Page 4 of Carter

Carter busts through the front door, shouting my name. There’s an edge to his voice I don’t recognize. Bronson must have gotten him riled up pretty good.

Nothing I can’t handle.

I step out from where I’m watching in the living room window. I lean one hand on the frame of the doorway that connects the living room to the stairwell, where he stands below.

I look down, batting my eyelashes and sweetly say, “Yes, my love?” I put my other hand on my hip, turning my body. I know my shirt is rising, showing off my toned midriff. I know that when I turn just so, the curve of my ass is sticking out. Luring him in.

He’s not buying it.

He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s enough, Sasha. It’s time I took you over my knee and taught you a lesson about respect.”

I almost laugh out loud. Despite my best efforts to hide my amusement, a smirk plays at my lips.

But something changes in his face. His features turn to stone. His gaze hardens in a way that makes me tremble.

A shiver of fear runs down my spine.

Seconds later he’s up the stairs, next to me on the landing. He grabs my upper arm. His fingers tighten around my bicep. I give a little gasp—I’m surprised by the pain of his hold. He yanks me toward him. His face is inches from mine. Heat and anger radiate from him. There’s a strange tightening in my stomach and I feel as if I’ll start sweating. I try to tug my arm away, but he’s holding me too tightly.

I stare into his eyes and what I see there makes me freeze.

He wants to hurt me.

When he speaks, his tone makes me tremble. “I mean it. Get yourself upstairs, right now.”

His fingers dig into my flesh. His broad shoulders seem even larger as he looms over me. Fire flashes in his eyes.

To my surprise, I’m hit by an intense wave of desire. My nipples tighten, my core turns to lava. I’ve never seen him this way and it’s turning me on. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Up to the bedroom. Right now.”

“But Carter, I⁠—”

His words are cut from steel. “Not another word. Get up there and wait for me. It’s time you and I had a little chat.”

I’ve been around the Bachman wives long enough to know what talk and little chat are code for.

He thinks he’s going to beat my ass.

And there’s no way I’m going to let it happen.

First, I have to play nice. Arranging my features into an apologetic face, I say, “Oh, Carter. Has it really come to that?” I look at him from beneath my dark lashes and give him the teensiest, tiniest pout. He’s already starting to cave. His eyes soften. His jaw loosens.

His voice is apologetic when he speaks. “I’m afraid so.”

He lets me go.

I humbly slide up the stairs. I roll my hips as I make my way. I’m just a naughty little sex kitten going upstairs for her punishment. And he’s buying it.

Once inside the third-floor master bedroom, I quickly start changing. Stripping out of my black spandex workout clothes, I slide into the tiny dress—the short black and silver striped number that barely covers my ass. I slip into black strappy sandals. My ponytail from the gym will have to do. Pretty soon I’ll be dancing and sweating anyway.

It’s been less than three minutes since Carter sent me up, and I’m ready to go.

I told you I’m fast.

I go to the doors that lead to the balcony overlooking the back garden. Down the narrow steps of the fire escape I fly—all the Bachman rowhomes have one; you can never have enough getaway routes. My feet hit the street and I take off in a run. My sandals kiss the pavement lightly, barely making a noise.

I get to our back gate, press my thumb against the keypad. Through the first gate, then the second. Into the back of Barbells, our gym. One more keypad and I’m through the side door and onto the New York City streets.