Fall Into You

“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.”