Devastation curled Carter’s shoulders.

Kat’s palms found the sides of her forehead. “I … I can’t be—be … no—anywhere near you. I have to …”

She turned from him, grabbed her bag, and set off at a dead run.

Carter exploded after her, calling for her to stop, yelling at her to think about what she was doing in the dark, in the middle of Central Park, but she ignored him. He could have caught her easily. He could have wrestled her to the floor just as he’d done sixteen years before, but what would have been the fucking point?

She hated him and didn’t want to be near him.

She’d called him a liar.

Was he?

Carter stopped dead at that thought, and watched helplessly as she ran from him. Breathless, his whole body felt skinned. He clutched his chest in a futile attempt to stop the searing hurt that twisted there. Unable to breathe, he bent his head back and roared loudly into the sky, releasing the frustration and rage heaving through his bones. He kicked the base of a nearby tree several times, bellowing out words and sounds he’d never heard himself use before while praying to all hell that the hurt would stop.

Exhausted, Carter’s hands dropped to his knees while his eyes followed the path she’d taken.

When he could no longer see her and his voice was hoarse, he staggered back to his jacket and bike helmets and stumbled back to Kala.

22

Carter wasn’t sure how long he’d ridden his bike around the city. The only things he knew were that he was soaked to the bone, and there was a quarter-empty bottle of Jack in his hand.

He rolled Kala back into the garage and parked, kicking her stand down to take the weight. Carter flopped against her, ghosting his hand across the leather seat where Kat had sat behind him, around him, with him. His hand shook inexplicably, so he took a large gulp of Jack, hissing at the burn. The only comfort Carter took from the whiskey’s heat was it reminded him that he was still capable of feeling something.

He snorted in derision and took another hit.

Dirty fucking liar. Dirty fucking liar.

With lead feet and a body that was disturbingly empty, Carter made his way back up the stairs, climbing the six floors to his apartment. He didn’t care how long it took him or that it would have been easier to take the elevator. All he cared about was getting into bed with his Jack and praying he didn’t wake up for days. He shoved the stair door open with his shoulder, stumbling a little, and stopped dead.

Sitting in a tight ball at his apartment door—soaking wet and shivering—was Kat.

Carter slumped against the wall. A relief that almost crippled him washed down his back like warm water. Despite mascara covering half her face and her hair dripping all over, she’d never been more fucking beautiful.

They stared at each other for an eternity, silent words passing between them: words too big for a hallway as small as the one they found themselves in. Eventually, and with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed, Carter pushed from the wall and began approaching her—slow and cautious—as though moving toward a wild animal.

He was mere inches from her when she struggled to her feet and sagged, wet and heavy, against his door. She looked as tired as he felt.

With his eyes fixed on hers, and no words spoken, Carter pulled his keys from his pocket and leaned around her to unlock the door. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her take a deep breath of him. He didn’t care, though. He wanted her to. He wanted any part she was still willing to give him.

If he was a dirty fucking liar, then he would be her dirty fucking liar.

Kat stepped hesitantly into the apartment. Carter set the bottle of Jack on the counter next to the coffee mugs that remained from that morning, when shit was still unicorns and fucking rainbows, and turned back to her, shaking out of his jacket. She was drenched and shaking with cold.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You need a towel.”

He made to step past her, toward the bathroom, but she stopped him in his tracks with her palms firmly on his waist, and her forehead pressed hard against his chest. Carter’s breath shuddered out at the contact. He couldn’t move. He didn’t know what he was meant to do. Last time he’d tried to touch her, she’d screamed and run away. He couldn’t cope with that shit again.

They stood motionless. Her shoulders shook with the sobs tumbling from her. He wanted to rub her back or touch her hair … but, dammit, he daren’t.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her hands clutched his sides tightly, the water in his T-shirt running down her knuckles.

Carter’s throat constricted.

Gradually, her hands slid up his chest to his neck. She lifted her head.

“I’m sorry.” Her small fingers grasped at his skin and her breath burned hot across his collarbone. “I’m— Oh God, Carter. I’m so sorry.”

Carter tried to clear his throat of the huge lump of emotion blocking it while she continued to whisper her apologies. With each one that left her, another piece of the punk-ass wall Carter had built around himself came tumbling down at her feet.

“I don’t need a towel. I need you.” Her body shook against him. “I need you so much.”

Carter’s head collapsed against hers. “Peaches.” His arms wound around her. “You have me.” He gripped the bottom of her shirt in his hands. “You always have.”

She bit her lip. Her face crumpled and her hand smoothed carefully over the cheek she’d struck. “Like you have me.”

Reaching up onto her toes, she placed her hot lips under his eye, murmuring again about how sorry she was. How she would beg for his forgiveness. How much he meant to her. Her lips were perfect as she kissed slowly and tenderly across his face, across his eye, his brow, and down his other cheek to the corner of his mouth.

Carter froze when her tongue brushed across his bottom lip. His hands automatically gripped her waist so that he remained upright on his wobbling knees. He wanted her so much. Jesus, would she ever know how much? How insane he was for her?

He bent down, desperate for her touch, and their lips met in the softest, slowest, most sensual kiss. He opened his mouth to her, his breath leaving him in gasps and shaking groans when her tongue met his again. He closed his lips around it, and sucked gently while his hands moved from their place on her waist, up and under her shirt.

His palms slid easily against her wet skin and the kiss instantly deepened with a loud groan from them both. Carter swallowed every breath she gave him, owning each one, and pulled her closer, wanting her to feel how hard he was and how much he craved to be inside of her.

Needed to be inside of her, consumed by her.

Her hands moved to the bottom of his shirt, where she tugged in question. He moved back so she could pull it over his head. Her mouth was immediately on his chest, licking and kissing, nibbling and driving him crazy.

Perfect. Her lips were fucking perfect.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into his skin.

Carter was suddenly desperate for more of her mouth, her taste, and crushed his lips hard against hers, forcing his tongue inside. She moaned loudly, holding him closer. He pulled at her shirt and ripped it over her head, mourning the few seconds her lips weren’t pressing against his.

Her pale blue bra was next to go. Carter groaned when he saw the nipples he’d gotten to know so well the night before. They were erect and stunning, and reacted instantly when Carter’s thumbs caressed them.

“Oh, God,” Kat murmured.

He did it again. Her head lolled back, elegant and beautiful.

“You like that?” He kissed her again. She gripped his shoulders in reply. Her nails dug into him and he grunted in pleasure. His hands grabbed both of her heavy breasts, roughly kneading the soft skin while her nipples puckered in his palms.