Page 36 of Guarded Hearts

“It’s closed for us.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Forus?”

“Yup.” He drove around to the back and parked close enough to the door that he could usher her straight inside with barely a footstep out in the open.

They entered through the staff entrance and were immediately met by the single waitress there to serve them.

“Mr. Malone.” She offered a nod to Layne in greeting but didn’t address her by name if she knew her. “Your table is ready. Right this way.”

The rich scents of basil and garlic filled the air. The single cook he’d allowed to remain in the establishment to prepare their meal was making Layne’s favorite dish, eggplant parmesan.

When she didn’t move to follow the waitress, Carson rested a hand on her lower back to guide her forward. After he told her they were going out, she’d changed into a simple black dress.

He was far too aware of how the cloth hugged her curves. Curves he’d gripped as he plunged inside her twice now.

His gaze swept upward to her nape. She’d twisted her hair in a simple knot on the back of her head and secured it with invisible pins. The sumptuous spot on her neck made his mouth water to kiss it. When he did, he knew exactly how she’d wiggle against him.

As he guided her into the nook where private parties were held, he caught sight of his brother, Oaks, seated at a table in the back of the restaurant. Next to him sat Colt. Both of them had shifted their chairs so their backs were to the wall.

Colt gave him a two-finger salute, and Carson raised his jaw in acknowledgement. When he texted for them to providebackup tonight, they hadn’t complained. They had his six. Always had and always would.

The only brother he ever butted heads with was Gray. At thirty, the asshole thought he had the whole world at his command, though he had a few things to learn. It didn’t help that Gray was damn good at everything he ever tried and each win made him even cockier.

If Gray had come to guard the restaurant, Carson would definitely catch flak from him afterward.

Once he drew out a wooden chair for Layne to slip into, he placed his own back to the wall and swept his stare over the empty restaurant.

The waitress placed glasses of ice water in front of them. “I’ll be right back with your bottle of wine, Mr. Malone.”

Layne’s brows shot up. She met Carson’s stare. “Wine? This sounds like a date.”

He shrugged. “I like the finer things in life.”

“Since when?”

He couldn’t tell her that after their father died, he and his siblings sold the ranch in Texas—and the more desirable rights to the oil and gas on the land—to a big outfit. He and his siblings took the cash pot and split it evenly among them.

He was good at making cash multiply. So much so that he was almost embarrassed by how easy it was to build wealth. Even before the government contracts for the vets’ therapy ranch ever came rolling in, he’d made his first million.

He didn’t answer Layne’s question. Thankfully, the waitress saved him from doing so when she returned with an uncorked bottle of white wine.

She poured two glasses and left them alone.

Layne wrapped her slender fingers around the fragile stem of her glass and brought it to her lips. He did the same, raising it in toast. “To good food.”

“To old friends.”

Her tribute stole the breath from him. To cover his discomposure, he took a sip of wine. “It’s not bourbon, but it’s a good vintage,” he said with a sigh.

She shook her head. “You know wine now?” She glanced around the empty place. “And you’re able to buy out an entire restaurant on a busy Saturday night?”

He leveled a stare at her.

“I’m starting to think you’re much more of a bigwig around here than I thought.”

“People do things when you ask them to.”

“Not for everyone.”

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