He knew Jack had seen firsthand the chemistry between Carter and Peaches. Carter stared at Jack, silently accepting the line that lay between himself and his tutor. As blurred as it had become, he knew he couldn’t cross it. He knew he shouldn’t cross it.
The silent question that hung between them was whether he had the strength to remember that or, rules be damned, cross it anyway.
14
After stopping at the clinic to give mandatory blood and urine samples, Carter decided he was starving and, with half an hour before his park session with Peaches, the golden arches of McDonald’s started beckoning him mercilessly.
With the brown bag in hand and Kala parked safely away, Carter took a seat outside of FAO Schwarz and began people-watching while he ate his Big Mac. He groaned in satisfaction when he took a bite of his burger, not realizing how much he’d missed that shit while he was inside.
Once he’d polished it off, along with the large fries and large Sprite, he sat back and tried to relax.
It was the first time he’d really slowed to any kind of stop since his release, and, as much as he liked being busy, he also appreciated the need to simply take a moment. Before Kill, he would quite often sit in Central Park or Battery Park with a full pack of Marlboros and a bottle of Jim Beam, sit back, and enjoy being still.
Under the warm New York sun, Carter watched the crowds on Fifth Avenue. He smiled when two twenty-something girls smirked flirtatiously and giggled as they passed him. They were so blatant that Carter—used to such reactions from most females—couldn’t help but pull down his shades and smile back.
It worked like a damn charm, making the two girls stammer and stumble away from him. Carter snickered into the back of his hand and pushed his shades back in place. Too easy.
He sat back, his attention falling on a couple who were kissing not ten feet from him, oblivious to the world around them. The guy held his woman’s face, lost in a kiss that was gentle and slow.
Carter frowned, confused. How could that be pleasurable? He’d never kissed that way—when he’d kissed at all—and he’d certainly never “made love.” Although Max had spoken about making love with Lizzie, Carter wasn’t even sure such a thing existed. Before that relationship had gone to shit, Carter had watched dubiously when his best friend had kissed and held his woman carefully, softly, as though she was the most precious thing in the world. It was clear that he’d cherished her. Not that that shit had made a difference when she’d decided to walk away.
Carter liked sex. No, he liked fucking, and when he did, there was nothing soft and tender about it. Maybe he was a prick for doing it that way, but he’d never had any complaints. Every woman who’d left his bed had done so satisfied, and many had come back wanting seconds.
No, Carter thought, pulling his stare from the man and woman, soft and tender wasn’t his bag at all.
Looking across the busy street, he caught a glimpse of red hair. He craned his neck, looking past the people standing in front of him, his mouth lifting into a smile. It was his Peaches, wearing … goddamn her. She was wearing a loose-fitting white T-shirt that showed her neck and shoulders and black jeans. She was dressed, as always, with an edge of class. She oozed sexiness without even trying.
The strange feeling that had occurred in his stomach outside the library three nights before began to snake its way through his intestines. It was the oddest sensation—the hunger—and he didn’t like it. It wasn’t the sensation he didn’t like as much as it was the unease and the overpowering sense of being out of control that accompanied it.
He knew, had he not had his wits about him, he would have kissed Peaches on the steps of the library. After his conversation with Jack, their kiss would have been … it would have been …
Carter’s mind went blank.
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.