Page 80 of Maid of Dishonor

Maya gives a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, she said something,” she says. “She said she was confused because she hadn’t heard from you, and then she said something about a dermatologist with dreamy eyes.”

I shake my head. “No.” The word is out of my mouth before I can think. “No.” I swear, rubbing my free hand over my face. “I’ve been giving her space,” I say, and it comes out sounding more desperate than I’d like. “She asked forspace. She wantedtime. How upset is she?” An image of Sam crying Level Three tears pops into my mind, and I push it away.

“Not upset, necessarily, I don’t think,” Maya says. “Just confused.”

My mind races. I had a plan in place. It was all figured out. I was going to take her hiking, show her the sunrise, but… “Keep her there,” I say instead. “Don’t let her leave. I’m coming over.”

“Roger that,” Maya says. “I’ll lock her in the cage in my basement.”

“I—what?” I say, stopping in place and frowning.

“I’m obviously kidding, Carter,” she says, and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s rolling her eyes. “Just get over here before she makes more jokes about dermatologists.”

I growl as I hang up, crossing the room to yank my shoes on. “Stupid dermatology,” I say under my breath. I leave the apartment, almost falling down the stairs in my haste, and all but throwing myself into my car.

And then I’m off.

Twenty-Three

Sam

Note to self:Maya’s film preferences just really don’t match my own, and next time I should bring some movies we might both enjoy. Give me an action movie, or a romantic comedy, or even horror—but please, no in-depth looks at the human condition. I already look at the human condition every day. Why would I want to see that when I’m trying to escape?

When Maya comes back from the bathroom, she offers to make some popcorn, and I nod. I was going to suggest it earlier, but I decided to let her take the lead on food and drink, since she’s been voted Most Likely To Throw Up for the next several months.

“Do you have a preference between kettle corn and regular?” she calls from the kitchen.

“No preference,” I say. All popcorn is good popcorn; you really can’t go wrong. Even burnt popcorn is good, as long as it’s not charred to a crisp or anything.

I force myself to watch the movie while Maya turns on the microwave, which means I’m treated to a lot of abstract music and a montage of a very sad woman staring out several different windows. She’s not crying, which I appreciate, because I’ve done enough of that for the time being.

When I hear a loud knock at the door—it’s more of a pounding, really—I frown but happily pause the movie.

“Can you get that?” Maya calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I say. I hesitate just a second, especially when the person knocks again, louder this time, because I think they might be here to kill us or something. No one knocks on the door that hard unless they have problems. Should I grab a weapon?

No. I’m being ridiculous. I don’t need a weapon. I wish there were a peephole on Maya’s front door, though. She should probably get one of those.

When I pull the door open, I’m hit with about a billion different thoughts and feelings all at once.

Carter. It’s Carter, andoh, he’s a sight for sore eyes. He’s got on my favorite white shirt and jeans that fit him way too well, and he’s standing at his full height, his hand raised as though he’s about to knock yet again.

But he doesn’t. When his gaze meets mine, he storms right in like he’s on a mission. I step back, surprised.

He stands there in front of me, his chest heaving, and then he speaks. “My eyes,” he says, his voice low.

I blink as my eyebrows climb even further. “What?”

He takes a step forward until he’s right in my space, his chest brushing against mine, the heat from his body wrapping around me. “My eyes,” he repeats, his voice fierce. “Your children will have my eyes.Only mine.”

And then his lips meet mine.

It takes me apart, his kiss. And then it puts me back together again. There’s nothing soft about it, nothing gentle. It’s searching and wanting and taking, taking,taking—until Carter’s tongue glides across the seam of my lips, and suddenly he’s giving, too. My arms wrap around him, his hands coming to my face as the kiss deepens, and he groans.

“So much better than I remembered,” he whispers against my skin.

I can only nod as my brain goes into overdrive, because he’s right. Granted, we only kissed that one time, but it wasn’t like this.Nothingis like this. Nothing in my life has ever felt this way, the hard planes of Carter’s body pressed to mine, my arms around his waist, his lips firm against mine—and the contrast between his kiss and the rest of his body. His lips aren’t gentle, but his hands cradling my face are, and his body is curved exquisitely around mine.

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