The Saint (Notorious 3)

He pulled me into his house, right into his arms.

His kiss was sweet with just a little spice, and I sighed and melted right into him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers sliding under the thin hem of my shirt and finding the sensitive skin of my side, my back, the curve of my hips.

“Me, too,” I said, dropping my bag, cookies and all, so my hands could return the favor. Muscles jumped and twitched under my fingertips and the sweetness of the kisses was soon consumed by heat.

I kicked the door shut behind me and he laughed.

“How do you want to celebrate?” he asked, his hands sliding across my stomach up to my full, aching breasts.

“Take me into your bedroom and I’ll show you.”

An hour later I got down to revealing my dirty secret.

“You put the cookies in the salsa?” he asked. We sat at his kitchen table wearing nothing but moonlight and smiles.

“Dip them, actually.” I showed him then sighed with bliss. I didn’t think it was possible, but they were even better after sex.

“You know you smelled like ginger cookies the first time I met you?” he said.

“When I stood on that chair?” I asked. “Really?”

He nodded and dipped one tiny piece of cookie in the salsa.

“Coward,” I teased.

“Sweetheart, I mean you no offense, but there’s no way this tastes good. I’m only humoring you out of my sincere gratitude for the filthy things you just did to me.”

I blushed. They had been filthy. He bit into the cookie and grimaced. “Not good,” he said. “At all.” He took another bite, this time just of cookie. “But the cookies are great.”

We ate in a silence so companionable, so rich with mutual affection, that I did something foolish.

“Do you like kids?” I blurted, and he stared, slightly dumbfounded, at me. “I mean, I guess I should know that, right? Unless, maybe you aren’t thinking you’ll be around or…whatever.”

Yeah. That went well.

“I like kids a lot,” he said solemnly. “I practically raised my brother and sister and even my grandmother is kind of a kid. And as for being around, I don’t know, Zoe. Neither one of us does, but if something happens and we break up—it’s not going to be because you’re having a baby.” He looked down at the salsa and cookies. “It might be because of your strange food addictions, but not because of the baby.”

“Well, it won’t be because of your mother, or your past, either,” I said.

Carter was quiet for a second, taking a long time to chew, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. “What about your mother?” he asked.

“Oh, well, trust me, if she had her way, we would never have started this. So, yes. In the end, she might be the straw that breaks your back.” I tried to laugh, but found I couldn’t. It was true. More true than I cared to admit.

“Mom’s…ah…well, it’s been the two of us our whole lives, and she’s got some strong opinions on being a single mom and having relationships.”

“So I’m not going to be meeting her anytime soon?”

“Not for as long as I can help it.”

“Come on, in the battle of the mothers you’re telling me yours is worse than mine?”

“My mom has this saying that she’s been drilling into my head since I was a kid—”

“Eat your vegetables?”

I snorted. “I wish. No, she says, only pain is guaranteed.”

“That’s funny. My mother always said that trust is only rewarded with pain.” Carter shrugged. “Maybe in the worst mother competition it’s a tie.”

“No, yours wins. Hands-down. Penny is a pain, but she stuck around,” I whispered.

I kissed his hand and felt such warmth. Such lightness of being I could barely keep still.

“I know that we don’t know everything about each other,” I said, because I just could not shut up. “I have secrets, and from the conversation you had with your sister, I’m guessing you have some of your own.”

“And?” he asked, but surprisingly the Carter O’Neill mask of displeasure didn’t appear and it gave me courage to go on.

“And, if you want, you could tell me,” I said.

“My secrets?” he asked.

“Yeah. Whatever it is your mom’s got on you. Or—” I shrugged “—not. Either way, I just want you to know that I’ll listen.” He was quiet for a long time and I glanced up at him.

“I’ve never had friends,” he said, shaking his head. “Growing up, I had only my brother and sister, and when I left Bonne Terre, I left them behind.”

I swallowed a mouthful of cookie, the loneliness around him like a fog.

“I’ll be your friend,” I whispered.

“You already are,” he said. The stool grated across the tile floor as he stood and approached me, his every muscle coiled and flexing in the moonlight. “And I’ll tell you a secret, Zoe. Not all of them, but I’ll tell you one right now.”