Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

“I’m telling the truth, Carter, there’s no guy. I made it up. I was… mad. It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to shake my head, but pulling my own hair in the process. “There’s no guy. Don’t start watching me, trying to figure it out. There’s nothing to figure out.”

Instead of accepting the truth, Carter gets angry enough that his jaw locks. “Do not try to protect some other guy from me, Zoey.”

“I’m not tryin’ to protect anyone,” I insist.

“I’m gonna have a talk with Luke.”

My eyes widen with panic at the mental image of him accosting poor Luke in the hall. He wouldn’t even know what was happening. “Don’t you dare!”

“When did he even have time to move on you? You had youth group on Wednesday, didn’t you?” he muses. “Did he hit on you at youth group? That’s fucking lame.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” I demand. “It isn’t Luke. I’m not with Luke. I’m not with anybody. I lied before, but I’m tellin’ the truth now.”

Carter is having another one of his conversations with himself, though, ignoring my contribution at this point. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it. I’m gonna scare the choir boy off, and if you try to date anyone else, I’ll scare him off, too. And the next one. And the next one. And the next,” he finishes, dipping closer.

Before I can pull away, he kisses me. I jerk away and his hand between my legs moves to cradle my neck, to give him better control. He walks me backward as his lips claim mine, soft and sensual, but possessive and demanding at the same time. My heart races, but I don’t know which instinct is more pressing. I can’t see where I’m going and I’m not sure I trust him to navigate. I gasp into his mouth when the backs of my legs hit a desk.

I’m wearing a cream colored top and a caramel brown skirt, just like the first day he had me in this room. Memories of that encounter flash to mind, so when he finally breaks the kiss, my gaze is a little more guarded as it rises to meet his.

I’m so conflicted on so many fronts. I can’t get my head and my heart on the same page when he’s around. Right now, looking up into his handsome face, all I want to do is thread my fingers through his dark hair and pull him close. I want his strong arm to lock around my waist, his other hand to cradle my face. I want things I can’t want anymore, and it’s incredibly frustrating.

Carter’s brown eyes move down my body, surveying the property he claims belongs to him. If we were still together, I might find that sexy, but I’m trying so hard to dump him, and he’s not making it easy.

“This is the same skirt I peeled off you before,” he realizes.

“Which time?” I ask dryly, since I have two similar looking skirts, and the jerk has peeled both of them off me against my will.

His lips tug up like he finds that amusing. “We need to get you some new clothes.”

“Clothes cost money,” I mutter. “I don’t need new clothes, anyway. I have perfectly good clothes already. If you don’t like my skirt, don’t look at it.”

“You’re being pretty mouthy for someone so completely at my mercy,” he observes.

“I’d say do your worst, but you already have.”

“Nah, I haven’t done my worst,” he says dismissively. “Not to you. Don’t intend to. I like you too much.”

If he hasn’t done his worst to me, I’m not sure I even want to know what his worst entails. I am curious, though. On his damage scale, where do I fall? I have to score pretty high. He already told me he never did to anyone else what he did to me, and while I’m not sure where his limits are, I hope they stop somewhere before murder. He never did give me the details about Chloe’s mother, but for all that I quasi-joke about him being a sociopath, I can’t imagine he has ever actually killed someone. He probably wouldn’t dirty his own hands even if he did have a problem he needed to get rid of. There’s an aura of darkness around his past, but it’s a locked door and he wouldn’t give me the key even when we were together, so there’s no chance he’ll give it to me now.

While I’m thinking about the darkness in his past, the darkness in his present emerges. I don’t immediately notice, too distracted by my own thoughts, but then I feel his fingers slipping the buttons through the holes of my skirt. My skirt loosens and before I can reach to grab it, it falls down my hips.

“Don’t,” I object, grabbing at the material.