The shock of the slap to the left side of Kat’s face stung much more than the slap itself. Her mother had never struck her before, but, deep down, underneath all the confused anger swallowing her soul, Kat knew she deserved it. She registered a gasp from her mother but didn’t stay around to hear what she had to say. She yanked her arm from Eva’s grasp, exploded out of the room, past Adam and Beth, and bolted down the stairs.
Ben was at the bottom, utterly perplexed. “What the hell’s going on?” He followed her to the cloakroom.
“Can I have the keys to your car?” Kat stuttered, grabbing her coat. She could hear the voices of her mother and Beth getting louder as they came down the stairs after her.
Ben shook his head. “It’s a rental. I can’t.” He rubbed her biceps. “Just stay and talk this out.”
A small, pale hand appeared over her shoulder, holding a set of car keys. “Take mine, darling,” Nana Boo said. Kat turned to her in surprise. “It’ll be an excuse for you to come back.”
“Nana,” Kat whimpered, taking the keys. “I’m so, so sorry. I can’t expla— Oh God. I just, I need to—”
“I know,” her grandmother interrupted with a small smile of understanding, and cupped the side of Kat’s face. She stroked her cheek with the flat of her thumb. “Go. I’ll look after your mother.”
Kat whispered, “Thank you,” and, with her bag in hand, she ran outside to the Jaguar XJ, unlocking it as she approached.
Her bag was thrown in, the keys were in the ignition, and her foot was to the floor as she sped down the driveway away from her friends and family. Kat tried her hardest to ignore the intense relief that consumed her as the miles mounted between them, and wished like hell for guilt to take its place.
It never did.
· · ·
Carter had had a shitty week. And, because he was a bastard, he’d made everyone else’s week shitty, too.
He knew he’d been short-tempered with the guys at work, and his counseling sessions and home visits had been filled with uncooperative grunts and shrugs simply because he couldn’t be bothered to deal with it all. The only good thing about the week had been Carter’s session with Ross. He’d kicked seven shades of crap out of every piece of equipment that could handle it and, although it had made him feel better, he was still edgy as fuck.
He was starting to drive himself crazy. Hence why he’d decided to stay in on a Saturday night while Max and the boys went out. He really wasn’t in the mood for any of Max’s stupid shit. The asshole’s face was still a complete mess, but he was determined to go out, get wasted, and fuck anything with a pulse instead of dealing with his grief. Again.
Carter lit another smoke, and began strumming the opening chords of Kings of Leon’s “Fans” in an effort to relax. He peeked once again at his cell phone.
Nope. Still no fucking word.
The reason his panties were in such a goddamn awful bunch was simple. Peaches. The woman was gonna give him a heart attack, way before any pack of Marlboros or bottle of alcohol would. Dealing with her being away from him for a week was one thing. Having her ignore him, after they’d texted three days before, was another.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure the shit out.
The last he’d heard from her was a text asking if he could talk. He liked that she’d texted him, and he liked that she wanted to talk to him even more. Truthfully, he’d never had a relationship with a woman where conversations on the phone had happened. But he’d been more than enthusiastic to speak to Peaches.
He shoved the quiet cell phone across the leather. He wasn’t going to call her again. It’d gone to voice mail the other four times he’d tried, and his seven texts had gone unanswered.
He rubbed the heel of his hand across his sternum to soothe the heartburn that’d been plaguing him for days, and continued to strum, humming along.
The knock at the door of his apartment was as unexpected as it was inconvenient. If Max thought he could come and drag Carter’s miserable ass out into the city, he was in for a big surprise.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, and flicked his smoke into the full ashtray. But the knocking came again, and this time, it was relentless. Slamming his guitar down onto the chair, Carter stormed barefoot across the loft to the door. Pulling back the dead bolt while still muttering curses, he swung the door open, ready to punch whichever motherfucker was disturbing his pity party for one.
Catching the door before it hit the wall, the ferocious expression on his face dropped like a rock in water.
“P-Peaches?”
She was standing there, looking a little worse for wear, in skinny black jeans and a red hooded top. Bizarrely, she was wearing flip-flops. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in mascara as though she’d been crying for days, or—from the way she was swaying—drinking.
“What’re you doing here?”
She rested against the doorframe and smiled, but it was forced and was gone far too quickly. Her eyes were flat, missing their shine.
“I came to see you,” she replied with a playful tap of her fingertip against his nose. Carter frowned. “Can I come in?”
“Um, yeah, yeah, sure,” he replied.
He watched her walk in like a timid animal, and closed the door behind her. Keeping his grip on the handle, he closed his eyes for a beat, trying to collect himself. He took a deep breath and turned around to find her staring back at him in a way that made his pulse race.
“Peaches,” he began, “how did you know where—”
Carter’s words were eaten up by Peaches’ mouth as it smashed into his own. She came at him with such force that his back thumped hard into the door behind him. Her hands were suddenly everywhere: his hair, his face, his chest—oh shit—his ass.
She felt good. So good, pressed against him, eager for him, wanting him. He wondered if she was wet and moaned into her mouth when her tongue slammed into his. She groaned loudly in answer and pushed her hips into his, begging him. He wanted to take her: hard, right there, slamming against the door, but the whole thing just seemed . . . wrong?
She kissed him with a desperation that wasn’t sexy. It was needy and panicked.
His hands, wrapped tightly around her waist, moved to her face, where he pushed her back. She panted against his cheek with her eyes closed and her lips still in a full, gorgeous pout.
“Peaches,” he gasped before swallowing. “Shit. Just . . . wait a second.”
“No,” she replied, burning her gaze into his. “I want you. I want you now”—she licked his throat—“inside me, fucking me, taking me.”
“Fuuuuck,” Carter moaned, rotating his hips against her, pushing his erection against her soft stomach.
“Yes!” She took his bottom lip between her teeth. “I can feel how hard you are, Carter. Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me and that you want it as much as I do.”
“Want it?” Carter growled incredulously. He bent, grabbing the backs of her thighs, and yanked her off her feet so her legs wrapped around his waist, her heat pressing perfectly against his belly button, her flip-flops falling to the floor.
“Peaches, I don’t want it.” He pushed his face into her neck, smelling her peach-scented hair, and bit her skin, making her gasp. He sucked her earlobe. “Jesus Christ.” He lifted his face and placed his nose at the side of hers. “I fucking need it.”
Their lips met again, passionate and raw. My God, Carter had never experienced a need like it. It was all-consuming, heady. It swelled in his body, ready to erupt like a volcano: ready to erupt into her.
Her hands gripped the back of his neck as Carter staggered through his living room, bumping into the back of the couch. He leaned against it for one second while his hands shifted up and under her top, her soft skin against his palms.
Setting off with a grunt while Peaches moved her mouth to his jaw and began nibbling it in the sexiest, most sensual way, Carter moved toward his bedroom, wishing to a
ll fuck that his bed would meet him halfway.
Carter was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life as his knees hit the side of his bed with a dull thump. Peaches lifted her mouth from his and pulled hard on his shoulders, toppling him, and making him fall forward onto the bed, on top of her. The feel of her legs wrapped around Carter’s waist while he ground against her was incredible. He bent her neck back and started kissing, licking, and biting her from her chin to her collarbone and back again. He was suddenly frantic with the need to consume her: every part of her.
There were no words for her taste. No fantasy had come close. “Perfection” seemed insanely inadequate.
He groaned, pushing his hips into her again, hungry for any kind of friction, and watched in awe as her back arched in pleasure. He had to get inside her, had to feel her around him.
Carter lifted onto his forearms and searched her face for any signs of hesitation. If he saw any he’d be devastated, but he had to know that she was sure. He could smell the sweet scent of Amaretto on her breath, which meant she wasn’t as sober as he would have liked, but the way in which she responded to his touch suggested she was as ready as he was.
Their eyes connected and a flash of something heart-wrenching crossed the green of her irises. He pulled back in concern. “Peaches,” he murmured, but her fingers pressed hard against his lips.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t think. Please. I need you to not think and just be with me.” She pulled his face back to hers and smothered his mouth with long kisses that set his bones alight.
Carter tried to listen to his gut, he tried to listen to the sensible part of his brain, but her mouth and hands were far too distracting. Swallowing his conscience with one huge gulp, he gripped the zipper of her top and pulled it down in one fluid movement.
Jesus.
No bra.
“Shit.” He licked his lips and just fucking stared. She was gorgeous; her dark stiff nipples ached to have his lips and tongue around them. “You’re— My God, you’re perfect.”
Before she could reply, Carter’s mouth fell against her right breast, where he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could. Sweet fruits. Her breasts were so perfectly heavy and full in his hands. With a guttural moan, Peaches’ legs wrapped farther around him, and her nails scored the fabric of his T-shirt. She gasped and whimpered into his buzzed hair.
“I need to feel you,” she groaned, pulling at the shirt’s hem. “Please let me feel you against me.”
Without a second’s pause, Carter released her nipple, grabbed the neck of his T-shirt, and yanked it over his head. He crashed back down onto her, grunting at the feel of her bare skin against his.
While he continued to worship her, she released her arms from the confines of her hooded top and—as soon as she was free of it—he grabbed her hands and pushed them above her head, crushing them into the mattress of the bed.
Their tongues met again between their mouths in the open air, twisting and dancing amid soft moans and silent confessions of feelings too big and scary to say aloud. Peaches gripped Carter’s fingers between hers and lifted her head from the bed, urgently seeking from him what Carter was more than willing to give. He wanted to give her everything, anything.
Fuck, he already had. He knew in his heart that she owned him.
“Say it,” she gasped against his cheek when he began licking at her jaw. “Say you want me. I need—I need to hear it. I need to hear it.”
Carter growled into her cleavage. “I want you.” His teeth grazed her sternum. “I’ve always wanted you.”
My whole life.
“Again,” she croaked, her voice trembling. “Tell me this is right. Tell me we’re right.”
Carter, stunned at her words, glanced up.
What he saw knocked every ounce of breath out of him. Her eyes were clenched shut, her face in an almost grimace of pain, and a small shimmer could be seen at the inside corner of her right eye. She was crying.
“Peaches,” he whispered, and lifted his body, terrified that he’d done something wrong, something she didn’t want. “What’s wrong? Did I— Was I too rough?”
Goddammit, he’d tried to be gentle.
She shook her head from side to side, her eyes remaining shut. “You’d never hurt me,” she murmured. “Would you, Carter? I know you’d never hurt me or lie to me. Would you?”
“Never,” he replied, his throat constricting in fear and confusion. “Please look at me.”
She remained quiet, keeping her eyes closed, but the lone tear trickling down her cheek spoke volumes.
“Christ, Katherine,” Carter begged in a voice even he didn’t recognize. “Please talk; you’re scaring the shit out of me.”
At his words, her eyes snapped open. The fire behind them was so fierce, Carter was momentarily dumbstruck.
“What did you call me?”
Carter stared at her, baffled. He shrugged. “I called you Katherine,” he answered in a calm voice. “Why?”
“You never call me that,” she retorted venomously.
“I know, I just . . . It just came out.”
“Get off me.”
Carter balked. “What?”
“Get. Off. Me!” She wrenched her hands free of his and pushed against him so hard, he landed on his back, bouncing as the bed took his weight.
“What the fuck?”
But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed for her hoodie, her hands shaking and her face twisted in anger. Carter watched her, helpless.
“Peaches!” she yelled, pulling on her top. “You always, always, always call me Peaches!”
“I know, but—”
“Only my mother calls me Katherine! My mother. Why tonight, huh? Why did you call me Katherine tonight?” She wasn’t even looking at him while she struggled to fasten her zipper. She seemed close to losing her shit completely.
“I don’t know,” Carter yelled back. He rubbed his face in frustration. “Christ, would you just breathe for a second? What the fuck is going on?”
Her eyes flew to his, huge and fierce. “What’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on. I came here for a good, hard fuck that I thought was a sure thing, and all I get is your damn mouth. That’s what’s going on, Carter!”
Even though her words stung, the fury inside him outweighed any part that hurt. He launched himself off the bed, beating her to the bedroom door, blocking that shit with every inch of himself.
“Get out of my way!” she demanded, moving to his right and trying to push under his arm. She was strong, but Carter wasn’t giving in.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you,” he growled, knowing if he shouted the walls would crumble.
“You are what’s wrong with me.” She pushed again.
He stood firm and, for the first time since they’d entered the bedroom, Carter saw a glimmer of light shine behind her eyes. He’d surprised her.
“Talk to me.”
She moved to his left and pushed. “No!”
“Open your mouth and fucking speak!”
“No!”
He searched her face, seeing only tears, anger, and a profound sadness. “Why are you here?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why? Why are you at my apartment, looking like death, after you’ve ignored my ass for two days?”
The force of her pushing dropped and her fingers began to grip into his skin. That shit hurt, but Carter was determined. “Why are you here, wanting me to fuck you, huh? Is this a game? Am I some sort of sick rehabilitation joke to you?”
She stood up straight and glared at him. “A joke,” she repeated. “My God, Carter. Do you think I find anything about this situation funny?”
“How the fuck would I know?” Carter asked sharply. “You don’t tell me anything.” His palms slapped the doorframe in frustration. “I get ignored or I get half-truths and mixed messages.”
She sucked in a shaking breath and stumbled back from him, yanking her sleeves down over her h
ands. Her face was desolate and pained, and Carter was sure, from the relentless ache inside him, he was suffering every single ounce of it.
“What the hell happened to you this week?” he demanded. All he could think was that someone had hurt her, and, if that were true, that same motherfucker would be read his last rights.
She began pacing, muttering garbled words. Carter, despising the unfamiliar behavior he saw, took a tentative step toward her, moving slowly away from the doorway.
He sure wished he hadn’t. As soon as she saw he’d moved, she made a mad dash for freedom. Carter moved to stop her and, in her haste to move out of his way, she skidded on the wood flooring and careened heavily into Carter’s arms, smashing the air from his body in a loud whoosh.
“Peaches, please,” Carter begged as the pair of them landed in a jumbled heap on the floor. She was still fighting him, still demanding him to let her go, but he wouldn’t give in.
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “You . . . you have to let me go.” Her hands were still pushing at his bare chest, but her strength was waning as the sobs began to overtake her.
“I’m not letting you go. I don’t give a shit what you do.” He held both of her wrists so they’d stop flailing about and stared deep into eyes awash with tears.
“I can’t. I can’t be here. Everything. Everyone hates— I hurt, I . . . Carter.”
Carter tucked her head under his chin and rubbed her hair in an effort to calm her. “Shhh. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t let you go. I’ll never let you go.”
Her small shoulders shook and, when Carter loosened his grip on her wrists, she threw her arms around his neck and held him as tightly as he imagined she could. And that was fine. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted to soothe whatever pain she was going through and then find the culprit and make them pay dearly.
“I want my dad,” she whimpered into his throat, his skin becoming wet from her tears.
Carter froze, his hand stilling against her. “What?”
“My dad. I miss him so, so much.” Her voice was hoarse and weak, but the desperate grief lacing her words was like a foghorn.
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