Page 13 of Guarded Hearts

Seconds later, it rang again.

He avoided looking at her. “You can talk to your boyfriend in front of me.”

She issued a sound in the back of her throat. “I told you I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s my father.”

He cocked a brow. “Let me handle this.”

He took the phone from her and brought it to his ear. “Hello, Mr. London. This is Carson Malone.”

Leaning back in the seat, he trained his gaze on Layne’s face. Her eyes flickered with agitation but also interest as her father started to chat with him.

“My family is doing fine. Yes, we’re all at the Wyoming ranch now. We sold out in Texas.”

Layne made slicing motions with her hands. “Don’t tell him about the stalker!” she hissed.

He gave her the faintest of nods while chatting about the latest season of fly fishing in the region. “My brother, Oaks, and I went out every Saturday we could. Caught our limit each day. Yup. You’ll have to make it here next spring.”

Layne started pacing, whipping back and forth. Every time she rotated, Carson took notes on her ass. Size—big enough for his hands. Shape—perfectly round.

When she whirled again, the tumble of dark hair over her shoulder and her breasts that were front and center in those beach pics had him aching hard again.

She came to an abrupt stop and whipped out her hand for the phone.

“Here’s Layne.”

She yanked the phone out of his hand. “Dad? Yes, I did place the call to Santorini. Yes, we discussed the estate. I haven’t heard from him in two days. Of course I’m answering emails and texts.”

At mention of the texts, her stare slid to Carson. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

After she ended the call, Carson started toward the front door. Layne rushed after him, moving faster to account for his long strides. She caught up to him in the foyer.

Under the big chandelier comprised of crystals, the worry lines around her eyes were accentuated. “Are you leaving?”

At the wisp of fear in her voice, he swung back to her. Damn his heart for flexing.

“No, Layne. I’m just getting my bag from my vehicle.”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Why do you need your bag?”

“Private security means I’m not leaving.”

* * * * *

Not only was Carson staying in the house, but he took the room right next to Layne’s. As if she wasn’t uncomfortable enough.

Every noise in the ranch seemed amplified to her snapping senses. With him going to sleep in the next room, she was a thousand times more aware of every noise she made too. She never snored, but what if she did tonight?

Unable to sit still, she got out of bed and moved to the window. Since she came to Wyoming for love of the views, she never closed her curtains. She loved waking with the sun on her face and enjoyed falling asleep by the glow of the moon. Now she looked at the window with a jaded eye.

Someone had trespassed on their land and snapped a photo of her most private space. This would never happen in her Manhattan condo. Let the stalker justtrygetting to the thirtieth floor.

Edging up to the window, she peeked out into the night. When her gaze fell over a darkened figure of a man, a screamjammed in her throat. Her hand flew to her chest, and she breathed hard and fast.

Then the man turned.

It was Carson.

She didn’t know whether to scream in frustration or wilt with relief. Was it usual for a bodyguard to hang out under his client’s window? His lips moved, and she realized he was talking on the phone.

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