Page 71 of Carved Obsession

“Say please,” I push, pursing my lips.

He narrows his eyes on me, but from this upside-down angle, he looks fucking hilarious.

“Scarlet.” A threatening rumble laces his tone, hitting low and deep inside my belly, with a fiery undertone.

“Yes, Carter.”

His nostrils flare as he blinks slowly, running his tongue over his top teeth. “Would youpleasegive me a hand?”

“Sure thing!” I drop to my knees, giggling and grinning from ear to ear, much to his exasperation. “Here, I’ll brace you.”

I slide my shoulder under his, ignoring the jarring pressure in my torso as I push up with as much force as I can muster, until I hear a click.

“Got it.”

He didn’t need to say it. His weight barrels down on me, and I scamper backward, falling on my ass. He thuds to the floor—well, technically it’s the ceiling of his car—before he slides out, caking his suit in mud. My ass is soaking in it too, since I’m in a whole puddle of it.

I could probably wash myself off in this rain, the downpour’s so heavy.

He rises, attempting to swipe the mud off of his trousers before he straightens, towering before me. Wet, disheveled strands of hair fall on the right side of his head. His suit clings to raw, taut muscles, his eyes wild with something I can’t quite put my finger on. Lightning splits the sky behind him, rumbling clouds explode, and before them, Carter looks like the vicious god ruling them all.

My chest rises and falls on heavy, ragged breaths, and water runs over my face as I seem to be stuck to this spot.

He reaches for me, his hand outstretched, and all I can do is stare at it, wondering if it means more than I think it does.

Finally, I grab it, but when he pulls me up, I slide in the mud and land right against him. Our bodies are lined up, his arms wrapped around me, and my inability to breathe has nothing to do with how tightly he holds me.

“All good?” he asks in a whisper.

Rain slides off of him and onto me. The droplets from his hair hit my lips as I hold his malice-laced gaze. I would take it personally, but that’s his usual expression—cold, devoid of emotions, yet so stunningly beautiful with those hazel eyes drenched in that saturated blue.

It feels too good in his arms—warm, entrapped by the possession I’m sure I’m imagining—but I manage a nod in response.

He seems unaffected as he looks past me, toward my mangled car, and frowns. I know, it’s bad. Really bad. Yet somehow, seeinghimhere, not Bernard, has made some of that anger toward my ruined, beloved car die down.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Scarlet? What if I was someone else?”

His borderline scolding startles me, and I recoil, head tipping slightly back as I study the phenomenon.

“Umm . . .”

“Umm . . . what if I was undercover police?” he asks.

I frown, lips parting and ready to fight back. Only, like a fish out of water, I shut them and open them all over again as I realize...what if?It never crossed my mind.

“I didn’t—look, I thought you were someone else.”

“Who?” A frown deepens the ridge between his brows.

“It doesn’t matter. Can we please get out of this rain?”

I push against him, but the vise around me tightens, arms pressing me harder into him. I should protest more, or at all, but he’s warm. Surprisingly inviting.

He holds my gaze, looking into my eyes for too many charged moments for me to still believe I’m imagining things. Right here, trapped in his gaze, it feels like I’m skirting the edge of a cliff—perilous, addictive, utterly hedonistic—yet I’m home at the same time.

“I’ll call for someone to pick us up.” He breaks the moment, releasing me.

Picking the pieces of my broken hope off the ground, I nod, and he turns around, dropping to his knees to search through his upside-down car. A shiver pierces my flesh, the absence of his body against mine quite unwelcome.