Kitabı oxu: «Fall Into You»

Fall Into You
Roni Loren

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Extract Not Until You Dare

About the Author

Also by Roni Loren

Praise for Roni Loren

Copyright

About the Publisher

Dedication

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

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

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

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.