Author's Notes: Thanks SO much for all the great reviews, everyone! I haven't written anything in ages, so I am a bit rusty. Hope you enjoy this latest chapter – even though it's a short one. Not sure if I want to continue on with this story or start a new one. Let me know what you think!

Peter was expecting her flat to reek of booze when he arrived, but it was the unexpected smell of paint fumes that greeted him instead.

When Carla had first opened the door, Peter couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked ridiculously adorable stood there, hair pulled away from her face in a messy ponytail. There was a smudge of purple paint on her left cheek and she wore a pair of tight black leggings with an oversized white t-shirt hanging loosely off one shoulder.

How did she manage to look both dangerous and vulnerable at the same time?

Eventually, Peter managed to tear his gaze away from her long enough to notice what was going on around him.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, glancing around the room in utter disbelief. Carla's home always looked immaculately put together - like something out of a magazine. But in its current state, it appeared as though a bomb had hit. All of her furniture had been pushed to one side of the room, decretive pillows and designer lamps piled high atop her couch. There was an expensive looking duvet spread out across the floor - a makeshift paint tarp he assumed. And gone was the vibrant red and black wallpaper that used to adorn the walls - replaced by a fresh coat of mauve coloured paint.

"Redecorating," Carla explained with a shrug of her shoulders, a sad smile crossing her lips. "I needed a change. Too many bad memories in this flat."

That was an understatement.

"What brought on all this?" He questioned, watching as she climbed up onto a barstool and continued painting. "Last I heard, you were headed to The Rovers."

"I changed me mind," She admitted and Peter was beyond relieved to learn she hadn't been drinking. "We women tend to do that from time to time, ya know."

"Oh, do I ever." He chuckled, moving to stand beside Carla - ready to catch her if she fell. "Do you need a hand?"

"Is that why you came over here - to help me paint?" Carla asked, glancing down at him as she stretched out to reach the top part of the wall – nearly losing her balance in the process.

"Careful now." Peter warned, placing his hands on Carla's waist to keep her from falling. Her shirt had risen up a bit, which meant he was currently stood there with his hands on her bare skin.

She was so incredibly soft, Peter couldn't help himself – his willpower as nonexistent now as it was whenever he came tumbling off the proverbial wagon. But this was worse than the booze, more powerful than any addiction he'd ever dealt with in the past.

Carla Connor would be the death of him, but what a way to go.

"You're distracting me." She sighed, her voice an octave lower than normal – his touch was obviously having an effect on her.

"Now you know how I feel." Peter replied, his gaze fixated on her as he continued gently stroking her abdomen.

"What are you on about?" She asked, dropping her paint roller to the floor as she turned round to face him.

"You wanna talk about distraction," Peter said, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her down off the barstool. She was pressed up against him, so close he could feel her breath against his cheek. "I can't stop thinking about you," he confessed, rubbing his nose against her's – their lips nearly touching. "Can't stop meself from wondering what you're doing, how you're feeling…"

"I'm feeling like I should tell you to go home to your wife." Carla declared, but she didn't move away.

"Is that what you want?" He asked, lightly tracing circles on the small of her back with the pad of his thumb – smiling when he felt a shiver run down her spine.

"It doesn't matter what I want." She argued as she placed her hands against his chest. Peter wondered if she were going to push him away, or pull him closer?

"It matters to me," He whispered, his lips grazing her's as he spoke. "It's all the matters to me anymore."

"What about Leanne?" Carla asked tentatively, almost as though she were afraid of what he was going to say next. Peter decided to be completely honest with her, as well as himself.

"I don't want to hurt her," He admitted, guilt evident in the tone of his voice. "But I will if I keep up with this charade any longer."

"What are you saying, Peter?" Carla asked, needing him to spell it out for her.

"It's you," He said simply, reaching up to stroke her cheek as he gazed at her in adoration. "It's you I want to be with, Carla. Not Leanne."

"Are you sure?" She asked, still unwilling to let herself truly believe what he was saying. "Cuz if the two of you have had a row and this is just your way of getting back at her…"

"I would never use you like that and you know it." Peter hissed, dismissing her concerns. "If this was just about lust, I would've given in ages ago."

"Oh, really?" She grinned cheekily and he couldn't help but smile in return.

"In a bloody heartbeat." He answered truthfully. "But you mean so much more to me than that, Carla. And as badly as I want to ravage you right here and now, I would consider myself the luckiest bloke in the world if you'd just let me hold you tonight."

As much as they both wanted to finally give into temptation – Peter knew it was too soon. He didn't want to risk their first time together being ruined by memories of Frank and what that bastard had done to her. Peter was prepared to take things slow. As far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world because he definitely didn't plan on going anywhere.

Without uttering another word, Carla took Peter by the hand and led him into her bedroom.