Twenty-two

TWENTY-TWO

Charli sat in the break room at work, lost in thought as she unwrapped her sandwich. Coming into work after two weeks with Grant almost felt like waking up from some crazy-hot dream and realizing reality was still there waiting for you. It had been good to get back in the routine of things, to see some of her coworkers, but she’d missed Grant and the country as soon as she’d crossed the line into downtown.

The realization was sobering. She and Grant had definitely made strides in dropping the pretenses of their arrangement. They both knew they weren’t doing this simply for training anymore and had agreed to another two weeks together. They enjoyed each other, had rocking chemistry and a taste for pushing boundaries. But every night after being together, she was painfully aware of the fact that he never kissed her, never stayed over at her cabin, and never invited her to his. This may not be training, but it was still a temporary dalliance. One that would be over soon.

Voices sounded to her left as her coworkers Pete and Steven pushed through the door of the break room. They were laughing and engrossed in conversation. Neither seemed to notice her sitting in the far corner of the room.

Steven barked a laugh. “Well, that is truly the only way to win. Though I didn’t notice the gaffe. I was too busy looking elsewhere. Apparently, it was very cold out there on the sidelines, looked like she was smuggling Tic Tacs.”

Pete grabbed a take-out container from the fridge. “Yeah, wouldn’t mind having a little taste of that candy. Just wish the bitch wouldn’t have stolen my promotion.”

Anger, white hot and instant, flashed through Charli. Her soda can, which she’d been squeezing since the first off-color comment, clinked against the table, drawing both men’s attention.

Pete sniffed and tossed his food in the microwave. “You don’t need to apologize to Beaumonde about a little guy talk. She’s one of us. Plus, I’m sure Stormy isn’t her favorite person either. Beaumonde wanted the job, too.”

Charli’s can buckled beneath her death grip. “So because she got the job, you have the right to act like a goddamned pig, Pete?”

Steven hung back, sipping his soda and shifting from foot to foot like he had to pee. But Pete, undeterred, grabbed his food and perched on the edge of one of the tables near Charli. “Oh, chill out, Beaumonde. Every guy in this office is talking about her tits. If she cared, she wouldn’t wear shirts that are two sizes too small. She likes the attention.”

Charli’s stomach turned. She pushed her sandwich away, muttering, “I think I’ve stepped back into 1970.”

Pete brought a bite of his stir-fry noodles to his mouth, eyeing her, his brows rising as he took in the full view for the first time. He choked down the bite. “Well, fuck me. Look at you. You’re taking a page from her book, aren’t you?”

She stood, too disgusted to tolerate another second of this conversation. “I’m outta here. The average IQ level of the room has plummeted to prehistoric levels.”

But he hopped off the table, sliding in front of her path. His gaze raked down her new silk blouse and the pencil skirt she’d worn as Grant’s assistant. “I haven’t seen you since your vacation. That’s what you were up to, wasn’t it? Redoing your image? You’re worried you’re going to get passed over again so you’re going for the hot-piece-of-ass angle.”

She shuddered, feeling as if she needed to bathe in disinfectant after his perusal, but straightened to her full height, reminding him she had an inch or two on him. “I suggest you move or you’ll be talking in soprano for your next audition.”

As if acting on its own accord, her fist reared back and landed an uppercut square into Pete’s stomach. He doubled over with an oof. She put her hand on his shoulder and bent next to his ear as he gasped for air. “You’re lucky I’m wearing a skirt because otherwise your nuts would be in your throat right now. You say another disgusting thing about me or any other woman in this office, and I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”

She shoved past him and leveled a look at Steven, who raised his palms in surrender. “I really am sorry.”

She simply shook her head and left the two of them in the break room. By the time she made it to the other end of the building, the nausea still hadn’t abated. Pete was a dick, but what he’d said had rung a bell of truth inside her. Wasn’t what she’d been doing these past two weeks exactly what he’d said? She was trying to mold herself into something that would please the guys who only wanted to ogle some girl’s boobs on television.

She sagged in her desk chair, letting her head fall back. Was this the kind of thing she was signing up for? She wanted the on-air position more than anything, and knew her approach had needed some refining, but pretending to be something she wasn’t suddenly felt way too similar to her failed pageant days. Smile a little brighter, Charli. Flutter your lashes. Speak softly to the judges. Watch how your sister does it.

Without thinking too much about it, she followed her first instinct. She picked up her office phone and dialed Grant’s number.

After two rings, she almost chickened out, but then heard the click.

She looked behind her to make sure no one was standing near her cubicle and lowered her voice. “I punched a guy in the stomach already. How’s yours?”

Grant coughed. “You what?”

Somehow Grant managed to pronounce the h in what, his accent getting thicker when caught off guard. The simple little quirk managed to make the knot in her belly loosen a bit. “The guy I’m competing with for the job called me a hot piece of ass and then wouldn’t get out of my way.”

The chair squeaked again. “That motherfucker. I’m on the way over.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I see. And what do you think you’re morphing yourself into, Charli?”

She twirled a lock of hair around her finger over and over again, a childhood habit that seemed to reappear when she was stressed. “I don’t know. The sweet, pretty girl who acts submissive and yielding around guys. I’m becoming that girl my mother always wanted me to be.”

Grant sniffed. “Darlin’, you haven’t changed into anything. You are sweet and you are pretty. Those things were there from the start even if you or your mother didn’t realize it. As for the submissive part, the fact that you punched that guy today shows that you’re still all tomboy. None of the training we’ve done has taken any of that from you.”

She stared at her screen saver, contemplating his words. “So all this time, you’ve known training wasn’t working?”

She bit her lip, holding back a smile. “Is that right?”

She leaned forward in her chair, shielding her face with her hair in case anyone walked by. “Maybe you should take care of that.”

She crossed her legs beneath her desk, trying to fend off the dampness gathering there. “Too bad I already had lunch.”

A thick file folder landed on her desk with a loud smack. She jumped, so engrossed in the conversation, she hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Hold on a sec.”

She spun her chair to find Pete glaring at her. “Trey wants you to work on the Valley High School story. The information is in there.”

He tilted his head, his gaze darting toward the phone and then down to her shirt. She glanced down. Of course, her nipples were standing at attention against the soft fabric of her shirt. He dragged his lips together, as if smoothing invisible Chap Stick. “He wants the story by the end of the week.”

She feared he was going to linger, confront her about slugging him. But he turned around and was gone. She released the breath she’d been holding. Annoying ass. She put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry. Work stuff. Where were we?”

A soft groan slipped from him. “How much privacy does your office allow? Any security cameras?”

She peeked over her shoulder. “I’m in a back corner cubicle and my neighbor is at lunch. No cameras. The office is loud, but I have no door.”

She rolled the lipstick tube between her fingers, so tempted, the sound of Grant’s breath in her ears making her sex throb. Fuck it. With one last check over her shoulder, she quickly put her hand beneath her skirt and tucked the vibrator into her panties to hold it in place.

She gasped softly at the sensation, the vibration nestling right against her clit. “You’re a bad, bad man.”

She wet her lips, wishing she was there to lick that salty taste off him. Her pussy clenched and she squeezed her thighs together, aligning the vibe to the sweet spot on the side of her clit. Sensation pinged through her, orgasm rushing toward her sharp and fast. “Grant.”

She closed her eyes, breathing fast, imagining his come spilling over his fist, and rode the wave of her orgasm. It took everything in her to not make a sound, to not call out his name.

Another flood of moisture coated the vibrator and soaked her panties as the last shudder went through her and she drifted down from the orgasm.

With lightning-fast movement, she pulled the vibrator from her panties, turned it off, and dropped it in her open purse. She clutched the phone to her ear, feeling a bit light-headed. “Whoa.”

There was a click on the phone, and she thought she’d lost him, but then she heard him let out a satisfied sigh. “Ditto. Thanks for that, freckles.”

She could feel his grin through the line. “Now get back to work, slacker. I’ll pick you up at six, and I guarantee that won’t be your last orgasm of the day.”

With that, he hung up.

And as she walked to the restroom to get cleaned up, she came to terms with one foundation-rattling fact. She was addicted. Downright, no denying it, addicted. No matter how often she saw Grant, she couldn’t get enough of him.

And that scared the ever-loving shit out of her.

Because this thing had an expiration date. And it was thundering toward them both.

TWENTY-THREE

Charli stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling refreshed after her long walk on the grounds this afternoon. In the heat of the shower, her muscles had loosened, but the remnants of last night’s session with Grant remained. Phone sex had definitely only been the appetizer in his plans yesterday.

She unwrapped her towel and turned her back to the full-length mirror in the bedroom, peering over her shoulder. He’d used a whip on her for the first time. The angry welts had mostly faded, but a few bruises now colored her skin. For some odd reason, seeing those marks made her feel lighter, buoyant. She glanced down at her wrists and rubbed the faint pink rope burns, the brush of pain tightening something low in her belly.

The empty room had no response. With a sigh, she tucked the towel around herself again and headed toward the boxes on the bed. Grant had sent them over after she’d gotten home from work today with a terse note. Charlotte, I’m taking you out to a business function tonight. This is what you will wear for me. No additions or subtractions. Wear your hair down. Be at my cabin by six. Grant.

She shook her head but couldn’t help smiling. He’d told her she was going as his date, not as his submissive. This was apparently something for the winery. But even on a supposedly “normal” date, the man couldn’t help but be bossy.

She opened the first box and unfolded the tissue, finding a gorgeous plum-colored wrap dress. Wow, that hadn’t been what she expected. She thought for sure he’d put her in something short and tight. But this had luxury and class written all over it.

She peeked into the smaller boxes. One had a lacy bra and panty set in the same shade of purple as the dress. She held up the thong. He’d said he’d let her wear underwear, but she wasn’t sure if this little bit of material quite counted. Cheater.

The other small box had a pendant necklace and two cuff bracelets that would perfectly cover the marks on her wrists. The final package was a pair of buttery soft, knee-high leather boots. “Ooh.”

A Post-it note was stuck to the left boot. These should be a little more comfortable than those heels I always torture you with.

She rubbed her thumb across Grant’s neat handwriting, warmth whispering through her. Her cowboy had thought of everything.

She groaned. No. Not her cowboy. She had to stop thinking of him like that.

No doubt this wasn’t the first or last time he bought an outfit for a woman to wear for him. This was all part of the game. She’d agreed to play sub to him for the month, and this was simply a part of that.

She let her towel fall to the floor and slipped on the panties and bra. If Grant ever decided to stay with someone longer than a month, did that mean he’d pick out her clothes every day? What if the woman wanted to wear jeans sometimes but he wanted her to wear a skirt? How would that work?

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The thought of having Grant take care of her like that was simultaneously appealing and appalling. Knowing that she’d be wearing only things he’d selected for her tonight gave her a little thrill. It felt intimate and personal, having him choose things he thought would complement her body and coloring.

But someone doing that for her every day? She’d freaking lose it. Right?

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. She needed to reel herself in. Over the last few weeks she’d had moments where she’d wondered what it’d be like to really be Grant’s, secretly imagining how it would be to push things further than just a short experiment. But even if she was discovering that she had a submissive streak, Grant didn’t want anything more than a month. He was already in a long-term relationship—with a memory. There was no room in his life for someone else.

And hell, it wasn’t like Charli was Ms. ’Til-Death-Do-Us-Part either. Getting attached to someone was dangerous enough. She’d learned that the day her mother and sister had walked out of her life. But how much more intense would that loss be if she were in a D/s relationship and her dom left her? That kind of lifestyle and level of care could become addictive quickly, and having it end would surely make someone feel adrift.

She shuddered. She could never let herself become that dependent on anyone. Already Grant was becoming too important a part of her day.

Charli shrugged on the dress, wrapping it around herself and coming to a decision. Tonight, she’d be Grant’s date, get some social practice in, but then they were going to have to talk about their situation afterward. She’d left herself too open with Grant. She’d wanted to help him see past his grief over his wife, but in the process, she’d forgotten to protect her own heart. The fact that she was even imagining the idea of giving herself to him for a moment proved she was sinking too deep, getting caught in the quicksand.

She took the cuff bracelets from their box and slipped them over her wrists, ignoring the hot shiver that went through her, and then bent to grab the necklace. But the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the bedside table had her veering in another direction.

Charli reached for the phone, the caller ID flashing unknown number. “Hello?”

There was a long pause, and Charli thought the call had dropped, but then the man cleared his throat. “This is Rodney Wilson. I’m sorry about the last time we met. I’m ready to talk now. For real.”

Charli lost her ability to speak for a moment. And the first words that jumped to her lips were holy shit, but luckily she managed to choke those down. She gripped the bedpost, the reporter inside her jumping up and twirling. “On the record?”

The warning sent a dart of anxiety down her spine, but not enough to outweigh the excitement of knowing she was finally going to get the truth and break this story. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

She ended the call and did a little spin for real this time, her dress swirling around her. This was it. Not only would she be able to expose some nasty cheaters, but she’d prove that she was capable of handling a big story.

With a smile on her face, she hurried to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few days and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. No more worrying about someone trying to hurt her. No more hiding out.

And no more Grant.

Her smile faltered in the mirror.

Grant stared down at the scalloped-edge invitation he’d discovered in his mailbox. He read the words again, each sentence settling in his gut like heavy boulders.

Georgia Eleanor Waters and Barry Sparks request your presence at their wedding…

Grant sank onto one of his barstools, the combating emotions too much to process standing up. His mom was getting married again? To someone who wasn’t his father. The notion seemed too preposterous to even comprehend.

And who the fuck was this Barry guy?

Did he treat his mother well? Did he make her happy? Did he have a job or was he just after the family’s fortune?

You wouldn’t know, asshole, his conscience whispered at him. You never go home.

Grant’s front door swung open, banging the wall and startling him from his thoughts. “What the hell?”

Charli burst through the doorway like a cyclone, all smiles and flushed cheeks. “Oops, sorry, the wind took the door right from my hand.”

She pranced inside and pushed the door closed behind her, her red mane whipping around in one final gust. She spun back around, a wide grin still on her face.

Fuck, she was gorgeous. The outfit he’d chosen for her looked even better hugging her body than he’d imagined. And knowing what she had on underneath had him almost forgetting what he was so upset about a moment before. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. “You’re early, freckles.”

Her excitement was contagious, and Grant couldn’t help but return her smile. He tossed the invitation and accompanying note onto the counter and pulled her close when she reached him, caging her between his thighs. “That’s awesome, darlin’. Congratulations.”

Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, almost knocking him off the stool. He closed his eyes, absorbing the scent of her shampoo and the feel of her body against his, a thread of regret knitting through him. If she landed her story, this would be one of the last nights she’d be here with him.

She pulled back from the hug but remained standing between his knees. “So I thought maybe tonight, I should stay at my house instead of coming back here. I have to meet him early, and it doesn’t make sense to come all the way back out this way.”

Grant frowned. “I’m not leaving you unprotected, Charlotte. Even for one night.”

The little shiver she gave at the use of her full name, her sub name, brought Grant more pleasure than it should’ve. She shrugged. “So stay there with me.”

The suggestion was a simple one on its surface, but the idea of sleeping next to her in her own house had tension gathering in his shoulders. He didn’t sleep with anyone. And his nightmares wouldn’t care if he was alone or otherwise. They’d come anyway. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tightness. There was always the couch, and he could pull an all-nighter, keeping guard. God knows he’d pulled enough of them in his military career.

Her nipples hardened behind the soft material of her dress, her body instantly responding to his suggestions. She poked his chest. “Hey, you said this was going to be a normal date. Strictly business.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

Reluctantly, he released her. “I need to get changed and pack an overnight back. Feel free to pour yourself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t be long.”

Before he realized what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed her on the corner of her mouth. Just a quick I’ll-see-you-in-a-minute peck, but it was the kind of comfortable kiss lovers share when they’ve been together forever.

He froze for a second afterward, and Charli blinked at him, obviously surprised.

Maybe it was for the best that Charli was about to walk out of his life. He liked his world steady and solid beneath his feet. And right now he was balancing on goddamned Jell-O.

TWENTY-FOUR

Charli fiddled with one of her bracelets as Grant drove along the two-lane highway. They’d made small talk about her story for a few minutes, but as dusk had settled in around them, cocooning the truck’s cab in hazy blue-and-orange light, Grant had gone silent. Clearly, that little peck he’d given her had sent him retreating into his cave.

She shifted in her seat, the quiet becoming suffocating. It was a long ride into the city. Broody silence was only going to make her more nervous about the event tonight. She scrounged her mind for some neutral topic. “So who’s getting married?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “What are you talking about?”

That little muscle in his jaw twitched. “My mother, apparently.”

He kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel seemed to tighten. “My dad passed away a few years back.”

He shrugged, though the move seemed stiff. “It is what it is. The truth is, I should’ve been there. I should’ve been home running the farm so he could retire. But I was too caught up in my own shit to take on the responsibility.”

She frowned. “You were serving our country. That isn’t exactly shirking responsibility.”

He glanced over at her, then back at the road. “Yeah, that’s what I told myself, too. It sounds so brave and noble. But all I was doing was running—running fast and far. I let my family down.”

Charli could tell he wanted to close the subject, but it took all she could not to press more. His guilt was so palpable it was like cigarette smoke filling the cab of the truck—acrid and invasive. She stared out the window, watching the sun sink below the horizon and the city lights come into view in the distance. “Are you going to the wedding?”

He groaned. “Are you always this relentless, freckles?”

He put the blinker on and merged onto the interstate. “Because I don’t go home.”

The stark statement was like a door slamming shut and locking. You’re not welcome here, Ms. Beaumonde. She sighed and leaned against the seat, closing her eyes. It was going to be a long few miles before they made it to their destination.

After leaving the truck with a valet, Grant took Charli’s elbow and gathered her close to his side. Somehow even in a tailored suit, he smelled like the country air. She had the urge to burrow against him and absorb his scent.

He nodded to a path that looped around the side of the events hall. “Looks like the party is out back. They like to have everything in the gardens when it’s warm enough.”

She nodded, her nerves starting to creep in. “Okay.”

She laughed. “I’ll do my best. Though it feels a little awkward posing as your date just so we can train.”

He turned her toward him, cupping her shoulders and pinning her with his gaze. “Listen to me. You’re not posing as anything. And you’re not here as my submissive. You’re my date—my smoking-hot, makes-me-hard-just-looking-at-her date. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side tonight.”

Her neck went warm, and she glanced over at another couple strolling a few feet away, hoping they couldn’t overhear what Grant was saying.

She bit her lip, heat gathering much, much lower than her face now. Her panties went damp against her skin. “Yes, sir.”

She put her hand to her mouth, surprised the response had rolled off her tongue so instinctively.

His eyes went almost black in the moonlight, and he smiled. “Oh, darlin’, now you’ve really got me tempted to take you back to the truck and forget this whole plan.” His arms slid from her shoulders down along her arms. “But I’m a man of my word, so let’s get moving before my baser instincts veto my nobler ones.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, trying to quell the surge of need rising in her. How was it that with a few simple words, this man could turn her sideways? She had every intention of telling Grant tonight that things were getting too intense, that they needed to back off. But right now, she was having an exceptionally hard time accepting that he’d never touch her that way again, never command her, that she would never visit that blissful place of surrender he’d brought her to.

Grant’s hand closed around hers, and he turned them toward the path. “Come on, Charlotte. Let’s go play nice.”

Grant could barely concentrate on the conversations as he circulated around the gardens, introducing Charli and making small talk with friends and colleagues. He’d offered her a stiff drink when they’d first come in to help soften her nerves, and since then, she’d become downright effervescent. The girl could speak on almost any topic. Talking sports was her obvious favorite, but she was well schooled on current events, politics, and the city. The people he introduced her to seemed captivated and kept giving Grant approving looks. He’d even gotten a shoulder pat from the stodgy, retired CEO of a local restaurant chain and a whispered, “That one’s a keeper, son.”

The only time Charli had faltered was when a senator’s wife asked her who had designed her dress. After a moment’s hesitation, Charli had smiled and said she had no idea, that it was a gift and that she was fashion-challenged. The woman had laughed and confessed she’d found her own outfit at a consignment store.

As the night went on, Grant became more and more perplexed as to why Charli was having any issues at her job. Sure, he could tell that she was a little more deliberate in the heeled boots, a little more aware of the way her dress moved when she sat. But other than that, he didn’t see any of the awkward tomboy image she was so worried she had. He’d been training her on a few things but knew that he hadn’t provided some metamorphosis.

So why had she gotten passed over for that job? Did she panic on camera and lose the girl-next-door charm that seemed to glow from her tonight? Were her bosses unable to see the potential beneath her oversized clothes and clean-scrubbed face? Surely her company had makeup and wardrobe people. They had to see that Charli could be gussied up. No one on television wakes up looking like they do on camera.

Charli turned and smiled at him when the couple they’d been chatting with excused themselves. “You’re going for the strong and silent image tonight, cowboy?”

He drained the last of his wine and set it on a nearby table. “Sorry, freckles. I thought I’d let you take center stage tonight. You’re far more charming than I am.”

She snorted. “Yeah and pigs have wings. All this chatting is exhausting, though.”

She glanced over at him with a conspiratorial smile as they made their way from the crowded lawn into a more secluded part of the property. “Breaking the rules, huh? You sure you’re not just trying to get a girl alone, Mr. Waters? I’ve heard you’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

She rewarded him with a little squeal and a flash of lust in her eyes. She picked up her pace and got a few steps out of his reach, peeking back over her shoulder at him.

The eyebrow arch and head tilt she gave him were pure mischief. Before he could blink, she took off toward the water glimmering in the distance.

He launched into pursuit. “Oh, now that’s your ass, freckles.”

His dress shoes were slippery against the grass, but Charli wasn’t exactly wearing sneakers either. So before long he was only a stride or two behind her. She dared a glance behind her, her smile wide, before she unexpectedly veered right and left him skidding past her. He grabbed onto a tree to slow himself, then changed direction.

Charli ran along the edge of the pond, but her steps faltered when she saw the thicket of trees on the far side of it. Grant grinned in triumph. She only had two choices—surrender or risk traipsing through the wilds surrounding the property in the dark. Before she could act, Grant reached her, capturing her by the waist and spinning her off her feet.

She shrieked and he dragged her to the ground, pulling her down on top of him in the grass. “Gotcha now, darlin’.”

He chuckled and slid his hands from her waist down to the curve of her butt, fitting her pelvis against his thickening erection. “Yes, but you make such a sexy little captive.”

She groaned. “Down, boy. We’re at a fancy-schmancy party, remember?”

She made a soft sound and closed her eyes as he touched her. “I may or may not have entertained the idea before. How do you feel about pirate outfits?”

He laughed. “Not a chance.” But maybe he’d have to play this cat-and-mouse game with her at The Ranch, where no one would blink an eye if he caught her, stripped her down, and tied her to a tree.

But right now, he didn’t have the patience to wait until they were back at his place. He needed her now. Right here.

He traced his fingernail against her slit, and she quivered hard against him. “So responsive. You’re protesting, but your body certainly appreciates that we’re out in the open. I think you may have a bit of an exhibitionist streak in you, Ms. Beaumonde.”

She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, but no additional protest came.

He gave her an unapologetic smile. “Sit up, sweet Charlotte, lift your skirt, and straddle me. Your only instruction is to not make a sound when you come for me. You understand?”

Even in the moonlight he could see her pupils go wide with desire, the risk of discovery clearly making her anxious but feeding her need for playing at the edge at the same time. “Grant, I don’t know…”

But even as she made her lackluster objection, she was lifting off him, following his directive whether she knew it or not.

Her breathing became more shallow with each inch of exposure. “What if I can’t be quiet?”

Her eyes went round, and her little hum of fear went straight to his cock, nourishing that dark desire inside him. He loved pushing her boundaries, making such a strong, put-together woman quiver.

She widened her legs, straddling him fully. The sight of her polished fingernails pulling aside the lace and revealing the pink, swollen lips of her sex was enough to have him let loose his own groan. “You have the sexiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen. It’s taking everything I have not to put you on your back and lick and nibble every tender bit of it.”

Her cheeks darkened in the moonlight, but her eyes were pure want.

He propped himself on his elbow and took his cock in his hand, positioning himself at her entrance. Damn, he was glad he’d decided to forgo condoms with her. Being bare inside Charli was the most decadent treat he could imagine. Her slick heat enveloped the sensitive head and sent a shock of pleasure marching up his spine. “Ah, baby, yes. You feel so good.”

She lowered herself at a tortuous pace—teasing him but also teasing herself. He could feel her inner muscles clenching around him, trying to draw him deeper. He was glad he was the one lying down. His knees would’ve given out otherwise.

She sank down, burying him deep inside her heat, and he had to bite his own tongue not to moan. But the rapt expression on her face was worth it. She was no longer worrying that she was fucking him where someone could discover them. All she was focused on was the pleasure of it, her need for release, and her desire to please him. She’d gone into subspace without any restraints or pain play. She was all his right now. And he fucking loved it.

She raised herself and plunged back down, slowly at first and then faster, until she was riding him with a rhythm that had his own mind going fuzzy. The sound of skin meeting skin filtered through the night, and the intoxicating scent of sex enveloped them, mixing with the smell of the freshly cut grass. Grant’s free hand curled into the sod as every nerve in his body seemed to vibrate.

Rarely did he give a woman free rein like this. He was so used to controlling the speed and execution of every little aspect of sex. But Charli was sending him down a track with no brakes, and all he wanted to do was enjoy the ride. No soft, romantic lovemaking for his girl. She wanted it hard and fast tonight, and he was happy to oblige her. He worked his fingers against her folds, teasing and pinching, then stroked her clit until he could feel she was on the brink.

She fell forward, bracing her hands against his chest, and canted her hips even faster, fucking him with a desperation that turned his blood into rocket fuel. Her sharp pants hit his cheeks, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face—parted lips, closed eyes, the gorgeous glow of exertion. He loved how she let the passion engulf her.

He pressed his fingers along the sides of her clit, and her body tightened around him, her thighs squeezing his hips and her pussy contracting around his cock.

Liquid bliss shot through his veins and straight downward, his release hurtling forward. “Fuck, baby.”

Orgasm crashed over both of them, pulling them under and drowning them. He grabbed her hips, driving deep, and stifling a moan as his release pulsed inside her. Her nails dug into his shirt, but the only sounds that escaped her were these little sharp catches in the back of her throat. It was the sexiest damn sound he’d ever heard.

When both their sounds of restraint had quieted, she finally opened her eyes and melted against him, pressing her cheek to her shoulder. “That was way more fun than an awards presentation.”

He hurriedly tucked himself back into his pants and pulled up his zipper. “I think I hear someone.”

Panic lit her features. “Shit.”

She scrambled to her feet, straightening her dress and checking to make sure she was covered. But there was no way she’d be able to hide that flushed, post-orgasm glow. He stood and dusted the grass off his backside. “Just take a deep breath. Someone’s coming, but I doubt anyone saw us.”

Soon, two men walked out from the bank of trees a few yards away and headed toward the edge of the pond. They were deep in conversation and didn’t seem to even notice they weren’t alone. Grant grabbed Charli’s hand. “Come on. Let’s pretend like we got lost and make our way back to the party.”

She nodded and clasped his hand, but before they took a handful of steps, one of the men glanced over and saw them. The conversation halted.

Grant raised a palm. “No problem. We got a little off course. We’re heading back now.”

The white-haired man headed their way, and his companion turned and followed. As the two men approached, Charli went stiff next to Grant. She pulled her hand from his. “Crap. What the hell is he doing here?”

Grant was about to ask her what she meant, but then the elderly man’s wide-shouldered friend squinted at Charli. “Beaumonde?”

Charli sighed. “Hi, Trey.”

Trey. Grant searched his brain, trying to remember if Charli had ever mentioned that name.

The guy looked Charli up and down with evaluating eyes. “Wow, I barely recognized you all dressed up. What are you doing here?”

Grant gritted his teeth, the guy’s tone and perusal of Charli pushing Grant’s mine buttons.

Charli shifted from one boot to the other, then looked over to Grant as if deciding whether to come up with a story or tell the truth. “I’m on a date. This is Grant Waters. Grant, this is Trey Winger, my boss.”

Her boss. And ex-lover. The guy who told her she wasn’t good enough for an on-air position. Grant stuck out his hand and shook Trey’s maybe a bit too firmly. Trey looked between Grant and Charli, openly curious.

Trey shrugged and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Mr. Brinkley invited me. He sits on the station’s board of directors and owns this property.”

More introductions were exchanged, and Grant could sense Charli’s professional image rising like the tide. Her posture turned straighter, her voice firmer, despite the fact that her heart had to be hammering in her chest. Hell, his own knees were still a little weak from their interlude. Seeing Charli flip that switch so easily gave him a ridiculous sense of pride. His girl had her shit together.

His girl. Damn, he needed to tame those thoughts.

He grabbed her hand again anyway, ignoring the satisfaction he felt when she grabbed back.

Mine, his mind whispered.

TWENTY-FIVE

She shrugged, thinking back to the way Trey had looked at her when he’d realized who she was. That wow reaction had been more than a little satisfying, had made every wax and pluck of her makeover worth it. Nothing like a great how-ya-like-me-now moment. “I really don’t think so. Trey’s not smooth enough to cover up his reactions that well. He wouldn’t have said anything, but he would’ve shown some sign.”

She looked over at him, frowning. “It’s going to be a huge story. Of course, he’d be interested in going.”

Grant’s gaze slid toward her, then back to the road. “You should know that boss of yours is still interested in you.”

She snorted. “Oh, please. First of all, this is the guy who told me I wasn’t pretty enough for TV. Second of all, I’ve been down that road with him and have no interest in going back. He knows that.”

Plus, how could she go back to someone like Trey after experiencing what she had with Grant? It’d be like going back to canned ham after you’ve had Kobe beef.

She laughed. “Ooh, jealousy. Looks kind of pretty on you, cowboy.”

He sniffed.

Grant made the turn onto her street and stared out at the road. “You know you could always stay at The Ranch and tell Trey and the rest of the guys who turned you down for the position to go fuck themselves. I could cover your expenses until you find something else.”

His words sounded off the cuff, but the shift in his posture said otherwise. She stared at him, the suggestion stalling her ability to respond for a second. Was he seriously suggesting that she stay? The thought of having something longer term with him tugged at a longing deep within her bones, but she knew that it would eventually end badly. After all, he’d said she could stay at The Ranch, not with him. She had no interest in being some woman he kept around for occasional entertainment.

He shot her a come-on-now look. “You know that’s not what I was suggesting. I just hate to see you working so hard for people who don’t appreciate your skills. You’re busting your ass, and they don’t even pay you enough to afford a safe car to drive. I have the means to help you if you needed time to find something different.”

She didn’t have an answer to that.

His truck rumbled up her driveway, and she couldn’t help the little pang of sadness that hit her seeing her house so dark and lonely. Her home wasn’t much, but it’d been her first real place after moving out of her family’s house, so it always gave her a sense of pride knowing she’d gotten it on her own. And though Grant’s guest cabin was great, nothing could replace having your own things around you.

Grant shut off the engine. “Give me your keys. I want to check inside and make sure everything’s okay before you go in.”

He held out his palm. “Better to be safe, freckles.”

She sighed and dropped her keys in his hand. He reached past her and unlocked the glove compartment, removing his handgun. Her first instinct was to protest, but if anything was wrong in the house, she’d want Grant to have protection. “Be careful, okay? I’d rather not end the evening with a dead date.”

He smirked. “Aww, nice to know you care, freckles.”

She rolled her eyes, but the move was forced. The truth was she did care. Too much probably. And the more they spent time together, the more her heart was digging roots into the slippery slope they were both residing on.

He disappeared inside the house for a few long minutes, no doubt examining every nook and cranny, then finally stepped back onto the porch. He looked so big standing there in front of her dainty white house—like the big, bad wolf ready to blow it down. He leaned against a post and sent her a smile that promised sin.

Her stomach did a little flip. She pushed open the truck’s door and climbed out. “Everything looks all right?”

She took the two steps up to the porch. “You didn’t get enough by the pond, cowboy?”

He locked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “Not nearly. Never enough with you.”

Her skin went goose bumpy as her chest pressed against his. “You know I have an early morning ahead of me?”

She knew she should stop him, knew that every time she let him touch her she became more ensnared in her fucked-up feelings for him, but she couldn’t resist the siren song and the rush of having his hands against her again. “Why do I never want to?”

He shoved the dress off her and kissed and licked his way up her neck. “You’re always so edible, Charlotte. I can taste the night air on you.”

She tilted her head back, and he traced his tongue along the hollow of her throat. Like a burning match to wax, her insides went warm and liquid in an instant. “God, yes.”

He chuckled against her jaw. “I’m not the only insatiable one here. Go to your bedroom and stand by the foot of the bed to wait for me. I want to take my time with you.”

He released her and she made her way through her small living room to her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm glow of her bedside lamp, the scene so familiar but yet foreign. Never before had she walked into her room and viewed it through someone else’s eyes. The thick posts of her bed now seemed a sensual choice, sinister in the best way possible. Her sheets—a high-thread-count gift to herself—now beckoned with promises of downy softness against bare skin. And oh, the things Grant could do with the small collection of vibrators she kept hidden in her panty drawer.

She left her undergarments on and faced the bed, keeping her back to the door, but her eyes fixed on the mirror above her dresser. Her heart hammered as she listened to Grant’s heavy footsteps make their way around her home. She had no idea what he was doing but had no doubt he had more in store for her than a quick romp before bed.

A shadow crossed over the mirror and she sucked in a breath as Grant’s wide frame filled her doorway. “What a pretty view.”

He stepped behind her, his body heat radiating onto her skin, and ran a gentle hand over the curve of her ass, then traced along the crease. The pad of his finger pressed against her back entrance through the thin fabric of her panties. She shivered, the still-foreign sensation stoking the flames of need inside her.

She wet her lips, catching her own unsure eyes in the mirror’s reflection even as the decadent sensation of him teasing her there had a new rush of moisture slicking her panties. She’d enjoyed the hell out of the plugs he’d used on her, but he was so much bigger than that. There was no way it wouldn’t hurt. “I’m a little scared.”

He kissed the slope of her shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin. “I could make you feel better and say it doesn’t, but I’d be lying.”

She closed her eyes, trying to reel in her runaway nerves. He was a sadist and had never apologized for that. Of course he didn’t mind that she was scared.

Her leg muscles seemed to liquefy as he worked another finger inside her. She bowed forward, her palms hitting the mattress, saving her from falling face-first into the comforter. His words were like the sharp, quick stings of his riding crop—the accuracy behind them exposing all her vulnerable places.

She stiffened, the assumption—though screaming with truth in her ears—all too close to what she’d been dealing with all her life. You’re not like normal girls. “So, what, I’m not worth the wining, dining, and romancing?”

His free hand came down hard on her ass, the sharp smack sending a jolt through her veins and a cry from her lips. “Don’t do that, Charlotte. Don’t turn my words around and use them as weapons.”

Her fingers curled into the comforter, rebellion welling up inside her.

He pulled away, removing all contact. “Before you speak, I suggest you think long and hard about what you want. I’ll give you one chance to make a request tonight. If that’s candles and opera music, I’ll make it happen. But whatever you request better be what you really want, not what you wish you wanted.”

She stared at the tone-on-tone stripes of her comforter, her breathing rapid with a confusing combination of anger and desire. Grant’s hard command had tempted a knee-jerk response, but she’d bit down on her tongue to keep it in. When she pictured the gentle, romantic evening he was offering her, it left her cold. Her other lovers had tried that route, and it’d never affected her the way she’d hoped it would. She craved genuine emotion with Grant, but not in that Hallmark-commercial kind of way, and definitely not in the bedroom.

The breath filling her lungs turned hot as reality coursed through her. Even if she wanted to be that sweet, flowers-and-hearts girl, she wasn’t wired that way. And neither was he. She could either keep trying to convince herself she could be or accept what was. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. What she needed—wanted—danced on her lips, the forbidden desire they’d playfully mentioned earlier tonight hovering in the silence between them. Capture. Force.

How often in the last few weeks had she wondered what it would be like to see Grant really let go? Despite everything they’d done together, she always sensed he was being careful with her, like he was afraid to show her too much darkness. But she craved that from him.

She pushed herself upright, her resolve calming the disjointed emotions battling inside of her. She met his stoic gaze in the mirror, her own expression reflecting the confidence in her decision, but also the underlying trepidation inherent in it. She turned around to face him.

She swallowed past the kink in her vocal cords. “I want you to make me do it.”

TWENTY-SIX

The flicker of surprise that crossed Grant’s features at Charli’s request was as quick as a blink, but she hadn’t missed it. He unfurled his arms from their crossed position over his chest, his fingers flexing at his sides. “Tell me your safe word, Charlotte.”

Her heart pounded so hard, she wondered if her ribs would have a permanent imprint. “Texas.”

His eyes seemed to turn black in the soft light of the bedroom. He leaned over slowly, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. Then one whispered word filled her mind. “Run.”

Her body reacted before her mind kicked in, her bare feet squeaking against the wood floor as she juked around Grant and took off into the hallway. Her house wasn’t big, but she had the advantage of knowing every hiding place and every room with a lock. He gave her a few seconds’ head start, so she slammed her office door to make him think she was hiding in there and headed to the kitchen instead. The attached laundry room had a lock and had another door that led to the screened-in porch on the back of the house. That could work.

She hurried past the pantry and slipped inside the alcove. She locked the laundry room door, her fingers trembling, and pressed her back against the door to the porch. Even though she knew this was a game, an undeniable zip of fear buzzed through her. Grant wouldn’t harm her in any kind of serious way, but she wasn’t under the impression he’d go easy on her either. The thought only served to make the achy pulsing between her legs more unbearable.

She strained her ears, trying to listen for his heavy footfalls. She doubted the man could walk softly even if he tried. There was a distant squeak—probably the office door opening. He’d probably try the laundry room any second. She looked around for anything to use to distract him, but all that was in there was a basket full of unfolded laundry. She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of running shorts off the top and slipped them on. He’d never expect her to go outside since she’d been half-naked, but this could give her the element of surprise.

She reached behind her and turned the knob on the door to the porch, keeping her eyes on the other door and doing her best to not make a peep. When the knob gave, she backed onto the porch, never taking her focus off the kitchen door. One, two, three steps and she’d be to the screen door that led to the backyard. She spun on her heel, ready to bolt, and slammed smack into the hard wall of Grant’s chest.

Before the scream could even exit her throat, Grant turned her, clamping a hand over her mouth. The noise came out a pitiful, muffled sound.

Not ready to lose so easily, she jammed her elbow into his ribs and tried to wriggle free. But he was too damn strong for her to even get an inch of space between them. He gripped her harder.

She grabbed for the hand he had locked over her mouth and dug her fingernail into his cuticle—a self-defense move her brother had taught her.

His hand dropped, and the moment’s distraction let her slip free. She vaulted back through the door to the kitchen, an angry cowboy hot on her heels. When she took the turn into the living room, she thought she had enough of a lead to make it back to the bedroom, but before she hit the hallway, he grabbed hold of her shirt and yanked her backward. He caught her before she landed on her ass, but soon she was on the floor anyway. He pinned her down on the rug, belly down, knee against her back.

The sound of the tearing and his handling of her had every sensory system in her body firing. Her mind tumbled into that place where thoughts went quiet and sensation took over. She struggled beneath him. “Please, please don’t do this. You can take whatever you want from the house.”

His dark chuckle was almost unrecognizable as he unhooked her bra. “You think I’m in here for a fucking TV, princess?”

A hard tremor moved through her. She tried to move, but her wrist and thigh were now anchored to each other. He gave her the same treatment on the other side until she was left with her ass in the air, knees spread wide, and the side of her face pressed into the rug.

Breath rasped through her lungs as she fell into the moment, surrendering to him, her desire for him swallowing any lingering fear. Her clit throbbed from neglect, the soft rug caressing her nipples and only ratcheting up her desperation further. “Please.”

He stood, his shoes coming into her peripheral vision. “Why do I get the feeling you’re no longer begging for mercy but begging for me to fuck you?”

He crouched down and wrapped a hank of her hair around his fist, lifting her head ever so slightly. “You know how hot it makes me to hear you beg so nicely? I may even let you enjoy it now.”

He released her hair and stood. The sound of his belt buckle raised goose bumps on her sweat-slicked skin. She peeked upward to find him peering down at her as he doubled the belt over and tucked the metal part in his hand. He smiled a smile that could simultaneously melt her insides and break her open, then he stepped out of view.

Even knowing it was coming couldn’t prepare her for the blow. The belt landed across her ass, sending a rocket of stinging pleasure curling up her spine and down her legs. She cried out, her hands yanking at the ropes and inadvertently spreading her thighs wider.

Another swat came and grazed her exposed sex, jolting her and almost sending her into instant orgasm. Her back bowed, her head shaking back and forth like a restless horse trying to break loose. “Oh, God.”

He hit her again and again, but she lost count of the lashes when the hot pain softened and blurred into the intoxicating rush of pure adrenaline and pleasure. Her pussy throbbed and her skin felt tight all over her, like she had too much sensation to hold in one body. She wanted to beg, to scream, to cry…to love him.

Her verbal abilities had slipped into the part of her brain she didn’t have access to at the moment, but nothing in the world sounded better than that. She tilted her hips upward, a silent appeal.

Cool liquid touched her backside, Grant’s fingers massaging and spreading lube he’d apparently brought with him. “Just relax for me, princess. Let me in.”

She didn’t think she was capable of fighting the invasion even if she’d wanted to. His finger pushed inside her, one then another, and a moan spilled out of her. He worked her backside with one hand and moved the other to her clit. She squeezed her eyes shut, the pleasure almost too overwhelming to process. Methodically and with tortuous patience, he coaxed her body to cooperate, to open to him. As soon as she thought she’d explode with orgasm, he’d back off her clit and ease her down. If she could’ve formed the words, she would’ve begged—shamelessly and profusely.

But soon he’d hit his own limit and he shifted into position behind her, untying her hands so she could brace herself and then spreading her even wider. His cock pressed against her, the blunt head feeling impossibly huge in comparison to the fingers he’d been using. “Relax and push against me, baby. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She breathed through one final whip of anxiety, then did as he said, mentally and physically accepting him. He moved through the last bit of resistance, and then he was gliding inside her, stretching her, setting off a circuit board of nerve endings that had her nails burying into the carpet and her body quivering with edgy need.

She swallowed past her parched throat, her own words barely a whisper. “Please don’t make me wait too long.”

His fingers found her clit and stroked as his pelvis tapped her backside, his cock buried fully inside her. She reared up, and a strangled moan that she didn’t even recognize as her own filled her ears. Grant sped up, his thrusts matching the urgency pulsing inside her. Her head sagged between her shoulders and she went down to her elbows, all her strength going toward holding back the dam of sensation threatening to overtake her.

He pinched her clit and switched from nice and easy to commanding—his dominance fully unleashed. “Come for me, Charlotte.”

He fucked into her with long, spine-arching thrusts, rocking her against the floor and pushing her to a place she’d never visited before. Wretched sounds scraped past her throat as the need wound inside her, tighter and tighter, until she thought she’d die of sensory overload.

Then Grant moaned her name, and the erotic sound of his own loss of control pushed her over the cliff and sent her plummeting into orgasm. Tears pricked her eyes, and she screamed through the overwhelming surge of pleasure, the waves crashing against her over and over until she felt him empty inside her.

After a few panted moments and murmured words, he slipped out of her.

She melted into the floor, not sure she ever wanted to get up again. He kissed her shoulder, her hair, the top of her spine. “That was so, so perfect, Charlotte. I’ve never…” But he seemed to be struggling with intelligent speech as well. “Thank you, just thank you. You’re amazing.”

All she could do was sigh in response.

He laughed softly, his obvious affection rolling over her and wrapping around her. He laid his shirt over her quickly chilling skin. “Stay here, darlin’. There’s a hot bath with your name on it. I’ll be right back.”

Charli lay there snuggled against Grant’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and enjoying the scent of her soap on him. Even after all that had transpired in her house tonight, it felt so normal, so right, lying there in her bed with him. Maybe she didn’t crave candles and soft music, but this—this she ached for. She hadn’t really had a chance to be like this with him yet, to simply cuddle and enjoy his presence.

For a moment, she let herself imagine that this was real, that he would sleep there beside her all night, that they were in a real relationship. But even with her system utterly exhausted, her logical brain wouldn’t let her go there. He’ll never be yours.

He traced his fingers along her spine with a languid motion. “What’s on your mind, freckles? Your muscles have gone tense.”

She frowned, staring at their intermingled shadows on the far wall. “It was nothing.”

She sighed. Did he always have to be so damn observant? She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let herself fall deeper tonight. But her best intentions had been left somewhere between her bedroom and laundry room. Beyond the electric physical connection they’d shared tonight, when he’d put her in the bathtub afterward, his expression soft, his words tender, she’d plummeted into the abyss. He’d probably chalk it up to bottoming out after their intense scene, but she knew better. She needed to tell him the truth. Put it out there.

She closed her eyes, drumming up the nerve. There was only one thing she could say. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

She pushed herself up on her elbow. It was hard to look at him, but she wasn’t a coward. If she was going to be honest, she’d do it to his face, would jump off the cliff and suffer the consequences. She took one long, deep breath, then said what she’d been thinking for far too long. “Because I’m starting to wish this was real.”

He winced.

Actually fucking winced.

The reaction, though not shocking, was like a rusty knife twisting into her chest. She managed a derisive smirk. “Exactly my point.”

She rolled fully away from him, wrapping the sheet around her breasts. “Don’t even bother, Grant. I don’t need the speech. This is not your fault. It’s mine. You never pretended this was anything different than what it is.”

He reached out for her, turning her back toward him. “Charli.”

She shrugged away from his touch, feeling as if her emotions were being held together with duct tape. One wrong move and she’d bust wide open. “Please don’t. Don’t coddle me. And don’t pretend you weren’t just going to lie here until I fell asleep so you can go sleep on the couch.”

His gaze shifted sideways, confirming her suspicion.

He lifted his eyes, his surprise evident. “You’re not just another woman. And I would take you on as my submissive in a second, Charli. But you deserve more than what I’m capable of giving. You wouldn’t be happy.”

She shook her head, sadness filtering through her like oil spilling into the ocean, blackening everything, tainting it. “You know what? You’re right, cowboy. I’ve spent my whole life being everyone’s second best. I certainly don’t intend to play that role in my love life as well.”

She turned over in bed, putting her back to him and hiding the anguish that smothered her. Her bedroom door clicked shut a few seconds later, leaving her alone—a state she’d always been comfortable with.

Until now.

Somehow she had a feeing nothing would ever feel comfortable again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Grant sipped his coffee, keeping his eyes on a booth on the other side of the Southern Pancake Hut. The place was hopping with customers, and the rattle of dishes and clinking forks was enough to block out any hope that he’d be able to hear Charli’s conversation with her source. Not that he really needed to hear anything. He could see her face in profile from his perch and would be able to read her expression. If anything went wrong, she’d be able to alert him.

He set down his coffee mug, the smell of it mixing with the bacon and eggs he’d ordered. He shoved aside his untouched plate, the thought of food making his stomach revolt. Between the sick feeling his conversation with Charli had incited last night and the fact that he’d been unable to sleep, he felt as scrambled as the eggs on his plate.

She’d been like a stranger this morning. Her words had been polite, to the point, and all about the plan today. He was officially looking at her from outside the castle walls now. His visitor’s pass had been revoked—and rightly so. She’d called herself his second best last night, and he hadn’t even stood up and denied it.

He fingered the platinum wedding band he always wore on his right hand, the smooth metal suddenly feeling more like a shackle than a comfort. Why couldn’t he just push past the fear and kiss her? Tell her that he had feelings for her, too?

He’d gotten off the couch a few times last night intending to do just that. But then reality would wallop him in the face. He could do that, but then what? Charli was fiercely independent and a daredevil to boot. The first time she announced that she was going skydiving or something, he’d want to lock her in his cabin until he could convince her otherwise. And besides her risk taking, she could easily decide one day to simply walk away. The thought of loving and losing someone again…

He rubbed a palm over the back of his neck, sweat starting to gather there. He wouldn’t survive it. No, this had to be the way it went. Ending things was best for both of them.

Movement near Charli’s table caught his eye, yanking him from his morose thoughts. The man Charli had been interviewing shook her hand and stood. Charli was nodding, obviously thanking him, and then waved him off when he attempted to pay for breakfast. Her gaze shot Grant’s way for a brief second. He could almost feel the energy vibrating off of her. She’d gotten her story. Good girl.

The guy left the restaurant, and Charli sat back down, making more notes. She glanced his way and discreetly gave him the signal for five minutes, disguising it as trying to get the waitress’s attention for a refill. They had agreed not to interact in the restaurant on the off chance anyone was watching. They’d even taken separate vehicles as an added precaution.

He made one final visual sweep of the restaurant, making note of any patrons that seemed to be paying particular attention to Charli. But most customers had other people with them. The few loners seemed more interested in their laptops and cell phones than anything else. So Grant tossed a few bills on the table and swigged the last of his coffee. Then he slipped out the door to go scan the parking lot and make sure there was no one waiting for Charli to leave.

After quickly walking by her rental car and checking that nothing looked amiss, he made his way to his truck where he had a straight-shot view of the entrance of the restaurant. He kept the door unlocked in case he had to act quickly like the last time he’d watched her from afar. Hopefully, today wouldn’t be a repeat of that nightmare. But at least this time, he’d be more prepared.

If he could get her past the next few days, she’d be able to relax a bit. Once her story broke, there’d be no reason for anyone to keep working so hard on keeping her quiet. At least that’s what he hoped. Regardless, he wouldn’t leave her unprotected anytime soon. Even if she no longer wanted him in her life, he had friends he could pay to keep guard for a while.

And he’d definitely get an alarm system installed for her.

An alarm. Before he could stop it from happening, the unwanted memories filled his head, like old friends you couldn’t close the door on.

He’d made that promise to his wife, too, when they’d gotten their first house. They’d just moved off his family’s property and into their new home in the suburbs to make room for the baby. The neighborhood had been new, quiet, well-to-do. In one of their discussions about things to add to the house, Rachel had asked if they could get an alarm system put in since she’d heard some news story about a rash of break-ins one town over.

Grant had thought she was being paranoid about living in the “big city” after country life, had playfully teased her about it. She’d always been the overly cautious type, and pregnancy had put that trait into hyperdrive. He’d assured her that they were safe. If anyone ever broke in, he had a gun and knew how to use it. He would always keep her safe. But a few weeks after they’d settled in, they’d become the next victims. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of breaking glass and had shoved Rachel into their closet—a fatal mistake. He’d been stupid and prideful. The fucking man of the house protecting his own.

When he’d reached the bottom floor, he’d caught the thief in the living room. Pulling the gun and thinking he had everything under control, Grant had confronted him. But the guy had been hopped up on drugs, fearless, and had launched himself at Grant, stabbing him in the shoulder right before Grant pulled the trigger.

The knife slash had been a nonfatal blow; the robber hadn’t been as lucky. And Grant had thought everything was going to be okay. He’d won.

Only then had he heard Rachel’s shriek and realized he’d failed to consider the most crucial thing of all—the thief may have not been alone.

Grant had propelled himself upward on adrenaline alone, but it’d been too late. The man’s partner had dragged Rachel down the stairs after he’d heard the gunshot, had seen his brother dead on the floor of the living room. And had lost it.

Rachel’s wide, terrified eyes had met Grant’s a moment before the man had pressed a gun into her back and pulled his own trigger. Grant had fired back, getting the guy in the chest, but all had already been lost.

Grant had cradled his wife in his arms, telling her it was going to be okay, begging her not to leave him. But by the time the police had arrived, she’d lost too much blood. Rachel and their unborn son had died at the bottom of the staircase. Because Grant hadn’t taken her seriously, hadn’t protected her like he promised her he would.

If not for his mistake, they’d probably both still be here today. Rachel would’ve opened her craft store by now. His son would be in school, playing sports, maybe learning how to ride horses with his daddy…

Grant pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, the grief threatening to bust through every pore. He hadn’t cried since the funeral. Part of him believed he’d cried so much when it’d happened that his lifetime allotment of tears had been used up. But as he sat there in his truck, moisture touched his cheeks. He swiped at the tears, gritting his teeth as he tried to reel in the waterfall of emotions pounding him.

He couldn’t afford to lose it right now. He had a job to do. He forced his attention to the clock, trying to focus. Charli had said five minutes and it’d been ten. Her car still sat a few spots away, so he knew he hadn’t missed her come out. She was probably caught up in finishing her notes. But Grant wasn’t in the mood to take chances. Five more minutes. If she wasn’t out, he was going back in.

He hadn’t failed a mission since that night with his wife, and he didn’t plan on doing so now.

Charli quickly jotted down a few more notes from her interview. Rodney had given her pay dirt. Not just an admission that he’d received cash payments while playing for the university but names of who he knew to be involved—including some pretty prominent businessmen and politicians in the area. But more important, he’d told her he suspected the university’s dean had known the cheating was going on. The dean was well liked and a local celebrity. If those people could be implicated, the story was going to be huge. A career-making kind of scoop.

Finally. She was going to get her shot.

Charli’s head snapped up, the familiar voice startling her. “Pete? What the hell are you doing here?”

Instinctively, she dragged her notebook closer to her on the table, and glanced over to where Grant had been sitting. But of course, he wasn’t there. She’d sent him the signal to go outside a few minutes earlier. “Just working on the piece about Valley High School.”

Her stomach turned sideways, a sick feeling rolling over her. How would Pete even know what story she was investigating or why Rodney was important? Unless…

It took everything she had not to jump across the table and throttle him. “Yours didn’t teach you breaking and entering is a crime?”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s not breaking in when you leave a spare set of keys in your drawer at work. It was just…entering.”

She grabbed her purse, her skin crawling being this close to the man who’d scared her out of her house, run her off the fucking road. He could’ve killed her. She moved to scoot out of the booth.

He dropped a thumb drive onto the tabletop. She stared at it, the small thing seeming to loom between them. “What is it?”

He smiled, way too pleased with himself. “An audio file starring you.”

Her brow knitted.

Voices spilled from the small speaker. Very, very familiar voices.

I’m about halfway to coming, where are you, sweet Charlotte?

Wishing I was there. Touching you.

Charli gasped, reaching for Pete’s phone, but he held it out of her reach. “Turn it off.”

Are you wet for me?

Perhaps.

How much privacy does your office allow?

Charli looked around, mortified that anyone might hear, but luckily the restaurant was loud enough that they hadn’t drawn anyone’s attention yet.

Pete laughed and touched the screen, halting the embarrassing recording. “I have to admit, Beaumonde. Listening to you on that call was kind of hot. I didn’t think you had it in you. But I knew you were up to something on the phone when I saw you were all flushed and breathless when I stopped by your office.”

Anger rocketed through her, but she forced herself to stay calm, to not let him know how bad he’d gotten to her. “You’re a sick bastard, Pete. I’m sure the jail psychologist will have a fucking field day.”

He shrugged. “All right, well, I’m sure Trey and the board would love to hear what their reporter is doing at work on their dime. You won’t have to worry about not getting the anchor position anymore because you’ll be fired and have no references to find something else.”

She balled her fists, ready to throw more punches at him, but as his words sunk in she realized he had her in a goddamned corner. What she’d done at work had been completely unprofessional. If they doubted how seriously she took her job now, she’d blow any shot at being seen as a professional if this came out.

But if she turned over her notes, Pete would get the glory. And the job.

The only chance she had at someone believing her was Trey. He’d known she was chasing this particular story. Maybe she could explain to him what had happened. They had a friendship. Surely he could keep the information about the phone sex to himself.

Charli took a deep breath and grabbed the thumb drive. “I want to watch you delete it off your phone.”

Pete’s expression lit with smug triumph. He hit a few buttons and the file was gone. She shoved her notebook across the table and stood. “Only a fucking coward would stalk and blackmail someone to get a promotion. It’s really kind of pitiful. You know how much better I am than you are, and you don’t have the balls to compete on an even playing field.”

He scoffed. “The playing field is never even, Beaumonde. If it were, one of us would’ve had that sidelines position. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

A line formed between his brows. “Almost killing you?”

She shook her head. So now he was going to play innocent? “Come near me ever again, and I’ll make that punch from the other day look mild.”

She stalked out of the restaurant, her head about to explode. Fucking punk. He couldn’t even man up and get his own damn story. If he’d put half as much energy into getting his own scoop as he had trying to hijack hers, he’d probably have a promotion already. All she could hope was that Trey would take her side and not accept Pete’s story.

The sunshine blinded her as she stepped into the parking lot. She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and found Grant walking her way from the other side of the lot. He halted when he saw her, a glimmer of relief crossing his features. He must’ve been on the way to check on her since she’d taken longer than five minutes.

They had agreed not to interact in case anyone was watching, but now that Pete had outed himself, she had no reason to be covert. He turned to go back toward his truck, but she followed him over. “Wait, we don’t have to play strangers anymore.”

He spun to face her, frowning. “What?”

She gave him the quick version of what had just happened, venom dripping off her tone.

Grant’s jaw flexed. “I see.”

She put a hand on his forearm. “Don’t. You’ll just get yourself in an unnecessary mess. Pete comes from a family of lawyers. We can’t prove anything, and if you lay a hand on him, he’ll press charges before you can blink. It’s not worth it. Let me handle it.”

He looked unmoved.

He sighed. “That’s not my strong suit, freckles, but I’ll do my best.”

She checked the time on her phone. “Look, I’m going to head into work and try to get to Trey before Pete does. You’re relieved of bodyguard duty. Pete’s got what he wants now.”

He shifted his focus away from the diner and met her gaze, regret etching lines at the corners of his eyes. “We should talk.”

A pained expression shrouded his features. But he didn’t say anything further.

What was there to say?

Only one thing. “Good-bye, Grant.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Charli was in the mood to break things by the time late afternoon rolled around. Or maybe beat things—like Pete’s smarmy face. Trey hadn’t been in the office, and no one seemed to know when he’d be coming back. She’d tried his cell number without any luck. Pete hadn’t returned either. He was probably busy studying her notes so he could fake his way through owning her story.

She gripped the edge of her desk, letting out a groan of frustration.

Her phone beeped, indicating an internal call. She nearly pounced on the receiver. “Hello?”

Charli had never made it to her boss’s office so quickly. She swung open the door, her story ready to burst from her lips, but Trey’s grim expression halted her in her tracks.

He already knew. She could see it all over his face.

She clicked the door shut, then sank into the chair, her limbs half numb. “So Pete told you anyway.”

He looked to the ceiling, as if counting to ten in his head to calm down. “I told you to back off that fucking story, Beaumonde. But you had to keep pushing. Always pushing.”

She frowned. Wait, this wasn’t about the audiotape? “What are you talking about?”

He leaned onto his forearms, his gaze trapping her. “Any sane person would’ve dropped a story if they’d been run off the road and threatened. But no, you’re like a goddamned bulldog who keeps breaking its leash.”

Her blood chilled beneath her skin, her muscles going taut.

Her stomach lurched as her brain caught up with the conversation, rage welling up inside her. Her own company had tried to shut her up—hurt her.

Trey shook his head, resignation settling like dust in the creases of his face. “I’ve always liked you, Charli. May have even loved you once upon a time.” He sighed. “I wanted to keep you out of it, tried to. But you couldn’t leave well enough alone. You were never good at listening.”

She wanted to yank him up by that collar of his and shake him. How dare he act like some martyr who’d tried to help her? “I was doing my job, Trey.”

All she could do was stare at the notice of termination.

She gasped, looking up from the document. “You hurt Rodney?”

He shrugged. “Hush money and a well-placed threat are much more effective than physical violence.”

Well, now she knew where Trey had gotten the money for that new Mercedes he was driving around. But apparently she wasn’t worth hush money. They were just getting rid of her. “So I’m just supposed to walk away?”

The cold wash of fear went all the way to her bones this time.

She wrapped her arms around herself, wondering if she was going into some stage of shock. “Why are you doing this?”

He twisted his college ring round and round his finger. “I haven’t changed that much since we dated. The stakes have just gotten higher.”

She thought back to all the times she’d lent him a few bucks here and there, the time he needed rent money in their junior year but really spent it playing cards.

She stalked out of the office, her head held high despite the riotous emotions blending her insides. But before she reached her desk, she had to run into one of the bathrooms and vomit. The fear of what could’ve been overwhelmed her.

She’d lost her story, her job, and the childhood dream she’d set out for herself.

But she was alive.

And there was only one person to thank for that.

Grant’s hand was slick against the steering wheel as he raced back toward town. Please, God, please. The chant was about the only cogent thought he could manage for the last ten minutes. He tried to dial Charli’s number again, but she wasn’t answering at work or on her cell. He cursed, then hit another number on speed dial.

Grant rattled off the location and clicked off the phone. He’d followed that scum Pete from the diner and around town until the guy had finally headed home. Grant hadn’t wanted any witnesses for what he was planning to do. Charli had told him to leave the guy alone, but Grant knew how to extract information without leaving a mark. And nothing brought out the sadist in him more than an asshole who threatened women.

Grant had thought he was only going to get Charli’s notes back, but that prick had sung like a man on death row when Grant had pinned him to the ground and threatened to show him all the fun torture techniques he knew. Fucking wimp.

But the information Pete had spilled and the names he’d named had sent fear exploding like mines inside Grant’s head. Charli was with the enemy, and Grant had found himself on the other side of the city from her.

The thought of something happening to her, of never seeing her again or hearing her laugh…of their only kiss being the one where he left her feeling like shit—he wouldn’t survive it. He should’ve known to look more closely at her boss. The guy had given Grant a weird vibe as soon as he’d met him. Grant had attributed that vibe to her ex-lover still having interest, but he shouldn’t have let it go so easily. Everyone should’ve been labeled a suspect first. He’d made a crucial error…again.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and yanked it to the right, taking the exit off the interstate at warp speed. Five more minutes if he didn’t catch any lights. He passed through the first intersection without issue, but on the second one, he got caught behind a line of traffic. He slammed his fist against the dashboard, about ready to jump out and run the rest of the way to her office. Silent prayers ran through his head like ticker tape.

But unlike earlier, the painful flashbacks didn’t invade his thoughts. Panic didn’t overtake him. Instead, his focus had become laser sharp. He saw every break in traffic, every spot he could slide into to get to her more quickly. By the time his truck skidded into her building’s parking lot, he was ready to dismantle anyone who tried to prevent him from getting to her.

But as soon as he hopped out of the truck, he saw a familiar cop walking out of the front of the building with his arm around a redhead. Grant’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest to race ahead of him. He launched himself toward Andre and Charli, relief coursing through him like fingers of electricity. She’s okay, she’s okay…

Charli glanced up as he approached, her face white, her shoulders hunched. He couldn’t ever remember seeing her look so frail, like a strong breeze would knock her over. Andre kept a firm hold around her shoulders until Grant reached them, then he handed her over to him. Despite her earlier standoffishness, Charli came to him willingly, sagging against him and curling her fingers into his shirt.

Andre frowned. “She said she doesn’t want to talk here.”

The implicit trust hit Grant right in the gut. For so long, he’d kept everyone at arm’s length. But Jace and Andre hadn’t relented when they’d joined The Ranch. They’d somehow worked their way past his force field and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had real friends. Ones who would drop everything to help him no questions asked if he needed it.

And as he wrapped his arm around Charli and guided her to his truck, he realized that Charli had done the same thing. With her hard head and take-no-bullshit attitude, she’d hurdled right over his defenses. But unlike Jace and Andre, Charli hadn’t just worked her way into his circle of friends, but rather into every corner of his being. For the few minutes today that he’d thought he may never see her again, he’d felt the impact of just how deeply she’d burrowed into his psyche.

Once they got to his truck, he helped her into the passenger side, then grabbed the file box he’d set on his floorboard. He shut Charli’s door with his hip, then handed the box to Andre. “Take this directly to the station. From what I understand, there are audio recordings and files that will implicate a number of government officials and business owners in a cheating scandal with Dallas University. My source also told me there are recordings of conversations where break-ins and attempted murder are discussed.”

Andre gave him a you-gotta-be-shittin’-me look. “How the hell did you get this kind of information?”

Andre’s expression was all too knowing. It wasn’t that long ago that he was torn up about his own woman. “She went with you willingly. That’s a start.”

Grant clapped Andre on the shoulder as he passed him. “That’s about all I’ve got right now. Thanks for your help, man.”

Grant headed to the driver’s side. Luck. He was going to need more than that. Because what he knew he needed to do was going to make his days of facing down terrorists look like a day at kindergarten.

Here goes nothing.

TWENTY-NINE

Charli sat curled on the couch in her cabin, huddled around a cup of hot tea. Her stomach had finally settled, and a long shower had helped slough off some of the ugliness of the day, but she still couldn’t settle her mind.

Grant had told her on the way what he’d done to Pete, what information he’d gotten out of him. Charli couldn’t help the satisfaction the news had brought her. She almost wished she could’ve been there to see Pete’s face when Grant, in all his six-foot-seven, pissed-off cowboy glory, had busted through his door. Grant hadn’t given her details about what threats he’d laid down, but she had a feeling Pete was probably still hiding in a closet in his house.

Served the bastard right.

But finding out in the same day that Trey, a guy she’d trusted wholeheartedly, had put her life on the line had her questioning her judgment? How could she have been so stupid? At one time, she’d truly cared about Trey. Even if their relationship had dissolved, she’d always considered him one of her closest friends. Were her instincts that off?

Of course they were. Hell, she’d actually thought she could help Grant get over his wife. Her instincts were about as accurate as her ability to guess lottery numbers.

Grant sank onto the armchair opposite her. “Andre called, said they’re putting together arrest warrants for at least seven people, including your boss and that Brinkley guy he was with last night at the fund-raiser. Apparently, Pete took ‘cover your ass’ to the nth degree. He secretly taped almost every conversation he had with anyone.”

She sipped her tea. “Told you, lawyer family.”

The short few feet between them seemed to grow wider as they sat there. Had it only been last night that they’d made love in the grass? “You don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine.”

Grant’s stoicism fell away, revealing a shade of hurt beneath it. “So you’re leaving?”

She looked down at the frayed ends of the blanket. “I can’t stay here, Grant.”

She knew if she hung around him long enough, she’d slip up. Her normal armor seemed to turn to gossamer anytime he was around. She’d fall into bed with him in a weak moment and end up digging herself into a deeper hole. She was done settling. She wasn’t going to play second best for anyone, and she wasn’t going to stay in a job that wasn’t challenging her anymore. Life was too short to give up and set up camp on the side of the mountain instead of reaching the summit.

Even if she was going to be sitting on that summit all by her damn self.

He leaned forward, lacing his fingers between his knees. “Let me drive you to Baton Rouge.”

She winced. Nine hours sharing that small truck cab with him? Listening to that voice, being surrounded by his scent, hearing him hum to his favorite country songs? It would kill her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He looked up, the wear of the day showing on his face. “My wife lost her life because I slacked off on one little detail, assumed she was safe. If something were to happen to you because I didn’t finish the job of protecting you, I…I would never forgive myself.”

The naked honesty in his voice sliced right through her. He’d never forgive himself. He definitely hadn’t forgiven himself for the first time. He wore that guilt like an extra layer of clothes. And though the chances of something actually happening to her between here and Max’s place were slim, she couldn’t bear the thought of adding anything else to Grant’s burden. If she was a “job” to him, she’d let him finish it.

He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets and gracing her with a sad smile. “I don’t want to protect the world. I just want to protect you, freckles.”

And with that, he turned on his boot heel and walked out, leaving her sitting there staring after him.

Grant’s internal military clock apparently hadn’t eased up over time. The next morning they were on their way before the chickens had even cracked an eye open. Grant drove through town so she could retrieve her rental car and return it, then he stopped by her house so she could grab a few extra things.

She had no idea how long she’d be staying with her brother, so she wanted to be prepared. At this point, she didn’t even know if she wanted to come back. Looking for work in Louisiana was starting to sound more and more appealing. What had Trey said to her? She was the kind of person who could disappear and no one would notice for a while? That basically summed up her years in Texas. Now that her job was gone, she had nothing tying her here.

She glanced over at Grant as they cruised down the mostly empty interstate between Dallas and Shreveport, her heart pinging at the realization that this was going to be the last day with him. They hadn’t talked much so far. And she suspected the steady stream of music was by design. He was as uncomfortable with this arrangement as she was. Even in profile, she could sense his tension. That muscle in his jaw was flexing beneath the layer of stubble, and his hands were holding the steering wheel so hard she knew his fingers had to be aching.

The sunlight caught the metal in his wedding band, and the flash blinded her for moment, forcing her to turn away. Even in silence, she couldn’t be spared a reminder of all that stood between them. She turned her gaze to the trees whizzing by her on the right side. Only what? Six hours to go? She tapped her head lightly against the glass.

The truck slowed a bit. “You remember that little speech I gave you when we first went over The Ranch’s rules—the part about safe, sane, and consensual?”

That dragged her attention away from the road signs. “Uh, yeah.”

He sent her a don’t-hate-me look and veered right, sending them along the exit ramp. “Well, I promise this is going to be safe…and mostly sane. Hopefully you’ll forgive me on the consensual part.”

THIRTY

Charli had no idea what the hell had gotten into Grant. They’d exited the interstate twenty minutes earlier, and despite her questions, he hadn’t let her in on where they were going or what was about to happen. If he thought they were going to go have some last wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am before they parted, he had another think coming.

But his demeanor was anything but sexual. The man who seemed to always be the epitome of cool control couldn’t stop shifting in his seat or flexing his fingers. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him in some way, but she feared he might actually leap off the seat.

But before he had the chance to answer, he turned the truck down a narrow side road. A ranch entrance gate framed the road, and a sign with a W hung from the overhead cross post. What the hell? She leaned over to get a better glimpse of the sign. But the minute they passed under it, Grant seemed to deflate like a tire rolling over a nail, as if he’d been holding his breath since they’d exited the interstate.

They passed a mailbox. Reflective letters on the side of it glinted in the sun—Waters.

Oh, shit. Anxiety welled up in Charli like a flash flood. This was his family’s place.

Grant pulled to the side of the road, a large two-story farmhouse looming in the distance, and turned to her, his blue eyes pleading with her before his words did. “I know that I shouldn’t have dragged you here with me without telling you. It isn’t fair. This is something I should have the guts to do by myself.”

The quiet desperation in his voice reached inside her and clamped around her heart. There was no way she could deny him what he asked, not when he sounded so damned lost. She reached out and put her hand over his clasped ones. “Tell me what you need me to do, cowboy.”

He looked over at her then, every emotion coloring his eyes. “Just go in there with me. Be by my side. I know I’ve fucked this up. I’ve been fucked up. And maybe things can’t be fixed.” He lifted his hand and traced his thumb over her lips, stirring an ache deep in her bones. “But for the first time in years, I have the urge to try.”

Her throat worked as she wrangled in her emotions and tucked them down. She didn’t want to read too much into what he was saying. He wanted to face his family and had asked for her to help. That’s it. Nothing had changed from two nights ago in her bedroom. She looked up the long driveway. “I’m here for whatever you need, Grant.”

The drive up to the house was brief, but by the time they climbed out and stood facing the door, Charli had butterflies the size of buzzards flailing around inside her stomach. How was she supposed to do this? Grant hadn’t seen his family in years and she was going to be some stranger tagging along with him. Talk about awkward.

But she’d seen how much it had cost him to even ask for her help. He was a man built on pride and control. This was uncharted territory for him, and no matter how uncomfortable this turned out to be, she wasn’t going to let him traverse it alone.

Grant rang the bell, and soon the hollow sound of footsteps on wood broke through the country air. The door swung open and a woman with the same dark hair as Grant filled the doorway. Charli held her breath. In the space between seconds, Charli saw the recognition dawn, the relief in his mother’s eyes, then the tears.

Without a word, his mom stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her son, her hands pressing along his back as if checking to make sure Grant wasn’t an apparition.

Charli moved back a little, not wanting to interfere with the reunion. Her own tears burned her eyes, the scene a potent reminder of what she no longer had in her own life now that her dad had passed, but she kept them at bay. This was Grant and his mother’s moment.

Mrs. Waters pulled back from the hug after a long minute and looked up at her son with dewy but shrewd eyes. “Well, it’s about damn time, you stubborn boy.”

That actually pulled a quiet chuckle from Grant. “I’m sorry, Ma. Would it help if I told you you’ve gotten even prettier in the last few years?”

Surprise flickered over her features. “And who’s this?”

Grant’s hand closed around Charli’s, and he tugged her to his side. “Ma, this is Charli Beaumonde, the girl I love.”

Charli’s gasp was covered by his mother’s own matching one. He gave Charli’s hand a squeeze, hoping he hadn’t just screwed everything up worse. The words hadn’t been the ones he’d planned, but when his mother had asked who Charli was, the truth had tumbled out like a drunken confession.

And the internal backlash of guilt and grief he’d expected from such a declaration didn’t knock his knees out from under him. Instead, a strange calmness seemed to overtake him, like being submerged in warm, still water. A smile grew in him, one that came from a place he hadn’t accessed in a long while.

His mother recovered first, extending her hand to Charli. “Well, my goodness, Charli. I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you. I’m Georgia Waters.”

He was going to need to get her alone to explain himself, to tell her how he felt in the right way. But he knew his mother wasn’t going to let them out of her sight anytime soon. Already, she was ushering them inside and rattling on about how she hadn’t been expecting company and would’ve had food ready if she’d known. But of course, she had a lasagna in the fridge and was preheating the oven before he and Charli had settled onto the chairs in the large, eat-in kitchen. He suspected the scouts had stolen the Be Prepared motto from his mother.

Being in his childhood home after so many years had an onslaught of different emotions clattering through him. How many times had he sat in this kitchen while his mom prepared a meal, his dad stealing nibbles of stuff when he thought she wasn’t looking. This had been a place of warmth in his life, a safe haven, the people in it had meant everything to him.

But it’d also been the place he’d courted his wife, where they’d lived before getting their own home. And it’d been the house everyone had gathered in after Rachel’s funeral. The site of too many pitying looks, too many she’s-in-a-better-place pats on the arm. So he’d let himself close the door to it, shut out the very people who maybe could’ve provided him comfort after the unthinkable happened.

For all these years since he’d left, he’d been surrounded by people but always alone. He’d thought it’d been the noble thing to do, a punishment for his sins, a way to save his family from dealing with the ugliness of his grief, his anger. But as he watched his mother piddle around the kitchen, casting surreptitious looks his way, as if to make sure he was still there, he realized how selfish his behaviors had been.

He hadn’t been noble; he’d been a coward.

He peeked over at Charli as she answered a question his mom had asked. She hadn’t looked at him since they’d entered the house. She’d kept up steady conversation with his mother, but her fingers were busy fiddling with the cloth napkin she’d grabbed off the table. If it’d been made of paper, the whole thing would’ve been shredded by now. She was freaking out. Elegantly. But freaking out nonetheless.

He’d handled things all wrong and needed to talk to her, but there was one more thing he had to do first. He picked his hat up off the table and stood. “Ma, you mind keeping Charli company for a little while? I need to take a walk.”

His mother, who’d been digging through the pantry for Parmesan, peered over her shoulder. Her all-knowing eyes met his. “Sure, son. Take all the time you need. Lunch will be a while still.”

He walked behind Charli’s chair, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He’d asked her to be by his side today, but this was the one last thing he needed to do all by himself. “Thanks, freckles.”

She nodded, and he left her there in the kitchen, slipping out the side door and staring down the expanse of land behind his family’s farmhouse.

He rubbed his thumb along his wedding band, secured his hat atop his head, and set off on the path that led to the back corner of the property.

Someone was waiting for him.

THIRTY-ONE

Charli stared out the kitchen window in the direction Grant had disappeared. He’d been gone for a while, and uneasiness had crawled under her skin and set up camp there. Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the drive to Baton Rouge and was in some alternate dream world. Had Grant really said he loved her out there on that porch? She couldn’t even process that. Or the fact that somehow instead of being on the way to saying good-bye to Grant for the last time, she was sitting in his family’s home, listening to his mother call up Grant’s siblings to insist they come over.

Charli paced away from the window, walking over to the glass hutch in the corner of the room, trying to look like she was just browsing the knickknacks in the kitchen instead of running off nervous energy. She let her eyes drift over the family photos displayed on the shelves. Photos of children playing outside, family portraits, some old, some more recent. One that had to be Grant when he was a teen, basketball tucked under a gangly arm. Then her eyes hit one that definitely was Grant, his arm around a pretty blonde with a shy smile.

Without thinking, Charli picked up the framed photo, bringing it closer. Grant had laughter in his eyes and looked as if the ugliness of the world had never breathed on him. Innocent and happy—a couple with the whole world spread out before them, a lifetime to look forward to. The sight evaporated the air from Charli’s lungs. She ran her thumb along the edge of the frame, grief for the people in the photo clogging her throat.

Georgia stepped up behind Charli, peering over her shoulder. “I’m sure Grant told you about Rachel,” she said, her voice gentle.

Charli nodded, trying to swallow past the tightness in her chest. “She was beautiful.”

Georgia sighed. “She was. I remember the day we took that picture of them, remember thinking how perfect everything was. My family was together, my husband was by my side, and my children were starting to build their own lives.” She shook her head. “A year later, those murderers didn’t just take Rachel and that baby-to-be away from us; they took everything. The light in my son’s eyes, the tight bond we all had with each other, my ability to fix things for my children.”

Charli turned to her, finding Georgia wearing a sad smile.

Charli frowned. “For what?”

She walked over to the island and poured a glass of iced tea from the pitcher she’d set there. “For bringing him back.”

Charli slid onto one of the stools flanking the island. “It was his idea to come.”

She held a glass of tea out for Charli, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s not what I meant, hon.”

Grant kneeled in the soft grass that blanketed the family cemetery. When he was a kid this area on the far side of the property used to scare him. He’d been convinced ghosts of his ancestors were hiding behind every headstone. Then when he’d buried Rachel here, this place had brought forth nightmares of a different sort. But today, with the sun shining and the bees buzzing around all the flowers, he simply felt the warm presence of family surrounding him.

He’d picked some wildflowers and placed them over his father’s plot, saying a good-bye he’d never had the chance to make. Then he’d settled himself in front of Rachel’s grave. The headstone had been simply stated—Rachel Waters, wife and mother. He brushed his fingers along the stone, feeling the engraved letters beneath his fingers, the finality of them. She wasn’t coming back. He could punish himself, lock himself into a miserable existence, pay penance until the day he had a headstone himself, and it still wouldn’t undo what had happened. He would just create another tragedy—his own slow death.

Is that what he would’ve wanted if the roles had been reversed? Would he have wanted Rachel to give up on being happy? Would he have expected her to shut herself off from real life and mourn him forever?

No. Of course not. He’d be pissed at her, actually.

Just like he couldn’t imagine his dad being angry with his mom for finding someone after he passed. He’d want her to be happy, to not be alone.

He stared down at his wedding band, the metal gleaming under the noonday sun. For years, he thought he’d been wearing it for comfort, a little piece of what he’d lost against his skin. But he realized now it’d also been a crutch, a subtle way of torturing himself daily, an excuse not to let himself really live.

He slipped it off and got to his knees, the lawn soft beneath him. He held the ring up and brought it to his lips, remembering the day she’d slipped it on his finger. The sun had been shining just like this. “I’ll always love you, Rach.”

He lowered his hand and pressed the ring into the earth, pushing it into the dirt beneath the grass until it was fully covered. “But it’s time I said good-bye.”

The breeze swirled around him, ruffling his hair and drying the final tears he’d shed for the life that used to be. He closed his eyes, the scent of wildflowers surrounding him, so much like the fragrance Rachel used to wear. And in that moment, he sensed her there, and felt her forgiveness, her hope for him. He climbed to his feet and set his hat back on his head.

As he walked away, he knew the nightmares would never stalk him again.

Someone had finally chased them away.

And now he needed to thank her.