Although …

Damn.

“I see you came straight from work again,” she noted with a tip of her head toward his red White Stripes T-shirt smothered in oil.

“Yeah, I get covered in the stuff.” He glanced at her from under his lashes, his gaze like a hot finger pressed to her skin. “Sorry for being late.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “Christ, I need a cigarette.”

Kat stood, scraping her chair across the linoleum floor. “If you need a smoke, let’s go outside and have a smoke.”

“But you don’t smoke.”

Kat put her hands on her hips and took two steps toward the door. “I like to watch,” she sassed. “Come on.”

* * *

Carter watched her for a moment, then followed. Outside of the library, in the warm sunshine, they went to the smoking area.

She gestured with her hand for him to spark up. He smiled and did as she suggested, pulling on the thing for all it was worth. Leaning back against the wall, he caught a waft of her perfume, and closed his eyes briefly at the sweetness of it.

The top of her head only came to his shoulder; how had he not noticed that before? Maybe it was because her confidence, her no-bullshit attitude, made her seem taller. Her hair caught the sun, causing the red and gold to shine. His desire for her grew exponentially every time he saw her and, as he watched her gaze out at the traffic, the stirring she always caused began deep in his stomach.

“Why did you want to become a teacher?” he asked, needing a distraction from his rising libido.

Her head snapped toward him, her big green eyes wary.

“Sorry,” he mumbled around his cigarette. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s none of my business.” He stared at his feet until she answered.

“My dad. Before he died, I made a promise to him.” She lifted her face toward the sky. “He always taught me that it was important to give back, to not take anything for granted. I loved reading and writing, and becoming a teacher just seemed to … ignite something in me.” She glanced at him. “Sounds corny as shit, right?”

He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with passion, Peaches.”

“Did you want to be anything, before prison?”

Carter crossed his legs at the ankles. “There was a time when I wanted to be a doctor.” He’d never told anyone that.

“A doctor?”

“Yeah, a surgeon, actually. Don’t look so surprised. I’m good with my hands.” He wiggled his fingers.

“Is that why you work in the body shop?”

“Nah. Apart from doing it to help Max, I do that because I love engines. Taking it all apart, seeing how it works, and then putting it all back together.” He closed his eyes. “The sound they make is pretty awesome, too.”

The first time he’d blasted Kala to New Jersey one hot summer afternoon; her engine had been so loud his bones had vibrated.

Carter opened his eyes to see her gazing back at him, innocent and wanting. She was such a fucking paradox. The stirring in the depths of his stomach twisted sharply until it began to bloom into something more, something bigger.

It was more than yearning. It was craving. No, he was ravenous for more of her—in every way she’d allow him to have her.

He sucked in a breath against the crushing need to kiss her.

She blinked. “What?”

He cleared his throat, the need to place his mouth against hers rising like a tidal wave through his body. “Nothin’.”

Well, this shit was new.

He didn’t kiss women—ordinarily, they kissed him. Usually, they begged. He’d wanted to do unspeakable things to Peaches since he’d first seen her, but kiss her? That had never crossed his mind.

Until now.

“So, what do you like to do when you’re not, you know, getting covered in oil?” Her smile was awkward. Her smile was fucking adorable.

He wanted to lick her bottom lip. Maybe suck on it. “I like to play guitar.” His voice was rough. “Watch TV. Drink. Ride my bike. Nothing exciting.”

“Yeah, I noticed your helmet.”

“Yes. My baby.”

Peaches laughed. “Boys and their toys.”

“Damn straight.”

She toed the floor. “My dad rode a bike when I was little. I love bikes.”

Of course she fucking did. As if she could be any more damned perfect. Jesus. He stubbed out his smoke and flicked it to the side. “We should go back in.”

Nodding, Peaches pushed from the wall. Carter followed behind closely, watching the luscious sway of her hips as they went inside. There, out of nowhere, a big, bearded asshole with a huge bag smacked hard into her, sending her flying. Carter grabbed her waist, pulling her upright against his chest before she hit the deck.

“Shit!” she gasped, grasping his forearm.

“Watch it,” the asshole sneered without a second glance. “Blind bitch.”

Carter took three huge strides and grabbed the asshole’s wrist, making him spin around. The bastard winced as Carter squeezed the pressure points he knew would hurt like a bitch.

He tried to pull from Carter’s grasp. “What the hell, man?”

“Carter,” Peaches called, hurrying to his side.

He ignored her and twisted the asshole’s arm farther.

“You’re gonna break my wrist!”

Carter growled, “And I will, if you don’t apologize to this lady.”

The asshole opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

“Apologize,” Carter ordered.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, but Carter kept his grip.

“Carter, he apologized. Let him go,” Peaches said.

Smirking at the fear in the asshole’s eyes, he squeezed once more for good measure before he released him. The asshole stumbled back, clutching his wrist. He grabbed for the bag he’d dropped on the floor and hurried away, Carter’s stare burning holes in his back.

Peaches spun around, pushing his biceps. “What the hell was that?”

Before he could answer, she stormed back toward the reading room, heels hard on the floor, arms jackknifing at her sides. By the time he reached her, she was banging shit around on the table.

“What the fuck did I do?” he asked, his voice low.

She didn’t answer him as she flung herself onto her chair.

“Are you mad?” he asked incredulously.

“We have work to do,” she snapped, throwing him a fiery glower.

Carter’s annoyance peaked. He crossed his arms. “Hey, I asked you a question.”

“Yes, I’m mad,” she shot back in a low hiss.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why the fuck are you mad?” Her ingratitude made his skin crawl, while her rage made his dick harder than titanium.

She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m mad because you nearly broke a man’s wrist in the middle of the library, because you’re an idiot who seems to have forgotten his ass is on parole and who can’t keep his temper.”

Before she could take another breath, he was looming over her, his hands gripping the armrests of the seat she was sitting in, trapping her against the leather at her back. She leaned back, her eyes narrowed, but he moved closer.

“About done?” he seethed, his eyes boring into hers. “Let me tell you something, Miss Lane. Your ungrateful ass would be smeared across the library floor if I hadn’t caught you, and that shitkicker will now think twice about treating any woman that way again. So don’t bitch to me about what I should and shouldn’t do. You’re my tutor, not my keeper. Get that shit straight right now.”

His body heaved when Peaches’ gaze flickered to his mouth.

Dammit, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her, lose himself in her, to nip and bite and steal every breath she had.

His breathing slowed. “Are you scared?”

She shook her head. So stubborn.

“You should be,” he warned. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her pupils enlarged and goose bumps erupted up her neck. He watched them, fascinated.

“When you’re done,” she said quietly, “we have work to do.”

Carter slowly released his grip on the chair. He glanced at the warm flush of her cheeks and took his seat, reaching for the poem.