I’m not even going to respond to that.

“How are things here?” he asks, apparently sensing that he can’t bait me that easily today.

“I stopped by an hour ago. The flooring is down, the wallpaper up, and the lights are being fitted. The new bar is being crafted so installation can begin tomorrow, then it’s simply finalizing the delivery date for the tables and chairs.”

“You’re very efficient, Ms. Donnelly. I like that.”

I turn my face toward him, arching one eyebrow. “I pride myself on my efficiency. Besides, the quicker this job is done, the quicker my life returns to its formerly Carter-less way.”

He rests his arm across the back of the seat and leans forward. “Sounds like you can’t wait to get rid of me, Bee.”

I make sure to hold his gaze steadily as I respond. “I can’t.” I finish with a smile.

“Cute,” he murmurs. He reaches forward and takes a lock of my hair. He twirls it around his finger gently, his eyes cutting to where the dark strands are sliding across his skin. He takes more hair, then more, and more, until half of it is gripped in his palm and he’s leaning right into me.

My heart skips a beat as he moves my face closer to his. Our breath mingles in the small space between us, and I have shivers everywhere. The goosebumps that coat my skin contradict my earlier words.

His lips curl into a knowing half-smile. “What makes you think you can get rid of me that easily?”

“A stiletto through your balls?”

His chuckle is low and dark. “Oh, Bee.” He slides across the seat and our thighs brush. I take a deep breath in. “I’ve missed your smart mouth these past three days.”

“Really? All you had to do was call. I have a special amount of snark reserved for you.”

“I’m sure you do.” He releases his grip on my hair and eases back. He touches his thumb to the corner of my mouth and runs it across my lower lip, tugging on it softly. “Actually, I think I just missed your mouth in general. It’s my favorite part of you.”

“You’re crossing the line again, Carter.”

“What line would that be? The one you insisted be drawn? The very same one you can’t keep to?”

“I’d keep to it if you’d stop touching me.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re standing on the edge of the line just waiting for me to join you there. You’re hardly pushing me away, are you?”

No, and I don’t want to. God help me, I don’t.

“Exactly,” he whispers, his voice husky. “Face it, Bee. There’s never been a line. Not between us. You know that if I wanted to tug your skirt up and drag you on top of me, you wouldn’t do a thing to stop it, would you?” He trails his hand across my side and cups my breast. “If I took off your shirt and removed your bra, would you stop me taking your nipple in my mouth?”

My breathing picks up.

“No? What about if I unbuttoned my pants and tugged your face down to my cock? Would you refuse?”

I lick my lips.

“Stop fooling yourself.” He pushes the hair back from my eyes. His strong gaze flickers across my face, studying every one of my features, before he finally catches mine. “You fight this because you can’t control it. You fight it because that’s the only way you can control it. But make no mistake, Bee, if I wanted you on your knees in front of me, you know that’s exactly where you’d be, because you know you’d want it as badly as me.”

My chest is heaving with each desperate breath I take, and I know his game. His cards are on the table, face up, and he isn’t even trying to hide them.

That’s fine.

I want to play too.

I trail my fingers up his chest and let them rest against the side of his neck. “And what if I stopped fighting it and did control it? Would you stop me?” I tuck my legs beneath me and push him back on the chair. I dip my face so my hair falls around us in a dark curtain. He slides his hand down my back and across my ass cheek.

He wastes no time pulling it back then smacking it with a serious amount of force. “You wouldn’t be in control, baby. Don’t think you would be.”

“Really? Because I beg to differ.” I drop my face so our lips touch, but there’s no kissing in the movement. Just a gentle hover. “What if,” I whisper, “What if I pushed you on your back right now, hiked up my skirt, and crawled up your body so my pussy was right over your face? Are you telling me you wouldn’t slide my panties to the side and lick it, Carter? Are you honestly telling me that’d be you in control? Or if I reached down right now and pulled your cock out and climbed on top of you to fuck you. Who’d be in control then?”

His fingers dig into my ass, and his other hand scoops my hair up and tugs.

Hard.

He yanks my head back and grazes his teeth down my neck. “Who’s in control now, Bee? Now who has who where they want them? Because the way I see it, you can’t move.”

I drop my hand and cup his cock. I can feel its hard length pushing against the material of his pants, and I run a nail along it, right next to the zipper. “Fifty-fifty, baby.”

“Touché,” he responds, swirling his tongue across the exposed curve of my neck. “There is a difference though, isn’t there?”

“There is?” I ask breathlessly.

He pushes my head forward quickly and my eyes flutter shut. His lips brush over mine. “Yeah. My control is very, very fucking close to snapping. So behave yourself, Bee. Because the place I know that does great food also delivers, and it’s already waiting for us.”

My eyes open quickly. “Where?”

His lips curve up with the knowledge he has me cornered. “In my fucking kitchen.”

Oh, boy.

 

***

I honestly wish I’d insisted on meeting him in a restaurant. I don’t care if this house is huge and immaculately decorated, or if the rustic charm of the kitchen had me sighing with happiness as I stepped through the door.

My pussy is wet, my nipples are aching, and my clit is considering a petition for release.

Still, I’m sitting at the island counter in the middle of Carter’s majestic kitchen, my chin propped up in my hand, waiting for him to unpack our lunch.

Many things are wrong with this situation. The first being is that he decided to remove his shirt and throw it over one of the chairs opposite me. So I’m sitting here trying to refrain from giggling like a sixteen year old as the muscles in his back flex with his every morning.

Seriously. Backs. Sexy as fuck. Why? Who knows? Who cares?

I’m trying to think of something—of anything, that will take my mind off this whole situation I’m in. It isn’t working. It’s so screwed up. I should have told him hell no the second he told me we were here. He couldn’t have forced me in, could he?

No… He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t have the whole kidnapping credentials. Although I’m sure if he really wanted to, he could finish me off and hide my body without another thought.

Oh God.

Mayday. Mayday.

“Wine?”

I squeak as I focus on him.

His lips curve on one side. “Am I interrupting a sordid fantasy?”

“Does you killing me and hiding my body count as one?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

He stares at me for a moment then holds up a bottle of pink wine. “Wine?” he repeats.

No. “Please.”

Dammit, brain.

He pours a glass and sits it in front of me, then turns and produces a plate full of Caesar salad. My eyes narrow, but I quickly return my expression to normal as I thank him and gets his own. He takes the seat opposite me, all rippling muscle, and grabs his wine glass. “To a successful project.”

“To a successful project,” I echo, much softer than he spoke. He sips his wine and sets the glass down. I, meanwhile, take a mouthful and left the fruity taste linger on my tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.

Carter doesn’t say a word as he picks up his cutlery and eats. I drop my eyes, get my fork, and stab it into a piece of chicken. It smells really good, but honestly, I’m not sure if I’m even hungry anymore. I’m still reeling from our exchange in our car, and if I’m honest with myself, I’m more embarrassed than anything. I rarely speak to anyone like that, and if I do, I sure as hell never see them again.