Carter Reed
Page 23
His hand left the headboard and cupped my chin. “Emma.”
Oh god. He had softened his tone. It was a sensual caress against my skin now. My leg moved back, just an inch. I opened for him.
“Emma, look at me.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. He’d see.
“Emma.” His lips touched the side of my mouth now and I gasped. I couldn’t hold back anymore as I turned into him. My lips brushed against his, but he moved back, just enough so his lips only lightly touched mine. He didn’t give in. He didn’t press them against mine.
I wanted all of him, not just the soft feel of him.
He moved even closer and his other hand left the headboard. It slid behind my waist and he picked me up. My eyes burst open and I wrapped my arms around him without thinking. He lifted me from the bed and moved me to the dresser. He sat me on top, grabbed my legs, pulled me to the edge, and then fit himself between them. One of his hands braced against the dresser while the other went to my back. He pressed me against him, all of me against all of him. My chest was crushed against his and my lips fell open. The throbbing was so insistent now. I was wet, ready for him.
“Why didn’t you tell my men you were leaving your work?”
I couldn’t hear him. The need for him had a haze over my mind. I only felt him, how his heart was still calm while mine raced. The front of his pants burned against me. He had thickened, pressed between my legs, and I opened them wider. Then he drew in a breath. He stiffened against me and his head dropped to my shoulder. His lips skimmed my naked shoulder in a soft kiss. My hair was brushed back and he pressed another kiss to my neck.
I shuddered against him.
“Emma,” he whispered now. “Why didn’t you tell my men you were leaving? They searched your entire building before they called me.”
His voice grew insistent and I struggled to hear his words. When I finally processed his words, a small frown came to me. I didn’t want to talk. Not then, not anymore. My voice had grown hoarse, “I forgot.” My eyes widened, though the lust increased inside of me. What was he doing to me? “I forgot. Theresa mentioned Joe’s and we went over. I saw…” Who had I seen? Someone had distracted me. “I saw Amanda and felt bad.”
“Why did you feel bad?” His hand brushed more of my hair away and skimmed down my back. He cupped the back of my thigh and pulled me closer to him. I couldn’t get any closer. I was plastered to him.
My legs opened again, even wider.
His chest rose against mine and his hand skimmed down my arm to my waist. He lingered on the inside of my thigh.
I was burning up now.
He repeated, “Why did you feel bad?”
My arms wound tighter around his neck. I stuck my head against his chest and said, my voice muffled, “Because I left them.”
I left them for you.
I bit down on my lip from saying that thought out loud. He’d know how much I wanted him. I started to wonder if I had always wanted him.
“Oh, Emma.” His hand cupped the back of my head and lifted me to face him. My eyes opened to slits as I peered at him. He was studying my mouth, his eyes dark with lust as he murmured, “They’re safe. You’re not. You need to be here with me, where I can make sure you’re safe. You pulled the trigger. You’re the one they want.”
“Jeremy.”
My own voice haunted me. The bang of the gun came back and I felt the kickback in my hand again.
“You have to be quiet. People will hear.”
A sob escaped me and Carter lifted me from the dresser. My arms and legs wound around him, but my head dropped into his chest. Another sob came up and then another. I was crying as he lowered both of us to the bed again, but he held me as I continued. I couldn’t stop crying. As the night progressed, I cried myself back to sleep in his arms.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her. She had cried in his arms that night and he wanted to murder whoever caused her the pain. He couldn’t. She had already killed Jeremy, and Franco was a cancer. Struggling to keep his rage under control, he pulled out the nightstand drawer and studied his gun for a moment. It was his trusty friend, one that he had used so many other times when someone needed to disappear. He hadn’t used it in a long time. He hadn’t had to, but the temptation to take matters into his own hand was great. His arm shook as he tried to keep himself from reaching for it. It’d be so easy. He could slip out, no one would know. He would go to Franco and get into his house, but he couldn’t. Franco’s death was a political death. It had to be approved by his family. And even when he would die—and he would die—the Bertal Family would send another. They were all the same. They would do as Franco had done with Cristino. They would take over the last assignment and do more than they needed to prove their authority to the neighborhood.
That couldn’t happen. When Franco died, it had to stop with him. No one could hurt her.
Carter shut the drawer softly and left for the gym. His hands needed to pummel someone so the boxing bag would have to be it. As he went, he was already thinking of ways to ensure that Franco’s death would be the last of it.
Two hours later, he was still considering ways to cement her freedom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke from an empty sleep. His arms weren’t around me. I didn’t feel his legs entwined with mine anymore and when I turned over, I already knew he was gone. The clock said that it was after six in the morning. There were no other lights on, not that I could see, but I rose and grabbed the robe again. I pulled it on as I went in search of him.
I went through every floor and looked in every room. It wasn’t until I got to the bottom floor that I heard him. A light was on and shone underneath a closed door, but I heard thumping from inside the room. As I opened the door, I saw him in the middle of a gym. His black pants were still on, but his shirt was gone and sweat gleamed down his chest. His hands were taped and he was circling a punching bag. There was blood on his tape. I tried to find where he had been hurt, but I didn’t see blood anywhere else. Only sweat and muscles. They constricted and stretched as he continued to hit the punching bag, each illuminated in the stark contrast by the light. I wondered if there was an ounce of fat on him. It didn’t seem likely, but then he stopped as he saw me.
He touched the bag to hold it as it swayed and his chest rose up and down from his breathing. His eyes narrowed when I stepped inside the room. “You couldn’t sleep?”
Oh god. He had softened his tone. It was a sensual caress against my skin now. My leg moved back, just an inch. I opened for him.
“Emma, look at me.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. He’d see.
“Emma.” His lips touched the side of my mouth now and I gasped. I couldn’t hold back anymore as I turned into him. My lips brushed against his, but he moved back, just enough so his lips only lightly touched mine. He didn’t give in. He didn’t press them against mine.
I wanted all of him, not just the soft feel of him.
He moved even closer and his other hand left the headboard. It slid behind my waist and he picked me up. My eyes burst open and I wrapped my arms around him without thinking. He lifted me from the bed and moved me to the dresser. He sat me on top, grabbed my legs, pulled me to the edge, and then fit himself between them. One of his hands braced against the dresser while the other went to my back. He pressed me against him, all of me against all of him. My chest was crushed against his and my lips fell open. The throbbing was so insistent now. I was wet, ready for him.
“Why didn’t you tell my men you were leaving your work?”
I couldn’t hear him. The need for him had a haze over my mind. I only felt him, how his heart was still calm while mine raced. The front of his pants burned against me. He had thickened, pressed between my legs, and I opened them wider. Then he drew in a breath. He stiffened against me and his head dropped to my shoulder. His lips skimmed my naked shoulder in a soft kiss. My hair was brushed back and he pressed another kiss to my neck.
I shuddered against him.
“Emma,” he whispered now. “Why didn’t you tell my men you were leaving? They searched your entire building before they called me.”
His voice grew insistent and I struggled to hear his words. When I finally processed his words, a small frown came to me. I didn’t want to talk. Not then, not anymore. My voice had grown hoarse, “I forgot.” My eyes widened, though the lust increased inside of me. What was he doing to me? “I forgot. Theresa mentioned Joe’s and we went over. I saw…” Who had I seen? Someone had distracted me. “I saw Amanda and felt bad.”
“Why did you feel bad?” His hand brushed more of my hair away and skimmed down my back. He cupped the back of my thigh and pulled me closer to him. I couldn’t get any closer. I was plastered to him.
My legs opened again, even wider.
His chest rose against mine and his hand skimmed down my arm to my waist. He lingered on the inside of my thigh.
I was burning up now.
He repeated, “Why did you feel bad?”
My arms wound tighter around his neck. I stuck my head against his chest and said, my voice muffled, “Because I left them.”
I left them for you.
I bit down on my lip from saying that thought out loud. He’d know how much I wanted him. I started to wonder if I had always wanted him.
“Oh, Emma.” His hand cupped the back of my head and lifted me to face him. My eyes opened to slits as I peered at him. He was studying my mouth, his eyes dark with lust as he murmured, “They’re safe. You’re not. You need to be here with me, where I can make sure you’re safe. You pulled the trigger. You’re the one they want.”
“Jeremy.”
My own voice haunted me. The bang of the gun came back and I felt the kickback in my hand again.
“You have to be quiet. People will hear.”
A sob escaped me and Carter lifted me from the dresser. My arms and legs wound around him, but my head dropped into his chest. Another sob came up and then another. I was crying as he lowered both of us to the bed again, but he held me as I continued. I couldn’t stop crying. As the night progressed, I cried myself back to sleep in his arms.
Carter sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her. She had cried in his arms that night and he wanted to murder whoever caused her the pain. He couldn’t. She had already killed Jeremy, and Franco was a cancer. Struggling to keep his rage under control, he pulled out the nightstand drawer and studied his gun for a moment. It was his trusty friend, one that he had used so many other times when someone needed to disappear. He hadn’t used it in a long time. He hadn’t had to, but the temptation to take matters into his own hand was great. His arm shook as he tried to keep himself from reaching for it. It’d be so easy. He could slip out, no one would know. He would go to Franco and get into his house, but he couldn’t. Franco’s death was a political death. It had to be approved by his family. And even when he would die—and he would die—the Bertal Family would send another. They were all the same. They would do as Franco had done with Cristino. They would take over the last assignment and do more than they needed to prove their authority to the neighborhood.
That couldn’t happen. When Franco died, it had to stop with him. No one could hurt her.
Carter shut the drawer softly and left for the gym. His hands needed to pummel someone so the boxing bag would have to be it. As he went, he was already thinking of ways to ensure that Franco’s death would be the last of it.
Two hours later, he was still considering ways to cement her freedom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke from an empty sleep. His arms weren’t around me. I didn’t feel his legs entwined with mine anymore and when I turned over, I already knew he was gone. The clock said that it was after six in the morning. There were no other lights on, not that I could see, but I rose and grabbed the robe again. I pulled it on as I went in search of him.
I went through every floor and looked in every room. It wasn’t until I got to the bottom floor that I heard him. A light was on and shone underneath a closed door, but I heard thumping from inside the room. As I opened the door, I saw him in the middle of a gym. His black pants were still on, but his shirt was gone and sweat gleamed down his chest. His hands were taped and he was circling a punching bag. There was blood on his tape. I tried to find where he had been hurt, but I didn’t see blood anywhere else. Only sweat and muscles. They constricted and stretched as he continued to hit the punching bag, each illuminated in the stark contrast by the light. I wondered if there was an ounce of fat on him. It didn’t seem likely, but then he stopped as he saw me.
He touched the bag to hold it as it swayed and his chest rose up and down from his breathing. His eyes narrowed when I stepped inside the room. “You couldn’t sleep?”
