

Carter’s body fell into Kat’s, pushing her back, stumbling into the hotel room. She managed to shut the door with the edge of her foot as he buried his face into her neck and began to shiver uncontrollably, mumbling garbled words into her skin. His arms wrapped around her waist, gripping her tighter than he ever had before.

 

“Kat,” he croaked. “I— Kat. Don’t make me go. Please.”

 

“Never,” she promised ardently.

 

His body shook violently.

 

“Let’s get you warm. Please, let me help you. You’re so cold.”

 

He stepped back reluctantly so she could unzip his jacket, which she pushed off his shoulders. He stood silently, looking downward, water dripping from his chin onto the floor, as she began to undress him. Wordlessly, and with his top half bare, and gooseflesh puckering every inch of his skin, Kat took his shaking hand and led him to the bathroom. Leaving him by the door, she switched on the five large showerheads, turning them to warm. She removed his boots and socks, unfastened his jeans, and helped him out of his underwear before she took off her own clothes.

 

As naked as they were together, there was no sexual charge, no fizzling atmosphere, no desperate hands or manic kisses.

 

With her palm in his, Kat guided him into the shower, moving so the water hit his body first. As they stood under the stream, she turned the temperature up gradually, not wanting to shock his body with the heat.

 

She pulled him into her arms. “Let me make you warm.”

 

He wound his arms around her, dropping his face to her shoulder. He shook his head against her neck. “I couldn’t leave. I know I should have, but I couldn’t.”

 

“I know. It’s okay.”

 

“I’m so scared. Fuck. I’m so scared.” His voice broke. He pulled her closer, his large frame dwarfing hers, making her spine bend backward.

 

“Don’t be scared,” she insisted, rubbing his back. “I’m here.”

 

Carter tried to move closer. “I can’t lose—I—God. It hurts to even think about it.” His voice became hoarse. “Help me,” he begged. “Help me. I can’t …”

 

“Carter,” Kat urged. “Calm down. Please.”

 

While holding them both upright and maneuvering as best as she could, she managed to guide them both down to the shower floor, a mass of heavy limbs that never unraveled or lost contact. She’d never seen him this way before. Every barrier she’d ever come up against, every last piece of his armor that remained—the cockiness, the indifference, the anger, and the hate—was disintegrating before her, leaving his body with every drop of water that hit him, running off his trembling skin, and disappearing down the drain.

 

She cradled him, pulling him closer, winding her arms around his inked shoulders and her legs around his waist, while he pressed his coarse cheek against her chest. His shoulders quaked and heaved with gasps and hiccoughs.

 

She heard him moan at the same time his body shook.

 

Oh God.

 

He was crying.

 

She ran her hands up his back and neck, trying to calm him while struggling to keep herself together. “You’re all right, sweetheart.”

 

“I need—I need to …”

 

She kissed his neck. “Tell me what you need.”

 

“Jesus, it’s … it’s, it’s here.” He grappled for her hand and pulled it to his thundering heart. “I’ve never felt anything like it.” He licked his lips. “It hurts.”

 

“Your heart hurts?”

 

His face collapsed.

 

Kat watched the hot water fall down his face.

 

“It’s yours. All of it.” He blinked his sodden lashes. “I know now.

 

“Kat, I …” Carter lifted his head and, with his nose at the side of hers, his arms wrapped around her, and with the steam of the water cocooning them both, he opened his mouth, gazed into her eyes, and breathed, “I … I … love you.”

 

 

 

 

 

31

 

 

With her eyes flickering over Carter’s terrified yet expectant face, Kat found herself without words. Hell, what she had for him within her heart, mind, and soul was beyond words. Over and over she opened her mouth to say something, something momentous or meaningful, but found that his confession had left her entirely dumbstruck.

 

He loves me.

 

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