Page 25 of Guarded Hearts

Fuck.

He scrubbed both hands over his head. Water droplets struck the expensive tile wall with a light smacking noise.

He should get one of his brothers to take over with Layne. Not inthatway—he’d rip their throats out himself if any of them ever laid a hand on her. His brothers who helped him run Black Heart Security were trained by the United States military, then by Carson himself. They could protect Layne.

Decision made, he switched off the shower and stepped around the glass half wall onto a plush mat. The towel he grabbed was thick and luxurious. Nothing but the best for the London family.

All these years, he’d bought into the belief that Layne finally saw him for what he was. A Malone. Rough and rowdy, with no mother and a drunk father. A couple of his brothers even had run-ins with the law in their early years.

Carson rubbed the water from his skin and tried to reconfigure the order of his thoughts he believed were laid to rest in a bed of cement.

The thought that Layne didn’t want him anymore.

It had been a misunderstanding. One they bridged with their bodies…but could either of them ever let the rest go? Could they move forward? Together?

Hell, if they could just get a little resolution to heal—then put it all behind them—he couldn’t ask for more.

As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he went on high alert, throwing out his hearing like he did on the field of battle.

Like he did in that fucking bunker where he spent nine months as prisoner.

He’d sworn never to speak of it—ever. Yet Layne made his control slip, and he’d told her. He didn’t have any plans to ever discuss the topic again.

When he heard nothing to make him grab his weapon and spring into action, he crossed the hardwood floor to his duffel bag, open on a chair in the corner of the guest room.

After yanking on a fresh set of boxer briefs, jeans that were worn to the perfect softness and a Black Heart Lodge T-shirt, he picked up his phone.

He brought up Oaks’s contact. In the photo, his brother was on horseback, silhouetted by the mountain range. Carson had snapped it when they packed into the mountains for a week’s respite.

Following the torture he’d endured, he needed to commune with nature. And Oaks proved to be the companion he needed. Drama-free. Bullshit-free.

Question-free.

He shot Oaks a text.

I need you to take over here for me.

His brother responded seconds later.Layne’s hot. Sure, I’ll do it.

A growl built in his throat, trapped behind his bared teeth.

Nope. I’ll stay. Never mind.

Oaks sent back a grinning face and a thumbs up.

Carson snorted. “Asshole.”

He pocketed his phone and put on his worn black cowboy boots. The Londons’ ranch security had room for improvement. It didn’t matter what happened between him and Layne—now or then.

He had a job to do. Protect her. And find her stalker.

* * * * *

Layne didn’t remember ever feeling all these small twinges in her muscles, or the sensitive spots on her skin where Carson’s beard had scraped across it.

He’d learned a few tricks since they were last together.

With a flutter in her stomach, she picked up the final stack of letters. The thick wedge looked like it had been through at least one world war from the state of the envelopes. Some were streaked with dirt. Others discolored from age. They bore various stamps from foreign lands.

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