Carter: You’re drunk. Is anyone taking care of you?
Ugh, why? Why does he always feel like he has to watch over me? I wasn’t asking for him to white knight it and rescue me from this death trap. I was asking him to help my legacy live on.
Daisy: I can take care of myself, thank you very much.
I puff my chest as I press send. Yes, I can take care of myself. I might have been under the watchful eye of Grams my entire life but since I’ve been living with Amanda, I’ve really been able to—
Beep Beep.
Another text from Carter.
Carter: Are you taking the LoDo route that passes by The Gin Mill?
Stalker.
Looking around, I see that in fact, we are passing The Gin Mill. How did he know?
Daisy: Are you stalking me? Where are you?
“Your friend likes me? Don’t you, sweetheart?” the man next to me asks.
“What?” I missed the entire conversation between the two of them.
“You like me,” he repeats.
I look him up and down. “You seem like you could be a nice fella, but you—”
“Ah, I am nice.” He runs his hand down my thigh. “And I can stick my fingers in places too, you know.”
Oh my gosh.
Before I can answer, as we are sitting at a red light, I’m pulled off my seat and my worst nightmare comes true. This is it. I’m meeting my death. The Chevy Malibu that’s been trailing behind us is finally going to run me over.
Screeching like I’m about to drown, I flail my body as strong arms secure around my waist.
“Settle down.” Carter’s deep voice fills my ear, sending chills up and down my spine.
“What are you doing?” Hollyn calls out, not happy with Carter.
“I suggest you turn back around and mind your own damn business, Hollyn,” Carter replies, menace now in his voice.
“Daisy is my business. She’s at a bachelorette party.”
“Not anymore.” Without another word, he carries me past The Gin Mill, down a dark alley. And here I thought death by Chevy Malibu was going to be my ending. Nope, this alley that smells like homeless man pee is going to be it.
“Where are we going? I don’t want to die in homeless man pee.”
“If you keep fidgeting, you’re going to face plant into the piss. Stay still.”
“You can’t just manhandle me like this.”
“I can when you’re drinking without me,” he counters and then finally sets me down on a familiar seat. His motorcycle.
Looking around, gaining my bearings, I finally make eye contact with him. He’s weary, unsure, but also determined. Wearing a white Henley, buttons undone, and a pair of black jeans, he exudes yumminess with his jet-black hair and penetrating eyes.
Oye, I might be in trouble.
Sitting tall, my hands crossed on my lap, I say, “I can drink without you. You don’t own me.”
Stepping forward, his hand goes to the back of my neck, sifting through my long blonde hair. My head tilts up from his encouragement, forcing me to make eye contact. The intent in his movement is strong, and I melt into his touch.
It’s been like that from the beginning with Carter. I haven’t been able to avoid the electric pull between us. It’s heavy, intoxicating, inescapable, with the way his head tilts to the side when he studies me, or how his hand sifts through his thick hair when he’s trying to understand me. There is something so male about him that has my heart fluttering uncontrollably.
His voice reaching a deeper octave, he says, “I know I don’t own you, doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” He leans forward, like he’s about to kiss me. Oh no, he doesn’t. Lifting my foot, I place it on his chest and push him away. Thank you, flexibility.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m still mad at you. You can’t just remove me from a beer-bike thing and drag me to some back alley with one street lamp shining on us and try to kiss me on your motorcycle like some kind of modern-day knight-in-shining-armor thing. I do have morals, you know.”
But now that I think about it, despite the homeless-man-pee smell, this whole setup is West Side Story kind of romantic with the dark streets, a light sheen of dew on them, and the brick surrounding us. Sigh.
“Morals, huh? Well, I told you I can be a real dick most of the time.”
“Is that supposed to be your excuse?”
“Yeah.” He lowers my foot back to the ground and closes the distance between us again. “It’s always my excuse.”
Irritated, I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, I don’t accept your excuse because it’s lame. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a beer bike to find.”
My attempt to get up off the motorcycle is quickly washed away when Carter straddles the bike as well, his body pressing against mine so I’m forced to lean back.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
Inching closer, that sinister gaze of his splitting me in half, he runs his hands up my thighs until they are gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing inward, sending an immediate shock of pleasure through my nerve endings.
It really shouldn’t be that easy for him, but unfortunately, it is.
“Like I said, I’m a dick, but I know when I’m being one. Therefore I can recognize when an apology is needed.” His thumbs start to stroke my inner thighs, the tips grazing the junction between my legs. Oh Lord, help me, my nipples are hardening. “I’m sorry, Snowflake, for being such an ass to you the other night when my uncle showed up. You caught me at a bad moment. I trust you.” Pressing forward a little more, he runs his nose along my jaw and places a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Please don’t think I don’t trust you, because I do. I just don’t want you to see a shitty side of me.”
Focus on his words. Don’t let his proximity make you brain dead.
“I don’t know what this is, Carter, but if we’re going to be friends, I’m going to want to get to know all of you, not just the side you want me to know.”
“Friends, huh?” His mouth moves back to my ear and he whispers seductively, “Do you let all of your friends touch you and kiss you like this?”
Definitely not, nope, not a single one of them. Not that I have many. But Hollyn won’t be sticking her hand down my pants anytime soon. Although, I’m sure she would make a lovely mate for someone.
“No,” I answer on a hitched breath.
“You better not.”
His lips trail down the column of my neck, the buzz I was feeling being quickly washed away by lust for this man.
“Carter, we can’t do this.”
“And why the hell not?” He kisses across my collarbone to the other side of my body.
“For one, it smells like pee. Two, I’m still mad at you. And three, what about this whole girlfriend thing he was talking about? Are you seeing someone?”
He stills, his lips halting right before they get to my ear. On a huff, he releases me and sits up on his motorcycle, his hand running through his hair.
I wait for him to answer, feeling pride for standing up for myself. Yes, he’s sexy and he affects me in ways I don’t care to admit, but I still have my morals.