Page 60 of Red Zone
“Jaxon says he’s taking Madison to his parents’ for dinner,” he says, looking up at me. “Won’t be back until late.”
My stomach flips.
“Oh,” I say, pretending like that doesn’t mean anything.
Carter stretches and stands, offering me a hand. “Come on. Let’s take this back to your place. Better Wi-Fi.”
I raise a brow. “You just want snacks again.”
He grins. “And maybe a couch that doesn’t smell like gym socks.”
I roll my eyes, but I take his hand anyway.
Because we both know this isn’t just about finishing the project anymore.
And neither of us is pretending otherwise.
Carter pulls in behind me. I step out of my car and barely get halfway to the door before he jogs up behind me.
“Wait,” he says, and I turn just as he grabs the doorframe behind me, boxing me in with that stupid grin that does dangerous things to my resolve.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, his mouth is on mine.
He kisses me like he’s been holding back for hours—which he has—and I melt into him with a needy sound I don’t mean to make. My back hits the front door, his hands on my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold tight. He breaks awayjust enough to whisper against my lips, “Been wanting to do that since the first kiss.”
I reach back and fumble with the doorknob, trying to find the keyhole, but my brain is foggy.
Carter laughs, low and rough. “Need help, Princess?”
I glare up at him. “If you’d stop distracting me?—”
He leans in, lips brushing mine again. “Not a chance.”
I finally get the door unlocked, and we walk inside. Carter almost trips over the rug right by the door.
“Shit.” He laughs, and it sends a wave of heat straight to my core.
His eyes lock onto mine again after he shuts the door, and everything seems to fade on the edges.
This is really happening. Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me again.
It’s slower this time—less urgency, more meaning—but it doesn’t stay that way. His hands slide down to my hips, then lower, gripping tight as he backs me toward the couch.
Each step feels heavier. Hotter. His mouth devours mine, tongue tangling, breath turning ragged.
I fall onto the cushions with a soft gasp as he follows, hands bracing on either side of my head.
My fingers curl into his shirt, tugging it up. He breaks the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside, his chest flushed and hard, rising with uneven breaths.
God, he’s beautiful. And he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world that makes sense.
“You okay?” he asks, voice gravelly.
I nod. “Yeah.”
His hand trails under my sweatshirt again, but this time it’s firmer, possessive. I arch up into him, gasping when his lips move down to my throat.
Every nerve sparks.
