That earned her a double take from Carter.
Ah-ha. “You’re shocked I’m admitting it? I’m a big enough person to admit that I’m jealous. Like it’s a big deal? Everyone gets jealous.” While it might not save her pride, sometimes taking an opponent off guard was the best strategy of all. And sometimes honesty was the best policy. Inwardly she nodded at that. What a wholesome thought, P.
Carter didn’t respond for a stretch of time, until the motion of his hand sliding down the console in between them and over to her lap caught in her periphery. Her breath hitched at the unexpected contact, his hand smoothing over her thigh. Then easy as a beach breeze, it slipped in between her own hands, his large, rough fingers interlacing with hers in a warm, soft grasp.
“What’s this? What’s happening?” she sputtered.
He drew their hands away from her lap and pressed them to the hard surface of his chest, his pulse barely detectable against the skin on the back of her hand.
“There’s more than one way to be honest.” At her dazed expression, he smirked. “Like it’s a big deal?”
He let their hands slide down the plane of his abdomen, finally resting against one of his jean-clad thighs. She stared at their shared clasp. Well, hell. She wasn’t the only one wielding the element of surprise.
With his available hand, he turned the car off the Sullivan’s Island connector and into the gated community where she lived. They slowed to the keypad at the entryway.
“Gate code?”
She was so mesmerized by the fact that they were holding hands that she didn’t answer right away.
“Perdie?”
“Huh, oh.” Her voice came out breathy. “Sixty-nine, sixty-nine.”
For a second Carter stared, then he let out a crack of a laugh. “Noted,” he mumbled as they passed through the entrance and into the small, well-landscaped community.
His phone GPS led them to her condo. He pulled into a parking space in front of the white building, putting the car into park. Perdie’s eyes shifted from their hands to the door lever then back to their hands.
She bit her lip, assessing the evidence. Carter Leplan was here, in Charleston, the place where she, Perdie Stone, also was.
And he wouldn’t tell her why.
And a beautiful blonde woman called him darling.
And the beautiful woman had asked him to go into a house with her.
And he had said in a minute.
And then...
And then he was holding Perdie’s hand. Holding her hand like it meant something. Like he wanted to press it against his heart so she could feel it beat for her.
Oh gross. Oh god. What was she doing? She had to let go. She had to get out of the car. She didn’t even like holding hands.
“So,” Carter spoke softly. “We’re here.”
She lifted her head. “You wanna come in?”
His chest deflated with an exhale. “Shouldn’t. But I’ll walk you to your door.”
The snap of the seat belt release brought Perdie back to the present. Finally she dropped Carter’s hand, unbuckled, and opened the car door.
There was a tension between them now, a quietness lingering, but she couldn’t quite pin it down. He walked close to her but didn’t touch her as they made their way up the creaky wooden steps to the hidden overhang at her front door. Her condo, while on the second floor, took up half the building, and below them was her private parkway.
But then they were at her door, her feet catching on her Come As You Are welcome mat.
She turned around to speak, but he’d already caught her by the waist, hauling her up against him then slowly stepping them back until her heels touched the ridge of the entryway.
She thought from the heated look in his eyes that his mouth might come down hard onto hers and they’d push against each other in some kind of manic, frantic desire for connection.
But none of that happened.
Instead he lowered his gaze to her hand, took it in his own, and lifted her palm to his mouth. She regarded him with curiosity as he held her hand gently at the wrist, then kissed the sensitive center of her palm with an open mouth, his tongue lashing at the flesh.
She gasped. It was positively Victorian.
Then he turned her hand to the side to expose the thin skin of her inner wrist and applied the same treatment, kissing it, letting his tongue slide across the ridges of her veins, then his bottom lip dragging along. His eyes were stormy. They’d never looked darker, all hints of green vanished.
“You’re being weird,” she whispered, her breath coming fast. She was watching him intently.
“You like it.”
Her eyes shuttered as his mouth closed in on her neck.
“You smell so good,” he said. “Like oranges.”
“It’s pineapple.” She could barely get the words out. “Or maybe tequila.”
The flat of his tongue touched the smooth, taut column of skin on the side of her neck, her head tilting from the sensation, a groan escaping her lips. He kissed her there, slow and hot, his hands trailing up from her waist to crisscross around her back so that their bodies pressed together.
