Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (21 page)

I place my hand on Logan’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. “Logan, we’re here.”

His eyes flutter open. Sitting up, he stretches. “Already?”

“We’ve been driving for over three hours.”

He rubs his eyes. “Really?”

“Traffic in the city was horrific. When we reach the main gate, the guard will need to scan your hand.”

He nods.

I know he’s overwhelmed. I can see the uncertainty flash across his pupils. He’s been a trooper about all our security protocols. Lee came to our loft the day after he moved in. He talked to Logan, explained that he was going to perform a security background check. He then took pictures and scanned his hands. He also explained to him about the press and keeping the details of our relationship private. I was reluctant to have him sign a nondisclosure, but Lee and Lex were insistent, explaining that it protects Logan and his family just as much as it protects me and mine. I thought he might have problems with it, but he didn’t even bat an eye.

When we reach the gate, the car comes to a stop. I roll down the window. Patrick Wills, a superhottie African American former FBI agent, greets us. “Ms. Grant,” he says, and smiles, dimples deep.

He’s stunning. I smile. “Mr. Wills.”

He rolls his eyes at me. He’s always telling me to call him Pat, but I refuse. I like yanking his chain.

Logan clears his throat and sits taller, making his chest look bigger, harder. A friggin’ peacock in heat.

Pat chuckles. “Mr. Romano, I presume?”

Logan nods.

Pat winks at me. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t he?”

I smile. “Sure does.”

“Mr. Romano, if you would, please?” Through the window, Pat passes Logan a scanner that looks like a small tablet. Logan, knowing what to do, takes it. Setting it flat, he places his right palm on its screen. After a few seconds, it beeps and he hands it back.

Pat takes it and looks over the scan. He frowns and types on the keyboard.

Logan’s right brow rises.

“Looks like we have a problem, Mr. Romano.”

“What kind of problem?” Logan asks, his left brow joining his right.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Your print image has been flagged.”

“Flagged?” he says, voice rising an octave.

“Yeah. Says here that you’re wanted for questioning.”

“Questioning?” he asks, voice higher.

Another guard, Rex Smith, approaches the car with hockey stick in hand. He winks at me before he hides it behind his back.

I bite my lip harder.

“Yeah,” Pat says. “Looks like only one question, though.”

“What?” he asks, clearly confused.

“Would you sign my nephew’s hockey stick?”

Logan blows out a breath. “Fuck.”

We all laugh, including the always-stoic Hal.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” he asks me, as he signs the stick.

I nod.

Logan hands the stick back to Pat, and they shake hands.

“Mr. Romano,” he says. “Welcome to Grant Estate, New York. You’re going to fit right in.”

I laugh and roll up the window. The gate opens and we make our way up the drive.

Logan puts his hand on my knee. “It’s going to be a long fucking week, isn’t it?”

I run my hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, Romano. They’ll love you as much as I do.”

He kisses me, lips barely brushing mine. “I love you, angel. More than I can say.”

We come to a stop. Hal gets out of the car and opens our door.

I get out and reach for Logan’s hand.

He takes it, kissing it before he climbs out. I step aside and he looks up. “Holy fuck. That’s not a house, that’s a… palace.”

Hal laughs. “Well, he’s got the Grant lingo down.”

I laugh, looking at Hal, wondering what’s gotten into the always-quiet man.

Hal gets our bags out of the trunk as Logan and I walk to the door. Just before we reach it, it opens. The one person I’d feared to introduce Logan to the most stands smiling, arms spread wide.

“Samantha,” she cries, and her arms surround me, hugging me tight.

We part and she looks up at Logan. “You’re hot,” she says.

I laugh-cry with relief. I knew it would be hard for Mary to see me with someone else, but she has such a big heart. I should have known it would be okay.

“Logan, this is Mary Frampton.”

He grins and holds out his hand. “Mary, it’s great to meet you.”

Ignoring his hand, her arms fold around him. “I’m so happy to meet the man behind my dear Samantha’s smile.” She pulls away; a lone tear escapes her eye, and rolls down her cheek.

“Mary, I’m—”

She takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Happy tears, my dear.”

I nod.
Thank God.

Hal sets down our bags. “Ms. Grant, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, Hal. And thank you.”

He nods, and exits.

“It’s late,” Mary says. “Let’s get you two settled.”

I reach for my bags.

“I don’t think so, angel,” he scolds, and picks them up.

Mary smiles and we follow her down the long entry hall. When we reach the center court, Logan’s mouth gapes.

Mary pauses, looking back at him. “Stunning, isn’t it?”

“It’s… incredible. It reminds me of Tuscany,” he says, turning in a circle. He stops and looks at me. “You did this?”

“I designed it. I didn’t do all the work.”

Mary huffs. “Samantha.”

“What?”

“You know what,” she scolds, as we walk up the marble staircase. “What do I always tell you, my dear?”

“Take credit when credit is due.”

She looks over her shoulder. “You’re learning.”

Reaching the second landing, we walk down a short hallway. Mary opens the first door on the right, and steps aside. “I had housekeeping put fresh sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom. There’s plenty of wood if you want a fire. And the bar is stocked.”

“Thanks, Mary,” I say, walking in after Logan.

“If you’re hungry I can have something brought up?”

“I’m good.”

“Logan?” she asks.

“No, thank you, Mary.”

She nods. “I knew you’d both say that, so I had the minifridge stocked.”

“Of course you did,” I tell her, giving her a knowing look.

She winks. “Okay, then. I’ll see you two in a few hours.”

I nod, and she leaves us, shutting the door behind her.

Logan stands by the door, with bags still in hand.

“Well, Mr. Romano, what do you think?”

“Are all the rooms like this?”

“Most of them, yes. I call it Old World Europe meets New World New York.”

“It’s… beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. Follow me,” I say, walking into the closet.

He follows and I show him where to put our bags.

I slowly strip.

Logan grins.

“Join me in the shower?”

“Do you have to ask?”

He removes his clothes and follows me into the bathroom. We step into the huge shower and I turn on the steam. He sits on the tiled bench, stretching out his legs and rolling his neck.

“May I join you?”

He spreads his thighs. “Please.”

I sit between them, leaning back against his hard chest. Eyes closed, we sit and steam in silence for a few minutes.

“So, Mr. Romano. What do you think?”

“I’m… processing.”

“Don’t overdo it, Logan. I want you to enjoy yourself. Relax and have fun.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

I pinch the inside of his thigh.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Being stupid. It’s not possible for my family not to love you. Whatever you googled or read about my family, Logan, it’s most likely not true. Just give them a chance; you’ll see.”

“I’m nervous.”

“I know, baby. But honestly, there’s no need to be.”

He nuzzles my ear. “Okay, baby.”

“You can ask me anything, ya know.”

“The same goes for you, angel.”

“Luke. Tell me about him.”

“I don’t talk about him, Sam. It’s too painful.”

I run the back of my hand down the inside of his firm calf. “I understand.”

“I want to tell you, angel. It’s just…”

“When you’re ready.”

There’s a long pause. I was about to get up and turn on the shower when he begins.

“Luke was my twin. My better half, my best friend.”

“What happen to him?”

“Seven years ago we were driving home from college. Luke was driving; I was sitting in the back. A truck driving in the opposite lane hit black ice, lost control, and crossed the median. The truck hit us hard and we rolled. I was thrown out the back window; Luke was crushed to death.”

I wanted to tell him I was sorry, because of course I was. But sorry never seemed to work for me, never eased my grief or pain. So I do the one thing I know will; I love him. I just love him.

Standing, I wordlessly hold out my hand. He takes it without hesitation, without question. This is the way we are, who we’ve become; we are no longer two souls, we are one. Turning on the shower, I pull him under the stream. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head, letting hot water rain down on his perfection. I lather up my hands and run them over him, washing, caressing, touching every inch of him. When I’m finished, his soapy callused hands travel over my flesh, cleansing me, stroking me, claiming every inch of me.

When he’s done, we rinse and step out of the shower. Grabbing two heated towels, I toss him one. As we dry, we take each other in, neither one of us can look away as if we’re living, breathing lodestones.

With towel in hand, he slowly runs it down his chest, abs, and happy trail before encasing his swelling cock.

Holy hell!

“Angel?”

“Logan,” I answer, eyes glued to the
big
prize.

“Hey, you,” he says, snapping his fingers.

I look up. “Sorry. I was…”

He smirks. “What?”

I look back down at his rock-hard, navel-touching cock. Dragging my eyes back to his, I say, “It’s almost impossible to look anywhere else, ya know. It’s like trying to look past the elephant to see the monkey.”

“What?”

I shake my head and go with something I know he’ll get. “Looking at you makes me wet.”

He smiles and tosses his towel onto the counter. “How wet?”

“Dripping.”

“You.” He points. “Bed, now.”

I salute him. “Yes sir,” I say, and fast-walk to the bed.

As I pull back the duvet, he joins me, placing a box of condoms on the nightstand.

I lie down and pat the bed beside me, his side. “Come lie next to me.”

He lies on his back, right arm bent behind his head, hugging a pillow.

I open the nightstand and remove a remote. I press a button and the window blinds lower. I press another button and the lights turn off. Lying in blackness, I say, “Look up, baby.” I press another button and four large ceiling panels retract like pocket doors, revealing a clear night sky. Moonlight washes over us and stars twinkle like distant fireflies. Neither one of us speaks. It’s one of those no words are necessary moments.

He reaches for my hand. Our fingers entwine as we watch a thin cloud drift over the moon. Its filtered light, casting shadows all around us.

I squeeze his hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s… beyond words,” he whispers. “It reminds me of an observatory. The ceiling parting, a huge telescope rising, peeking out.”

“There’s a cottage on the property I designed for… Lane and me. After he was killed, I couldn’t stay there anymore. It was just… too much.”

“I understand,” he whispers. “Luke and I shared an apartment. After the accident, I couldn’t bear to be there. The room we shared as kids, I couldn’t do that either. It remained the same, untouched, for years, until my parents sold the house.”

“I even found it hard to be here, in this house, because Lane was shot in the master bedroom at the end of the hall. I wanted to build another cottage, but Lex wouldn’t have it. She insisted I claim a room in the main house. She thought it would help me move on, get past it. I claimed this room, being the furthest from the master. I was determined to make it work, but unfortunately, my head didn’t get the memo. I began having nightmares to the point I wasn’t sleeping at all when I was here. I had these panels and skylight put in, hoping it would help. There’s something about looking at the night sky. I find it calming… therapeutic even.”

“It’s beautiful, angel.”

“I want to show you something else.” I press a button on the remote and the dark corners of the ceiling light up.

His breath catches. “Fuck me,” he whispers.

There’s a mural of a clouded starry night on the ceiling. When you light up the corners, the light reveals hidden angels floating amongst the clouds and stars.

“When you first called me angel, it freaked me out a bit. I’ve never even thought about angels, but when I put the skylight in, my nephew Chase said it was missing something. So I met with an artisan friend of mine and told her to paint whatever came to her, whatever she wanted.”

“Wow.”

“Can you find me?”

He looks at me. “What do you mean?”

“I’m an angel.”

He looks up at the mural. After several minutes, he finds my likeness. “Why are your wings… broken?”

“I’m a fallen angel. A damaged angel.”

“Turn off the lights,” he says, his voice… hurt? Angry?

I turn off the lights and the angels disappear.

Letting go of my hand, he rolls over and hovers above me. The moonlight shines down on his back, casting a shadow that… Oh. My. Holy. Heaven.
Wings
. The shadow looks like wings.
Okay, that really freaks me out.

“Logan…,” I whisper.

“Angel.”

Have you ever had one of those moments, a moment where everything around you freezes, everything just stops. Then there’s a flicker or light, as if you’ve been gifted a flint stone, after years of rubbing sticks. The flicker starts a fire, the fire lights the way to the back of your mind, and you see it, you get it, finally. I’m having one of those moments, right fucking now.

All my life, there have been two constants: fear of losing and fear of never finding… something. The fear of losing is a no-brainer. When you’ve lost as many and as much as I have, you’re terrified of loss, of everyone you love leaving you. But this
never finding
has eluded me, because I’ve had zero clue as to what I needed to find. Was it a person? A place? A thing? Now I know what I’ve needed to find. I’ve needed to find a person. I’ve needed to find Logan, because he is lost. He’s lost his way, his twin, his other half. The half he must replace so he can be whole again. I know this all sounds… well, corny. But in my heart, in my soul, I feel it. I’m that person. I’m the only one living who can make him whole.