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Even from this distance, he can still see right through me.
“And how would you do that?”
“I can think of a lot of ways,” he says, sitting on the windowsill, his penetrating gaze never leaving mine.
I sit on my windowsill in front of him while trying hard to keep a breathy laugh at bay.
“Enlighten me,” I tease.
“Valentina, don’t tempt me.”
“I’m not.”
His laugh is rugged and manly, and my core clenches at the sound. He looks down at the first floor of the house, his lips thinning into a scowl.
“Your dad is still awake.”
In other words, he won’t come over. He respects my father too much to sneak into my room. Since their relationship has always been a bit turbulent, Carter does his best not to poke the beast that is my overprotective father. I know Dad cares for him as much as he does Logan and Quaid, but with Carter, he senses a danger in him—one that would rather ask for forgiveness than ask for permission.
“No matter,” Carter adds with a smug grin on his face. “I can still take whatever it is that you’re overthinking about out of your head.”
“Can you now?”
“Yes. But you have to follow my rules. Can you do that?”
Intrigued, I nod.
“Go grab your chair and pull it up to the window.”
“Huh?”
“No questions. Just go get it.”
Confused, I do as he says and walk over to my desk to bring my chair closer to the window.
“Now sit.”
I almost roll my eyes, but when I catch a glimpse of him, I see he’s seated in a chair as well. I only have a view of his upper chest and face.
“Put me on speaker and place the phone on the sill,” he orders.
“Dad might hear,” I counter, afraid my father might come upstairs and think Carter has somehow managed to sneak into my room.
“Put in your earphones then if you’re afraid,” he goads, and I flip him off before putting the phone on the windowsill in front of me.
He lets out a chuckle, and it warms my insides. Carter hardly ever laughs, but when he does, it feels as if I’m witnessing dark clouds part after a storm to reveal nothing but blue skies.
“Close your eyes, Valentina,” he whispers low enough that only I’ll be able to hear his voice.
Hesitantly and reluctantly, I close my eyes as he orders. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I would rather be prisoned in his stare than be left bereft by its absence. I shift in my seat as he breathes into the phone.
In and out.
In and out.
The sound becomes a lover’s song, relaxing all my limbs blissfully, while the thumping of my heart becomes almost as loud as his gentle breathing.
“Run your hands over your bare thighs, Valentina,” he commands.
