Granted, that had been her game plan from the minute her stupid, drunken ass had called Jack for Carter’s address and hailed a cab, but that was beside the point. She hadn’t been thinking clearly. She rubbed a hand down her face and shifted a little more, taking Carter’s wrist in her hand as gently as she could while lifting it from her waist. His response was quick and immediate. He clamped his arm back around her, pulling her body hard against his. Kat could feel his crotch pressing nicely against her ass, and bit the inside of her lip to stop the moan of surprise from escaping.

Was he hard?

Carter muttered a curse into the nape of her neck. “Where ya goin’?” His breath was warm and his voice was gruff from sleep.

“Um, bathroom?”

Carter’s grip on her didn’t loosen instantly. Instead, he smelled her hair and mumbled something indecipherable before he lifted his arm and rolled back. Kat tried to ignore the bereft feeling that entered her spine when the cold air hit, and pushed the covers back with a sigh.

Her legs were a little unsteady when she stood up from the bed and wandered sleepily toward the en suite, not daring to look back at the man she’d left alone. She closed the door with a small click and dropped her forehead against it with a thump. What was she doing?

Well, the answer to that was fairly self-explanatory. She’d used Carter as a screaming board and potential booty call, in order to clear her head of the anger and the grief that had ripped her wide-open the day she’d left her grandmother’s house. She’d driven for fifteen hours straight from Chicago to New York. And that was after she’d smashed her cell phone against the sidewalk when it had begun to ring incessantly.

Why the hell did her mother or Beth think she would want to speak to either of them again?

Kat stumbled back from the door, looking around at the beautiful marble floor and stunning shower stand, and shuffled over to the huge rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. Jesus Christ, she looked like death. She grabbed some toilet paper and ran it under the faucet before wiping vigorously at the skin under her eyes in an attempt to erase the mascara lying there in all its hideously smudged glory. Her face looked exactly how she felt: tired, angry, and alone.

She threw the paper into the toilet and leaned against the side of the sink. No, she thought. That wasn’t right. She wasn’t alone. The fact that she was standing in Carter’s apartment proved she wasn’t. He was the only one who seemed to understand her, who seemed to know what she needed or even wanted. He knew her in a way no one else did, and it was in a way that both thrilled and alarmed her.

She just wished she’d thought a little bit more about the consequences before turning up on Carter’s damn doorstep and telling him she wanted him to fuck her.

But the truth was, the only thing she’d thought about as she’d driven through the night was getting to Carter. The only person she’d wanted to see was Carter. The only arms she wanted around her, the only chest she wanted to press her face into, the only mouth she wanted against hers, and the only scent she wanted to breathe in were Carter’s.

She used the toilet, washed her hands, rinsed out her mouth, and moved back toward the door, cupping an ear to it, listening for Carter on the other side. It was silent. As quietly as she could, she turned the handle and opened it, peeking around the doorjamb.

Carter’s voice was soft and deep. “Hey.”

He was sitting on top of the covers, against the headboard of his bed, bare-chested and crumpled, with his jean-clad legs crossed casually at the ankles. His jeans sat comfortably under his belly button, showing a trail of coarse, dark hair that disappeared to, well, farther down.

Realizing she’d not noticed the artwork on his body while she was grinding all over him, her gaze wandered over his wide shoulders that were covered in the ink she’d seen on his arms. From his neck, the artwork moved past his collarbone to his strong stomach. He was a masterpiece. He was muscular, of course, but he didn’t scream body beautiful; he screamed strength and safety. He had a smattering of hair in the center of his chest that sat like an exclamation point next to his masculinity.

Kat cleared her throat and walked back into the bedroom. She stopped about two feet from the edge of the bed, not really knowing what she should say or do. She twisted her hands together at her stomach. She eventually glanced up to see Carter’s face was gentle, expecting nothing. She breathed a little easier and gave him a small smile.

“How ya doin’?”

“I’m okay.”

He raised a knowing eyebrow. “You’re a shitty liar.” He shook his head and patted his palm on the bed space next to him. “Come here.”

Kat’s body flushed. “What?”

Carter simply continued patting the bed.

He looked extremely appealing and mischievous, but there was also a tenderness in his eyes that Kat could do nothing but trust. She took another tentative step, and watched Carter pull the covers back for her. She stopped again, wondering if it was a sensible move to get back into his bed.

“Carter, I—”

“Peaches,” Carter interrupted with a dip of his chin. “It’s six thirty on a fucking Sunday morning. Now, I don’t know about you, but I could sure as hell sleep another few hours.”

Kat laughed at his expression. She was so very tired. Her whole body was exhausted.

“All right,” she murmured. She kneeled on the bed and shuffled ungracefully under the covers. Carter tucked them around her.

She froze for a moment, loving the softness of the mattress and pillows, before she turned her head back toward Carter. He was looking down at her, leaning over her on his forearm. The tenderness of his eyes had dissolved into something else that made Kat’s mouth dry. He looked hungry.

“I thought you were sleeping, too?” she asked with a nod toward the bed.

His eyes seemed to snap back into focus and he frowned in response, clearly confused. “I will.”

“So why are you not under the covers?”

Carter’s cheeks tinged pink and he shifted away from her, the muscles in his chest tightening minutely.

“Yeah,” he muttered. He glanced down at himself. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I’ll just stay here. I’m fine.”

After watching his face for a few seconds, Kat released a disbelieving laugh. Hadn’t this man been between her legs with his mouth on her nipple not seven hours earlier? Hadn’t she cried and sobbed into his neck as she told him she needed and missed him, while he promised to never let her go?

She snorted tiredly, nuzzling the pillow under her head. “Carter, shut up and get under the covers.”

He stayed where he was for a while, but she could feel the bed jiggling as though he was shaking his foot or something. Was he nervous? Just as she was about to turn back around and tell him to move his ass, the covers lifted and his body moved smoothly underneath them. He was close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating from his body and she instinctively moved back.

“Are you cold?” His voice, although concerned, sounded tight.

“A little.” She pulled the covers tightly into the crook of her neck.

After a moment of silent and heavy stillness, Kat felt Carter’s hand slide hesitantly along her waist. His little finger lightly grazed the skin of her hip before he pulled her body firmly against his so they were spooning, just as they’d been when she’d first woken up.

At first, Kat tensed, and silently willed her body to keep calm and stay quiet. It was embarrassing to simply think about how much his touch affected her. Her heart raced, her skin tingled, and the juncture between her thighs throbbed with an aching need. But, as she felt Carter’s solidity press into her back and his muscular arm wind around her, Kat’s body began to melt and relax.