Chapter 12
LAWSON
Lamont is naked and almost covered by my throw blanket. The door closes behind me as I stand stunned.
Recovering, I drop my key into the bowl.
“No towels,” she chokes out. Her damp strands of long blonde hair hang over her chest, only barely shielded by the blanket.
I half expect her to drop the blanket in some sort of sassy statement and stalk to where she needs to go next.
But tight browns pin me where I’m rooted to the spot as I fight the blood rushing south and the lancing breaths that have nothing to do with my five-mile run.
I pull one earbud from my ear, slowly. Then the next. Our gaze doesn’t break.
“If you don’t mind.” Her expression finally breaks, turning to annoyance.
“Right,” I mutter, turning back to face the door.
Soft footsteps pad away, and I press a hand to the door, letting my forehead drop to the cool wood. My entire body is on fire at the sight of her.
Serelle, what the hell were you thinking?
Right now, I’m praying Lamont used the last of the hot water, because I need a frigid fucking shower. My phone buzzes in my pocket and I push off the door and slide it out.
Ma.
How’s the work retreat going?
How does lustful dumpster fire sound?
Fine.
Hmmm. What’s wrong?
Nothing. It’s exactly as I expected.
Well, almost. The stray thoughts that have been invading my head tangling Lamont and me together are a little disturbing.
Inappropriate.
Intense . . .
Do you think it will work? To improve your working relationship, that is?
I have no idea, Ma. Here’s hoping.
Also, your brother wants you to confirm your numbers for the Thanksgiving dinner.
Shit, I forgot about Reed and Ruby’s Thanksgiving banquet. It’s an annual thing. One of the original events they started hosting when Rubes helped Reed turn the ranch into a vacation destination slash working ranch.
Oh sure, I’ll be there.
Only RSVPing for one, my love?
My gaze flickers toward the bathroom unconsciously. I shake my head, dislodging that particular thought before it takes hold.
Just one. Gotta go, Ma. Love you.
Love you too, my boy. I’m sure the two of you will work it out.
I don’t reply with anything else. What am I supposed to say? In the last few weeks, I’ve quit my job, landed another one with a pay cut, and pretty soon, I’m going to need to move for the first time in ten years. Serenity is too far from home, and with the pay decrease, it makes things too tight.
“Shower’s all yours.”
Realizing my phone’s gone black, I look up to find a dressed Lamont.
“Sure, thanks.”
She avoids eye contact, and I make my way to the shower. Between my run, yoga, and sleeping on the floor, my muscles could use a hot shower. The second I step into the bathroom, I’m overwhelmed by the scent that is Carlie Lamont. All floral and spice.
Goddamn, if that doesn’t send my body into a frenzy.
I’ve shared an office with her for weeks, but this is like a concentrated shot of her.
I tilt my head, grinding my molars. “Hell.”
“You say something?” A head pops around the corner.
Apparently, the risk of seeing me naked doesn’t faze her.
“Nope. Out you get.”
Her eyes turn to slits, but her disembodied head disappears. If only there was a door to this ridiculous bathroom.
I strip, turning on the water. Stepping into the warm stream, I roll my head on my shoulders, stretching every tight muscle as I go.
Heaven.
Well, almost.
Couples therapy. It’s as stupid as it sounds.
Especially since the woman currently sitting on the floor in front of me with her legs tucked under her butt refuses to look at me.
This is going just great.
“Miss Carlie, this is a sacred space. Nothing you say here would be judged or shared. You can be honest.” Manuel rests a hand on her knee, and she jerks her head back to look at him.
He gives her a reassuring nod and a smile that looks as strained as her tight expression right now. How much baggage does this fiery little woman carry around every damn day?
“Sorry, what’s the question?” she says.
This time, the fire has dimmed.
“What was your first romantic relationship?” Manuel repeats the question.
“How is that relevant to a working relationship?” she says.
“Well, considering the resentment you seem to be harboring toward each other, I’m trying to gauge where it started and why you’re attaching it to Mr. Lawson here.” Manuel gives her an empathic look.
“I’m not answering that question. Pass.” She folds her arms over her chest.
“Okay, that’s your choice. But exploring your foundations will lead to a better outcome in the end. So think about that before your next turn, okay?” Manuel says before turning to me.
“Mr. Lawson, tell Carlie about your first romantic relationship.”
“Ah, there’s not really anything to tell.” Lamont sneers, but I direct my response to Manuel.
“Okay, what about with your parents? Your mother, perhaps?”
“My relationship with my mother is good, always has been.”
Lamont’s brow flings toward her hairline.
That surprises her. It really shouldn’t; she despises me.
“Good, thank you. This is part about getting to know each other on a deeper level, part giving each other the opportunity to understand where the other is coming from. Sometimes our past relationships trigger responses in our here and now. Our responses are not always conscious.”
“That makes sense,” I offer.
Lamont shoves a finger onto her nose before rolling her eyes.
“Miss Carlie, did you have something you needed to say?” Manuel says.
She scoffs. “Nope.”
“Manuel’s right, your baggage stays in this room, Lamont. Drop it and leave it.”
Her eyes tighten. “You first. Or is the only thing weighing you down being your utter failure as a human being?”
And . . . we’re back to square one.
I sigh. “Can I take five?”
Manuel waves a hand toward the door. I push to my feet and wander outside.
The second the cool air sinks into my lungs, I close my eyes.
I try really damn hard to understand why she is like this.
The constant need to be on defense. To win at all costs.
Why we make the smallest bit of progress, inching forward one step, only to take three back.
People wander about the facility, chatting, laughing.
This place is burning with positivity and happiness. I swear, the only spoiled apple in this resort is our relationship. Time to own this and fix it.
The way my father taught me to.
I pad inside to find Lamont holding Manuel’s hand, both their eyes closed as he chants something, over and over. I study them for a beat as the scowl melts from her face. She’s stunning when she’s content.
Hell, who am I kidding, she’s stunning when she’s mad as a cut snake.
Huffing a laugh, I cross the room and sink to my seat. They both open their eyes, and Lamont squares her position to face me.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Fine.” She tilts her chin up.
“Let’s continue,” Manuel says, looking at me.
Giving him a nod, I glance at Lamont.
“Okay, this time we are going to try physical contact. Take each other’s hands, please.”
Lamont clears her throat, but to my surprise, she holds out both hands. Her elegant, manicured hands. I fold mine around them, doing my best to ignore the spark that ignites with the touch. Her lips part as her gaze drops to where we’re connected.
Her fingers are cold, and I squeeze them a little tighter.
“Good. A great start. Okay, this next question is harder than the last few. So, I’m going to ask it, then start the timer for one minute. You are not allowed to respond until the timer chimes. Then, looking your partner in the eye, tell them your honest answer.”
I shift on my seat.
Now I’m the one who’s uncomfortable.
“Mr. Lawson, tell Miss Carlie the one thing you would want her to know if this was your last sentence. The last sentence you could ever speak to her.”
Sweet Jesus.
Manuel starts the timer.
Lamont wrangles the shock now slipped over her face back, and I fight to keep my expression indifferent.
I know this is a revised version of couples therapy. But even if I was sitting in front of someone I loved, this would be a hard question. With Lamont, almost impossible.
The timer goes off.
I study her face and the way she’s holding herself, rigid and ready for something that’s going to hurt. Like she’s ready to take a hit. Only two words fill my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe.
Her hands jerk. She tries to pull away. As if she won’t accept anything but opposition from me. We don’t play nice. It’s not comfortable for her.
Every small moment she’s held me accountable or challenged me sweeps in. The way she is always on, always running at one hundred and twenty percent . . .
“I’m sorry. If I could have helped you in that moment, I would have. Please know that.”
Her chin wobbles. Her hands rip from mine. She staggers to her feet and stalks from the room.
I turn to Manuel, and he’s smiling a sad but knowing smile. “Bingo, Mr. Lawson.”
“Shit,” I utter.
When she doesn’t return, I leave Manuel to his breakthrough. Her hair swishes as her hips sway with ferocity over the lawn toward the bungalow. I pick up the pace, lengthening my stride until I reach her. “Lamont!”
She flips me off, not slowing down.
“Carlie, stop.”
A strangled noise leaves her as she picks up the pace.
Dammit.
I grab her elbow, and she teeters as she tries to shake me off. “Slow down, for god’s sake.”
“Get your hand off me,” she grinds out.
“No.”
“I swear to god. Is this your plan? Kill me with kindness until I feel something less than hatred for you? You think if we’re friends, I’ll give up my job so you can keep yours?”
The hell?
I tilt my head, brows plummeting. “No!”
“Let. Me. Go.” Wild brown eyes flicker over my face.
I release my grip on her, and she steps out of my space. She marches into the bungalow, slamming the door behind her.
How on earth am I supposed to break through that wall she’s built around herself? At this point, I think the shelter is kind of irrelevant. The more pressing issue is the heavy load this woman is hauling around. And the weight that’s set to crush her if she doesn’t let someone—anyone—in. And soon.
I walk to the house and open the door.
She’s sitting on the side of the bed, her head in her hands.
I close the door quietly and she looks up. Her face is all hurt.
How does an apology equate to hurt?
Desperate to know what the hell is going on in that mind of hers, I brave the storm and sit on the end of the bed. “Need to talk about it?”
“God, you just can’t take a hint, can you?”
I huff a laugh. “I promise it’s not what you think.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Talk to me, Lamont.”
“Not happening.”
“Then talk to Manuel. Take the couples therapy sessions for yourself.”
“And have it get back to Serelle that I’m a fucked-up mess? No thank you, I can handle myself.”
“The way you imploded over a simple apology would suggest otherwise.”
“Fuck you, Rawlins.”
I turn to face her as her eyes burn into mine. “If that’s what it takes.”
Her lips part, but a beat later, she shakes her head. With a breathy laugh, she says, “I’m not playing that game.”
I frown. “What game?”
“Where you have me fired for fucking you.”
This takes me aback. “That’s not—”
She stands, closing the distance until she’s all but standing between my legs, looking down at me as she whispers, “I’d rather impale myself on Vinny.”
Who the fuck is Vinny?