“Chad Kyle is from Wichita,” she says, slipping her arms around my waist. She looks up at my hair, then at my face, and sighs. “Do you know how lucky you are to be a man? You all look the same at the end of a shower. Maybe even a little sexier. Showers transform women. Leave us with flat hair, makeup smeared down our cheeks, concealer down the drain.”

She talks like there’s some drastic difference between the Layla I met at the wedding and the Layla standing in front of me right now. If anything, this version of her is better. Naked, arms wrapped around me, covered in water. I like this version of her a lot. I lean forward and kiss her neck, gripping her ass with both hands.

She tilts her head to the side, giving me more access to her neck. “I think I could make a good country girl,” she says. “I’d love to live here. It’s beautiful. I could be happy running a bed and breakfast.”

For a brief second, I forgot what we were even talking about because she has a two-track mind. Luckily one of them is on me. She lets herself fall against the wall of the shower as my hands roam over her body—my lips over her skin.

“I really love it here,” she says quietly. “I like the seclusion. The quiet. No neighbors. Just transient guests I’d never really have to get to know.”

I slide my tongue up her neck and then into her mouth. It’s a deep, short kiss before I pull away. “It’s the heart of the country,” I say. “There’s no better place on earth than right here.”

In this moment, I absolutely mean that. No better place than right here, right now. She pulls my mouth back to hers, and neither of us flinches when someone knocks on the bedroom door. We’re too preoccupied to care.

“Layla!” Aspen yells.

Layla groans at the sound of her voice, but she continues to kiss me while ignoring the knock. The pounding just becomes more incessant. “Layla, open up!”

Layla sighs, and I stop kissing her so she can get out of the shower. She wraps herself in a towel before walking out and closing the bathroom door. I’m left with a painfully hollow feeling in my stomach.

This can’t be how we say goodbye. I just need one more day with her. One more conversation. One more shower. I can already feel the longing that’ll fill me all the way back to Tennessee.

I turn off the water and grab my towel as Layla lets Aspen into the bedroom. I can hear every word when Aspen says, “Did you sleep with the bass player?” Their voices carry straight into the bathroom.

“Who’s asking?” Layla says.

“Me. I’m asking.”

“In that case, yes. Twice. Would have been three times if you hadn’t interrupted us.”

That makes me laugh.

“His band is looking for him. They’re leaving.”

“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Layla says.

I hear the bedroom door open up again; then Aspen says, “Mom knows. She overheard one of them say, ‘He shacked up with the bride’s sister.’”

I freeze at that comment. Why didn’t I think about that? This is a wedding; of course their family is here. Shit. Were we loud last night?

“I’m twenty-two,” Layla says. “I don’t care if Mom knows.”

“Just warning you,” her sister responds. “I’m off to Hawaii. I’ll text you when we land.”

“Have fun, Mrs. Kyle.”

When the bedroom door closes, I immediately open the bathroom door. Layla spins around, and the movement causes her towel to slip. She wraps it back around her as I drag my eyes up the length of her. She is so effortlessly sexy.

I tap my fist against the doorframe. “Let’s stay.” I’m casual about it, but that invite is anything but casual. Those two words are probably the most serious to ever leave my mouth.

“Stay where? Here?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if we can keep the room for another night.”

I like the look on her face—like she’s contemplating the idea. “But your band is leaving. You said you have a show tomorrow.”

“We decided last night that I should quit.”

“Oh. I thought it was a suggestion. Not a decision.”

I walk over to her and pull on the end of her towel tucked between her cleavage. It falls to the floor. She’s grinning when my mouth meets hers. I can feel in the way she wraps herself around me that no part of her wants to leave. When she returns my kiss, that dreaded sense of longing that already formed in my chest instantly melts away.

“Okay,” she whispers.

THE INTERVIEW

I’ve been talking for half an hour straight, and the man hasn’t spoken a word. I would continue, but Layla hasn’t let up this whole time. I need to make sure she’s okay.

Or at least as okay as she can be while being held against her will by her own boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, scooting my chair back. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He hits the stop button with an understanding nod.

I walk up the stairs—again—to plead with Layla to trust me long enough to find answers. When I open the door, she’s on her knees on the bed, doing her best to slip her hands out of the rope that’s connecting her wrists to the bedpost.

“Layla,” I say, defeated. “Can you please stop?”

She yanks her arms in the opposite direction of the bedpost in an attempt to break the rope. I wince. That had to hurt. I walk over to the bed and check her wrists. They’re raw from all the times she’s tried to break free. Her wrists are starting to bleed.

She mutters something unintelligible, so I remove the duct tape from her mouth.

She sucks in a huge gulp of air. “Please untie me,” she pleads. Her eyes are bloodshot and sad. Mascara is smeared down her left cheek. It kills me seeing her like this. I don’t want this for her, but I have no other choice. At least it feels like I have no other choice.

“I can’t. You know that.”

“Please,” she says. “It hurts.”

“It won’t hurt if you stop trying to free yourself.” I adjust the pillow beneath her and give the rope more slack so she can lie down. I know she feels like a prisoner. I guess, in a way, she is. But I’ve at least left her legs untied. If she’d just lie still and stop trying to fight me on this, she’d come out of it just fine. She might even get some much-needed rest. “Just give me a couple of hours. When I’m finished talking to him, I’ll bring you downstairs with me.”

She rolls her tear-rimmed eyes. “You’re a liar. All you do now is lie to me.”

I don’t let those words penetrate the walls of my chest. I know she doesn’t mean them. She’s just scared. Upset.

But so am I.

I lean forward and press a kiss against the top of her head. She tries to pull away from me, but she can’t go far. She’s crying now, trying not to look at me. I hide my guilt behind a hardened jaw. “If you promise not to scream, I won’t put the duct tape back on.”

This is a compromise she’s willing to make. She nods with a defeated look in her eyes, as if I won this round, but I’m not trying to win anything other than our normalcy back.

When I close the door and lock her inside, I can hear her begin to sob. I feel her pain in every part of me, crackling inside my bones. I press my forehead against the door for a few seconds and force myself to regain my composure before heading back downstairs.