He’s a weapon. A Princess-Cut onyx. Deadly. Limitless. Vicious. Honed from years spent training with Dante Carrow: the man my father always dreamt of busting... the man who’s proved too many times that he’s untouchable.
And Carter’s his right-hand man.
“It’s all Layla’s,” he says, watching me open the closet.
“Who’sLayla?”
A ghost of a smirk curls his full lips. “My boss’s wife.”
Oh... I turn back around, jealousy ebbing away. I scan the countless outfits meticulously organized by color. “Your boss is Dante Carrow, correct?”
“Yes. Most of these clothes have never been worn. Layla said you can use whatever you want until your clothes arrive.”
“Tell herthank you.” I spin on my heel, one eyebrow raised. “Myclothes? What do you mean?”
“Layla’s stylist is assembling you a new closet.”
I’m about to protest but Carter closes the distance between us, shutting me up with his index finger pressed against my lips.
“I know you wouldn’t mind wearing someone else’s clothes, but I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, and I want you comfortable.” He drops his hand, eyes roving my face, then lower, sweeping my frame. “Come down when you’re ready. There’ll be coffee.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click and I instantly miss him. We’re sleeping under the same roof, but not in the same room, he’s not looking at me, not talking to me...
I shut my eyes, shaking off the loneliness and irrational thoughts, but instead of calming down, I grow more restless. A patchwork of memories and flashbacks plays before my mind. Alex’s cold eyes, empty words, and schedule too busy to accommodate five minutes with me. Dad working late and leaving early.
Even Blaze had better things to do than keep me near him.
Why does everyone always leave?
Rubbing my face with both hands, I wipe the past away and stomp my bare foot. I’ve let everyone push me around for years.
Enough.
With newfound determination, I flip through Layla’s clothes, looking for an outfit Carter might like. If he truly is the same person I met at Lakeside, he should like the same things. Nash loved it when I wore dresses. Or maybe he just loved the easy access to my pussy...
I guess that’ll work in my favor.
Too bad Layla’s wardrobe leans toward the dark side. Reds, navies, emeralds, grays, and lots of black.
The dresses are short, but mostly elegant. A few longer evening gowns hang to the side, the bottom rail filled with jeans, knitwear neatly folded... nothing useful.
Nothing that will break Carter’s resolve.
With a resigned breath I pull out a plausible outfit and lock myself in the bathroom.
20
CARTER
“Smells delicious,” Hailey says, showing up downstairs.
I take her in, my cock bulging against the zipper. She’s in a knitted dress—Layla’s go-to style. Long sleeves and a mid-thigh hem imitate modesty, but it’s fucking erotic how tightly the royal-blue dress encircles her figure. She moves closer, timidly looking around, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling, the scent of her skin wafting the air.
I want her. It’s that fucking simple. I want all of her...
Her lips on mine, her legs around my waist, her pussy choking my cock: the primitive side I crave.
But there’s also a deeper, emotional side I’d give my right arm for. The calm of knowing she’s mine and I’m hers. The bliss I felt at Lakeside... when I wasNashand she loved me.
