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Fall Into You
Roni Loren


A Loving on the Edge novel perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.He’ll do anything for you. But you’d better say please.When tomboy sports reporter Charli Beaumonde loses a dream TV job because she’s not girly enough for primetime, she’s determined to prove her boss made a mistake. But when she gets too close to a scandal and finds her life threatened, Charli accepts an offer from family friend Grant Waters to hide out at his place – even if Grant predicts nothing but trouble from his buddy’s hard-headed, irrepressible, younger sister.But there’s one more problem – Grant’s “place” is The Ranch, an exclusive BDSM resort and he’s used to being in charge. But much to Grant’s surprise, Charli is intrigued by The Ranch. His trainees are the epitome of what she’s never been: sexy, beguiling, and totally irresistible to a man. Grant doesn’t believe for a minute that the sharp-tongued Charli has it in her to be anyone’s submissive, but Charli’s never happier than when she’s proving a man wrong…









Fall Into You

Roni Loren








Table of Contents

Cover (#ub0271d37-d308-5e34-8940-deb4c411a5c5)

Title Page (#u562de3ed-a6db-52c2-980b-9f6fc90cacec)

Dedication (#ulink_84bfe92e-3251-58bc-a7ae-171e253e66ae)

Chapter One (#ulink_da1555c4-999a-51d0-9527-790fec37901e)

Chapter Two (#ulink_17c5a3ae-44dc-57f5-82c6-01ab195ff041)

Chapter Three (#ulink_c5799cea-b198-542c-a715-26225f95a3bb)

Chapter Four (#ulink_f40ca4ee-873a-53bc-8c77-b43eb473a6d8)

Chapter Five (#ulink_275680b8-58ad-555f-b3c7-c982982f19a4)

Chapter Six (#ulink_d942ecbc-ae8a-5a82-b94f-0c8ea38311d4)

Chapter Seven (#ulink_0b43b5ba-ceb4-5cfb-8fd4-2f60693e2945)

Chapter Eight (#ulink_23e2a82f-56d0-5fc6-b2c7-3db19e0c35c1)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract Not Until You Dare (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Roni Loren (#litres_trial_promo)

Praise for Roni Loren (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Dedication (#ulink_5532a484-3adf-537e-a1ff-9ddab4c7309c)


To my husband, Donnie, who once asked me in an airport,

“What if next time I don’t have to leave?”

and then moved his whole life

to be with me. I’m glad you took the risk

on us all those years ago.

I love you, babe.











ONE (#ulink_ccb5692b-b431-536f-b9f6-76809f8435f5)







Come on, baby, don’t give up on me now. Charli Beaumonde gripped the steering wheel tighter as her eight-year-old Toyota’s headlights flickered for the second time in ten minutes. She adjusted her rearview mirror, wondering, not for the first time, if she should’ve stopped in one of the small-town motels she’d passed thirty miles back. The deserted highway hadn’t seemed quite so jeepers creepers this morning on her way out of the city as it did now.

But then again, those motels had looked more Norman Bates than bed-and-breakfast. She was probably better off taking her chances with her on-its-last-wheel car.

She hadn’t planned to be out in boondocks Texas this late at night, but the chance to see who was coming and going from the family home of Dallas University’s top quarterback recruit had been too good to pass up. Who knew so many men in suits had business in such a podunk Texas town?

She hadn’t gathered enough damning evidence to put together a story for the station yet, but she was getting there. If she could get one of the players to slip up and talk, give her some names, she could blow the cheating scandal wide open and virtually secure her promotion to the on-air sidelines reporter for the Texas Sports Network.

Her boss had already told her she was one of the final candidates. Charli didn’t know how many other people she was up against, but she knew that she could go toe-to-toe with anyone on sports knowledge. Plus, she felt like her screen test had gone well. All she needed now was the one big story under her belt to show that she had the reporter chops as well.

She smiled, picturing herself on the sidelines of the college football games—microphone in hand, the smell of fresh-cut grass and sweaty athletes, the deafening roar of the crowd cheering for their teams. She couldn’t think of anything that would make her happier or any place she’d rather be. The years of working her ass off behind the scenes would finally pay off. She may even get enough of a salary boost to be able to spring for a new car.

She adjusted in her seat, but the faint flash of light in her rearview had her glancing in the mirror again. Distant headlights pierced the black vortex behind her. Her shoulders loosened a bit, her grip on the wheel easing. For some reason, knowing she wasn’t the only person on this lonely road gave her a weird sense of comfort. She pressed a button on her radio to tune into her favorite sports talk station and settled in for the last hour of her drive back to Dallas.

But right when one of the hosts started bitching about the Cowboys offense, the glare of headlights became blinding in her rearview as the driver flashed his high beams on and off. Squinting, Charli grabbed the mirror and turned it away from her. “What the hell?”

She slowed down a bit, thinking the driver must have some emergency and wanted to get past her. But when she eased up on the gas, he didn’t go around, he just got closer. Flash. Flash. Flash. The lights created a strobe effect in her car, disorienting her. She grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the left to move into the other lane, but the other car stayed on her rear as if it were tied to her bumper with rope.

“Shit.” She tried again, going back to the right lane, but the car followed, nearly clipping her rear bumper. The creeping unease she’d been fighting since she’d pulled onto this highway morphed into a hot flood of panic.

Whoever was in the car wasn’t trying to get past her—he was trying to get to her.

She slammed on her gas pedal in an attempt to put some distance between them and regain her vision, but her four-cylinder Toyota was no match for whatever was behind her. The rumble of a bigger, more powerful engine drowned out the quiet hum of her own.

She felt around for her cell phone, but the damn thing had tumbled to the floorboard when she’d made the hard lane change. Keeping her hands firmly on the wheel and knowing her speedometer was sliding into a zone it’d never ventured to, she tried to bump the phone closer with her left foot. Once it was within reach, she took one hand off the wheel and attempted to make a grab for the cell. Come on, come on, just another inch. But as soon as her fingers closed around her only lifeline, a hard jolt rocked the vehicle, knocking her head hard into the steering wheel and sending her world into a spin.

The sound of squealing tires was the last thing Charli heard before everything went black.






Grant liked the quiet cocoon of the night. His resort, The Ranch, didn’t slow down until three a.m. most evenings. So after spending his time over there, supervising and making sure everything was running smoothly, he relished the walk over from the main resort area to his private cabin on the far corner of the property.

Not many things could match the calming effect of the breeze blowing through the fields of grapevine, the night bugs singing, and the kind of rich silence that could only be had this far out of the city. In fact, there was only one other thing that could trump it—having a beautiful woman fully surrendering under his hand.

That’s what he’d really been hoping to find tonight—and every night for the last four months since he’d handed off his last trainee to her new dom. But even with The Ranch at his fingertips, finding a woman who appealed to him and his particular wants was proving near impossible. His tastes had grown refined, specific. He had no shortage of applicants for his monthlong immersion training. But the submissives he came across were either not ready for the level of commitment he required during training or were secretly hoping he’d take them on long term. And long term wasn’t his game.

The one-off, uncommitted play sessions could sometimes meet his immediate needs in between trainees. But it was like a carnivore living on a vegetarian diet. He was never truly satisfied. He craved the intensity that could only be reached when a sub fully gave herself to him for weeks at a time.

So instead of clearing his mind with the all-encompassing experience of D/s, he was left to rely on the sound of the crickets and the blanket of the night to soften the edges of his thoughts. It was really the only time of the day when his brain would shut down and simply be.

But when he made the turn around the last bend in the path toward his home, a faint screeching sound sliced through the thick night air. He stilled, his ears and body going on full alert—a skill he’d never shaken from his years in the army and CIA. The distant sound of a revving engine followed the screech and then faded.

He frowned. Probably a driver stopping suddenly to avoid an animal in the road or something. The car had sounded like it had driven off, but Grant didn’t want to assume everything was okay. The highway his ranch sat off of wasn’t heavily traveled. So if someone had gotten in an accident, the coyotes and bobcats would probably find them before help did.

He jogged the rest of the way to his cabin and headed straight for his pickup truck. He pulled his keys from his pocket and his boot hit the gas before he’d even shut the door completely. The drive up to the main road only took a few minutes at a normal pace, but when Grant saw twin beams of light in the distance, he kicked into overdrive, his truck bouncing along the dirt road like an off-road racer.

By the time he got to the main gate, he could see the front end of a car peeking out of the ditch on the opposite side of the road. The soft whine of the dying horn filled his ears. “Shit.”

He threw the gear into park and jumped out of the truck. The gate was chained with a padlock, but he didn’t want to waste time getting it unfastened, so he planted a foot on one of the bars and vaulted over it.

“Hello?” he called out after landing with a thud on the other side. Only the fading horn and the smell of burnt rubber greeted him. He hurried across the road and peered down into what appeared to be a wrecked Toyota. The tail end had slid into the ditch, the runoff rainwater from yesterday’s storm rushing past the back tires. Grant squinted, trying to see into the front seat. The headlights were the only illumination besides the moon, and all he could make out was the outline of a person in the front seat.

“Hello?” he called again. “If you can hear me, I’m here to help you.”

No response.

Grant hurried around to the other side of the car and carefully worked his way down the muddy embankment to get closer to the driver. His boots hit the bottom of the gully and water sluiced over his feet. Even this close, it was still too dark to see much. He grabbed his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and hit the button to illuminate the screen, holding the phone out toward the closed driver’s side window. The faint light from the phone spilled onto the profile of a woman, head slumped against the headrest, eyes closed.

His stomach flipped—a familiar sick feeling that never failed to show up no matter how much injury or death he’d seen in his life. No. Come on. Be okay. He wedged open the door, the soft earth only allowing him to get it halfway open, and leaned into the car to put fingers against the woman’s neck. The strong thump, thump, thump of her pulse touched his fingers.

“Thank you, God.” He touched her clammy cheek. “Ma’am, can you hear me? You’ve been in an accident. We’re going to get you some help.”

Though, with the nearest hospital forty-five minutes away, he wasn’t exactly sure when said help might get there. He hit another button on his cell phone.

Marc, one of his managers, answered on the first ring. “Hey, Grant, what’s up?”

“I need you to find Dr. Montgomery. I think he was playing with Janessa tonight in a cabin on the west side.”

“You want me to interrupt a scene?” Marc asked, the surprise in his voice evident. “Is everything okay?”

Grant quickly explained what was going on and told him to also put in a call to 911 to get an ambulance headed this way. Once he’d given Marc his marching orders, Grant returned his focus to the woman in the car. He’d learned first-aid skills in the military so knew not to move her neck or try to get her out of the car. But he checked her breathing to make sure nothing was obstructed.

Her seat belt was on, so she’d had some protection in the crash. But based on the swelling knot on her forehead, she’d hit her head on something—most likely the steering wheel. With gentle fingers, he brushed her hair away from the tender spot to examine it closer and make sure it wasn’t bleeding. He leaned in to get a better look, but a low moan made him halt.

He turned his head and the woman’s eyelashes fluttered. Another garbled sound passed her lips.

“Shh, easy now,” he soothed, using the tone he employed when dealing with skittish horses. “Try not to move, darlin’. We’re going to get you some help.”

Her entire body went rigid, and her lids flew open, her eyes going wide with fear.

He backed out of the car a bit, so as not to freak her out more, but put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ve been in an accident. I need you to stay still until the doctor gets here to check you.”

She blinked, her lips parted as if to say something, but then she winced and her hand went to her head. “Dizzy.”

“You’ve hit your head. Try to take some nice, slow breaths.” Grant kept his voice coaxing as he watched her follow his directions. “Can you tell me your name, darlin’?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, continuing to take deep breaths. “Uh…Charlotte, no…Charli.”

“Okay, good, Charli,” Grant said, relieved to hear she still knew her name. “Do you know where you are or what happened to you?”

“I’m…I…” A crease appeared between her brows as if she were trying hard to locate the information. “I can’t remember.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “That’s all right. We’ll worry about that later.”

The sucking sound of feet hitting wet earth drew Grant’s attention back toward the ditch’s embankment. Dr. Theo Montgomery was making his way down, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and an open oxford shirt, and holding one of the well-stocked first-aid kits from The Ranch. Red marks, no doubt from Janessa’s flogger, marked his bare chest.

“Status,” Theo said, all business.

“Name is Charli. She just woke up. Breathing is fine. Probably concussed—can remember her name but nothing about what happened. Contusion on her forehead. I haven’t moved her.”

“Good.” Theo moved in when Grant stepped out of the way. He introduced himself with the short, quick style of an ER doctor and started his examination. Charli would be in good hands.

An hour and a half later, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon as an EMT checked Charli over one last time and discussed the situation with Theo. Grant stood off to the side, watching as the beautiful redhead tried to stay focused on the conversation these people were having about her.

“Looks like it’s only a mild concussion. We can bring her back to Graham Regional and keep her for observation,” the EMT told Theo.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Charli said, her voice low and hoarse. “I just want to go home and rest.”

The young guy frowned down at her. “Ma’am, do you have someone at home who can keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours?”

She closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, like it hurt to think. “Uh, Tom Brady.”

The EMT’s head tilted. “The quarterback?”

“My cat.”

The ever-serious Theo smiled a bit at that. “Charli, I don’t think your cat can call 911 if you go unconscious again.”

“He’s very smart,” she said, not opening her eyes, but her mouth twitching at the corner. “Could probably…figure it out.”

Her voice was fading a bit, her exhaustion evident.

“No, I think you’d better let them take you in,” Theo said. “You need to have someone with you for a little while. And you can’t drive home right now, anyway. It’s not safe and your car is trashed.”

She raised her gaze then, a flicker of fight-or-flight passing through those green eyes. “Please, don’t make me. I hate hospitals.”

The underlying quiver in her voice hit Grant square in the sternum. He prided himself on being able to read even the subtlest of clues in others. It had served him well when extracting information from people in his days in the CIA and made him quite the formidable dominant now. And what he was sensing was honest fear in this woman. It was more than not wanting the inconvenience of a hospital—she was genuinely freaked out at the thought.

Before he could think it through, he stepped forward. “If the lady doesn’t object, she can stay here for the day. I have unoccupied cabins at my vineyard. She’s more than welcome to use one, and I can check on her every few hours.”

Charli’s attention slid to him, her eyebrow lifting beneath the knot on her forehead. “You have a vineyard?”

He chuckled. No doubt his muddy jeans and plaid work shirt didn’t scream that in addition to his covert side business, he ran one of the most successful wineries in Texas. He held out his hand. “Grant Waters, owner and operator of Water’s Edge Wines.”

She took his offered hand, and Grant felt the slight tremor go through her fingers, caught the quick-as-lightning glance at the open collar of his shirt, the slight hitch in her breathing. Well, well. His body warmed in a wholly inappropriate way at her subtle signs of interest. He quickly dropped the handshake and stepped back. She’s had a blow to the head, horn dog. Reel it in.

Theo crossed his arms and nodded in Grant’s direction. “I can vouch for Mr. Waters. I’m a guest at his…vineyard cabins all the time. You’ll be comfortable and safe here.”

“And I can drive you back to town tomorrow,” Grant offered, trying not to sound as eager as he felt. “I have to go into Dallas for a business meeting anyway.”

She smirked and the faint freckles on her nose twitched. “You’re not some serial killer rapist, right? Because I’ve had a shitty enough night already.”

The unexpected comment made him laugh. No, he wasn’t a serial killer rapist. But the way she bit her lip after making that comment had his less-than-pure thoughts driving up to an NC-17 rating.

“Nope. Just a rancher and winemaker.” And owner of the most elite BDSM resort this side of the Mason-Dixon. But that wasn’t something she needed to know about him.

At least not while she was concussed.

But later…well, later was ripe with possibilities.

He’d always had a thing for freckles.











TWO (#ulink_f23c0706-934c-56a3-9d0f-b7591c1c52f6)







In the depths of Charli’s sleep she felt warmth against her skin, a gentle caress, but it took her a few minutes to clear the cotton in her brain and fully awaken. When she finally opened her eyes, she was graced with the true reason Wranglers were invented bending over the small dresser on the far side of the bedroom. The soft, well-worn denim molded over Grant’s backside as if the material was simply another layer of his skin.

Knowing he hadn’t noticed she was awake yet, she took the moment to drink him in. And, my, what a big gulp he was. Six-six at least, maybe six-seven. Basketball height with a baseball player’s body and the corded forearm muscles of someone who came by their strength the old-fashioned way. She felt the urge to have his hand against hers again—that big paw closing over her smaller one. His handshake had made her feel…dainty and delicate—something she damn sure never felt around most anyone.

He set down a plate of sandwiches and peeked over his shoulder, those killer blue eyes crinkling a bit at the corners when he noticed her looking back at him. “Well, look who’s awake. I wasn’t sure if you were going to crack an eye open before the sun went down.”

She pushed up on her elbows, fighting past the slight wave of nausea the movement caused. “Have I been sleeping long?”

“It’s almost six,” he said, pushing an escaped lock of his wavy dark hair off his forehead. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Doc said to check you every few hours by touching your arm to see if you moved. Plus, I thought you might be hungry.”

So he had touched her. Even knowing that sent rosy warmth coursing through her veins, a warmth that seemed to be zeroing in on the juncture between her thighs. She shifted her weight in the bed, suddenly all too aware that she was only wearing panties and her T-shirt beneath the blanket. She tried, unsuccessfully, to fight off the blush that rose in her cheeks.

God, what was wrong with her? She’d just been in an accident and all she could focus on was the way this man got her hormones hopping. Maybe she’d done damage to her brain with the accident and had reverted to crushing on someone like a damn teenager. She should take his picture and hang it on her wall so she could draw hearts on it.

“I’m not sure I should eat. I still feel kind of queasy.”

“Yeah, you’re pale.” He grabbed a few saltines off the plate and handed them to her. “Maybe try some crackers first. Might help to put something dry in your belly.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t bother telling him she always looked pale—compliments of her mother’s Irish genes, the only thing her mother had bothered to give her. She bit into one of the crackers and it crumbled, covering her and the bedcovers with crumbs. “Oops, sorry. Guess that’s why crackers in bed are a bad idea.”

He laughed, a deep tenor of a chuckle. “I promise I won’t kick you out of my bed for that.”

Her chewing paused, and a hot shiver went through her, drawing her nipples tight against her T-shirt. She couldn’t tell if Mr. Handsome Cowboy had intended that to come across as flirty as it sounded; his expression gave no indication either way. But her body sure wanted to take the comment down a certain path.

She almost laughed at the thought. Who was she kidding? Guys who looked like him didn’t flirt with girls like her—especially considering she probably looked like a midnight mug shot with a lump on her head, her hair in a tangle, and no makeup—not that she ever bothered to wear makeup on a normal day anyway.

She needed to get her concussed head out of lusty la-la land and focus on getting back home. She had work to do. “What time do you plan to head to Dallas tomorrow?”

He leaned back against the dresser, crossing his ankles, and creating a nice frame for the healthy bulge in his jeans. His gaze flicked down briefly, no doubt noticing the now-hard points beneath her shirt. He wet his lips. “My appointment isn’t until two, but I reckon we can head out a bit earlier so we can get you home.”

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, not sure if it was the saltines or the view making her mouth so arid. “Sounds good. I really appreciate this. I’ll pay you whatever the fee for the cabin would’ve been for the night.”

“You won’t,” he said with the simple authority of someone used to getting no argument. “You’re my guest. Your money’s no good here.”

She sat up straighter, his tone pushing her least favorite button. “Then I’ll pay for the gas to get back to Dallas.”

He shoved off the dresser, rising to his full height, a smirk hiding beneath his five o’clock shadow. “And my grandmother would flip in her grave. Women in my world don’t pay for anything.”

Her hackles rose. “Well, now wa—”

He took her hand and rubbed a thumb across the top of it, his touch incinerating the thoughts in her brain. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. I don’t need your money. And you don’t owe me anything. Though I do have one small request, Ms….”

“Beaumonde.”

“Beau— Wait a second,” he said, cutting off whatever he’d been planning to ask her and dropping her hand like she’d become contagious. “Do you know Max Beaumonde?”

She frowned, trying to pull herself from the hypnotic state his touch had induced. “Yes. He’s my older brother.”

Grant tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Ah, hell. Of course he is.”

Charli had no idea if her head injury was messing with her focus, but she had trouble following the shift in Grant’s demeanor and the conversation. “You know him?”

Grant sniffed. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s got a bullet lodged in his shoulder that was meant for me.”

Charli stared at him, the words taking a few moments to register. “You’re Ice?”

A dark cloud seemed to cross over Grant’s face. “Was. Gotta love those army nicknames.”

Her brother had told her stories about his army buddy, Ice. Had told her the guy had gotten his name because nothing seemed to get to him or scare him. But when one of their missions had gone awry, Max had ended up being the one to protect Ice from a fatal shot. Her brother had gotten a medal for it, but no one in her family had ever met the guy Max had saved.

“Wow, Max will be thrilled to know you’re only a state away. He lives in Baton Rouge.”

Grant went to the tray of food, turning his back to her. He busied himself pouring a bottle of water into a glass. “He knows where I am. We’ve kept in touch. He’s mentioned he had a sister a few times, but I assumed you were in Louisiana with the rest of his family.”

The air in the room had changed directions—awkwardness replacing the electricity she’d felt moments before when he’d held her hand. She cleared her throat. “Uh, you were saying you had a request for me?”

He headed back her way and set the glass of water on the bedside table. “Never mind. Wasn’t important. Now you rest up, and I’ll check on you later tonight. My cell number is next to the phone if you need anything.”

What she needed was him touching her again, but apparently that buzz of sexual energy had only been one-sided.

“Grant?”

He turned around in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”

“If you do talk to my brother anytime soon, don’t mention this, okay? His heart’s in the right place, but he’s a little…overprotective.” And bossy and overbearing. And thinks she can’t handle the big, bad city alone.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Grant’s gaze traced down the length of her, lines of strain around his mouth. She thought she heard him mutter—who could blame him?—but he walked out before she could ask.






Grant shifted on the too-short couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but only ended up twisting his blanket into a knot around his thighs. With a groan, he yanked off the blanket and sat up. The clock had already crossed over to four a.m., so falling asleep had sort of lost its point anyway. He rolled his shoulders, trying to coax out the tension that had embedded there the moment he’d caught Charli looking at him with interest in her eyes.

Charli-freaking-Beaumonde. He’d been on the verge of asking her out—a stupid move in the first place because he didn’t mess with women who weren’t part of the scene. That was setting up disaster from step one. Nothing like springing on a vanilla person—Hey, I’m a dominant and a sexual sadist. Oh, and I run a BDSM resort where I have submissives offering themselves to me daily. Yeah, fun conversation.

But it would’ve been even worse if he had found out afterward that she was Max’s sister. The guy had saved Grant’s life and was a real friend—even if they didn’t talk often these days. And Grant knew that Max’s protective streak ran deep enough to rival his own.

That killer protective instinct was why Max had been there the day Grant had ended up walking right into a trap. Grant had wandered from camp, needing to be alone after realizing it was the one-year anniversary of something he couldn’t bear to remember but couldn’t ever forget. He’d been numb and honestly not caring if he lived or died—but Max had followed. Had watched Grant’s back and, ultimately, had jumped in front of him when Grant had found himself on the bad end of an enemy soldier’s gun.

Max had risked his life without hesitation to protect him. So Grant could only imagine how protective and not-cool-with-it Max would be if Grant had made a move on his baby sister.

No, Grant had to do the right thing. Even if that meant he’d gone to bed with a headache and a case of blue balls. He just needed to get Charli back to her own place and out of his line of sight. Then he needed to get over his picky tendencies and take up one of the submissives at The Ranch on her offer and indulge his starved libido.

He’d let himself go too long and had gotten to the point where he wasn’t thinking straight—where he’d actually considered asking a girl on a date.

He didn’t do dating. Or relationships. Or vanilla. What exactly had he thought he would do with a girl like Charli? Take her out for a movie and then what? The minute she found out how dark his cowboy hat could get, she’d hightail it like a jackrabbit running from a bobcat.

A muffled cry filtered through the quiet of the cabin, breaking Grant from his thoughts. In an instant, he was on his feet and heading to Charli’s closed bedroom door. He’d checked her an hour or so before and she’d been in a sound sleep, but another whimper of distress had him rapping sharply on the door. “Charli, you okay?”

When she didn’t answer, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Charli was on her side, sheets tangled around her and one long leg exposed from ankle to hip. Resisting the urge to stare, he dragged his attention upward and crouched next to the side of the bed. Sweat soaked her hair, plastering strands to her forehead and the swollen knot.

He laid a hand on her shoulder to give her a gentle shake. “Charli, wake up, darlin’.”

She moaned again, and her face twisted into a scowl. “No, stop, go around…”

But he could tell she wasn’t talking to him. Some nightmare had taken hold. He jostled her a bit harder, calling her name. At that, she screamed and launched herself upward, knocking her head into his before he had the chance to back off.

Her eyes snapped open, wide with panic as she scanned the room.

“Shh, Charli. You’re okay,” he said, rubbing his own forehead. “You were having a bad dream.”

She glanced over at him, blinked. The wildness in her eyes seemed to dissipate as she stared at him. “Grant?”

“The very one.”

“Ow.” She put her hand to her head, and he tried not to notice that she’d sweated right through the white T-shirt he’d let her borrow. The dark shadows of her nipples peeked through, sending a rush of his blood decidedly south. He forced his gaze upward. He couldn’t get a hard-on right now. He was already enough of an asshole for thinking about her that way when she’d clearly woken up from a nightmare.

He cleared his throat. “You all right?”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head slightly, like she was still trying to clear the cobwebs. “I think my memory is coming back.”

“About the accident?”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, either unconcerned or unaware that she was only in a T-shirt and what looked to be grandma-sized panties. “I need to go home.”

“Whoa,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong? What do you remember?”

“I don’t want to rehash it. I just—” She glanced down at her state of undress and even in the predawn light he could see her cheeks darken. “Shit. Where are my pants?”

“I washed everything and hung your stuff up in the bathroom.”

She hurried past him, a bit unsteady on her feet, and went into the bathroom. The sink turned on and off. When she stepped out again, she had her jeans and her own shirt back on and had twisted her long locks into some kind of makeshift bun. “Since we’re both up anyway, do you mind taking me now?”

“I don’t mind, but I’d sure like to know why you’re moving so fast all of a sudden. Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not important,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“The hell it isn’t.” He crossed his arms over his chest, squaring off with her. Her agitation wasn’t simply a need to get home. She’d remembered something bad. He could almost taste her fear, like the air had been flavored with it. “Take a breath. I’ll take you home. But tell me what’s got you scared.”

Those green eyes, the ones that had been so soft and inviting the day before, turned guarded. But if she thought the tough-girl face was hiding the anxiety he could feel vibrating off her, she was sadly mistaken. He’d spent too many years reading cues in people. She’d have to do better than that to fool him.

She took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate the help you’ve given me. I do. But I just need to get home.”

“If you’re in some kind of trouble, Max would want—”

She raised a hand to him, halting his words. “If it were up to Max, I would still be living around the corner so he could make sure the wind didn’t blow on me wrong. And everything is fine.”

Sure it was. She hadn’t even been able to keep the eye contact when telling the lie.

He had to stop himself from calling her on it or demanding honesty. She’d only put up more defenses, and that would get them nowhere.

Looked like the girl who he’d lain awake fantasizing about all night didn’t respond well to his bossy side. Par for the course. “Fine. Wait out front, and I’ll drive my truck around.”

She gave him a curt, satisfied nod, thinking she had won. “Thank you.”

He bit his tongue and headed out the door.

She wouldn’t be thanking him later when she found out what he was about to do on the walk back to his cabin. In his personal life, he considered a woman’s consent as sacred as religion. But when it came to someone’s safety, he wasn’t going to waste time asking for permission.

He was taking charge of this rodeo.











THREE (#ulink_1cdc3484-e37e-50aa-9cc8-8b22c111d9b6)







The ride back to Dallas was a quiet one. Grant made attempts at polite conversation with Charli, but she couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was the fact that she’d been purposely run off the road by someone—that she could’ve been killed.

She planned to call the cops when she got home and was out of Mr. Sexy Cowboy’s earshot. But she knew that whatever small-town police force covered that stretch of country road probably couldn’t do much without any witnesses or license plate numbers. She couldn’t even give them the make or model of the car. The lights had been so bright. All she could figure was that it had been a truck or SUV of some sort. Something that was taller than her vehicle.

And most likely it had been a drunk driver or kids letting a prank get out of hand. At least she hoped that’s what it’d been. The other possibilities were too frightening to consider.

“So you’re really not going to tell me what happened, huh?” Grant asked, his tone light, but his expression tense beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “Even if I ask all polite-like?”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. With that low drawl and dimpled cheek, he could pretty much ask her anything, and she’d probably fold at some point. But she knew his type too well. Her brother Max was the same way. If Grant found out she could be in some kind of danger, he’d be calling her brother in an instant and treating her like she was ten. She definitely didn’t need that. “You’re not used to hearing no, are ya, cowboy?”

He smirked, deepening that dimple and confirming her allegation. “You must’ve given Max hell growing up.”

She shrugged. “I grew up in a house of dudes who would’ve locked me in a protective tower if there’d been one available. It was grow some balls or perish.”

“Eloquently put.”

She turned away, trying to hide her cringe. God, why was she always doing that? Talking like she lived in a locker room. It was fine at work because working with the sports crew was like a locker room, but sometimes she forgot that most women in the world didn’t go around talking about balls. “Sorry. They taught me how to throw a perfect spiral, but eloquence, not so much.”

“No apology needed. I was just teasing.” He took the ramp off I-30 and headed toward her neighborhood. “Remember, I was in the military. I can be disgustingly offensive in six different languages if necessary.”

For some odd reason, that knowledge sent a little tingle through her. The thought of him talking dirty with that molasses-toned accent…oh, my. She rolled down her window a tick, hoping the blast of air would cool her suddenly warm skin and dissipate some of the enticing soap and fresh-cut-grass smell wafting off Grant. The man was downright intoxicating. She probably would never see Grant Waters again in her life, but he had sure as shit secured a starring role in her next sexual fantasy. “Take that next left. It’s the fourth house on the right.”

Grant followed her directions and some of the tightness in her shoulders loosened, knowing she was getting back to her own territory where things made sense. But as soon as they made the last turn, the blue-and-red flashing of police lights had her heartbeat rising. Was that car parked in front of her house?

Grant glanced her way, his frown lines deep. “Is that your place?”

She nodded, her tongue thick in her mouth.

He rolled to a stop in her driveway, and she was shoving the door open before Grant had even shifted into park. Her shoes hit the pavement, and she made a beeline toward the first officer she saw. His head was bent over his pad as he made notes.

“Excuse me? What’s going on?”

He lifted his head. “You a neighbor?”

“No, I live here. I’m Charli Beaumonde.”

He looked toward her little white house, his expression grave. “Sorry, ma’am. We tried to reach you on your cell phone, but couldn’t get you.”

“It’s dead.”

“Well, your neighbor called us early this morning to report suspicious noises and a man in your backyard. It was too dark to get a description, but she knew he didn’t belong there. Said you never have men over.”

Great, even her neighbors were keeping track of her piss-poor love life. She rubbed her arms, a chill beginning to work its way through her. “Did you find him?”

“By the time we got here, the perp had already left. Looks like he got in and stole some computer equipment. Your office is a mess, but nothing else looks to be disturbed.”

The already steady pounding in her chest moved into her ears. Someone had broken into her office? With all her…No. She put her hand to her forehead.

Grant who’d stepped up behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, as if sensing that she was near panic mode.

The officer looked up at him, then back to her. “Besides the desktop, did you have anything valuable in there?”

Valuable? Just all the research and notes she’d been busting her ass to collect on this story. She wet her lips, her throat trying to close up on her. “I had information about a news story I’m working on. Notes.”

He jotted down something. “Anyone who’d want that information bad enough to break in?”

She rubbed her fingers over her brow bone, her head feeling as if it had a fissure splitting the middle of it. The list of people who could be involved in this scandal was long and unproven. Plus, how any of them could know what she was working on and where she kept her notes was a wonder. “Not really.”

The cop shrugged. “Probably not connected. We’ve had a few break-ins in this neighborhood over the last couple of months. It’s most likely kids looking to score some electronics.”

After another round of questions from the other officer and a tour of the damage, the policemen left with a promise to follow up with her if they found anything. She watched them turn off her street and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fight a chill that wouldn’t seem to go away.

Grant, who’d stayed leaning against his truck like some silent sentinel, pushed to a stand and stepped in front of her, his hat pulled low over his eyes. Apparently noticing her goose bumps, he rubbed his palms along her chilled arms.

Somehow the little gesture of comfort had tears that had built up from the last twenty-four hours ready to burst free. But she wouldn’t cry. She could handle this.

“You okay, freckles?” he asked.

“Freckles?” She looked up at him, trying to muster up some I’m-totally-fine façade, even though having his hands on her had her thoughts fracturing and emotion trying to leak through. “Are you trying to get me back for calling you cowboy?”

“Just trying to make you smile,” he said, concern underlying that twang.

She pushed a finger to his chest and tried to manage an intimidating expression. “I’d normally punch a guy for calling me that. You’re lucky I’m too tired. And that you’re so fucking big.”

“Lucky, indeed.” He smiled, but those blue eyes remained serious. He grabbed her hand before she could move it away from his chest. His palm closed over her fist, the hold firm. “Now are you going to tell me what really happened last night? You’re shaking. And I know it’s over more than stolen computer equipment.”

She blinked at the change in subject and his grip on her hand. She stepped back, and he quickly let go of her. “What?”

His mouth dipped at the corners, and he eyed her in that knowing way he seemed to be so good at. “Fine. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can go on pretending that everything is sugar and sparkles to try to get me to go away and leave you to whatever mess you’re in alone. Not going to happen, by the way. Or you can be honest with me so that maybe I can offer some help.”

She groaned. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done. But I don’t need help. I’m on a story that apparently has ruffled someone’s feathers. I can handle it. After all this, I’m going to be on guard now and more aware.”

The displeasure that crossed his face was strong enough to steal breath. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Someone ran you off the road last night. And don’t lie and say I’m off base. You were yelling at them in your sleep.”

She glanced away and took a sudden interest in a crack in her driveway. “It was probably just kids messing around.”

“You don’t strike me as a stupid woman, Charli. Don’t talk like one.”

She clenched her jaw, frustration building. Who was he to make demands on her? Being a Good Samaritan gave him the right to a thank-you but not some right to all her business. But before she could lash out and take out her stress from the last twenty-four hours on the man in front of her, another truck pulled into her driveway. A very familiar one.

“Son. Of. A. Bitch.” Her simmering frustration boiled over into outright anger. She sent a fiery look Grant’s way, as a ginger-headed man climbed out of the truck’s cab.

Grant shrugged. “Sorry, darlin’. He would’ve done the same for me.”

Suddenly, all the warm and fuzzy feelings she’d been harboring toward Grant earlier that morning dissipated into a red haze. She turned toward her uninvited guest, her fists curling, spoiling for a fight. “Max, what the hell are you doing here?”

Her brother’s dark auburn brows dipped behind his aviators as he stepped around the back end of Grant’s truck. “Well, hello to you, too, little sis. And I’m here to make sure you’re all right. At least someone thought it was important to call me after you were in a goddamned car accident, Char.”

He reached out and shook Grant’s hand and nodded in that man-to-man way that seemed to say so much. She could read the words in the quick, silent exchange. Thanks for calling me even though she told you not to. Thanks for handling my problematic, always-getting-herself-in-trouble sister. I’m here to save the day now.

Her nails cut into her palms. “I’m fine. See?”

Max crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Yeah, you’re fine. Someone ran you off the road, and your house has been broken into. You’re just peachy.”

Her lips parted. “How do you even know all that?”

“Grant called me while you were dealing with the police to update me.”

She sent Grant a betrayed look. To think she’d actually found herself trusting the cowboy, even entertaining the fact that he kind of liked her. She should’ve known better. She’d spent too much time around dudes to not take into account the guy-code factor. Grant had spent his time being nice to her last night and today because she was Max’s sister. A duty to take care of a friend.

“Max, you didn’t need to rush out here. I don’t even want to know how fast you had to drive to get here this quickly. I would’ve called you if I needed help. I can handle it.”

“Last time you said that, you nearly broke your neck bungee jumping.”

She rolled her eyes. “I got whiplash, drama queen. Big difference.”

He shook his head, his stance softening. “You worry me, Char. You and Donovan are the only family I have left. It’s hard enough knowing that you’re this far away, but I need to be able to trust that you’re not going to put yourself in danger. When Grant called me last night and told me about the accident, I thought…”

She frowned, some of the fight draining out of her. Max had taken it the hardest when her dad had died, and she knew he’d taken it upon himself to be the leader of their family now, the protector. The look in his eyes said his fear for her was real. But she also knew Max would storm in and take over if she gave him the smallest of openings. “I’m sorry I worried you. That wasn’t my intention, but everything is under control. Really. The police are on it.”

“Yeah, a report will be filed. They’re not going to do anything to protect you in the meantime.” He raked his fingers through hair that matched her own, his expression torn. He looked toward her house. “I know you think you’re on the trail of some big story, Char. But apparently you’re poking some dangerous lions. It’s not worth it. I don’t want you around it. I need you to come home with me until whatever this is blows over.”

She looked at him as if horns had grown out of that ginger head. “The hell I am. I have a job. I’m working on getting a promotion. I can’t just whisk away to Baton Rouge. And if I drop a story because someone tries to scare me, they win. Screw that.”

“Someone tried to run you off the road, Char. This isn’t about pride or work. You could’ve been fucking killed.”

The thought made her shudder, but there was no way she could walk away from everything. She’d worked too hard to get to this point. “I can’t leave.”

“Char—”

“She can stay with me,” a deep voice interrupted.

Both she and her brother turned to look at Grant, the unexpected statement silencing their argument.

“Do what?” She must’ve heard him wrong.

Grant tipped his hat up a bit. “You can stay in the cabin you were in last night. You’ll be safe there. And when you’re not on-site, you can check in with me by phone so that someone always knows where you are. You’ll have a bit of a drive into work for a while, but at least you won’t have to take time off.”

“That’s a great idea. Thanks, man,” Max said, smiling and thumping Grant on the back. “Grant has top-notch security at his place. You’ll be protected there.”

Charli stared at Grant. He was serious? He didn’t know her from a woman on the street, but he was going to give her a place to stay and play bodyguard. Just to be helpful? No, she corrected herself. This wasn’t about being helpful. This was about debt. Max had saved Grant’s life, and now there was an opportunity to pay him back. She was a transaction. Just like the time Max bribed his friend to ask her to the prom so she wouldn’t be without a date. Then said friend had proceeded to tell everyone he was there with her as a favor. Total humiliation. Served up hot. “I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you,” she said, smiling with forced politeness.

Max frowned. “Well, then I’ll call in the last of my vacation time and move in with you for the next two weeks. I can keep watch until we get all your window locks replaced and install a high-tech alarm.”

Oh, hell no. She loved her brother to pieces, but sharing her tiny place with him twenty-four-seven while she was trying to investigate her story would be a nightmare. She’d never be able to get away without him wanting to know where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing. Her brothers had always been protective, but since her father had died, Max had made it his personal mission to be the most annoyingly overbearing parental substitute ever. Two weeks of that and she’d be signing herself into the loony bin. Or jail—for choking her dear brother.

“I’ll stay with Grant.” At least there she could be alone in her own cabin without a babysitter. And though Grant had been the one to offer, he looked about as excited at the prospect as she did, so he probably wouldn’t bother her much.

Max gave a triumphant smile and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “My baby sister, always the voice of logic and reason.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Better than underestimating the threat and having regrets later,” Grant said quietly.

She glanced over at him, but he was staring off in the distance, hands in pockets, as if he had made the statement to someone else.

Something flickered over Max’s face when he looked at Grant—sadness? Sympathy? But before she could pinpoint it, Max’s attention was back on her. “Listen to what he says. He’ll keep you safe.” He touched the tip of her nose. “Now go get packed.”

She gave him a narrow gaze.

He smiled. “Love you.”

She gritted her teeth. She loved him, too. But at the moment she was having a hard time remembering why. She turned on her heel to head back toward the house.

What a way to cap off the most fantastic day and a half ever. All of her story research was gone, her car was trashed, and now she was going to have to figure out a way to live on the same grounds with a guy who made her thoughts run into each other when he got too close.

A guy who saw her as a job, a favor.

An A-plus day all around.











FOUR (#ulink_87d51f50-9e87-5e62-8560-766113b79107)







“I really appreciate you doing this,” Max said as Grant secured Charli’s suitcase in the back of his truck. “I know it’s a lot to take on, as busy as you are.”

Grant climbed down from the truck bed and slammed the tailgate shut. Max had no idea how much this was costing him. He hadn’t planned to make the offer, but he owed Max. And he knew Charli wasn’t going to give in and go with her brother. But as soon as the words had fallen out of his mouth, he’d wanted to take them back.

Keeping an eye on Charli would be challenge enough, but keeping his hands off her in the process would be downright painful. He’d spent most of the morning forcing himself not to make a move. When she’d looked so forlorn there in the driveway, it’d taken everything he had not to pull her against him. “Not a problem. Your family is my family. I’ll watch out for her.”

Max’s lip curled. “She’s not gonna make it easy. You know that, right?”

“I’ll manage.” Grant glanced toward the house, making sure Charli hadn’t come out yet.

“I know you will. I trust you.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I love my sister, but sometimes her drive can get in the way of her good sense. She thinks she can take on anything and anyone.”

Grant imagined Charli probably could hold her own more than most, but he wasn’t about to test that theory and leave her unguarded. “I can keep my distance and still make sure she’s safe. My property is locked down tight.”

“Yeah, I’m sure, can’t have anyone sneaking in and stealing the wine.”

Right. Because the wine was what he was protecting behind The Ranch’s gates. Not the sexual secrets of Dallas’s elite. Not his own secrets.

Grant adjusted his hat but forced himself not to shift his gaze away from Max’s—a trick he’d honed from years of having to lie bald-faced to enemies. “Gotta protect those grapes, my friend.”

“Look, I’ve got to head back if I’m not going to take any vacation days. And I don’t think I want to suffer Charli’s wrath anymore today, anyway.” He stuck his hand out to Grant. “Seriously, thank you, man. I don’t think I’d be able to leave her with anyone else here and be able to sleep at night.”

Grant shook Max’s hand, guilt nipping at his boot heels. Max was trusting him with what he treasured most—his family. Now Grant had to figure out if he was worthy of that kind of endorsement. Though, with the way Charli had looked at him when she’d realized he’d called her brother, he may not have to worry about it. She wasn’t exactly president of his fan club at the moment.

A few minutes after Max left, Charli stepped off her front porch with a bright red scratch on her cheek, her hair falling out of her bun, and a blue plastic carrier. She headed down the driveway and looked toward the end of her street. “So Mr. Save-the-Day is gone?”

Grant eyed the blue box warily. “Had to get back to work.”

“Sure he does. The chicken.” She handed him the carrier and it hissed. “Tom Brady doesn’t like to travel. He may throw up by the time you get back to your place.”

“Now, wait a second.” The box jolted and the cat made some noise that sounded like it was in its death throes. “I invited you to stay, not…quarterback kitty.”

“We’re a package deal, cowboy. You should’ve listened when I told you not to call Max. Now he’s thrown a kink into both of our worlds.” She leaned against his truck, eyebrow cocked. “You know you can still back out. I won’t tell him.”

“Not a chance, freckles.” Grant cringed when the carrier jolted again, and he yanked open the passenger door, setting the hissing beast inside the cab. “I know you’re upset I called, but I would’ve wanted him to do the same thing for me if the roles were reversed. And I made him a promise. I don’t make those unless I intend to keep them.”

“Come on, you know this is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’ve taken self-defense classes. Do I look like I need a babysitter?” She pushed off the truck, standing to her full height, which would probably be eye to eye or above most men. Too bad for her, he was six-seven and not afraid to use the advantage.

Before she could blink, he grabbed the crook of her elbow, spun her around, and hauled her against him, locking his arm around her waist and pressing his other thumb against her neck, mimicking a knife blade. She struggled, tried to stomp on his foot, but a few self-defense classes were no match for CIA training. “First rule of combat: hubris will bring you down every time.”

“Let me go.” She struggled for another second, but when she realized she wasn’t going to escape, she stopped fighting him. Her muscles softened beneath his hold, her chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths—breaths that could indicate fear. But when he glanced down her body and saw the tight beads of her nipples pressing against her shirt, he realized her reaction was anything but. His cock stirred at the sight, and he quickly released Charli, stepping back before she could feel exactly how much she affected him.

She spun around, her cheeks flushed but her jaw clenched. “That was dirty fighting, cowboy.”

“Only trying to show you that overconfidence can get you hurt.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, fighting the urge to touch her again. “Look, I get it. No one wants someone hovering over them. And I don’t have time to be glued to your side, anyway. I have a business to run. I’m going to give you your space as long as you follow a few rules to keep safe.” He saw her stiffen at the word rules but kept going. “We’ll get through whatever this threat is and then you can get back to your normal life, and I’ll get back to mine.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then leaned over to pick up her purse, which had slipped off her shoulder when he’d grabbed her. She missed it on the first swipe, clearly flustered, and then yanked the strap upward on the second attempt. “I’ve got to go into work and take care of some things. I called my insurance company and got a rental car lined up. If you don’t mind giving me a ride over to the car place, I can sneak Tom into work.”

He took her lack of combative response as victory. And though the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around with a vomiting feline, he needed to offer an olive branch. “I can drive you over and keep the cat with me. I have a quick meeting with a supplier to pick up a few things, then I’ll be headed back. I’ll make sure he’s not left alone in the car.”

“Okay, well, thanks.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll head back to your place after work. You can enlighten me on these so-called rules of yours.”

He smirked at her tone. “Look forward to it.”

“I bet you do. You look like a guy who loves a rule.”

Oh, you have no idea, freckles.






Charli gave up trying to keep her bun intact and secured her out-of-control hair into a ponytail before heading into the main offices of the Texas Sports Network. Even after the drive over, her hands were still shaky from the earlier moment with Grant. When he’d restrained her against him, she’d wanted to melt into the hold, give into it. But, of course, it had been a gesture meant to instill fear and prove a point, not to inspire images of a naked cowboy and sweaty sheets. Leave it to her to get turned on by a freaking choke hold. Her long stretch between relationships was apparently making her hormones light up over anything.

Luckily, Grant hadn’t seemed to notice her body’s instant reaction. When they’d broken apart, she’d been left a jittery mess, but he had looked cool as a November morning—all business and matter-of-fact.

She scoffed. Like he’d have any real interest in her anyway. She’d known men like him. They liked their women prim, yielding, and sweet. Those three words had never been used to describe her. If she was going to be hanging out at Grant’s place, she needed to get her libido out of the clouds and steer clear of the cowboy. She’d only end up making a fool of herself if she kept entertaining illicit fantasies about him anytime a southern-soaked word slipped past his lips.

She shook the errant thoughts from her mind, trying to focus on work. Despite all the drama of the past two days, she did have one positive thing going for her—the potential for a monster story. She didn’t have her fat file of notes since whoever had broken into her house had made off with that, but she still had the information from her investigative trip yesterday and the details she knew by memory. It wasn’t enough to break a story yet, but it was a damn good foundation for a killer scoop. Her boss Trey was going to flip his shit when he saw how big this could be. The on-air position would be hers wrapped up with a bow.

This was going to be her moment. Finally, she could prove her mother wrong. This girl was meant to be on TV. Her dream wasn’t something to laugh at.

Charli pushed open the doors to the main lobby and was greeted by the massive digital scoreboard that covered the back wall. All the scores of each Texas team’s last game were displayed in bright blue numbers. She gave a little wave to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, her stomach flipping over for reasons other than the rush to the top floor.

The elevator dinged and the funeral-like hush of the executive floor greeted her. Two levels down, where Charli worked, there was constant noise—phones ringing, all the sports channels cued up on the television screens, chattering over the walls of the cubicles. She loved the energy of it, the adrenaline. All this peacefulness on the top floor would drive her crazy.

She made her way to the far end of the hall and rapped on Trey’s partially ajar door. The door nudged open a bit farther from her knocking, and she could hear he wasn’t alone. She probably should’ve called up first, but trying to catch Trey when he wasn’t busy was like trying to find a break in traffic at rush hour.

“Yeah,” he called out.

She pushed the door fully open and stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, Tr—Mr. Winger.” Though she’d known Trey since college and had dated him briefly back then, she did make an effort to address him formally in front of others. “I needed to talk to you about something. I was hoping you’d have a minute.”

“Sure, Beaumonde, come on in,” Trey said, his voice like a barking dog. “I was just finishing up with Stormy here.”

The leggy blonde rose from her seat and flashed a toothpaste-ad smile Charli’s way.

Trey came around his desk and pressed a palm to the small of Stormy’s back as he guided her toward the door. “Let me know if you have any more questions, all right? I’m so happy this worked out.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Winger,” she said, her tone as perky as her Wonderbra. “And thank you. I know you’ll be a great mentor.”

Charli’s eyebrows lifted. Was Trey blushing? She’d seen the former-football-player-turned-executive get red with rage before, but never a blush. She pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.

Trey walked the girl out without introducing her to Charli, then came back to sit behind his desk. Charli sat in the chair the blonde had vacated. “Is she the new intern or something?”

“Not exactly.” Trey adjusted his suit jacket as if it had suddenly grown too small for his shoulders and frowned. “I called you earlier this morning, but you weren’t at your desk.”

“I had car trouble on the way back from an investigative trip. I sent you an e-mail about it.”

He glanced at his computer screen, which was apparently in sleep mode, and grunted. “You’re not supposed to be on investigative trips. I hired you to do lifestyle pieces.”

“I know. And I’m sorry about being late, but I think you’ll forgive me when you hear what I saw while on my trip. I drove out to take a look at Jensen Lerner’s place. You should’ve seen the number of suits going in and out of his house.”

“Beaumonde—”

She plowed on, too excited to share the information to pause for Trey’s questions. But by the time she was done spilling all of the evidence she’d gathered, she could tell he was only half listening.

“Sounds interesting. And hard to prove.”

She clenched her teeth, uninspired by Trey’s lack of enthusiasm. “I understand that. I plan to get facts. But you know how big this could be if it’s true? If they’re cheating and boosters are really paying players, that could shut down the entire football program.”

He waved his hand, a dismissive flip of the wrist that told her he was planning to ignore everything she’d said. “Keep me up to date with what you find. But make sure you don’t lose focus on what I hired you for in the first place. Your notes on the elderly fantasy football league story lacked your usual enthusiasm and level of detail.”

She resisted the urge to shake him. She’d been hired to research what most of the office considered fluff. Feel-good pieces that filled the space between the daily score updates and hard-hitting stories the network was known for. She enjoyed her job and believed those stories were just as important to tell, but she knew she’d need to bring in more breaking news–worthy pieces if she wanted to be seen as a serious on-air contender. She craved being in the action, there on camera sharing her passion in front of a live audience instead of from behind a desk. “I brought you the facts. You know I’ve never slacked. I don’t plan to start now.”

Trey’s face softened and the vein that had begun throbbing at his temple smoothed. Suddenly, he looked like the kid quarterback she’d met her freshman year again—the guy with whom she’d attempted her first real relationship. “I know. You’re a good reporter. But this is distracting you, and I don’t want you spinning your wheels on something that will be near impossible to prove.”

She could hear the underlying message in his words—Don’t fuck things up, Beaumonde. He’d gone out on a limb to get her in this position, and his name was riding on her doing the job he’d hired her for. “Right. I won’t let it interfere again.”

She rose to leave.

“Hold up, Charli. There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”

She sat back down, a little stunned that he’d used her first name. He never did that—even when they’d dated, he’d called her Beaumonde. Maybe this was going to be it. The day she’d been dreaming about. Her heartbeat ticked upward. “Yes?”

“We didn’t select you for the sideline reporter position.”

A short, emotionless sentence—one that managed to hit her like a dump truck.

She blinked, words escaping her. She hadn’t gotten it? They’d picked that smarmy-ass Pete over her?

Trey took a sudden interest in the pen he was rolling between his fingertips. “We just didn’t think it was the right fit. We feel your strengths are in the behind-the-scenes work.”

If the first revelation stole her breath, this one downright demolished her. Not only had she not gotten the position, but they didn’t think she was meant for an on-camera job? Her heart climbed up her throat and lodged there. “I don’t understand. You told me you thought I’d be a great candidate for it. And Pete froze up when we did our auditions. You think he’s better suited for TV?”

Trey shifted in his seat, set the pen down, and folded his hands on his desk. “No, we didn’t go with Pete either.”

Thoughts raced through her mind, knocking into each other, and tumbling. “Then who?”

Trey’s gaze flicked toward the door and he cleared his throat. “Uh, well…”

Oh, shit. She knew that look. He’d had the same one when he’d admitted he’d run up a gambling debt in college and had used money she’d lent him for rent to pay it off. It was the I-just-totally-screwed-you look. She followed his gaze, and realization clamored in her brain.

She gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself from leaping across the desk and choking Trey. “The blonde?”

He winced. “She’s been really successful hosting a fashion show on the web.”

“Fashion?” Her voice had gone too loud, but she couldn’t help it. “You’re going to put a fashion reporter on the sidelines? Does she even know what a touchdown is?”

“She was a baton twirler in college so she has been on the sidelines before.”

“Oh, Trey, come on.” Her head felt ready to explode. Being on the pep squad was now a qualification?

“She has good timing and a great speaking voice.”

“And big tits and legs up to her ears,” Charli countered.

His jaw twitched, though he was obviously trying hard to keep his impassive business face on. “When we showed audition tapes to a focus group and our sponsors, she got the best scores.”

“No doubt that focus group was all dudes.”

“Eighty-five percent of our viewing audience is men. And yes, men don’t mind watching a pretty girl deliver their sports information. I didn’t create that fact—it just is.”

And she wasn’t a pretty girl. He hadn’t said it, but he might as well have. “So if I looked like her, then I’d be the one with the job?”

“No.” Trey rubbed at the spot between his eyebrows, as if stalling to search for the right words. “Charli, I think you’re great. Your sports knowledge is unparalleled. But the group didn’t find you easy to watch. It’s not about looks as much as vibe. Viewers want a guy with an air of authority or a real girly girl. Not…”

“Me.” The tomboy. The girl who felt more comfortable in a locker room than a nail salon. The ugly-duckling daughter who wasn’t worth sticking around for.

He met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

Trey did look like he felt like shit about it. And at least he hadn’t pulled punches. She’d rather hear the truth than some manufactured attempt to make her feel better. Even if the truth had sliced and diced her.

She rubbed her lips together, willing herself to keep it together. “What about the weekend anchor position coming open next month?”

He sighed, tilting back in his chair. “Obviously, you have the right to apply for it. Pete already put his name in for it, too. But I can’t see there being a different outcome. The same criteria are going to apply.”

“I’ve got to get to my desk,” she said, standing, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her pants. She needed to get out of there before she cried like some loser.

Trey rose as well. “Beaumonde, don’t let this get you down. There are behind-the-scenes positions that pay more than the on-air ones. With your skills, you’re going to move right up the chain.”

The gritted teeth smile she gave him made her face hurt. “Right.”

“And—”

She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Of course you are. You’re the toughest woman I know.”

And therein lay the problem.

She walked out of his office, the tattered threads of her childhood dream unraveling at the seams with each step.

Maybe her mother had been right to laugh at her.











FIVE (#ulink_ee6ef5a0-293a-527a-8d03-19cf9d4196ef)







“Get down from there,” Grant said, using his most authoritative tone. “Now.”

Charli’s cat licked a paw and gave him a glance from atop the cabinets that seemed to say, I’m sorry, were you talking to me? Because I couldn’t give a shit. Grant grunted. The damn feline had gotten himself stuck up there and anytime Grant climbed up to get him out, Tom hissed and swatted at him. He didn’t think he could find a Tom Brady he disliked more than the quarterback version, but this cat was moving up the charts.

This was ridiculous. Grant had horses that would approach at his subtlest signal. Had owned dogs he’d been able to train in a matter of hours. Hell, he could walk over to The Ranch, snap his fingers, and a line of subs would be kneeling at his feet in half a second. But this cat—this cat was topping him.

He picked up the food bowl he’d set out earlier and shook it in Tom’s direction. “Come on. You must be hungry.”

God knows the cat had emptied all the contents of his stomach in that carrier on the way over. Grant’s truck was never going to smell the same.

The front door squeaked, and Grant peered through the pass-through to find Charli stepping inside. She closed the door behind her, set her bags down, and then sagged against the solid wood, shutting her eyes and running her hands over her face.

The simple despair of the move sent all his worry sensors going off. The cat forgotten, he headed out of the kitchen and into the lamp-lit living room. “Hey, you okay?”

She startled, her lids flying open and her hand going to her chest. “Grant.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He crooked a thumb at the kitchen. “I had stopped in to check on the cat.”

“Oh.”

He took in her red-rimmed eyes, her pale cheeks, and moved closer. Tentatively. He wanted to touch her, to protect her from whatever it was that had put her in this state, but knew that would be a supremely unwise move. “Did something else happen?”

She pushed off the door and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

“Well, obviously something’s upset you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but can we not talk about this?” She grabbed her bags, took a wide step around him, and made her way toward the kitchen.

His jaw flexed as he held back the demand to know more. He’d said he’d give her space and already he was itching to push her for information. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off his instinct to control the situation, and followed her into the kitchen. “I’m not trying to pry, but I need you to be an open book when it comes to any strange things happening, any threats, any information that may help us figure out who’s after you. That’s why you’re here.”

“I get it. But there’s nothing to report. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. My boss is a dick. End of story.” She set her canvas grocery bags on the counter and started unloading things. “I want to have a glass of wine, watch some mindless TV, and go to bed.”

“No television in here.”

“What?” She sounded truly horrified but didn’t turn around.

“People come here to relax and get away, not to watch Lifetime movies.”

“Fabulous. Guess I’ll be watching on my computer then.”

He grabbed the bottle of the merlot she’d set on the counter and grimaced when he read the label. “Darlin’, I can’t let you drink this. It’s crap.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s fine. It was on sale, and I’ve had it before.”

He unscrewed the top and sniffed. God-awful as he expected. He tilted the bottle over the sink and poured. “You’d be better off drinking grape soda.”

“Hey!” She turned around and made a grab for the bottle, but most of it was already swirling down the drain. “I spent ten bucks on that.”

“They robbed you. I’ll bring over a bottle of my own stock. I promise you it’s worth more than ten bucks and will go down a lot smoother.”

She slammed the bottle down on the counter and shot him a look that could wilt flowers. “Goddammit. You said you weren’t going to hover, and already you’re controlling my alcohol selections? Back off, cowboy. I’ve had enough of people telling me what I can and can’t do today.”

He knew he should listen. Clearly she was on edge. But she looked so decadent right then—color back in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, the small curves of her breasts rising and falling with her frustrated breaths. He could tell she wanted to lash out even more, that she wanted to take out her day on someone. She needed a release, and though he’d prefer to lift her up on that counter and show her a more fun way of letting go of all that energy, he knew that wasn’t an option. So he was willing to field her wrath if it took that wrinkle out of her brow.

“So you had a bad day,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the sink, purposely prodding her.

She narrowed her eyes, then turned back to her groceries, ignoring his statement. “Where’s Tom?”

“Above you,” Grant said, nodding at the ball of fur squeezed between the ceiling and tops of the cabinets. “I was trying to get him down when you came in, but he was less than cooperative.”

She tilted her head back and looked up. “Oh, good Lord, Tommy. Get down from there.”

She made some kissing and cooing sounds and in an instant, the cat slinked to the far end of the space, hopped to the top of the refrigerator, then down onto the counter to Charli’s awaiting arms.

Grant shook his head. He’d been trying to do the same for half an hour and had been convinced the cat was stuck. Apparently, Tom was as strong-headed as his owner.

She set Tom on the floor, and Grant saw the flicker of sadness behind the stoic mask she’d put on after she’d realized he was in the cabin. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Charli, but I can be a pretty good ear if you need one. You don’t have to put on a happy face on my account.”

She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through, but her expression went smooth as glass again. “Thanks, but I told you, I’m fine. Why don’t you lay those rules on me? It’s getting late.”

So, she was going with the brush-off. Fine.

He’d let her get away with it…for now.

But if he was going to protect her, she needed to trust him.

Usually not a problem. Gaining a woman’s trust was his stock and trade. Unfortunately, this time he was going to have to figure out how to do it without restraints and a firm spanking.






Charli kept her back to Grant, loading the few items she’d bought at the market into a cabinet and the refrigerator and trying to regain her composure. When Grant had looked at her, she’d had the uncanny sense that he was seeing to the root of her, seeing every ugly fear and vulnerability, every hurt and trauma. She didn’t like it. At all.

She was too on edge after the disaster of a day to deal with someone like him. One errant word or look and she’d spill her guts on the floor like some damned therapy session. Oh, poor me. Not only did I not get the job I’ve been dreaming of all my life, but oh, yeah, people find it hard to even watch me on television. Talk about humiliating. Why not just put her in a prom dress and dump some pig’s blood on her?

“Right, the rules,” Grant said in that baritone that seemed to vibrate through her rib cage. “Pretty simple. You give me your schedule, where you’re going to be. If you deviate from that, you call me and let me know ahead of time. You send me a text message letting me know when you arrive at work and when you’re leaving. I’m putting a GPS tracking device on your rental car as a backup in case I can’t get in touch with you and you need help.”

She shuddered, flashbacks of her teen years rolling through her mind—the constant checking in and explaining herself to her dad and brothers. “Don’t you think that’s a little overboard?”

He frowned. “Hopefully, it is. I hope that none of this is necessary. But I’m not willing to take a chance.”

She sighed. “Right.”

“As for when you’re here, feel free to explore the grounds, but stay on this side of the property. That long fence along the eastern edge divides the winery from the resort. Members only on the other side.”

She glanced back at him, eyebrow lifted. “Seriously?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s not like I’m here for a vacation. I just didn’t realize it was exclusive with a capital E.” She grabbed a bag of chips and opened them, her lack of dinner finally hitting her. “You’re not housing the mob over there or something, are you?”

He pushed off the counter to rise to his full height and smiled. “No, nothing so sinister.”

She eyed him, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything, but his smile didn’t falter. She held out the bag of chips. “Want some?”

Instead of taking a chip from the bag, he plucked the one from between her fingertips and popped it in his mouth. “The resort’s room service is available on this side, too—twenty-four-seven. There’s a menu in the desk drawer. Dial three on the phone and you can get anything delivered to your door, no charge.”

“Oh, that’s really generous, but I think I’m covered.”

“A woman can’t live by cheap wine and ham sandwiches alone. I’ll make sure a bottle of wine and tonight’s roast chicken make it over here within the half hour.” He snagged his keys off the counter, spinning the loop around his finger and sauntered toward the side door, giving her an unimpeded view of broad shoulders and that lovely, jean-covered backside. “Give me a call if you need anything else or have any questions.”

She smirked. “What? You’re not sticking around to make sure I get tucked into bed all right?”

He halted his step and she had the urge to put her hands over her face. She’d meant the question as a joke, but once the words were out of her mouth, she’d realized how they’d sounded. Like a lame attempt at flirting.

And maybe it had been exactly that.

Maybe she wanted him to stay and help her forget her awful day.

But he kept his back to her and turned his head to the side, revealing only his profile. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Charli.”

“Right,” she said softly, then added: “I was only kidding.”

“Good night, freckles.”

She sank back against the counter. Good was about the last thing tonight could be called.

The wine better make it over here quickly.











SIX (#ulink_c8df2f72-80c7-5988-b2e8-1cc5c286fcec)







The night was filled with a harmony of frogs and crickets as Grant headed back to his house after checking on things at The Ranch. He had interviewed a potential trainee tonight—one who was having trouble letting go of control in her scenes with other doms. She’d been pretty and open to the type of play he enjoyed. She’d read through his contract and didn’t have any major sticking points. But once he’d started talking to her, he figured out one thing rather quickly—he had no desire to tie her up and beat her. And that was a damn shame.

So instead, he’d thanked her for her time and had gone back to work. He’d ended up spending half an hour mediating a tiff between two longtime members over who had reserved what playroom when, then had worked the floor for the rest of the night. But instead of all that business clearing his mind, walking the play spaces had only inspired images of his new “neighbor” and how she would look naked and restrained on all that equipment—how she’d feel writhing beneath his hands and mouth.

In the end, he’d left with a hard-on and headache. Not exactly the kind of night he’d been craving.

He took a swig from the bottle of water he’d grabbed on his way out and made the last turn in the path toward his place. The glow of his porch light burned in the distance. Almost home. But snapping twigs and a muffled curse somewhere off to the left had him slowing his steps. He turned, squinting through the inky darkness and cluster of trees. “Hello?”

More unintelligible sounds, then a clear “goddammit.”

Uh-oh. He took a step in the direction of the noise. “Charli? Is that you?”

“No.”

But it was. Even having just met her, he would recognize that slight rasp in her voice anywhere. Despite his best efforts, the sound went straight to his groin every damn time. Something about that hint of hoarseness made him think of how she would sound when she cried out in pleasure. Or pain. He was a fan of both.

He adjusted the front of his jeans and made his way through the grove of trees, almost afraid of what he’d find. Once he got to the other side and the moon offered enough light to find her, he discovered Charli sitting in a puddle of mud with her hands above her head, holding something.

“What in the hell?”

She looked to the heavens and groaned. “Can you take this please? If it gets wet, they’ll probably fire me.”

He grabbed the device from her, an iPad from what he could tell, and offered her a hand. “Need some help?”

“I got it.” She pushed herself up and then grimaced when she put weight on her right leg. “Ouch.”

He had to hide his own grimace, but for a completely different reason. Since he’d left her earlier, she’d changed into boxers and a T-shirt—both of which were now soaked and covered in mud. If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been comical. But all he could focus on was how the garments now clung and outlined every naked part beneath—curves and dips and points. Mud wrestling had never sounded so tempting.

He cleared his throat, thankful for the dark night as his cock hardened behind the fly of his pants. “Are you all right?”

“I think I tripped over a root or something.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and winced a bit. “Pissed off my ankle.”

He frowned at the way her words stumbled into each other, hearing the slight slur in her voice for the first time. Apparently the wine had made it over to her cabin. “Let me help you get back to your place. Do you need me to carry you?”

She shook her head, swaying on her feet ever so slightly. “I can…manage. Just carry the tablet so I don’t get any of this on it. Don’t need another talk from the boss, now do I?”

She took a few hobbling steps and tilted to the left. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Enjoyed the wine, Charli?”

“It was soooo smooth,” she said, flashing him an off-kilter smile and stumbling another step. “And potent.”

“So I see.” He tightened his grip, halting her. “Tell you what. This isn’t working. Wait here and don’t move.”

Before she could protest, he left her standing there in the dark and jogged toward her cabin. She’d thankfully left the door unlocked, saving him the trouble of going to his place for the key. Once inside, he found the half-empty bottle of wine and a cupcake wrapper. The roasted chicken he’d sent over looked untouched. He set her computer tablet on the counter and grabbed a large towel from the bathroom.

He hustled back outside, finding she had followed his instruction, something that gave him more pleasure than it should have. He handed her the towel. “Clean off what you can, then I’m carrying you the rest of the way. You may have sprained your ankle.”

“I don’t need to be carried. I’m fine.”

“This isn’t a negotiation. You’re injured and drunk.”

She raised a finger to him. “I am n—”

He cocked his head, giving a pointed glance at her muddied state, and she clamped her mouth shut. With unsteady movements, she wiped off her bare legs and cleaned her arms and hands.

He looked over her shoulder toward the fields, trying to do anything but watch her spread that wet mud along that freckled skin. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“The Internet signal sucks. Thought if I got close enough to your cabin, I could catch your wireless if you had it.”

“You could’ve called me.”

She gave him a warning glance, no doubt anticipating a hindsight lecture, but he kept quiet. Some things didn’t need to be said.

Once she’d cleaned off what she could, Grant bent and put an arm beneath her knees and under her back, lifting her with one swift movement and catching her by surprise based on the hitch in her breath.

“You’re going to throw out your back, you know?”

He gave her a wry look. “I’ve carried injured men on the battlefield. I can handle one little sports reporter.”

“Little?” She snorted. “I’m almost six feet tall.”

“You’re small to me. Live with it.”

She kept quiet the rest of the walk back to the cabin, though he wished she would’ve kept chattering—anything to take his mind off the fact that she was pressed up against him and that she clearly had no bra on under that wet T-shirt. Those pert nipples would fit so perfectly in his mouth, would look so pretty in clamps. He forced himself to keep his eyes forward.

“It’s not good to stomp around here in the dark,” he said, his voice coming out gruffer than he intended. “We’re not in the city, freckles. A twig gotcha this time, but there are animals out here, too—coyotes, bobcats, snakes. They keep away from the lit areas of the resort, but you never know what you’ll find over here in the shadows.”

“I had only planned to be out for a minute.” She rested her head against his shoulder, and he wondered if she even realized she was doing it or if the wine was softening her.

He bumped open the cabin door with the toe of his boot and turned sideways to fit them both through the door. “And look how much trouble you got yourself into with only a minute in your pocket.”

“The half a bottle of wine didn’t hurt,” she said, the words sliding off her lips like lazy raindrops. “Made me forget about my shitty day for a little while, too.”

He set her down gently in the slate-tiled bathroom and opened the door to the walk-in shower to turn on the spray. He wanted to ask her more about her day, but he’d already tried that earlier and she’d instantly shut down. He kept his back to her and adjusted the knobs. “The water takes a minute to heat, but it should help sober you up at least.”

He started to turn around, but the sound of wet cloth smacking hard tile was like a sonic boom in his ears. His feet rooted to the spot as he caught the faint reflection in the shower glass of Charli bending and slipping off her shorts. Another plop as the boxers hit the floor. The steam fogged the glass before she straightened, but he had no doubt she was standing naked behind him. “Uh, Charli, I’m still in here.”

“So,” she said, sounding like a petulant teenager. “Didn’t ya know? Guys don’t think of me as a girl. So no harm.”

“Guys don’t wha—?” He must be having a dream. He’d really made it back to his cabin and he was in his bed now, having erotic dreams about Charli like the night before. That must be it.

“I’m hard to watch, cowboy” she said, her tone bitter. “They’d rather watch some blonde baton-twirling fashion reporter than me. Because she’s pretty. Even if she probably doesn’t know a first down from first base.”

Grant breathed in a deep gulp of steamy air, willing himself not to turn around and take the eyeful he so wanted. She was drunk. And apparently some idiot at her job had thrown a grenade at her today. He couldn’t give in to the urge.

“Darlin’, obviously you’re working with some world-class imbeciles. But do you mind wrapping up with a towel? Otherwise, you’re going to be real mad at yourself and me in the morning.”

She sniffed. “Well, see, there you go. The thought of me naked is even too much for you to bear.”

Oh, she had no idea. “Now you’re just talking stupid.”

“Great. So I’m not just ugly but stupid. Gee, thanks. You can go now.”

“Enough.” He spun around right as she was securing the towel, a towel that barely made it past the juncture of her legs. He wet his lips, the rest of his planned words sticking to his mouth like taffy.

“Just go.”

He closed the distance between them with two strides, and up close he could see that even though her jaw was set, her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “Look, I don’t know what happened to you today or what you’re trying to prove to yourself right now, but let’s get one thing straight—you know nothing about what I think of you.”

“So tell me then,” she challenged. “Can’t be any worse than what I’ve already heard today.”

He moved into her personal space, backing her into the wall and bracing his hands on each side of her. “The truth? I think you’ve had a really shitty day and you’re looking for a fight or a fuck to make you forget it.”

Her eyes widened, her breath hitching.

“You want to yell at me, freckles? You want to pummel me to get all that anger out? Because go ahead. I’m right here.”

She stared back at him, frozen for a moment, then she licked her lips nervously. “That’s not what I want to do with you.”

His breathing was loud in his own ears. He needed to walk away. Right. Now. But his mouth was acting on its own accord. “Tell me what you want, Charli.”

Half of him hoped she wouldn’t follow his command, that she’d push him away. Because this was about as bad an idea as he’d ever considered. But if she told him, if she asked, he didn’t think he had it in him to deny her.

She couldn’t seem to bring her gaze up to him, but he didn’t miss the whispered plea. “I need to forget today. I need something good.”

And with that, his desire knocked off his good sense. Bang, bang. Dead.

“Something good it is, then.” He lifted Charli up and wound her legs around him, fitting the bare curve of her ass into his palms and dragging her against his straining erection. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and made a soft, desperate sound that curled through him like hot smoke, filling his nerve endings.

But his raging libido was going to have to wait. He wasn’t going to fuck her drunk, couldn’t cross that line. But he could give her what she needed. He carried her over to the shower and pulled open the door, the steam spilling out into the room, then stepped in fully clothed, bringing them both under the hot stream of water. She lifted her head, surprise coloring her eyes as the water sluiced over her, soaking the towel and sloughing the dirt off her arms.

“Your clothes,” she said, looking down at his now-saturated shirt.

“Don’t worry about me, freckles. Just hold on to that towel bar behind you and let me make you feel good.”

Her gaze went hazy with arousal and maybe a little fear, but she followed his instruction. He kept an arm banded around her to make sure she was steady on her feet, then he slipped his hand beneath the edge of the towel, brushing against the smoothness of her inner thighs and sliding upward to find the damp thatch of hair at their juncture. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the shower wall. God, he wanted to yank that towel off her, see her stretched out like this and totally bare, but he knew if he took it that far, he’d end up inside her, taking more than he had any right to. He brushed his finger along her cleft, and she bucked against him, the simple touch pulling a moan from her.

The sound was like a stroke to his cock, her sensitivity like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Oh, how he could torture someone so responsive, drag out her pleasure until she was begging for release. “Darlin’, if you’re that keyed up, this isn’t going to take long.”

“Please,” she whispered, her hips tilting toward his touch.

He smiled, giving her what she sought, a firm slide over her clit. The nub seemed to swell beneath his fingers, her arousal coating his skin despite the shower water pounding down on them. He could smell her sexy scent, so sweet and tempting. He’d love to part those thighs and taste every bit of her, but instead he tucked two fingers inside her heat and kept his thumb against her clit.

“Oh, God.” Her body clenched around his fingers and she rocked against his hand, shamelessly taking things to the pace she craved. Needy. Starved.

“That’s right,” he said against her ear as he pumped his fingers inside her. “Take what you need. Let yourself go.”

As if she’d been waiting for the words, she let out a sharp cry and her fingers went bloodless against the towel bar. The tremor of orgasm seemed to go through every inch of her, her body quivering in front of him, going flushed and pink. Quick, breathy gasps slipped past her lips as she undulated against his touch, milking every bit of pleasure she could.

His cock pressed against his zipper, begging for relief, for her, but he clenched his jaw and willed the ache away. He knew how to hold back his own need for hours in a play session. He could handle this. At least that’s what he kept repeating in his head as Charli drifted down from her quick-and-dirty orgasm.

He moved his hand away from her and resisted the urge to lick her arousal from his fingers, to let her watch how he would savor her taste. Or even better, to paint it over her nipples and then suck them clean. His cock flexed and he held back a groan. He was on the precipice of losing his control. This had been a bad idea. If she could push him to this point with him simply touching her, he was in trouble.

He reached out and turned off the shower. Her eyes fluttered open, the daze of orgasm still heavy in her expression. Her hands slipped off the bar and she pushed her sopping hair away from her face. “Wow, that was…I don’t usually…”

He smiled, though the effort was strained from his own keyed-up state. “Feel better?”

“So much better. Thank you.” She pushed off the wall and reached for the nape of his neck. He watched the play of desire move over her features, loving the way her fingers tightened against his skin. He found himself contemplating how easy it would be to loosen that towel, bind her arms with it, and take her right there against the shower wall. Her look said she would let him. But before he could truly lose all sense of right and wrong, she lifted up on her toes, her face moving toward him. Panic zipped through him like an electric bolt when he realized what she was going to do, and he instinctively moved his head to the left, dodging the kiss.

She blinked up at him, surprised by the quick movement, then she registered what he’d done. A cold mask crossed over her features.

“Charli, we can’t, I can’t—”

She grabbed the top of her towel, which was now sagging with the weight of all the water, and held it tight, not looking up. “Right. I get it.”

“Charli,” he repeated.

“No, really. It’s fine. I got off, and that’s what I asked for. Much obliged. You can go now.”

He wanted to explain, to reach out and fix that wounded expression. But the damage was already done. And having her think he didn’t want to take this anywhere was for the best. Max didn’t send his sister here so that Grant could get her into his bed. And hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had vanilla sex with anyone. This had been a mistake all around. She was everything he didn’t look for in a woman.

Too bad his dick didn’t give a damn about any of that.

He stepped out of the shower, his wet boots leaving puddles on the floor. “I’m sorry, Charli.”

She turned her back to him. “Shut the door behind you.”

He did exactly that, heading out of the house and leaving a wet trail behind him.

And the asshole award goes to…

The air outside had turned cooler and chilled his clothes against his skin as he made his way back to his cabin. Served him right for losing control like that. He should’ve walked straight out that door in the first place. If she had needed a release, she could’ve handled that herself. She didn’t need him to come in and save the day. The move had been selfish on all levels.

By the time he reached his place he was cold, pissed, and tired. But unfortunately, the miserable walk back to his cabin and a heaping pile of guilt hadn’t been enough to quell the hard-on from hell. He was now walking with a full hitch in his giddyup. The sound of Charli’s sexy sighs as she came was burned into his brain.

He could head back to The Ranch and find someone to scene with for the night. But he’d never been a fan of fantasizing about one person while you fucked another. When he was with a submissive, he wanted it to be all about that woman. Otherwise, what was the point?

So as soon as he kicked his door shut behind him, he stripped out of his wet clothes and headed to his own shower. Charli would probably still be taking hers, sans towel—water running in rivulets down her freckled skin, soap sliding over her perfect handful breasts and along her belly, suds creeping down between her thighs where the lips of her sex would still be swollen and pink from orgasm. He imagined stepping in behind her, taking the soap, and washing her backside. She would yield to his touch, beg for it. He could cup her ass and press the ridge of his cock against her, tasting her neck.

The hot water hit him with a blast, and he let it envelop him for a moment as it chased away the chill, and he got lost in the fantasy. He leaned back against the tiled wall and reached for the soap, creating a lather that he wished he could rub on Charli. But instead, he moved his hand down and grasped his cock, coating himself in the slippery liquid and stroking. A hard shudder went through him as he imagined his own grip was really the hot clasp of Charli’s body around him.

He moved up and down the length, sparing any finesse. He liked to give it rough, and he liked to get it the same way. His fist went on autopilot as his mind continued to weave images of Charli against him, around him…tied up for him, begging him, those green eyes drunk on pleasure instead of wine. The sound of soap against skin filled the shower, mixing with the steam and the pounding water. His knees tried to buckle beneath him as the pressure built low and fast.

He splayed his hand against the side wall, hanging on, and then sensation exploded through his system, shooting down his spine and radiating outward. Charli’s name sat full on his lips as his hard, pulsing release splashed against his abdomen and the shower wall.

He leaned his forehead against the shower door, his breath rasping out of him as his cock went soft in his hand. The water turned cool long before he had the desire to open his eyes to his always-empty cabin.











SEVEN (#ulink_0616c341-44e5-538d-87ae-f486f462f22d)







Charli pulled her hair into a twist and kicked up the volume on the small radio in the cabin’s bedroom. This place was too damn quiet, especially at night. And who would want to stay anywhere without a television?

Serenity made her antsy. She’d had better luck relaxing by riding roller coasters or learning to kickbox. Things that turned the adrenaline up and her mind off. Things like getting pressed up against a shower wall by a fully clothed cowboy and riding his hand until her brain exploded.

That had been a pretty big adrenaline rush—well, up until she’d realized she was the only one into it. That the mere thought of kissing her had made him recoil.

God, what had she been thinking? Talk about making a fool of herself. Nothing like coming across as desperate and sex-starved.

And drunk.

She couldn’t forget that part.

Nice job, Beaumonde.

She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the memory, and booted up her iPad so that she could catch SportsCenter and her own station’s end-of-the-day wrap-up show. The sports radio was not cutting it. And after her long day of purposely avoiding Grant and then an evening chasing down a lead that didn’t pan out, she was ready to relax, watch the night’s highlights, and get to bed. Plus, the network was going to introduce Blondie as the new sidelines reporter on-air and for some reason, Charli felt compelled to watch it.

The screen came to life, but when she tried to access the Internet, she got the no signal message. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

When she’d done her morning check-in text with Grant, he’d let her know that he’d moved the router in his own cabin, which should give her access to his connection, but apparently it hadn’t done the trick. She wasn’t quite ready to chat with Grant in real time. She needed the mortification of the previous night to settle a little longer before she crossed that bridge, so she sent him another text. But after a few minutes, she hadn’t heard back. She stared down at the absent signal icon on the tablet. “Damn.”

She frowned at the screen. She should go to bed. What good would seeing it be anyway? Why torture herself? But the urge to have that closure was too strong. With a sigh, she got up and toed on her tennis shoes. If Grant wasn’t answering a text, he probably wasn’t home. She could probably sneak over to his yard and borrow his signal long enough to see the show.

Not ready to repeat the debacle from last night, she made sure she had a flashlight before heading out. The walk over wasn’t very long and if she stayed on the gravel path this time, she’d be fine. Plus, being sober always helped. She grabbed her backpack and slipped the tablet inside, then locked up behind her. Grant had told her the grounds were secure and locking doors wasn’t necessary, but frankly, at night the place looked ripe for a Friday the 13th installment. And she’d prefer to skip the ax murdering tonight.

She walked carefully along the path, making sure to keep an ear out for any animal sounds and holding the light out in front of her. But besides a rabbit that darted in front of her and inspired a near heart attack, she was alone on her trip over. Grant’s porch light came into view and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. His truck was there.

She paused, suddenly panicked that he’d discover her out there. What if he wanted to discuss last night? Or had a woman over or something? She didn’t know anything about his life really. Hell, maybe he had a girlfriend and that’s why he’d left last night. She sniffed. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Charli. She’d known exactly why he’d turned away. And it wasn’t because of another woman. The way he’d reacted hadn’t left much room for interpretation. It was simple. He was appalled by the thought of kissing her.

It was like high school and college all over again. She was the girl who was okay to fool around with on the sly for a fun night here or there, but not the girl guys actually wanted to date. She was a buddy fuck. Always had been and seemed always would be. She scanned the area for a somewhat safe place to sit and spotted a simple wooden bench beneath one of the large oaks at the edge of his yard. It was shrouded in the shadows and close enough to probably get the signal she’d come for in the first place, but far enough that Grant wouldn’t see her if he happened to step outside. She headed over, parked on the bench, and pulled out her tablet.

The signal wasn’t perfect, but it was there. She cued up her station’s Internet feed and selected the most recent show. Most of today’s scores she’d already heard, so she skimmed through that and made it to the part she’d been both looking for and dreading. The nightly anchors invited Stormy to sit at the desk with them and introduced her. Jack, head anchor, smiled an all-teeth smile at Stormy while he asked her questions and surreptitiously checked out her too-low-cut top. If he’d been a cartoon character, his tongue would’ve rolled out of his mouth and smacked the desk. And even worse were the Internet messages from viewers below the video. No one, of course, commented on whether or not Stormy had sports knowledge or experience. It was all talk of how hot the new sideline reporter was.

Charli’s dinner churned in her stomach, and she clicked the off button. Well, apparently they’d nailed their target market. The market that had no interest in her. But before she could fall back into that lovely dark place of feeling sorry for herself, the front door of the cabin opened and Grant stepped out. She instinctively shrunk backward, making sure she stayed cloaked in the shadows of the oak. The last thing she needed was Grant finding her out here and adding creepy stalker to her list of attributes along with girl who throws herself at men whilst drunk.

He glanced around the yard, but not with intent, then shut the door behind him. He was still fully dressed in what she was beginning to think was his uniform—plaid shirt and worn jeans, but he’d taken his hat off, revealing that dark wavy hair of his beneath. Her fingers flexed, remembering what it felt like between her fingers, wondering how that shadow of a beard would feel against her skin.

Stop it. Even knowing he had no interest in her, she couldn’t stop herself from the fantasies. It was as if his presence scrambled the signals in her brain—making her think things she never thought, want things she’d never considered. But after the humiliation of last night, she’d needed to get herself together and show him that she wasn’t some desperate woman trying to get his attention. He couldn’t know that he had any power over her. Not if they were going to exist together these next few weeks. They would need to agree to forget what happened last night and move on. Delete that episode altogether.

Just not tonight. She wasn’t ready for that conversation quite yet.

She held her breath, though at this distance there was no way he’d be able to hear her breathe, and watched. She expected him to head to his truck, but instead he turned at the far corner of the house and walked away from her and toward the resort. Apparently, he was going to work, but what would a resort need the owner for this late at night? Wouldn’t everyone be settling in or sleeping by now?

Once he was far enough away, she let her lungs empty and tucked her computer back into her knapsack. She’d be able to escape to her cabin without him ever knowing she was here if she left now. But as she watched Grant’s sauntering gait disappear into the night, she found herself rising from the bench and heading away from her cabin instead of toward it, the draw of the unknown too tempting for her reporter instincts.

If he could install a tracking device on her car, then she could be nosy, too.

She tucked her bag behind a bush near the back side of his cabin, then picked up her pace so she wouldn’t lose him. She kept a decent distance behind him. Grant had been in the military and so undoubtedly had finely tuned senses for people sneaking up on him. And the grounds were so damn quiet, one snapped twig and she’d reveal herself. But Grant never looked back, just continued to stride with that swagger of his. A man on a mission by the looks of it. Maybe something had gone wrong at the resort and he had been called over.

Grant opened the padlocked gate that led to the other side of the property, and Charli ducked behind a tree as he turned to swing the gate closed behind him. Some creepy-crawly thing landed on Charli’s arm and it took everything she had not to yelp and shake it off. Grant snapped the lock closed, the sound echoing in the silence, and continued on his way. As soon as his back was to her again, she did a little shake and got the damn bug off her arm, shuddering. She’d rather face a coyote than bugs.

In order to follow Grant, she had to climb over the low post-and-rail wooden fence, which made her glad she’d chosen sneakers tonight. She hopped down to the other side and glanced around, half-expecting a SWAT team to lower down from the surrounding trees. Grant had made everything sound so top secret over here.

But no one came to tackle her, and she was able to catch sight of Grant again in no time. There were paved paths on this side with solar-powered garden lights lining some portions of the trails. The wild Texas brush and trees were trimmed back and looked neater, more manicured. There really was no way to remain hidden, so instead she pushed her shoulders back and tried to pretend like she belonged there. If anyone but Grant saw her, maybe they’d assume she was another guest.

The main house loomed in the distance—a breathtakingly large building of cedar and river rock. Lights glittered around its perimeter but the few windows she could see were all dark. She had no idea if the main building had rentable rooms or if it was just the place for dining rooms and spas or whatever the hell rich people needed on their rustic vacation. Regardless, Grant seemed to be making a beeline in that direction.

As soon as she rounded the last bend though, something off to the right caught her eye. A flash of movement. She turned her head, taking her eyes off Grant, and almost tripped over her feet when she saw two men underneath a nearby tree. One of the men was shirtless and pressed up against the bark; his partner’s forearm was pressed over his wrists, holding his arms taut above his head. Charli’s gaze tracked down and she couldn’t help but gasp when she saw where the man’s other hand was. The fly of shirtless guy’s pants was spread wide and the man’s fist was wrapped around his partner’s shaft in what looked to be a painfully tight grip.

The man against the tree shifted his gaze, catching sight of her. Their eyes locked.

Charli stopped, feet frozen in place. Not sure what to do. Was the guy being attacked? She couldn’t imagine any man wanting to be gripped that tightly. Did he need help? But then he smiled at her—a lazy, drunk-on-pleasure smile, one that stirred something unfamiliar within Charli. His partner released his grip on the man’s cock in an instant and smacked him audibly across the cheek.

Charli let out a little yelp.

“Eyes on me.” Or at least that’s what she thought she heard the man say after the slap.

She moved forward, not sure what she was going to do, but unable to stand there and watch someone get hurt. But the man against the tree shook his head at her and winked, then apologized to the guy who’d just hit him and lowered his head.

She halted her step. This was some kind of game.

A game he didn’t want her interfering with.

She backed away, moving onto the path again and trying to get her legs to work correctly beneath her. She had no idea what was going on. How had Grant passed right by this couple and not seen what was happening? What if someone on a family vacation passed by with their kids?

She wrapped her arms around herself, somehow both hot and cold at the same time. Her body’s odd reaction to seeing the couple was something she’d rather not think too hard on. She started walking up the path at a much faster pace than before. Now she was going to have to admit to Grant that she’d snuck onto the property. She didn’t know what was allowed at his resort, but she couldn’t imagine public sex was okay. He had a right to know what was going on.

She scanned the path in front of her and sighed. Of course, she’d lost sight of her cowboy during the diversion. Some stalker she was. Not sure what else to do, she made her way up to the main house and considered her options. The place had a number of doors and she had no idea which Grant had gone into or if they were locked or alarmed. And really, she no longer remembered why it had sounded like such a good idea to follow him in the first place. Maybe it was time to tuck tail and run.

“Do you need some help?”

The soft female voice startled Charli. She spun around to find a stunning blonde smiling back at her—a stunning blonde wearing what looked to be a red latex catsuit. “Uh…”

She tilted her head, assessing her. “You new here?”

“Yes.” The word tumbled out automatically. “I’m a friend of Grant’s.”

“Oh, wow, that’s great,” she said with genuine warmth. “Just a friend or a trainee?”

“Huh?”

She laughed. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. We’re all just a little curious about our tight-lipped boss.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Kelsey, by the way. Or Lady K as most everyone knows me around here these days.”

Pieces started to slide into place in Charli’s brain. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charli.”

“Are you only new here or are you new to this altogether?”

Oh, shit. “Altogether.”

“Well, come on in, Charli. Boss man shouldn’t have left you alone if you’re brand-new. It’s easy to get overwhelmed around here.” She pulled open the nearest door. “I’m supposed to be assisting Colby with one of his training sessions. Feel free to come and watch. Or participate if the spirit moves you.”

She walked through the door, her hips swaying on top of crazy-high-heeled boots with the ease of a pendulum. Charli followed her in, feeling like a schlub in comparison. How were some girls born with that vixen gene? Charli had no interest in other women, but even she couldn’t help but be drawn in by Kelsey’s magnetic sexuality.

Kelsey walked forward with long strides that belied her petite size. “So what side of the sandbox do you play in?”

Charli frowned. “I’m, um, not sure yet.”

Kelsey gave her a quick grin over her shoulder. “Oh, I know how that is. Sometimes you just have to give each role a shot and see what lights you up.”

“Right.”

The halls were quiet and decorated with deep maroons and dark wood. There were no windows but soft glowing sconces lit their way, giving the whole place a somehow comforting womblike vibe. Kelsey turned a corner and crooked a thumb toward the door on the left. “Here we are. Keep quiet when we go in. I’m a little late, so things have probably already gotten started. This is an open session, so if you want to join in at any time, go for it.”

Charli nodded, scared about what she was walking into but too damn curious to turn around and hustle back home. “Thanks.”

Kelsey turned the knob with nimble fingers and pushed the door open without a sound. On the other side was a small room. Charli peered over Kelsey’s shoulder, her lips parting when she saw the space was filled with half-dressed men and women on their knees. She pressed her fingers over her mouth, barely managing to choke down a gasp of surprise and avoid alerting everyone to her presence. Having a notion of what the place could be and actually seeing it were two different things. A ripple of nerves went through her.

Kelsey stepped inside, and Charli didn’t know what else to do but go in with her. Hell, at the very least, this was a whole lot more interesting than what was going on at her empty cabin. The man at the front of the room—the only person standing—nailed the two of them with his gaze. “Ah, I told you all we’d have a special treat. Lady K has generously offered to help tonight.”

One of the two men kneeling turned his head to see Kelsey and broke out into a wide, awed smile. Kelsey’s expression turned icy in an instant—from Snow White to evil queen in zero point five seconds. “Sub, I didn’t give you permission to look at me.”

The words were like the snap of a whip. The man instantly lowered his head as if he’d been struck. “So sorry, mistress. Forgive me. I was overwhelmed by your beauty.”

She sniffed, a haughty tilt to her chin. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Master Colby must’ve not gotten to that part of your lesson yet.”

The man at the front—Colby presumably—sent Kelsey a conspiratorial smile. “We’ve only started working on proper kneeling techniques. But I’ll be sure Antoine earns your forgiveness later, Lady K.” Colby looked to Charli as if noticing her for the first time, then back to Kelsey. “Have you brought us another trainee?”

“She’s new and just observing tonight, trying to figure out her inclination,” Kelsey said, her tone softening from the harsh one she used with the man.

Colby’s dark eyebrows lowered, thunderclouds crossing his features, and he shook his head. “No observers for my trainings. Participate or leave.”

Charli’s throat seemed to shrivel, and she couldn’t get a response out. Kelsey must’ve recognized the panicked look because she put a hand on Charli’s elbow and leaned next to her ear. “Don’t freak out. Nothing major happens in this session—it’s all manners. Stay and see how you feel. Might help you with your decision.”

More because her legs wanted to give out from under her than anything else, Charli let Kelsey guide her down into a kneel. So this is why Grant had been so guarded about the resort. Grant—the cowboy military guy turned vineyard owner—ran some sort of kinky S and M club? She couldn’t even wrap her mind around the thought.

And if he ran it, did that mean he was into it, too?

Charli was dragged from her thoughts as Colby walked over to one of the younger women in the front—a dark-haired beauty who looked to be pulled from the pages of an old-fashioned pinup calendar. He cupped her chin and titled her face toward him. “Stella, would you please show the group what a nice stand and kneel you have?”

The girl kept her eyes down. “Yes, sir.”

With one fluid movement, Stella rocked forward, tucked her toes under, and rose to a stand. It was a simple sequence of actions, but even Charli couldn’t deny the utter elegance it conveyed—like a silk curtain lifting with a gust of wind.

Colby gazed down at her with pride. “Lovely, Stella.” He looked to the group. “You see that, subs? None of this putting one leg up first or pushing yourself up with your hands. Unless you have some injury stopping you, your master or mistress deserves that kind of grace from you.” He put a hand on Stella’s shoulder. “Down.”

“Yes, sir.” As if the rewind button had been hit, Stella reversed her movements and rocked down into a kneel with the same fluidity. She ducked her head and placed her palms on her thighs. Beautiful. Subservient.

The idea should have rankled Charli. She’d spent her whole life making sure men saw her as an equal, showing no weakness, no softness. But there was such feminine beauty to Stella, Charli couldn’t help but feel a tug of envy. What must it be like to draw that kind of rapt attention, to get that dripping-with-lust gaze from a man? Something low and deep within her stirred at the notion.

Colby crossed his arms over his broad chest, looking like a drill sergeant. “Now I want to see all of you follow Stella’s example. Up.”

The group instantly sprung to life, each person trying to emulate the graceful act. Charli hesitated for a moment but then snapped to it when she realized not following would only bring attention to herself. She attempted the movement, but her hand landed onto the floor when she overcorrected on her balance. She rose to her feet with the elegance of an offensive lineman suffering a concussion. Terrific.

“Down,” Colby barked.

Everyone scrambled back to the floor. Some smoothly, some not so much.

Kelsey shook her head, tsking. “Pitiful.”

Charli felt the heat of shame rising up from her chest. Shit, what had she gotten herself into? And why should she even care if she was a pretty kneeler or not?

Charli stared down at her hands, wondering how she could sneak out with anyone noticing. She needed to get out of here—stat. This was way out of her zip code. But right when she started to turn her head to venture a peek at the door, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “You seem to be lost, Ms. Beaumonde.”











EIGHT (#ulink_90dcf8b2-f79b-5a09-88be-7895d4b080ed)







The voice behind Charli held barely restrained violence. She closed her eyes, wishing she could fall through the floor or wake up. This all had to be some bizarre nightmare, right? Dancing orangutans would twirl through the room anytime now. But of course when she opened her eyes again, Grant’s hand was still on her shoulder. And she was still in the middle of some odd How to Be a Sex Slave class.

His breath was a hot tickle against her ear. “You have three seconds to stand up and come with me before I embarrass you and let everyone know you’re an intruder here.”

Her jaw clenched, but when she caught Kelsey’s curious gaze, Charli tamped down her smart-ass reply. She didn’t want to make Kelsey look bad. Plus, the thought of being exposed as an outsider suddenly seemed too much to stomach. She was in that role way too often in her life already. She rose to her feet—at least a little more smoothly than she had the first time.

Grant seemed huge next to her all of a sudden, as if being in this place somehow made him even taller. He grasped her upper arm and none too gently led her from the room. After shutting the door, he tugged her again like she was some disobedient puppy and guided her down the hallway. “Not a word until I get you behind a closed door.”

The clipped command sent both a whisper of fear and some other unidentifiable emotion through her. She shivered beneath his grip, which apparently didn’t go unnoticed by him. He gave her the side eye and the hard line of his mouth dipped into a full frown. But he stayed silent until they’d gone up an elevator, down another elegantly decked-out hallway, and into cozy sitting room, complete with a stone fireplace. Through another open door, she could see a bigger room with a desk and large plate-glass windows that looked out onto the black night. Grant’s office.

He let go of her arm and shut the door they’d come through, then pinioned her beneath an iron gaze. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Charli, it’s been a long night. You’re trespassing after I explicitly told you not to, and you’ve taken me away from something important tonight. Do you really want to play word games right now?”

She sat, suddenly feeling the true extent of his anger. He was always a bossy son of a gun but here, at this place, she sensed that part of him had dialed up from low buzz to rattle-and-hum mode.

Then it hit her.

Grant was like Colby.

She remembered the way Grant had made her hold the bar in the shower, the way he’d taken control.

He was one of the men who made women kneel for him.

Charli thought of pretty, subservient Stella, and her stomach plummeted like she’d been thrown from a bridge. No wonder Grant had left last night. She was everything girls like Stella weren’t.

She looked away from him, staring at the unlit fireplace. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come over here.”

“Damn right, you shouldn’t have,” he replied, his angry voice hitting the wood floors and reverberating around her. “What the hell were you thinking? I told you I have security. You didn’t think the staff would see someone hopping the fence?”

“I thought this was a swanky resort for rich families,” she protested. “I didn’t think I was going to stumble into some, some…”

“Some what, Charli? Say what you think this is.”

She glanced up at him, meeting the challenge in his eyes. “Some, I don’t know, sex club, brothel, God knows what.”

He smirked. “You think I’m running a whorehouse?”

“Why else would you be training people how to kneel?”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if reining in the desire to shake her. “Because those people are submissives who want to learn how to please a dominant. This is a fantasy resort. BDSM being our speciality.”

Her brows lifted. “BDSM? Is that the same as S and M?”

He blew out a breath, sinking onto the couch opposite her, the fight visibly draining from him. “That’s the older term for it. But yeah, basically. Bondage, dominance, submission, and sadomasochism. And this is supposed to be a place where I guarantee people the highest level of privacy to practice it. If my members knew that I’d allowed some nosy reporter to sneak onto the property…” He leaned back in his seat. “It could ruin my entire reputation.”

Her teeth had gnashed together at the nosy reporter comment, but she tamped down her response when she saw how weary he looked. This was obviously a very big deal here, and she had been the one to break the rules. She pushed back all the snarky things she wanted to say. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’m not going to pretend I understand all this, but I had no right to come over here. Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me.”

He eyed her. “You think?”

“Damn. Okay. I get it. I said I’m sorry. What do you want me to do? Grovel for forgiveness?” The words were out before she could snatch them back.

His head tilted, mischief in his eyes. “Not a totally unappealing idea. Maybe you learned more in that training class than I think.”

Her neck burned, the heat traveling up like mercury in a thermometer.

“What were you doing kneeling in the intro class anyway?”

She studied the tops of her hands, his inquiring gaze suddenly too much to take head-on. “I sort of got persuaded by Kelsey.”

A soft chuckle. “Ah, Kelsey. She’s new to my staff, but a very promising domme. If she can persuade you to do something, maybe she deserves a raise.”

Charli’s head lifted, her eyes narrowing. “Right, of course, because I’m nothing like those women in that room.”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. “No. You’re not.”

For some reason, the words pierced her like barbed wire. She herself had been thinking in the session she was nothing like those women. But hearing him say it with such conviction lashed at the same battered spot her boss had created when he’d told her she hadn’t gotten the on-air position. Not good enough. Not pretty enough.

She hauled herself up from the couch as if the furniture had caught on fire beneath her. The telltale stinging sensation of impending tears seared her throat. “I want to go back to my cabin.”

He mouth dipped. “We’re not done here. We need to talk about last night, and I need to know that you’re not going to—”

But she was no longer listening as she moved toward the door. She had to get out of here. Right. Now. She wasn’t exactly sure why she felt ready to fall apart. All she knew was she was not going to do it in front of Grant.




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