“I can’t believe he would agree to this.”
He flashes me a rueful grin. “It took some convincing. We’ve had more than one heart-to-heart over the past two weeks.”
They’ve been talking?
And Carter came away unscathed?
“I think in the end,” he adds, “he felt better knowing I wasn’t getting any money out of it. Besides, Rice Hope was more my grandfather’s home than the mansion ever was.”
“So, none of this had anything to do with trying to get me back?” I don’t know if I should feel hurt or moved by that.
He swallows with that tell-tale sign of emotion. “Like I said, I needed to bring things back into balance. Needed to right the wrongs. I would have done it no matter what happened between us.”
“I guess Joyce thought I needed a push, then.” My heart is pounding erratically. “I think she likes me.”
The corner of his mouth tugs up marginally. “She does.”
“I think I like her.”
“What about me, darlin’? Do you like me, too?”
The endearment I’ve longed to hear for two weeks rings like church bells in my ears. “Very much. Pretty sure I love you.”
His chest rises and falls, as if my words delivered a gut punch he had to absorb. “Just because of that document?”
I shake my head. “No. I’d already made my decision to come find you when I opened that envelope.”
“Thought I was just your rebound.”
I take a step closer to his desk, closing the distance between us. “You were never a rebound. Because anything I had to rebound from was over a long time ago.”
His nostrils flare. “You sure? Because I’m in this for real, and I understand if you’re not ready for that. If you can’t give me all of you, and I’m not talking about marriage and children”—he draws in a deep breath—“then I’ll leave you alone.”
If I had any doubt whatsoever left inside me, that statement would have obliterated it entirely. “You had all of me from the beginning. This has been real for me from the moment you told me you got peacocked in a men’s restroom. I want more time if you still do.”
He taps his finger against the armrest, as if coming to a decision. Then he rises to his feet and comes around the desk, trailing his fingers along the glass surface.
“Darlin’, I want all the time.”
My upper lip curls as I take another step closer. “Have you been brushing up on what the young kids are saying nowadays?”
He comes to stand in front of me, stopping less than a foot away. Much like the day we met, his proximity forces me to crane my neck because I refuse to break our eye contact.
“I’m trying,” he answers. “I caught feels for you, Sloane. All the heavy feels.”
I slap my hand over my mouth to contain my laughter.
He grins. “How was that?”
“I think I prefer regular Carter talk better.”
“Okay.” With lightning fast movements, he yanks me against his body and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. “I’ve lived long enough to know that if I can’t keep you, I’ll never be able to put myself back together again.”
I nod. “Those Humpty Dumpty situations are the worst.”
He doesn’t give in to his smile yet, though I can tell he wants to. “I’ve waited thirty-eight years for you to waltz into my life. Now, you’re finally here, and I’m already in way too deep to ever come back from losing you.” He tightens his grip on my neck. “Don’t make me lose you again.”
I don’t want to ruin the moment, yet I can’t help but voice one of my concerns. “We’ve only had a week together, Carter. What if after the second week, you decide it’s not what you thought? That I’m not what you thought?”
He snorts, like such a notion is unfathomable. “What I think is that you are the wittiest, most intelligent, most intriguing, sexiest woman I’ve ever met in my life, and I want to spend every minute of every day with you because no one has ever made me smile this much. I don’t think any of that is going to change in a week’s time. Or ever.”
My finger slips underneath one of his suspenders. I bite down on my bottom lip as I snap it against his chest, causing his eyes to grow heavy.
“That is,” he adds pointedly, “if you can accept the fact that I’m a man who goes to bed most nights by ten o’clock. It usually takes me a full day to recover from a bad hangover anymore, which is why I typically have a three-drink maximum. I would much rather watch a documentary on the History channel than anything on a major television network these days. And I have to take a pill before I eat anything spicy. Does all of that work for you?”
My hands slide upward until my arms are wrapped around his neck, forcing me up onto my toes. “I hate spicy food.”
“Then it looks like we have nothing to worry about.”
I chuckle, grazing my lips against his. But I don’t connect them yet. “None of that will excuse you from singing karaoke with me every now and then, though.”
He’s shifting his hips around, rubbing his growing erection against my center, and it’s distracting as hell. “That’s your one stipulation? Karaoke?” He laughs. “Done, darlin’.”
“No, my one stipulation is that you tell me what song you sang the night you celebrated passing the BAR exam.”
He groans, dropping his head. “Please, God, no.”
“No name, no nookie.”
When he lifts his head again, his glare promises punishment. “’I’ll Tumble 4 Ya.’”
“The Culture Club song?” I burst into laughter and make a mental note to YouTube that gem later. “Oh, my God, that’s fantastic.”
He spanks my ass, making me yelp in surprise. “You better watch it or I’ll sick Joyce on you.”
I shrug. “I’m not scared of her anymore.” My laughter finally dies down. “That was the night everything changed for me, you know. The karaoke night.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You like me when I sing Lady Gaga in a voice that makes even dogs cringe?”
I nod. “Uh-huh. I like you a lot, then.” Then I frown. “Actually, that’s a lie. I mean, about the karaoke night. Things changed for me before that. You remember the night we kissed by the Pineapple Fountain?”
His eyes glaze over. “How could I forget? Both my wishes came true.”
“But you never asked me what I wished for.”
His brow wrinkles. He looks stunned, like he can’t believe he never did. “And what did you wish for, darlin’?”
I brace myself for the big reveal. “That you wouldn’t let me go. The exact words I said in my head were please, make him want to keep me. Because I already wanted to keep you.”
Which is why his whispered words that first night in bed at Rice Hope hit me as hard as they did.
A smile starts to overtake his face. “True story?”
“True story.”
His smile widens. “You like me when I kiss you by fountains?”
His breath hitches when I nod and wiggle my hips around, grinding my center against his bulge. “But I like you best when you keep me. When do you like me?”
He pulls me tighter against him until our mouths are only a hairsbreadth away. “Mmm. I like you when you spit sass at me while dressed like a tavern wench.” I smack his arm, making him chuckle. “I like you when you talk about history and your eyes light up like a kid in a candy store. I like you when you don’t make a fuss about eating huckleberry pie for breakfast because it’s not organic egg whites.”
“Don’t get used to that. I’ve got to make sure my man eats a well-balanced diet.”
He stills. “Say it again.”
I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip, just once. “My man.”
He shivers and has to clear his throat. “But I love you”—I suck in a sharp breath because he said it— “when you fall in love with my plantation. I love you when you read Hattie’s journals and hug her like she’s your own grandmother. I love you when you come with my name on
your lips and immediately ask for another one. And I love you when you forgive me for the mistakes I made in the past.”
If I hadn’t flooded Gretchen’s kitchen earlier with my tears and drained myself dry, a few would probably be leaking out right now.
“We both learned from the experience. Let’s just leave it at that and move on.”
His expression is one of utter gratitude. “I can do that.”
“Good, because I just have one last question for you.”
“What’s that?”
I purse my lips. “How strong is that glass desk?”
His smile turns deliciously wicked as he lifts me off my feet. “Let’s find out together.”
My ass meets glass as his hungry mouth finds mine.
Thank God for premature labor.
I’m going to send Tamra Duprey and her child a lifetime supply of fruit baskets.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Carter stops to look at me with a giant box in his hands. “They broke up? And are still going to live together?”
I finish labeling the box of his belongings I just packed up and drag a strip of packing tape across the top. “Yep. They already signed a six-month lease, and it’s in the contract that they can’t sublet. Neither can afford to pay rent on two different places. Not to mention, they were both out of other living options to begin with. So, they’re kind of stuck.”
Carter shakes his head. “And you thought our situation was weird.”
I snort. “Yeah, I think having to live with your ex, whom you’d only been dating for less than a month, sort of takes the cake.”
I grab another stack of newspapers and open the next kitchen cabinet of glassware to wrap up.
“Did Harper say why they broke up?”
“Just that they had some sort of disagreement and it wasn’t going to work out.” I think back to the night she told all of us at Gretchen’s loft…as well as the conversation the three of us had once Harper passed out after we got her good and drunk. “Quinn’s pretty sure it had something to do with Shae.”
“Shae as in, Harper’s friend that none of you like?”
I nod. “I don’t know the whole story, but I think he told Harper he didn’t like Shae or that she was a bad friend or something. He’s got my respect for that, but he clearly didn’t understand how touchy Harper gets with the Shae subject. From what I’ve gathered, she didn’t appreciate his opinion, took it personally and all that, they argued, and then broke up.”
“And now they’re forced to live in the same house together for the next six months.” Carter chuckles. “That’s messed up. Have you even met him?”
“No, but I’m sure I will soon enough. Although, Harper might not want me to. The more I hear, the bigger fan of his I’m becoming.”
Carter’s arms suddenly wrap around me from behind. “Not sure how I should interpret that.”
I pat his arm in a placating gesture. “Oh, darlin’. You know you’re the only man for me.”
“I’ll never get tired of hearing it, though.”
I melt back into his embrace. “Fair warning, you might have to represent Harper if she ends up murdering him.”
“There’s no judge in this country who’d believe it wasn’t premeditated.”
I laugh. “Good point.”
With a playful growl, he pulls me off the stepstool I’m standing on. I slap at his hands just before he deposits me onto the kitchen island. With a purposeful step between my spread legs and a grin to match, he snakes his arms around my waist and lowers his mouth to my neck.
“Hey, Daddy and Rachelle will be here any minute,” I remind him. “After the foot you guys started off on, you really don’t want him to walk in on you fucking his daughter in his new kitchen.”
His forehead drops onto my shoulder with a stifled groan. “Good God, woman. You really know how to make a guy’s balls shrivel up, don’t you?”
“It’s one of my talents.”
“If you didn’t want me hard all day long, then why did you wear these goddamn tight pants?” he whines, pulling at said yoga pants.
I pat his respective tight tooshie that’s covered by a pair of low-sitting athletic shorts. Yeah, no one can say this man still hasn’t got it. “Toughen up, old man. You’ve got another whole day of this tomorrow.”
Now, his groan is filled with pain. “And remind me again why we all decided to move on the same damn weekend.”
“Harper has to be out of her current apartment by Monday.” We’re helping her move all of her stuff into her new place tomorrow—or, as she now likes to call it, the seventh circle of hell. “And you wanted to be completely moved into Rice Hope before you start your new court case this week.”
And I’ll pretty much be moving in with him.
It’s mostly been an informal decision, but we all knew it was an inevitable one. I’ve at least pretended that it’s been a gradual thing. Even if it’s so far from it. Not enough time has passed for anything to be gradual between us.
“But I think Daddy chose to move most of their stuff in here today just to mess with you,” I add with a smile.
With another feral growl, Carter starts back in on my neck, using more of his teeth this time.
His and Daddy’s relationship has actually mellowed into an adorable shit-giving exchange kind of thing. They’ll talk crap about each other in a way that drips with sarcasm, acting like they still don’t really like one another when we all know they do. Then they’ll go off and have a couple of beers together while continuing to rib on each other.
It’s really kind of sweet, even though I know it was super weird for Daddy in the beginning.
“If Rachelle wasn’t so excited to move in, I’d tell your dad to hold his damn horses,” Carter grumbles against my skin.
I’m glad he can’t see my grin.
Sure you would, darlin’.
I run my hands through his hair, feeling the stirrings of arousal coming to life inside me. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You won’t miss the place? The mansion has been in your family for decades.”
Carter raises his head, not a single hint of doubt on his face. “And now it will be in yours, which will technically be mine soon enough.”
My next breath freezes in my throat.
It’s the closet he’s allowed himself to come to mentioning a proposal, I suspect so as not to freak me out. I know he’s more than ready for marriage—he hasn’t had the same kind of hang-ups to overcome like me. I just want a little more time for everything to settle before I take vows for the second time.
“Well, you know I have to reward you for that comment, right?”
He smiles in satisfaction. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
He’s literally pulling out of me and helping me yank my pants back up when the front door opens and Daddy’s voice echoes through the house.
Just before sauntering off, Carter leans in to whisper in my ear, “How’s that for an old man?”
I tilt my head as I appraise the sight of that tight, fine ass walking away and feel the twinges of a pleasant soreness between my thighs.
Not bad, Counselor. Not bad at all.
One year later
Yesterday was one of the best days of my life.
And today is sure to be even better.
“What if she doesn’t like it?” I ask Carter anxiously as we trudge along the path toward Hattie’s house.
He scoffs. “That might be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard you say.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re saying I’ve said a lot of them?”
He quickly looks away, his fingers fidgeting against his pants. “I plead the fifth.”
“Did you just throw courtroom jargon at me?” I can’t hide my grin any longer. “You know that’s against the rules.”
“I never officially agreed to that rule,” he points out.
“Then you just perjured yourself because you most certainly did.”
“Hey, I just proposed yester
day. Don’t I get a pass for a while? A grace period or something?”
I glance down at the sparkling two-carat diamond and sigh. I actually can’t believe he held on as long as he did. Honestly, I’d been getting a little impatient for him to finally pop the question.
“I suppose I’ll let this one go for now.”
I graduated with my master’s degree yesterday. I’d thought the day couldn’t have gotten any better after walking across that stage and shaking hands with the dean…until Carter brought me out to the plantation and got down on one knee in the gardens.
Then the day had turned straight-up magical.
We’re celebrating the engagement with Gretchen, Harper, Quinn, and all their guys tonight—karaoke, of course—but we have to make a pitstop at Hattie’s first. To show her my new bling, yes, but to also finally share what I’ve been doggedly working on for the past year.
I clutch the spiral-bound book closer to my chest, squeezing it like a mother would hold her precious child.
Because for the last year, this has been my baby.
My master’s thesis.
An ethnohistorical account of the life of a black migrant plantation worker in the deep South from 1935 to 1985, titled “The Caretaker’s Friend.”
The field of ethnohistory allowed me to combine my two favorite disciplines—anthropology and history—in order to tell Seymour Harrington’s story in a way that was based on both fact and personal narrative. I’ve spent hours upon hours over the past twelve months pouring over Hattie’s daddy’s journals, interviewing her, and transferring all of that into a comprehensive document written in my own words.
I’m nervous as hell to show her the finished product.
I know that what I have in my hands is special and deserves to be shared with the world. But this is Hattie’s story, too. This is part of her life. And if she isn’t happy with it, I’ll never be able to be proud of it. Even though my advisor flipped over it so much, he’s been in contact with a publisher to get it in print—which would be amazing—I’ll never go through with it without Hattie’s approval and blessing.
The Divorce Attorney Page 18
