Page 53 of His Deadly Lies

The light practically burns me.

I melt into a pathetic puddle and reach out for my pillow to cover my head. The pillow is nowhere to be found when I slap my hand around, and I finally manage to peel my eyes open, the movement ripping a whimper out of me. Damn. A hangover coupled with the flu is more accurate.

What do I remember?

There are great big holes in my memory, so not a whole lot of anything. Going to Meridian with Carter in tow. The shipment being light and setting Bash on the culprits. The linen closet.

Things get a little blurry after that. Splintered images of a dance floor and heat, light, fill my mind before melting away into a singular remembrance of hands on my skin. Of a tongue sliding against mine and a flash of teeth.

Carter.

I’d thrown myself at him.

Practically assaulted him.

Embarrassment wars with the sick feeling of heat in my stomach, the queasiness, and I roll over onto my stomach like the pressure of my body will make it all stop. No such luck. Sighing, I wait for the sensation to pass or at least lessen.

Despite my blurry vision, when I open my eyes again, my gaze trains on the figure folded into my chair. Carter’s asleep, his arms over his midsection and his head dropped down toward his chest, his massive form making the chair look like uncomfortable kid’s furniture.

He seriously stayed with me all night?

He isn’t exactly adorable in sleep, but he’s softer, more approachable, and damn. Why does it make me feel even funnier to see him here? Rolling onto my stomach took everything I had, so I stay in the position, staring at him for as long as I dare and gathering enough strength to move.

I run my tongue over my teeth. How on earth are they fuzzy? It’s fucking disgusting.

Carter’s chest rises and falls rhythmically. The Vittorio guard dog and the heiress. Isn’t it the start of some fucked up joke? I’m laughing on the inside.

I never stop to envision what life would be like if I stopped putting my family first. Because family is everything to me. They’re all you have in this world. Or, as my father is keen on telling all of his girls, I brought you into this world.

Not like he’ll ever take us out of it, but still, the core of his statement is a demand for respect and attention. My stomach whirls and dives, my head a million miles away and yet still stuck on Carter and how he fits into the picture, the family. Once I marry Ricardo, Carter will be a staple in the household. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. And I kissed him.

Why?

Why him?

Why does he get under my skin the way he does? I’m not even able to blame it on the martini because the feelings have been there for longer.

And I shouldn’t let my guard slip, but Carter is the first thing I’ve really felt selfish about. I wanted the kiss. I’d wanted to feel his body on mine, in mine, uneven when it’s wrong and might damage literally everything. We’d both be in serious fucking trouble if anyone found out about the kiss.

I can’t imagine what Ricardo would do to his bodyguard if he knew Carter crossed a line. And my father, fuck. He’d be furious.

At least my virginity is still intact. I think.

My father has damn doctors on his payroll to check that I have a hymen if he even suspects I’ve been sexually active as if it’s worth more than gold.

The thought makes me shudder because it’s a seriously screwed-up part of this life. And I’ve never cared about sex, really. It hadn’t been on my radar because it was so far outside the scope of my reality. Other women are allowed to explore their feelings on their backs. Not me. Never me.

Not until those damn piercing blue eyes. And the way he watched me do my job last night, the way he didn’t back down from the fact that I’d ordered a man to die—Carter didn’t tell me not to play my role but worried about me doing it, more concerned and cautious in the moment.

I hadn’t expected it. I expected him to immediately shut me down and tell me I should not do anything that would impact Ricardo. Or not to act rash. But no, Carter warned me about the driver having a weapon.

My head throbs, and a warm sensation floods my stomach when my brain returns to the memory of kissing him, how hard he had felt in the closet.

“What did I do?” I grumble in an undertone.

My eyes are still closed, but I hear Carter’s dark chuckle, and I stiffen.

“Talking to yourself now, Princess?” he asks. “What dirty little thoughts are in your head? Or maybe you dreamed about me last night.”

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