Page 35 of Where Happiness Begins

He blinks, then grits out, “Love at first sight.”

I almost laugh at that.Sure.

“All right, next question.” I scroll through a few Ireallydon’t want to answer, like why I never spoke about him before or what details of our wedding I can share, and wait until I find a good one.

“Oh, here’s a good one.” I turn to Carter, doe-eyed. “Carter, what did you first notice about Lil that made you fall?”

I expect him to grit his teeth and answer something stupid, but once again, he surprises me by actually appearing to think about it. Then he says in a rough voice, “Her hair.”

Automatically, I bring a hand to my ponytail. Most of the time, having long, thick hair annoys me, but I do love the way it looks. Apparently, Carter might too. Unless he’s acting.

I go to turn to the phone to scroll some more, but Carter interrupts me by putting an arm around my shoulder, tucking me closer to him. “What about you?”

A wave of warmth drenches my body, feeling every hard line of him against me. The smell of his laundry detergent and bodywash fills my nose, making me want to tuck in even closer. His arm feels like a weighted blanket over my shoulders, and the little arm hairs that come in contact with my neck make me shiver. He’s decided to up his acting game, apparently. And then, I think of the question he’s just asked and burn even more.

“I noticed his voice,” I say to him more than the followers. It’s not even a lie. He cursed at me before I ever saw him, and I remember how hot that voice sounded.

His cheek twitches. He’s probably remembering the same scene I am.

Then the heathen decides to drag a finger down the side of my throat, making me inhale deeply.

Holy shit. This is nothing, and yet it feels so freaking sensual, especially done in front of an audience like this. He must notice the way his touch affects me because the look he sends me is pure evil. “What about my voice?”

That little shit.

Since we met, I’ve seen multiple different facets of Carter, but this teasing side is new to me, and I hate it almost as much as I like it.

I could lie, but I decide I can do better than that. Instead, I lean closer to him and whisper, loud enough so everyone can hear, “I don’t think I can answer that in front of an audience.”

When I pull away, I notice I’m not the only one who’s flushed now, his pupils so wide the murky green of his irises has almost disappeared. He seems to have finally forgotten the camera, his attention only on me, his finger still tracing subtle lines on my skin. I don’t know whether I’ll be thankful for the loss of this overwhelming sensation when the live is cut off or if I’ll crave more. It doesn’t matter, though. For now, it feels like I’ve gotten the upper hand, even if only in appearance. I smile triumphantly, then return to my feed of questions.

We answer a few more, although the next ones I select are tamer. I’m hot enough as it is, and I think Carter’s suffered enough too. I only let it last a few more minutes, but I can see this little broadcast has done its job. Comments flood the chat, showing things likeLook at them!andPlease, I want someone to look at me like that too, so I’d say we did a pretty good job convincing people.

When we finally wave goodbye—or rather, I wave and Carter gives his classic nod and moody look—I turn the live stream off and let myself sprawl back on the couch, eyes closed. It feels like I’ve just run a race, and I’m not sure why.

I expect Carter to berate me after putting him on the spot, or maybe even leave downstairs without a word, but he surprises me by saying, “Boo?”

I laugh, straightening my body. “I panicked, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, not making a move to leave. He also doesn’t bring up whatever happened back there, and I don’t plan on doing so either.

“I have to say, I’m glad we have more proof of our relationship out there,” I say, undoing my ponytail that was giving me a headache, and when I catch his gaze tracking the movement of my fingers running through my hair, I try not to think about his statement from earlier. “I’ve kind of been worried about getting quizzed about you at some point and not knowing the answer and then getting arrested for fraud by the FBI or something.”

“Is this what actually keeps you up at night?” This earns me another twitch of his lips, one that feels like a precious treasure I’ll need to polish and hold on to so I can examine it further when I’m alone. “You don’t think the FBI has bigger fish to fry than spying on you?”

“How would you know?”

Another fraction of an inch up. “You won’t get arrested.”

“Again, how would you know? Ever been arrested?”

Something changes in his face as he remains silent.

I gasp. “Oh my God, you have! What for?”

“I thought we weren’t playing twenty questions.”

“We’re not. This is one.”

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