Chapter Six

T he bathroom fogged with steam, but it was nothing compared to the fog in Carson's head.

Standing directly under the hot spray of the shower, he gathered his scattered wits. That wasn't easy when they'd been flung to the four corners of the earth by a beautiful little vixen who'd rocked his goddamn world.

He blamed the miniskirt. If she'd been wearing pants, she never would have been able to wiggle out of her panties and toss them at him.

He dragged in a deep breath and focused on releasing it slowly. The calming technique the military vets used in the Black Heart Lodge didn't work at all.

Bracing a hand on the wall, he bowed his head, letting the water sluice over his neck and shoulders.

What happened between them was the result of pure carnal lust.

Instead of right or wrong, it was right or fuck. There were no losers, only winners. At least in the game of pleasure.

His cock was still half stiff, his balls throbbing again at the thought of her sweet pussy squeezing his length.

Sex between them was good…but there was so much baggage.

He raised his head, letting the water wash over his face. He always wanted to be with Layne again, but this was different. Their past encounters were filled with awkward tenderness and love.

This was passion…and rage.

They'd hurt each other. He believed she ignored his attempts to contact her, had walked out on him.

She never received any of his letters. No wonder she was so fucking mad.

Touching her again, being inside her, left him with endless questions. Most of them felt like trash heaped inside the dumpster of his mind, useless and covered in filth.

It was too late for them. He was too dark. Too different. Now they didn't have a chance.

Maybe staying on this case was impossible. Being in close proximity to Layne kept him straddling the edge between desire and anger every single moment. If he stayed here at Golden Horizon with her, chances were he'd drag her into his bed again.

And again.

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 in that way—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.

She began looking through the postmarks. After going through hundreds of letters, she was quick to read the dates and put them into chronological order.

After she was finished sorting them into stacks, which she spread out on the desk in her study, she stood back. Tears blurred her vision, and she brought a fist to her lips.

God. So many letters. Endless words telling her about Carson's life…about his feelings.

He'd begun writing as soon as he entered boot camp and ended two years later, give or take a few days.

For two years, the man held out hope for them.

And she'd shattered it without ever knowing.

Pain sliced her up, leaving behind a sting in her heart that she couldn't shake as she picked up the very first letter.

Before she ever read a word, Carson's voice jolted her into the present.

"Where did these come from?" He sounded like he was choking.

She whirled, letter fluttering in her hand.

Other than the corners of his eyes flattening in a wince, he stood as frozen as the mountain itself. Unmoving granite.

"Daddy took the letters you wrote to me and threw them away. Faye rescued them from the trash and saved them all this time."

For a split second, she thought she detected a spark of anger in his steely gray eyes before he masked it.

She shook her head. "I had no idea my father would go to such lengths to keep me away from you." She sliced her fingers through her hair. "I'm so angry with him…I don't even know what to say. I need some time to think on it."

He took a step toward the desk. Toward her.

"Nobody's father likes me. Hell, even my own didn't."

Her throat worked to shove down the lump lodged there. "And mine managed to get everything he wanted by breaking my heart."

Silence hung between them. Her admission held an edge of the pain that still lingered two decades later.

He leaned against the desk as if settling in for a conversation. "I remember that time your father wouldn't let me take you to the county fair."

At his words, the memory unlocked in her mind. "I was so upset."

He nodded. "You cried."

And he'd comforted her with soft words over the phone. "I remember your father kicked you out of the house. You slept in the yard for half the summer."

He grunted. "My old man was a piece of work. I'd say he never should have reproduced, but then I wouldn't be standing here."

"You have your brothers and sister too. I can attest that it sucks being an only child."

They fell into silence again, commiserating over their daddy issues.

Thing was, Layne didn't dislike her father. He'd raised her singlehandedly after her mother chose a new life. He took her on all his business trips, touring Europe and giving her the best nannies and education.

"The problem with being an only child is there's no escaping the spotlight. Or the hot seat. I couldn't even blame the family dog for spilled glasses of milk or dirt tracked into the house because we didn't have one of those either."

He made a small noise of amusement. Then his gaze swept over the desk again, over all the letters neatly stacked in piles separated by months and years.

The rush of deep feelings hit her. To keep from throwing herself at Carson again, she gripped the edge of the desk, fingers whitening with the effort to hold on.

Did these feelings belong to the past or now? She couldn't say.

"I want to read these. I'd like to be alone for a while."

His stare flashed to hers. A heartbeat stretched between them.

Finally, he nodded. "I'm going to walk the perimeter. Make sure everything is secure."

When he left the study, Layne's shaky legs gave out, and she dropped heavily to her desk chair. Her eyes blurred with more tears as she contemplated the words she'd find in those letters.

At the beginning, the letters would probably be filled with love, hopes and dreams. She dreaded reading the last.

With a trembling hand, she picked up the first letter and slit it with a silver envelope opener bearing her initials. The pages she pulled out smelled old and inky.

Her first glimpse of Carson's scrawled penmanship gave her a sharp pain in her stomach that morphed into a knot of emotion as she began to read.

Dear Layne,

I've started this letter three times now, but each time I crumpled it up, unsure of what to say. By now you know that I didn't come to Wyoming. My brothers will have delivered the message as to why I didn't come. You don't know how horrible I felt when my Navy contact called and gave me orders to board a plane that very night.

I didn't get time to call you or write then. I threw my things into a duffel bag and Oaks drove me to the airport.

I was looking forward to all those warm summer days with you. And the summer nights too.

Here, the paper was slightly crumpled on the edge, as if Carson's fingers had convulsed on the page, prepared to crush his letter in his fist and toss it into the trash.

But he went on, recounting the physical toll of boot camp and lamenting about the quality of the food.

The closing made Layne's heart grip in the same exact twinge she'd experienced the first time she realized that she loved him.

I dream of you, my love. When I get back home, I'm going to make you my bride.

All my love,

Carson

aka Pookie

A tearful laugh burst out of her at the silly nickname she'd once called him as a joke. She bowed her head over the letter. Oh, the feels. Every cell in her body was feeling something completely different, creating a riot inside her.

Or a mutiny.

Had she ever truly stopped loving him? Did anyone ever truly stop loving their first love?

If only things had been different.

She turned her head toward the window. She couldn't see outside through the drawn blinds. But she knew Carson was out there, walking the ranch to ensure she was safe.

If his letter hadn't already cracked open that door of her heart…knowing that he was willing to protect her with his own life blasted it wide open.