Page 8 of The Alpha's Arrangement
Carter wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me to him, causing my body to slam against his with an “ooph.” He brings his lips down on mine, and my treacherous body gives in immediately. He tastes all masculine, and as our tongues dance, the passion begins to fire red-hot. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling my chest against his, and he lets out a low, deep growl, causing my core to tighten.
“Al—Carter, where do you want this?” Owen’s voice breaks through the fog this man puts me in, and I pull back immediately, the warmth of embarrassment washing over me. I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman who just got caught making out with a man I don’t know.
Carter growls louder this time, making the hair on my arms rise to attention. “Master,” Carter responds, turning back toward me.
Looking at Owen, I see he has boxes labeled bedroom. “Wait! He can have the guest room down the hall.”
Owen chuckles, shaking his head, and moves away without taking my words a bit serious.
“Carter, you’re not sleeping in my room with me.”
With his hands behind my back, he presses me deeply into him, negating the small distance I had put between us with my jump back movement. He skates his nose across my cheek then our noses touch. My breathing comes in shuddered breaths. There’s something happening here. Something serious. Something crazy, considering a man I just met is moving in with me and part of me, deep down, likes it.
“No sense in havin’ them do double work. You know, as well as I do, your bed is going to be mine. May not be tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but someday … soon.”
A full-out shiver racks my body. I know he feels it because he smiles.
Crap.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re cocky?”
He smiles.
“And persistent?”
Smiles wider.
“And …? And …?”
“Knows what he wants, and that’s you, Izzy.” He drops his lips down on mine again, and thoughts drift from my brain, leaving the wonderful sensations of his lips.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN THE POT BOILS, I DUMP THE PASTA INSIDE THEN GIVE IT A STIR. STEAM COMES UP IN THE process. Meanwhile, Carter slices the bread on the kitchen island for the garlic bread. We’ve been in comfortable silence for a while now. It’s different, unique, and I hate to admit it, but I’m loving it. All of this is seriously strange.
I’ve tried calling both the lawyers and realtor all damn day. It’s like they both went on an extended vacation. Not even their secretaries are picking up their office lines. Their cells, nothing. It’s really pissing me off, and if I have to track them down, so be it.
Moving to the counter, I slide the buttered garlic to Carter, who takes it then spreads it over the bread. Watching him work is like an art. Each movement calculated, precise, and with definite meaning. He’s agile and quick.
With his men earlier, he was demanding but respectful. Every single one of those men showed him the utmost respect, doing exactly what he said.
“Are you Owen and the other guys’ boss?” I ask, needing to know the dynamic there. Not everyone would take orders like that.
“Something like that. I told you of our businesses. Everything goes through me.”
“So, are they your employees or family?” Why this comes to mind, I’m not sure, but I’m curious.
“Family.”
“Like, your brothers or cousins? Uncles?”
He finishes the last piece of bread and tosses the knife into the bowl in front of him. “Pretty much.”
“But you didn’t introduce them as your family.”
He shrugs. “It’s just how we work.”
The pot on the stove begins to overflow with bubbles. “Crap.”
