Page 8 of Stand Your Ground

A knock at my door had me setting down my wine glass on the kitchen island before I crossed my expansive living area to the foyer. It was January in Tampa, which meant it was just cool enough to have the gas fireplace going. It gave my condo a rich, alluring, and somewhat cozy vibe — the flames dancing in the stone frame, the cityscape serving as moving art, the beat-heavy sound of trip hop ticking up my anticipation.

Once again, I found comfort in the click of my heels against the hard floor before I swung the door open to reveal my victim.

I had to admit, I expected him to show up in his usual attire — some sort of athletic wear, whether it be joggers and a hoodie, or basketball shorts and a long-sleeve Dri-FIT tee. Instead, Carter surprised me by arriving to my condo like he was arriving to the arena before a game.

He wore a tailored navy suit with a subtle checkered pattern that only revealed itself under the light. The crisp white dress shirt beneath was open at the collar, no tie in sight, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the ink on his forearms. His dark hair was freshly styled, and the sharp lines of his neatly trimmed box beard framed his jaw perfectly. The edges were lined, preciseenough to make it clear he’d shaved for the occasion — but not enough to dull the rugged edge that would fool the unsuspecting viewer into thinking he was a bad boy instead of an absolute teddy bear.

He looked every bit the professional athlete in business mode — sharp, commanding, and sexy.

I wouldn’t admit that to him, though.

Instead, I offered a slight arch of my brow as I opened my door to let him inside. “Dolce and Gabbana?” I mused.

“You said this was a business meeting,” he reminded me.

“Color me surprised that you listened.”

“Oh, I’m an excellent listener. Especially when I’m trying to impress my new teacher. Some might call me Teacher’s Pet, even.”

He punctuated the flirtation with a wink. I answered with a performative bored blink and a sweep of my hand toward the glass dining table, where two crisp stacks of paper waited — each topped with a black pen.

But instead of heading straight over, Carter slid his hands into his pockets and took in the view of my condo. I noted the silver ring on his pinky just before his hands disappeared from view, and something about that man confidently wearing jewelry had my intrigue spiking.

His gaze swept the space with idle curiosity until it caught on the diamond and pearl necklace displayed beside the fireplace — draped elegantly over a slender black velvet bust. His eyes widened.

“Whoa,” he said, gesturing to the glittering piece. “That looks pricey. Are you a jewelry collector or something?”

“Crafter.”

His brows shot up. “Wait… youmadethat?”

I nodded, folding my hands behind my back as I came to stand beside him. “It’s one of my favorite pieces. Usually, I makethem and donate to charity auctions or gift them to friends. But that one…” I smiled, stepping forward to run my fingers lightly over the gemstones. “I just couldn’t part with it.”

“Saving it for a special occasion?”

Something sharp and unwelcome flared in my chest at the question — because though I’d never admit it, a small, stubborn part of me still dreamed of wearing that necklace on my wedding day.

As if I could ever trust a man enough to pick the right restaurant for dinner, let alone put a ring on my finger.

I buried the thought and the ache it brought, sliding my mask of indifference neatly back into place.

“Certainly, something more special than teaching a boy how to play,” I said, arching a brow at him with the tease.

Carter clutched his chest like I’d shot an arrow through it. “I’m twenty-six. Doesn’t that qualify me as a man?”

“Not if you’ve never sucked a clit.”

“You wound me,” he groaned, staggering back a step for dramatic flair. But then he slid his hands into his pockets again, shrugging. “But you’re not wrong. We are here for a reason, aren’t we?”

“Speaking of which.” I gestured toward the table again.

I refilled my wine and poured a glass for Carter, placing each beside its corresponding contract. He watched me with an amused smile before unfastening the button of his suit jacket and finally taking his seat.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” I asked.

“Please.”

I had to fight against a smirk when I read the eagerness in that word, in his body language as Carter leaned toward the contracts with eyes wide and hopeful.