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I shrug, and then twist off the cap. “Woo,” I say, smelling it. “That is strong. I hope you like it neat.”
“I’ll take anything you give me, Angel.”
Hearing that nickname again makes my cheeks heat, because I can’t help but think of all the times I heard him use it in the past—usually when he had his hands or mouth on me and was telling me how good I looked and tasted.
“Well, okay, um. I guess I’ll just get some glasses,” I say, and start to fumble around in the kitchen.
Carter comes up behind me, and I immediately feel the heat coming off his body. How he’s so warm in this uninsulated cabin is beyond me, and I have to stop myself from leaning back into him. But he closes the distance for me, his arms coming around me and taking the white mug I’d found out of my hands.
“Let’s just drink it straight from the bottle,” he says. “I’d rather not drink whiskey out of a chipped mug.”
I start to move, but he doesn’t give me much space, so I end up facing him, our bodies pressed together: thigh to thigh, chest to chest. I tip my head back and find him staring directly into my eyes.
“Carter,” I start, but I don’t even know what I want to say to him.
Normally, I’d tell him to get away from me. But then again, normally we wouldn’t be stranded on an island together in a remote cabin. I told him he could try and make things up to me, and I’m sticking to my word.
“Yes, Angel?” he asks. He grabs the whiskey off the counter and takes a long swig.
I watch the muscles of his throat work as he swallows and feel my own go dry.
“Give me some of that,” I manage to say, my voice hoarse.
The first sip burns on the way down. The second, too. But the third sparks a pleasant fire in my stomach, warming me from the inside out.
“Not bad,” I say, and I mean it. Because having this little bit of comfort—a shared bottle of shitty whiskey—makes this objectively horrible situation a bit better.
Although, maybe being locked in a cabin with Carter Steel isn’t my worst nightmare, after all.
Or that’s just the whiskey talking already.
Carter just stares at me, a slight gleam in his eyes.
“What?” I demand, wary already. I squirm, trying to move away, from his arms, from the press of his body. I just need a bit of space so I can breathe.
But he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, he continues to stare at me, and then he lifts his hand to my face.
“What are you do?—
He swipes a finger across my bottom lip, picking up a lingering drop of whiskey on it. And then he licks it off, his tongue darting out between his lips.
“Oh.” I know my face is turning bright red, because all I can think about is Carter Steel licking me—the taste of me—off his fingers all those years ago.
He smirks at me, one eyebrow raised. “You’re sweet when you’re embarrassed,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you blush this hard. But don’t worry, I’ll give you some space now.”
He does as he says, and in a second, the heat of his body is gone. I grab the bottle of whiskey and move to flop down on the futon. Carter is already sitting on a pillow on the floor.
“I wasn’t embarrassed,” I say. “I just haven’t drank in a long time.”
“Mhm,” is all he says. “Sure.”
“I mean, why would I be embarrassed about something like that?”
Fuck, fuck,I think as soon as the words leave my mouth. Carter is like a bloodhound, except he can sense weakness and he doesn’t let up until he identifies it and carves it out of you, holds it up, and examines it in front of you. Ruthless? Yes. But hot as hell? Definitely—to me anyway..
“About what, exactly?” he asks.
“You know what,” I say, refusing to look at him. I roll onto my back and stare at the pine plank ceiling.
