Chapter Twenty

L ayne set aside her hairbrush, her gaze glued to her reflection in the mirror. To the stitches on her face.

She listened for Carson in the adjoining bedroom. When she heard him moving around, she walked over to the cracked door and quietly pushed it shut another few inches.

Each time he caught her examining the fresh row of stitches on her face, he got upset. He tried to distract her from looking at it for too long, telling her it would heal and then practically dragging her away from the mirror.

But the injury was part of her now. Sure, it would heal. So would her wounded psyche. She knew that shoving it down, masking it with a pretty smile, wasn't going to help her.

Only a week had passed, but she was determined to deal with the aftermath as soon as possible. She had wasted enough of her life believing things that weren't right at all.

Leaning close to the mirror, she examined the row of neat stitches. The edges of the wound were still red and raised, but they were healing fast. Soon her appearance would be back to normal. She was going to make sure her inside matched.

Brushing her fingers alongside the gash, she shifted her stare to her own eyes and jolted when she saw Carson standing behind her.

In the mirror, his stare met hers. The tension around his hard lips made her pivot to face him.

He brought his hands down on the vanity behind her, trapping her between the marble and his chiseled body.

She slipped her hands up to cup his jaw. "It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

He issued a low noise. "Doll, you are beautiful. And you will heal."

"I don't mean how I look. You really don't want me to think about it, do you?"

He took her by the hand and drew her out of the bathroom to the bed they'd shared since he brought her to his home. Once she sank to the edge, he dragged her down. Lying on their sides, facing each other, his gaze roamed over her face. The gray depths burned with love.

"I've seen what happens when a person is taken against their will, Layne. I've lived it." His quiet tone sent ripples down her spine.

"I know you've seen and done a lot more than I have. I can't even imagine what you've gone through. What your brothers have gone through."

"This isn't a competition, doll. I just know how difficult it can be to move past something like you survived. I want you to know there are good counselors here—great ones, actually. You have your pick. Your care will take priority."

She shook her head, stunned by the gesture but also against it. "I will speak to somebody, I promise. But I won't edge out a veteran in the Black Heart program to do it."

He brushed his lips across her forehead in a tender gesture that sent sparks of warmth into her heart.

"Carson. There's something else I want."

He leaned away. "Anything. Name it."

"I want to go to Golden Horizon."

He studied her. "You're sure?"

"Yes. It's safe now. And the ranch is my home—well, technically my second home. But you know that Wyoming has always been where I feel most at ease. Most like myself."

She couldn't interpret his expression, but she saw some strong emotion in it.

"Will you take me back today?"

"Of course. Tell me when you're ready."

"Now."

He nodded, then sat up, pulling her up with him. As if galvanized by an order, he set off across the room to grab his boots. "Do we take Faye with us?"

"Not yet. I'll go first and see how I feel about things."

"Meaning you don't know whether or not you want to stay there."

Biting down on her bottom lip, she nodded. Then she moved to him, placing her palms on his sculpted chest. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the steady thump of his heart.

"And I want to read the rest of your letters."

His mouth tightened.

"Whatever I read, it won't change my mind about you. About us. You know that, right?"

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her flush against him. Dipping his head, he claimed her mouth. The brush of his lips across hers drew a moan from her throat. She leaned into him, taking, giving, tongue swirling in a dance of pent-up passion.

When he flipped his tongue over hers, making the kiss slow, thorough, her heart hitched in a new rhythm. She loved this man with everything inside her. She always had. And always would.

As she withdrew, she searched his eyes. "I'm ready when you are."

He walked his fingers down her arm to clasp her hand. "Let's go."

During the short drive to her family ranch, neither one of them spoke. Their entwined fingers seemed to be all the language they needed. As long as they were touching, no communication was necessary.

As they rolled through the gates marked by stacked stone columns bearing the family crest on each, she stared at the car in the driveway.

Carson withdrew his hand from hers and went for his weapon.

Clutching his arm, she stayed him before he could pull it away from the spot where he tucked it against his spine. "It could be my father."

He shot her a glance. "A rental car?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to run the plate before we go any closer."

He took out his phone and punched in the license plate number. After seconds, he nodded. "It's a rental. Stay in the car. Lock the doors. I'm going to check it out."

After all that happened, she trusted Carson. She didn't question his orders and did as he asked by locking the doors. She tracked his every step to the front door.

When he knocked and the door opened, she held her breath.

She couldn't make out who answered, but Carson's shoulders relaxed. He spoke to the person, who popped his head out.

As soon as she spotted her father's head of silver hair, she let out a small cry. Before she could think about the changes he'd see plain on her face, she shoved open the door and jumped out.

Seeing her, he stepped onto the porch, and she briskly made her way to him. Part of her was relieved that she was here to greet him. Part of her was still ticked as hell about him blocking her from Carson.

But if the past couple weeks had taught her anything, it was that life was short. She could have died at the hands of her stalker, and things would be much different for her father and Carson.

Nearing the porch, she slowed her steps. Her father's eyes widened as he saw her face.

"Layne! What the hell happened?" He jerked his head to the side, shooting Carson an unmistakable glare.

"Hi, Dad." She mounted the stairs slowly, giving him time to recover.

Sputtering, he moved toward her and clasped her by the upper arms, staring at her face.

She tried for a smile. It was difficult when she kept seeing the bundles of letters Faye pulled out of the place where she'd hidden them away for so many years. She could be upset with her housekeeper too, for not telling her sooner. But propriety had kept Faye silent until the time when she no longer could be.

"Why are you here, Dad? I didn't expect you."

"I called. You never answered."

Her hand fluttered up, and she gestured to her face. "I had an accident." She sliced her gaze to Carson. An unspoken request in that look.

Don't tell him a thing.

Carson gave her the faintest nod in return.

"Are you going to tell me what happened to you?" her father demanded.

She held back a sigh. "Let's go inside and sit down so we can talk."

The house that always felt so cozy now felt shadowed. Even though all the blinds and curtains were open and sunlight streamed in, and there was a beautiful vista through every pane of glass overlooking the ranch, it felt darkened by the events that took place here.

"Do you know where Faye's at? She isn't answering her phone either." Her dad led the way to the living room and took up his favorite armchair, leaving the sofa for her and Carson.

When they sat down close, touching from shoulders to thighs, a ruddy flush crept up her father's neck through the open collar of his polo shirt.

Carson reached for her hand, and she twined her fingers with his, staring straight at her father as she staked her claim on the man she loved.

"Faye is at the Malones' ranch. She and I have been staying there since my accident," Layne began.

Concern replaced the annoyance in his expression. "What kind of accident, honey? What happened?"

"I tripped on something in the barn and fell. I hit my head. I have a concussion, but I'm feeling much better now. And my face is healing."

Her father spread his hands. "I'm relieved to hear that, but why didn't you call me?" He pinned his stare on Carson. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Layne told me she'd handle it. She's a grown woman who can make her own choices." He didn't look tense. His tone came out calm and even. Layne knew Carson was masking his anger, most likely for her benefit.

She lightly pressed on his fingers, and he squeezed hers in return.

Her father looked between them. "I see that you've found each other again."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a mixture of sadness and anger at what her father had done. The other part of her—the one that had spent hours tied to a bed imprisoned by her stalker—was happy that she was getting a chance to see her father again.

If she'd learned anything, it was that time could heal wounds, not to mention talking things through.

Before she could say any of this, Carson's voice gritted over her senses. "You better make things right with her."

That redness crawled into her father's cheeks.

"I know about the letters, Dad. You never gave Carson a chance. You should have. You made a big mistake."

"Layne."

Carson tightened his hold on her hand. "We lost so much time. But I plan to make up for it every day of my life."

She met her father's gaze. His eyes were hazel too, though a bit more brown than the green that was prominent in hers. "He's a good guy, Dad. That's what you should want for me. Not money. Not status. You need to accept Carson if you want me—and future grandkids—in your life."

His eyes widened, his silver brows shooting high.

She had one more condition to add. "Or if you want me to stay in the family business."

Her father's throat moved in a hard swallow. Clearly, her being with Carson was a little difficult for him to digest.

She waited for him to make up his mind about what she said. After a few long heartbeats, he nodded.

"I apologize to you both. I clearly made a mistake. But you have to know I was doing what I believed was best for you at the time, Layne. You were so young."

She met Carson's gaze. The anger he harbored for her father faded as the man she loved looked at her, and the depths of his eyes glowed with love.

"When it comes to true love, time doesn't seem to matter."

His eyes softened, then he drew her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. "I'm lucky to have a second chance with your daughter, Mr. London. I'm going to make her very, very happy."

* * * * *

Carson pressed a soft kiss to Layne's forehead. She snuggled closer to him, her bare breasts rubbing in a tantalizing way against his chest.

"Do that again and we'll never leave this bed."

"Good." A smile sounded in her voice.

He traced a path down her spine to the curve of her buttocks. Then he slipped it lower to her thigh where she had it slung across his hip. God, he wanted to spread her legs again and plunge into her tight, clenching heat though only seconds ago, he'd finished doing just that.

"I don't think my father is going to be an issue. Not that I'd ever let him come between us. If I had suspected back then, I never would have stood for it."

"I love that you're willing to fight for us."

She studied his face. "Something is going on in your mind, something you're not telling me."

After all they'd been through, figuring out the logistics of staying together seemed insignificant.

She ruffled her fingers through his thick hair. "What is bothering you, love?"

At the endearment, his eyes softened and so did the tense line of his jaw. "We still have some things to discuss."

She pushed onto one elbow to stare down at him. Her long hair tumbled across her naked shoulder and skimmed the top of her breast. "What things?"

"Well, we both have businesses. Careers. Neither of us is willing to walk away from that."

She tilted her head, contemplating him. "There is a way to be together, Carson."

"Of course there is, doll. But one of us will have to make a sacrifice."

She bit down on her bottom lip. The flesh plumped around her white teeth. "Even though I practically grew up in New York City, I've always felt like Wyoming is home."

Showcased in those beautiful eyes, thoughts flitted across her mind like wispy clouds scudding across the sky.

"What are you saying, Layne?"

"Technology has made everything so much easier from a business standpoint. I can negotiate by email and video calls. I can even verify that art and antiques are authentic with a few downloads and clicks. I think…that I would be perfectly happy staying in Wyoming, Carson. With you."

His chest tightened with emotion. "You're willing to do that?"

"My business is more flexible than yours is. Plus, I told you, Wyoming is home. You are my home now. Wherever you are, I want to be." She curled close to him, hand around his nape, pulling him closer.

"Christ, Layne. I love you so damn much. Come here." Using his knuckle, he tipped her head up to claim her lips.

After decades of separation—and damn near losing her to her stalker—he had her back in his arms.

Where she belonged.

Their lips melded in a slow, thorough kiss that left her moaning. Sliding his hand to her breast, he stroked her nipple in a lazy circle. She gasped and deepened the kiss, rolling on top of him. Their gazes locked, and in one perfect move, he joined with her.

The pleasure stretched on and on between them until she collapsed onto his chest, shaking and spent, and he had filled her a second time.

With her sweet weight on him, and her head tucked beneath his chin, they drifted off into an easy sleep that didn't last long. He came awake with a jolt.

Layne wasn't in bed with him.

For a moment, panic gripped his heart in a black, evil fist.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his weapon, an extension of him.

He took two steps toward the door before he realized that she was safe. Her stalker was behind bars and he wouldn't see freedom in his lifetime.

Carson knew where Layne had to be.

In her study reading the letters.

After yanking on his jeans, he tucked the weapon in the waistband along his spine and went in search of his lover.

The ranch was silent. As he moved through the corridor, the shadowy outlines of the paintings guided the way. On the opposite end of the house, her father slept in the master bedroom. While Mr. London and his daughter had embraced after their talk, Carson still didn't feel very warm toward the man who had kept Layne out of his life for so many years. But she seemed happy with the outcome, and that was all that mattered.

When he approached Layne's study, he realized that his nickname of Ghost wasn't helping him in this situation. He let his feet fall more heavily on the hardwood floor to let her know he was there. Though she was being so strong in the aftermath of her kidnapping, she was far from healed from it, physically or mentally. The scar on her face might heal into a line too faint to easily see…but the ones she would bear on the inside would take more time to scab over.

Through the open door of her study, a golden light shone into the hall, creating a rectangular patch on the floor. He stepped into it and peered into the room.

She sat at her desk, a sheet of paper in her hand. A thick stack of ones she'd read sat at her left elbow.

How long had he been asleep without knowing that she left the bed? She must have read quickly.

As he looked on, she sniffled and brought a wadded tissue to dab at her eyes.

The pang of pain went straight to his heart. For a moment, he stood frozen, wondering whether or not to interrupt, to take her into his arms and soothe away the words that he knew must be growing harsh with each passing day that she hadn't replied to any of his letters.

Suddenly, she issued a tearful laugh at whatever he'd written and then set aside the letter. Without looking up at him in the doorway, she said, "It's okay, Carson. You can go back to bed. I'm just going to finish reading."

"Come to bed as soon as you're done. I don't want you to be alone with this."

"Like you were."

Across the space, their eyes met. Hers were still wet with tears.

"You didn't know. Neither of us can blame the other anymore."

She shook her head. "We definitely won't be naming a son after my father."

A surprised chuckle burst past his lips. "He lost that privilege."

"Absolutely." She threw him a soft smile, her heart in her eyes.

When he turned away from the door, his heart felt lighter despite knowing that the woman he loved was in the throes of painful emotions. She had to get through those letters. And after she did, he would be waiting for her, his arms wide open and a promise of love on his lips.