Chapter 4

SCARLETT

I'm naked! And he didn’t—he didn’t....

I think my eyes almost bulged out of my socket, and for a split second, the pain faded, realizing how vulnerable and exposed I was to him, and he hadn't even flinched!

Carter carried me out of the bathroom like I weighed nothing. He didn't look at my body; his gaze was fixed on my face, and something about the way he looked at me changed. The rush of panic in his eyes was the most human expression I’d ever seen him wear.

But there was something else I couldn't place.

He placed me gently on the lounge, covering me instantly with a thick towel he snatched from a rack.

"Stay put. Don't move your neck," he commanded, already striding toward the high medical cabinet.

"My shoulder," I managed to whisper, shame clawing at me. My cheeks were on fire, and not just from the pain. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I was shivering violently again; whether from the fall or the sudden humiliation, I couldn't tell.

"I see it," he said, pulling out a professional-grade medical kit that looked like it belonged in a battlefield trauma unit. "This is why you don't run around on marble floors like a damned idiot."

Excuse me?

I'm too ashamed for a comeback right now, so my lips are sealed.

He returned, dropping the cold pack heavily onto my chest.

"Put that on your shoulder, high up. Keep it there." He knelt beside me, the sheer presence of him filling the space. He ran his fingers through my damp hair, and I flinched.

He stopped. Looked at me—really looked at me. His pupils dilated for a second there.

I swear I saw it.

He continued anyway, gently checking the bump where my head hit the tub.

"Any dizziness? Nausea? Loss of vision?" he asked, his voice a little low, like he was struggling to speak.

His thumb brushed my temples.

"No," I choked out. "Just... pain. And... and stupid."

"Focus on the pain," he ordered, ignoring my behavior. He gently examined the wrist the thug had grabbed, now turning an ugly shade of purple. He opened a tube of cooling gel.

As he worked, applying the gel with care too meticulous for someone like me who isn’t his girlfriend.

After he was done with that, he went back to my shoulder, grabbing my hands with the ice.

I swallowed.

What the hell, he is caring so much. He's been coming close.

I cleared my throat.

He is so... so close right now, helping me apply the ice on my shoulder with my hand attached to his.

And that's when the scent of him hit me. My brain short-circuited for a sec. There’s this confusing heat pooling low in my belly.

"Carter..."

He paused. His eyes, dark as midnight a second ago, started to change. A terrifying flicker of red flashed deep in his irises before it vanished.

He was staring intently at my bruised shoulder, and a weird, annoying sensation hit me—like a string was suddenly tied around my gut, tightening and pulling me toward him.

It was uncontrollable, a hot, needy urge that felt totally alien and completely wrong.

So fucking wrong.

He wasn't moving, but I couldn't breathe. He was just looking at me with that intense gaze, and the distance between us seemed to shrink by itself.

The air got heavy, thick with something dangerous and animalistic.

His face kept coming closer until his breath ghosted over my lips.

And he took the next step; he didn't wait. He closed the gap, his hand tangling into my messy hair, pulling me toward him.

His lips crashed onto mine.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a collision. It was hunger and anger and frustration all mixed into one. I should have pushed him away. I hated men like him—rich, arrogant, controlling. But my body betrayed me. I melted against him, my hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned against my mouth, and his hand slid down to my waist, pulling me onto his lap completely. My mind blank. Just fire. And submission as my arse glided on his groin.

I kissed him back. I wasn't thinking—I can't, my body seemed to move on its own, reacting to whatever was wrong with him.

And my body was starting to love whatever was wrong with us.

Heat pooled underneath my damp pants.

My core throbbed, desperate for friction. And it's funny how I just began riding on him on instinct. On his groin, to feel that warm thick jab poking me.

My hands, forgetting the pain in my shoulder, tangled in his hair.

A half growl, half groan—rumpled in his chest as he used his forearm to press my body to himself until there was no space between us, driving the contact deeper, demanding a friction that sent a lightning bolt straight through my body.

It felt like I was being possessed or something.

And I think I'm enjoying it too much. Too much I don't want it to stop.

I want to feel more. Want him more for no reason or maybe it's just my core craving something else. Something deep.

But then, as he got more heated...

Carter froze. His body went rigid.

He shoved me off his lap so hard my butt hit the couch. I almost landed on the ground.

"Get out," he rasped.

I frowned, confused.

"Get out.”