Page 11 of Guarded Hearts

“In Paris. I came back from dinner out with a few big art dealers to find a bouquet of roses in my hotel room.”

“What color roses?”

“Red.” She gulped. “There was a card. Unsigned. It implied that we knew each other. I figured it was from a secret admirer.”

“Jesus, Layne. I thought you were smart.”

Her jaw dropped in outrage. “You’re even more insulting than I remember!”

Unfazed by her insult, he pushed on. “Why didn’t you contact the police in Paris?”

“Thank-you gifts are the norm in my industry. You get people to like you by beingnice. Not thatyouwould understand that.”

His flat look came with a scowl heavier than any thunderstorm on the horizon.

Ohhellno. She was not putting up with Carson’s temper tantrum. She had enough experience dealing with them that she knew exactly how to nip it in the hard, chiseled, muscular bud.

“It’s not any big deal to receive gifts like drinks, roses or paintings. Peoplelikeme.I’mnice. And they do nice things in return.”

Chapter Three

Carson walked over to the long leather sofa and held out a hand.

Tilting her face up, Layne gave him a flat stare. “Um…use your words, Carson. What would you like?”

“Your phone. And less attitude.” At one time he would have called Layne a piece of art. Now he’d call her a piece of work.

When she extracted the device from her jeans, she had to lean back against the cushion and give a little hip thrust.

He gritted his teeth. His patience was on a short leash, something that never happened on any of the security jobs—and he dealt with celebrities and rich types often.

But Layne…he wanted to toss her over his knee and teach her a lesson.

Fuck.Now he was hard.

She was sitting at eye level with his fly. And far too damn observant.

“The phone, Layne.”

“Here you go,” she sang out in her sweetest voice while slapping the device into his hand hard enough to sting.

He curled his fingers around it. “Thanks. I’m likeable too, you know.”

She gave a small snort.

Stalking across the room, as far away from her as was prudent, he tried to ignore the fact that the phone was warm from being next to her body. “I’m going to do a quick sweep of the house.”

“The police already did that.”

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I do it better.”

After performing a sweep of the house, he returned to the living room where Layne sat curled up in the corner of the sofa. Looking as beautiful as she did way back when.

He had work to do, starting with checking her phone.

As general protocol, he carried a laptop with him on jobs. He set it up on the antique desk and plugged her phone into it. When her photos came up, he braced himself for what he may see.

She claimed to have no relationship attachments, but everyone lied.

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