Page 22 of Fate

“Well, you know I’ve been working with your sister, Chloe.”

“Yes. And I understand your clothing lines are killing it overseas and doing pretty well in the Statestoo.”

I nod and go to lift my beer with my scarred hand. Just as I get it up, the weight of it becomes too much for my injured nerves. Carson, like last week with the coffee pot, grabs the glass and settles it into my other hand. He didn’t even flinch, make a comment, or look put out by my disability.

Huh.

“Killing it overseas…the States,” he encourages, bringing us back to the question he asked.

“Oh yeah, uh, yes. We’re doing well. Working with Chloe is a dream come true. She’s so talented.”

Carson leans back and taps the table. “If I remember correctly, so are you, Sweetcheeks.”

A noise between a huff and laugh slips from my lips when I hear that tried-and-true nickname. “Sweetcheeks. Still?” I raise one eyebrow.

He grins and leans closer. I can smell the distinct odor of the sea wafting off his skin, reminding me of far happier times splashing in the ocean off the private beach on his property. The memory and scent combined send a zip of recognition down between my legs, where I clench, staving off the impending desire. The ache that happens in my sexual organs when my brain tells my pussy its mate is close and ready for a good time is hard to ignore, especially with Carson so close. I slow my breathing, trying to bank the flames.

“Sweetest cheeks I ever had the pleasure of seeing.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “At least if my memory serves.”

I shake my head. “Not since the grafting surgeries. Not so sweet anymore.” He doesn’t know what I’ve had to deal with. The skin of my ass isn’t so perfectly smooth anymore. I can just barely feel the slight change in the topography from where the doctors removed healthy skin to cover the worst of my burns. My inner thighs suffered the same fate. As if I wasn’t scarred enough. Let’s add some more spots on her body we can damage.

“I’d like to be the judge of that.” He grabs my hand once more and runs a finger from my elbow to my palm, where he swirls that single digit around the middle of my hand. “Always sosoft.”

Heat nips my hand, and electricity travels up my arm in a blazing trail. My nerve endings prickle and my pulse waits for even a hint of his next touch. My heart starts to hammer in my chest.

“Carson…”

“Yeah, honey.” He says this as if we’ve just catapulted into another time and place. More than three years ago, to be exact. The surroundings are similar, the feelings the same. Lust. Heat. Desire. All wreaking havoc on my psyche. Am I ready for this? For these feelings?

Chancing a glance at him, he must be sensing it. His eyes are heavy-lidded and at half-mast, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as if he’s preventing himself from saying something inappropriate.

Slowly I pull my hand away from his, breaking the contact and severing the insta-lust permeating the air around our little table.

Blessedly, a waiter I’ve known for years pops over to our table. “Hey, Kat. Sorry it took so long. You two want to order?”

“Yes.” I’m instantly thankful for the respite from the hammering of unexpected feelings slamming into me, all hyperfocused on the wall of man sitting two feet away who has his eyes leveled onme.

“Okay, do you know what you want?” The waiter asks me, but Carson responds instantly.

“I abso-fuckin-lutely know exactly what I want.” He stares unwaveringly at me. “Something I’ve been craving for a long, long time,” Carson growls.

His words hit me like a wrecking ball, and I gasp. The connection, the sexual energy we’ve always had ignites in Carson’s presence, barreling to the surface.

The desire.

Theneed.

Theache.

Thewant.

All of it spears through my body, mind, and soul as if it has always been there, lying dormant, waiting until its mate came back to claim it. I am so fucked.

I know, sitting across from him, his eyes darker than normal and hyperfocused on me, things are going to change tonight. I could never have anticipated howmuch.

“I’ll take a shot of Patrón, please,” I mutter, needing something far stronger than abeer.

“Make that four for the table. We need to take the edge off.” Carson smirks, grabs my hand, and toys with my fingers while ordering a couple appetizers. He traces a circle on the center of my palm with his index finger.

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