“I’m sorry,” she whispers, staring up at me. “That was so stupid. I shouldn’t have gone outside alone. I know that. I know better.”
A tear escapes from one eye, and I watch it slide down one cheek, mesmerized by the path it takes over her skin. Keeping my palm against her uninjured cheek, I use my thumb to wipe away the wetness.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have pissed you off. I’m old enough to know that you never tell a sexy woman you only wanted to dance with her to prove a point,” I tell her softly, trying to lighten the mood.
It does the trick. The shame and guilt disappears from her face as she lets out a short, watery laugh.
The car comes to a quick stop, and I pull my gaze away from Layla to look up, noticing we’re parked right out front of the biggest, most luxurious home I’ve ever seen.
Sweet mother of God. This is what they call a cabin? What the hell do they call a mansion? A shack in the woods?
The back door opens and Finn reaches inside trying to pull Layla off of my lap. I shove his hands away, not ready to let go of her just yet, and not trusting Finn to keep her safe, even if it is just to help her walk to the door.
“It’s alright, I’ve got it,” I tell him irritably as I slide out of the car, hugging Layla’s body to mine and hefting her up higher in my arms as I make my way across the driveway to the front porch.
Finn doesn’t say a word, but I can sense the fury pouring out of him as he slams the car door closed behind me, and I can hear him breathing angrily through his nose as he follows, pounding his feet on the stairs behind me.
He brushes past me, his shoulder purposefully bumping into mine as he reaches the front door and punches in the security code to disarm the alarm. The door clicks to let us know the alarm is off, and Finn opens it, holding it wide so I can enter with Layla. My feet come to a stop as Finn hits a few switches to the right of the door, and the living room is bathed in soft, white light.
Layla’s house is definitely a cabin of sorts. The walls and ceiling are paneled with natural grain cedar, and the floor is smooth and shiny hardwood, but that’s pretty much where the similarities to a log cabin end. The living room has vaulted, twenty-foot ceilings with a giant wagon wheel light fixture hanging down in the center, each spoke holding an electric lighted candle. The wall directly across from where I’m standing is nothing but framed windows from floor to ceiling, with a gorgeous view of the fields, valleys, and forest that make up her backyard. Despite its size, the room is homey with dark brown, well-worn leather furniture, throw pillows, and a few unfolded blankets tossed over the backs. The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that takes up half of the wall to my left adds to the warmth of the home. Its mantle is filled with pictures of Layla as a child, Layla and Finn, and one of a teenage Layla holding a guitar next to a man I assume is her father.
“Stop gawking and put me down,” Layla speaks up from my arms as she catches me staring around the room with my mouth open.
“Sorry,” I apologize with a laugh as I walk her over to the leather sectional in front of the fireplace and set her down gently. “I’m not used to hanging out with famous rock stars that live in palaces.”
I kneel down next to the couch and take both of her hands in mine, turning them palm up so I can inspect the damage she did when she fell.
“This is not a palace and I’m not a rock star,” Layla insists with a grimace as I turn her hands this way and that to try and make sure there isn’t any glass imbedded in them.
“Really? So, everyone you know has a 1958 Gibson Les Paul hanging on their wall in a glass case...signed by Jimmy Page?” I'm completely floored and can't even comprehend what I'm looking at. “Obviously, I'm hanging out with the wrong people,” I reply with a chuckle as I glance over at the guitar above the fireplace that my eyes immediately zeroed in on when I