“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 hands. 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.

“I know.” Carter closed his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on her head. “I know, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, each word punctuated with a soft hiccough.

Carter continued to rub her hair, stealing soft kisses along the part. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I … I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t stop them. What they did to him. I couldn’t stop them.” Her arms tightened around Carter’s neck. “He told me to run. I shouldn’t have run.”

Carter’s heart thundered. Did she remember? Did she know he’d pulled her away, saved her?

“Today,” she whispered. “Sixteen years ago today, and I miss him so fucking much, Carter.”

Outwardly, Carter was motionless. Inside his skull, his brain moved a million miles a second. Could it really have been sixteen years since they’d first met under such violent, horrific circumstances?

“It was today?”

Her fingers tightened at the nape of his neck, and her nose rubbed along his jaw.

Carter clenched his eyes shut. Holy shit. He pulled her closer, burying his face into the space between her neck and shoulder. She was perfect against him, so soft and delicate. Images and sounds of the night in question flashed behind his eyelids and blared loudly inside his head: her screams, her whimpers, the police gunfire, the color of her dress, and the paleness of her skin.

“I missed you so much,” she whimpered. “I missed you so much this week, Carter. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” She kissed the tip of his shoulder. “I had my whole family around me, and all I wanted was you.”

Carter’s eyes rolled back at the sound of her words and the feel of her lips on his skin. “Shhh, you’re here now,” he replied. “I’ll look after you.”

After a moment of silence, Carter pushed his free arm under her knees and pulled her securely to him. After a couple of attempts, on wobbling legs, he managed to stand, cradling her in his arms. He walked slowly toward the bed; his nose pressed against her wet cheek while he whispered words of comfort to her: “I’m here. It’s okay. Hold on to me.”

Never letting any single part of her go, he lay down on the bed and held her closely.

And, just as he had sixteen years before, in a cold doorway in the Bronx, he held on to his Peaches so fucking hard as she grieved for the father who’d been so cruelly taken from her.

20

Kat opened her eyes and was certain of two things simultaneously. First, she wasn’t in her own bed. It was far too comfortable and large to be hers. Second, she wasn’t alone. She was being spooned, quite generously, by a very large, very warm, masculine-shaped body.

Kat let her gaze travel down the bare, muscled forearm holding her firmly around the waist, allowing her eyes to wander slowly up past his elbow to the black, gray, and red of the tattoos that decorated the smooth skin: an eagle, flames, and vines that wound their way across strong muscle. Before she got farther, she clenched her eyes tightly as flashes of the night before accosted her.

She’d behaved like a lunatic: embarrassed herself and treated Carter like a damn punching bag. Was she insane? Jesus, what had she been thinking, getting a cab to his apartment when she was drunk?

Speaking of which, her mouth felt like she’d been breathing almond-flavored sandpaper all night, and her eyes were sticky from the tears she’d cried for the better part of three days. How could she have let Carter see her this way? He grunted quietly into her hair, making the area between Kat’s legs heat instantly at the memory of him above her, rutting against her, sucking, licking, and whispering delectably deplorable words.

Christ. They’d almost had sex!