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“I don’t, though. Only you can tell me what embarrassed you, Angel. Was I standing too close?”
“No,” I grit out. “I can handle a man getting close.”
Lies, lies, lies. I can’t even handle a man at arm’s distance. And certainly not him. But I won’t let him see that—I won’t ever tell him how he broke me.
That’s the most embarrassing, shameful thing of all. That something so small—a few days with him—broke me so thoroughly. Set me up for a hundred smaller but cumulatively worse heart breaks at the hands of lesser men.
And no matter how much I’ve worked through that shame over the last few years, it still rears its ugly head every so often. Shame, that Icareso damn much, that I always care. That he cares so little. That they all cared so little.
“Okay, if not that, then it was the whiskey on your lip,” Carter says after a beat. “The drop I wiped away.”
“The drop you stole,” I correct. I finally look at him, and his expression is bemused. Far from the predator on the hunt for blood that I had cast him as.
Maybe I’ve built Carter Steel up in my head a bit too much.
“Steal one back, then,” he says.
He takes an exaggerated, messy swig from the bottle, and a drop slips out of the corner of his mouth. I track its path as it slips down his chin and onto the column of his neck.
“Well?” he asks.
And it’s the challenge in his voice that gets me moving off of the futon and sitting on the floor in front of him.
I study him silently for a moment, taking in all that is Carter Steel. His hair is messy and mountain man again, thank God. It’s slightly longer than chin length and has a slight wave to it, and even though it’s only April, it already has some sun streaks in it. I know that in the summer, the medium brown color will go almost blonde depending on how much time he spends outside.His jaw—strong, straight, slightly pointed—is covered in stubble that is already starting to grow out into a beard. And his hazel eyes are bright and sharp, missing nothing.
I could reach out so easily and wipe the drop off with my thumb, just like he did to me. But that’s too simple. And I find I want to shock him. I want to do the impossible—I want to be the person who surprises Carter Steel, who wrests his control away from him.
It’s what I’ve always, always wanted.
So instead of wiping it away with my thumb, I get up on my knees, brace my hands on his crossed legs and lean in towards him. He goes completely still in response, like he’s worried if he moves, I’ll spook.
I angle my head down under his, and just the scent of him—pine, soap, and something bright I can’t put my finger on—makes me dizzy with need. Still, I don’t hesitate, I lean in even closer and then lick the drop away, right from the hollow at the base of his throat where it’s come to rest.
He still doesn’t move, and for a moment I don’t either. We just sit there and breathe each other in.
“Ange,” he says, his voice low and guttural, and the spell is broken.
I reel back, disentangling myself from him.
“Sorry,” I say. “I wanted—I wanted to shock you.” Honesty seems like the only possibility at the moment.
“That all?” he asks.
“Yes, that’s it. Surprising you used to be my favorite hobby.”
“You always surprise me, Angela. Every time I see you, you do something I don’t expect. I’m always cataloging you, and finding new entries I need to make.”
I’m silent because how does one react to that? How doIreact toCartertelling me he catalogs me?
“You’re such a scientist,” I say.
“Is it—is that too much?” He looks nervous—I think anyway. It’s not a look I’ve seen on him very often.
“No, just right. Just you,” I say, hoping to ease the look on his face. I don’t like nervous Carter. I don’t know how to handle it—him showing any vulnerability. Because if he does, then maybe I’ll have to as well.
But my words don’t seem to make things easier for him. Instead, a blush rises in his cheeks and he looks down, breaking the eye contact we’ve been holding.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did I say something wrong?”
