Crash - Part Two, page 3
“You don’t think I’m a sex god?” Carter said with a smile. “Now I’m offended.”
I rolled my eyes and refused to dignify that with a response. “Should I tell anyone about Mason? Like the police?”
“No,” Carter said immediately. “They won’t do anything, anyway.”
That was fine with me. I had a lucky escape and didn’t want to deal with the police. It would have just been my word against his anyway and hundreds of people had seen us getting it on the dance floor.
“I was trying to get over you,” I said. “With Mason. I was dancing with him to forget about you.”
“You don’t need to forget about me,” Carter said.
“I do. I know it was an accident and it was a long time ago, but I can’t see you without remembering William.”
“We need to talk about that,” Carter said. “Do you have plans for today?”
“I have work to do. But I’m not really feeling up to it.”
“You should spend the day with John. Trust me, he feels so bad right now that he will treat you like a princess. Let’s do dinner though, okay?”
“Sure. Um, can you take me home? I don’t want to do the walk of shame this morning.”
“I told you, you have nothing to be ashamed of about last—”
“Carter, I’m not talking about that. I was referring to the fact that I’m dressed like a whore.”
“Oh. That. I’ll have my driver take you back.”
---
Carter had been right about John. He apologized for a solid hour after I got home and spent the day spoiling me rotten. Apparently he had been introduced to Mason through a friend, and on paper he had seemed like a good fit for me. Successful, charismatic, and handsome—like a miniature version of Carter, I guessed.
Carter hadn’t told John all the gory details, which was just as well, but John knew enough to know not to set me up with anyone again in the near future. That was good enough for me.
“Is there any chance something good will come out of all this?” John asked.
“Out of me being groped against my will by a sleazy bar owner?”
“You know what I mean,” John said. “With you and Carter. I mean, he clearly still wants you, right? So that means the ball is in your court, doesn’t it?”
“Congratulations on using a sports metaphor correctly,” I joked. Much to John’s displeasure, he did tend to fit a lot of the gay stereotypes, and not liking sports was certainly one of them.
“Don’t change the subject.”
I let out a quiet sigh and considered telling John the whole story. My reluctance wasn’t because I didn’t trust him or that I didn’t want to talk to him about it. The problem was I didn’t know if I could physically get the words out. How could I tell him that Carter killed my brother?
“You’re right,” I admitted. “Sort of. But it’s not that simple. And I don’t just mean like ordinary relationship drama kind of thing. It’s messed up in a big soap opera kind of way.”
“All right, I’ll leave it. For now. But you need to tell me about this at some point, Emily. I’m your friend, but also your business partner. If we start keeping secrets it’s going to affect the business, and neither of us wants that.”
“I will tell you when I’m ready. How’s that?”
John nodded. “Fine by me. So, what do you want to do this afternoon?”
“I can’t bring myself to go outside into daylight. Can we just watch a movie and eat crappy food?”
“Perfect.”
John streamed a film while I prepared some nachos with melted cheese, a recipe that had helped with hangovers in the past.
Every flash of violence during the movie gave me flashbacks of last night. My memory was still fuzzy on the details, but I remember the explosion of energy as Carter ripped Mason away from me and slammed him up against the wall.
Whatever his mistakes in the past, he had saved me last night. For the first time since I found out about his role in William’s death, I actually looked forward to seeing him.
I stopped snacking on nachos to save my appetite. Dinner could not come soon enough.
Chapter Seven
Carter could work wonders in a kitchen. When the elevator doors to his penthouse opened, I was greeted by an aroma of seafood, spicy sauce and something sweet for dinner that was still baking in the oven.
To my slight disappointment, Carter had not dialed up the romance at all. There were no candles burning or flowers on the table.
“The entrée will just be a minute,” Carter yelled over the noise of fans and boiling pots. I frowned and was about to ask for an appetizer when I remembered Carter’s previous criticism of American vocabulary. An entrée was a starter, not a main course. If I ever went to Europe, I would end up completely embarrassing myself in so many ways.
I sat down at the table and made sure my clothes looked presentable. Everything hung in the right place and my light summer dress covered up most of my leg. When Carter brought out the first course of fried calamari, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
“Where the hell did you get that apron from?”
Carter had dressed in a shirt and khakis with the sleeves mercifully rolled up to reveal his toned forearms, which hinted at the majesty of what lay higher up. But over all that he had on a garish apron with frilly pink bits around the edges.
“It was all I could find at short notice,” Carter said. “I don’t bring one with me when I travel and had to pop out and get this an hour ago.”
“Well, you look beautiful,” I said, standing up and admiring him. “Like a princess.”
Carter raised his eyebrows and stared at me. I tried to hide my grin, but ended up snickering like a schoolgirl.
We made small talk during dinner, but I could tell Carter had something on his mind. He’d promised to tell me more about the night William died, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it. What could he say that would possibly make it better?
“You want a hand with the washing up?” I asked as I finished off my slice of apple pie. I secretly hoped he would say no, because I felt barely able stand after all that food. It had cured my hangover, though.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Carter said with a wave of his hand. “I have someone who comes and does that.”
“Well, lucky you. I have to do my own washing up.”
“Does it take a lot of effort to clean up after microwaving pizza?” Carter asked.
I pursed my lips and slapped him on his toned arms. “In the words of your people, you are a ‘right cheeky sod’ today, aren’t you?”
“Did you just do an English accent?” Carter asked.
“What did you think?”
“I think you need to spend a lot more time with English people. Well, one English person in particular. Let’s go sit down.”
Carter pulled me over to the sofa and sat down next to me, although not quite so close that we were touching.
“I need to tell you about the accident,” Carter said.
“Carter, I—”
“Please. Let me tell you. I need to tell you as much as you need to hear it. I’m not sure if it will change things between us, but I will always regret it if I don’t try.”
Carter wasn’t going to let this go. His eyes held the same look of steely determination he had when he told me he was going to have me. And he had most certainly got his way that time.
“Okay, you can tell me,” I said. “But if I ask you to stop, you must promise you will. I’m not sure how easy this is going to be to hear.”
“Thank you,” Carter said. “And yes, I will stop talking whenever you tell me to. In many ways, there isn’t that much to tell. Your brother was killed by a drunk driver who stupidly got behind the wheel after too many drinks. Our car was on the wrong side of the road and we slammed straight into your car. You know the rest.”
“You weren’t alone in the car?” I asked.
“No, Emily, I wasn’t. I was with my girlfriend. That’s what I want to tell you.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any difference. Why would I care that your girlfriend was in the car as well?”
“Because she was the one driving. I wasn’t the one who killed your brother, Emily—it was my ex-girlfriend.”
Chapter Eight
“No,” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense. My dad was at your trial. He saw you admit to driving the car. He saw you get sent to prison, not some girl. Why are you saying this?”
“Because it’s true,” Carter replied. “But you’re right. I did go to jail and I did admit to being the driver.” His thick fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose as he searched for the next words. “I took the blame for her.”
“Why?” I asked. “I get that you’d want to protect your girlfriend, but to lie at a trial and go to jail? That’s crazy!”
“I know. It all happened so fast. We had been out for a meal to celebrate a friend’s birthday and I had necked back two or three beers. I would have been over the limit, but it was Bella’s turn to drive. I didn’t realize at the time but she had an alcohol problem. She’d been sneaking vodka into her orange juice all night and was wasted by the time we got in the car.”
None of this seemed to make sense. I should have been pleased at this news. But he was still intrinsically linked with William. Would I ever be able to look at Carter without seeing William? Even if I could, I doubted my parents would ever accept him as a son-in-law.
“Didn’t you notice that she was drunk?”
Carter shook his head. “She was good at hiding it. Even most of her driving had been good up until we approached a sharp corner. The car swung out wide and we went straight into the side of yours.”
“Were you hurt?”
Carter smiled and shook his head. “It’s sweet of you to ask, but no, I was not hurt. Couple of bruises, that’s all.”
“How did you end up taking the blame? That’s quite a request for her to make.”
“She didn’t ask. Not directly. As soon as we hit your car she blurted out that she was drunk and way over the limit. In those seconds she told me that she was an alcoholic and would go to jail. I just panicked. I didn’t know what to do. So I got out of the car and pulled her into the passenger seat.”
“I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe you did that. And that you kept up the lie all through the trial.”
“Once we had started, we had to stick to it. You have to remember that I did not know your brother was dead when we did this. We assumed you would be okay because we were. If I had any idea what had happened then, I would never have gone through with it.”
The whole time Carter had been telling his story, something had been at the back of mind, some reason not to be happy with the news, and then it hit me.
“My brother’s killer was never punished,” I said. “She is still out there going about her life. This Bella girl got away with it.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Carter said solemnly. “After the accident, she went downhill fast. Kept pouring booze into her, and then moved on to drugs. Not that this makes much of a difference, but the whole thing did mess her up a lot.”
“Where is she now?” I asked. I knew the answer before Carter replied. Ever since I had first told Carter about William, I had known Carter had lost someone too. He had shared a look with me and I had seen pain in his eyes, the kind of pain that you only had when someone you loved had died. “She’s dead isn’t she?”
Carter swallowed and nodded. “Overdosed. A few years ago. While I was in prison.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Not for her—for you. I can tell she meant a lot to you.” My heart sank as it dawned on me that Carter had fallen in love. Before he became the ladies’ man he was now, Carter had been in love. That hurt me more than anything else he’d told me that day.
“She did,” he admitted. “But that was a long time ago.” He paused, but I didn’t know what to say. Did he want me to throw my arms around him and tell him everything was going to be all right? “Is there any chance you will be able to see past this one day?” he pleaded, placing a hand on my leg.
Sparks flew up my thigh when he touched me. I wanted him to push me onto my back and take me.
“We shouldn’t,” I said meekly.
“God, Emily. I want you so much, you have no idea.” He leaned into me and started kissing my neck while his hand dug into my thigh. “I need you. I need to be inside you.”
Carter’s words whispered in my ear drove me wild with desire. My pussy was wet and his fingers were just inches away from my opening. If he touched that, he would know just how much I wanted him and I wouldn’t be able to resist.
He pushed his way between my legs and pressed up against me. I felt how hard he was. If he just unzipped his fly and slipped my knickers to one side, he would be inside me. I grabbed his ass and pushed his hardness against my clit.
For the first time, Carter placed a hand on my prosthetic leg and moved it to one side, opening my legs wide. He acted as if the leg were completely normal and didn’t react to touching it at all. But I did.
The leg was my constant reminder that I was flawed and it was linked to the accident, the accident where my brother had died and Carter sacrificed himself for someone he loved.
“I can’t,” I said, pressing my hands against Carter’s firm chest. Carter didn’t move. I dug my nails into him, but he barely noticed. “Carter, please, no. I can’t do this. Not now.”
Carter let out an animalistic noise, half yell, half moan, and rolled off me onto the floor.
“You should leave,” he said coldly.
I grabbed my purse and waited for thirty long seconds for the elevator to arrive. I needed time to process what I had heard. Carter had been in love before. The girl who killed my brother was dead. In pleading guilty to something he never did, Carter had done something incredible for the girl he loved. I should have respected that, but as I stepped into the elevator I realized there was a good chance I would never see him again, and maybe that was for the best.
Chapter Nine
Living with John had some advantages, like easily being able to talk about work and show each other what we had on our screens, but it also had its downsides. Mainly, we talked too much.
After dinner with Carter, all I could think about was the story he told me about the night of the accident. I needed to talk it through with John, just to know if what I was crazy or not. Even though Carter hadn’t been the one driving, he was still there when it happened.
But I wanted him in ways I had never wanted anyone else. I craved his body in a way I didn’t know was possible. I looked at him how sleazy men look at women in bars. I’d never done that with anyone else.
And we had a connection beyond sex. I could be myself around him and never felt like he was judging me for my leg.
I told John everything from the incident at my parents’ house to Carter’s full explanation.
“So, am I crazy for wanting him?” I asked after I had finished the whole story. John had listened in a kind of stunned silence the entire time, so I had no way to judge what his reaction would be.
“Shit, Emily. That is pretty fucked up.”
“Thank you, John. Yes, I am aware that this is perhaps not the typical boy-meets-girl situation. But that doesn’t answer the question.”
“Maybe you’re crazy. But love and lust can do crazy things to people. I don’t think you’re crazy for wanting him. Christ, the guy is impossible not to want. I still find myself fantasizing about having him do wicked things to me and—”
“John, I don’t want to hear that.”
“Sorry. Look, this all comes down to trust. Carter did something stupid by taking the blame, but he did not kill your brother. This Bella girl did, and she’s dead now. Good riddance. The question is whether you can trust him.”
I didn’t trust any man when it came down to it. I never had. Carter hardly seemed like a good place to start, what with his womanizing and lying to a court.
“Maybe,” I replied. “But it’s not just the accident. He hasn’t admitted as much, but him meeting me was obviously not a coincidence. He must have tracked me down and seduced me, even knowing what he knew about my brother. That’s fucked up. Maybe he isn’t even here on business at all.”
John nodded. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that. You need to figure out the trust issue, but don’t rush into it. Trust takes time in any relationship. It’ll take even longer in this one, but Carter wants to make this work. Just look at all the effort he’s put in to win you over.”
“So it’s not insane that I still want him?”
“No,” John replied. “I don’t think so. That doesn’t mean it will work out, though. If you can’t think of him without remembering your brother, then this will all collapse.”
John was right. My therapist had worked me through a similar problem with my leg. In the first few months after the accident, I hadn’t been able to go a minute without thinking of William. Dr. Michaels traced that to my leg—every step I took on it was a constant reminder of what I had lost. The leg still triggered memories of William—as it had done back at Carter’s—but it was less frequent and manageable.
Would I ever be able to achieve the same thing with Carter? William would want me to. He wouldn’t want me to turn my back on the perfect man because of some messed up coincidence. That thought gave me the courage to give it one last shot.
---
“Hi, Mom,” I said cheerily the next morning. The hangover had completely vanished and I actually felt good. A lot had changed in the last twenty-four hours and I tried to remain positive for the time being. “Can I speak to Dad?”
“Don’t want to talk to your mom today, then?”
“I need to ask Dad some questions about the trial.”
“Ah. Honey, I don’t think he’s going to want to talk about that.”
“Please, Mom. It’s really important.”
Mom relented and Dad picked up the phone a few minutes later. He wasn’t going to like talking about this, but I had to get some answers.
