Author: Roni Loren
What a way to cap off the most fantastic day and a half ever. All of her story research was gone, her car was trashed, and now she was going to have to figure out a way to live on the same grounds with a guy who made her thoughts run into each other when he got too close.
A guy who saw her as a job, a favor.
An A-plus day all around.
FOUR
“I really appreciate you doing this,” Max said as Grant secured Charli’s suitcase in the back of his truck. “I know it’s a lot to take on, as busy as you are.”
Grant climbed down from the truck bed and slammed the tailgate shut. Max had no idea how much this was costing him. He hadn’t planned to make the offer, but he owed Max. And he knew Charli wasn’t going to give in and go with her brother. But as soon as the words had fallen out of his mouth, he’d wanted to take them back.
Keeping an eye on Charli would be challenge enough, but keeping his hands off her in the process would be downright painful. He’d spent most of the morning forcing himself not to make a move. When she’d looked so forlorn there in the driveway, it’d taken everything he had not to pull her against him. “Not a problem. Your family is my family. I’ll watch out for her.”
Max’s lip curled. “She’s not gonna make it easy. You know that, right?”
“I’ll manage.” Grant glanced toward the house, making sure Charli hadn’t come out yet.
“I know you will. I trust you.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I love my sister, but sometimes her drive can get in the way of her good sense. She thinks she can take on anything and anyone.”
Grant imagined Charli probably could hold her own more than most, but he wasn’t about to test that theory and leave her unguarded. “I can keep my distance and still make sure she’s safe. My property is locked down tight.”
“Yeah, I’m sure, can’t have anyone sneaking in and stealing the wine.”
Right. Because the wine was what he was protecting behind The Ranch’s gates. Not the sexual secrets of Dallas’s elite. Not his own secrets.
Grant adjusted his hat but forced himself not to shift his gaze away from Max’s—a trick he’d honed from years of having to lie bald-faced to enemies. “Gotta protect those grapes, my friend.”
“Look, I’ve got to head back if I’m not going to take any vacation days. And I don’t think I want to suffer Charli’s wrath anymore today, anyway.” He stuck his hand out to Grant. “Seriously, thank you, man. I don’t think I’d be able to leave her with anyone else here and be able to sleep at night.”
Grant shook Max’s hand, guilt nipping at his boot heels. Max was trusting him with what he treasured most—his family. Now Grant had to figure out if he was worthy of that kind of endorsement. Though, with the way Charli had looked at him when she’d realized he’d called her brother, he may not have to worry about it. She wasn’t exactly president of his fan club at the moment.
A few minutes after Max left, Charli stepped off her front porch with a bright red scratch on her cheek, her hair falling out of her bun, and a blue plastic carrier. She headed down the driveway and looked toward the end of her street. “So Mr. Save-the-Day is gone?”
Grant eyed the blue box warily. “Had to get back to work.”
“Sure he does. The chicken.” She handed him the carrier and it hissed. “Tom Brady doesn’t like to travel. He may throw up by the time you get back to your place.”
“Now, wait a second.” The box jolted and the cat made some noise that sounded like it was in its death throes. “I invited you to stay, not…quarterback kitty.”
“We’re a package deal, cowboy. You should’ve listened when I told you not to call Max. Now he’s thrown a kink into both of our worlds.” She leaned against his truck, eyebrow cocked. “You know you can still back out. I won’t tell him.”
“Not a chance, freckles.” Grant cringed when the carrier jolted again, and he yanked open the passenger door, setting the hissing beast inside the cab. “I know you’re upset I called, but I would’ve wanted him to do the same thing for me if the roles were reversed. And I made him a promise. I don’t make those unless I intend to keep them.”
“Come on, you know this is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’ve taken self-defense classes. Do I look like I need a babysitter?” She pushed off the truck, standing to her full height, which would probably be eye to eye or above most men. Too bad for her, he was six-seven and not afraid to use the advantage.
Before she could blink, he grabbed the crook of her elbow, spun her around, and hauled her against him, locking his arm around her waist and pressing his other thumb against her neck, mimicking a knife blade. She struggled, tried to stomp on his foot, but a few self-defense classes were no match for CIA training. “First rule of combat: hubris will bring you down every time.”
“Let me go.” She struggled for another second, but when she realized she wasn’t going to escape, she stopped fighting him. Her muscles softened beneath his hold, her chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths—breaths that could indicate fear. But when he glanced down her body and saw the tight beads of her nipples pressing against her shirt, he realized her reaction was anything but. His cock stirred at the sight, and he quickly released Charli, stepping back before she could feel exactly how much she affected him.
She spun around, her cheeks flushed but her jaw clenched. “That was dirty fighting, cowboy.”
“Only trying to show you that overconfidence can get you hurt.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, fighting the urge to touch her again. “Look, I get it. No one wants someone hovering over them. And I don’t have time to be glued to your side, anyway. I have a business to run. I’m going to give you your space as long as you follow a few rules to keep safe.” He saw her stiffen at the word rules but kept going. “We’ll get through whatever this threat is and then you can get back to your normal life, and I’ll get back to mine.”
She stared at him for a second longer, then leaned over to pick up her purse, which had slipped off her shoulder when he’d grabbed her. She missed it on the first swipe, clearly flustered, and then yanked the strap upward on the second attempt. “I’ve got to go into work and take care of some things. I called my insurance company and got a rental car lined up. If you don’t mind giving me a ride over to the car place, I can sneak Tom into work.”
He took her lack of combative response as victory. And though the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around with a vomiting feline, he needed to offer an olive branch. “I can drive you over and keep the cat with me. I have a quick meeting with a supplier to pick up a few things, then I’ll be headed back. I’ll make sure he’s not left alone in the car.”
“Okay, well, thanks.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll head back to your place after work. You can enlighten me on these so-called rules of yours.”
He smirked at her tone. “Look forward to it.”
“I bet you do. You look like a guy who loves a rule.”
Oh, you have no idea, freckles.
Charli gave up trying to keep her bun intact and secured her out-of-control hair into a ponytail before heading into the main offices of the Texas Sports Network. Even after the drive over, her hands were still shaky from the earlier moment with Grant. When he’d restrained her against him, she’d wanted to melt into the hold, give into it. But, of course, it had been a gesture meant to instill fear and prove a point, not to inspire images of a naked cowboy and sweaty sheets. Leave it to her to get turned on by a freaking choke hold. Her long stretch between relationships was apparently making her hormones light up over anything.
Luckily, Grant hadn’t seemed to notice her body’s instant reaction. When they’d broken apart, she’d been left a jittery mess, but he had looked cool as a November morning—all business and matter-of-fact.
She scoffed. Like he’d have any real interest in her anyway. She’d known men like him. They liked their women prim, yielding, and sweet. Those three words had never been used to describe her. If she was going to be hanging out at Grant’s place, she needed to get her libido out of the clouds and steer clear of the cowboy. She’d only end up making a fool of herself if she kept entertaining illicit fantasies about him anytime a southern-soaked word slipped past his lips.
She shook the errant thoughts from her mind, trying to focus on work. Despite all the drama of the past two days, she did have one positive thing going for her—the potential for a monster story. She didn’t have her fat file of notes since whoever had broken into her house had made off with that, but she still had the information from her investigative trip yesterday and the details she knew by memory. It wasn’t enough to break a story yet, but it was a damn good foundation for a killer scoop. Her boss Trey was going to flip his shit when he saw how big this could be. The on-air position would be hers wrapped up with a bow.
This was going to be her moment. Finally, she could prove her mother wrong. This girl was meant to be on TV. Her dream wasn’t something to laugh at.
Charli pushed open the doors to the main lobby and was greeted by the massive digital scoreboard that covered the back wall. All the scores of each Texas team’s last game were displayed in bright blue numbers. She gave a little wave to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, her stomach flipping over for reasons other than the rush to the top floor.
The elevator dinged and the funeral-like hush of the executive floor greeted her. Two levels down, where Charli worked, there was constant noise—phones ringing, all the sports channels cued up on the television screens, chattering over the walls of the cubicles. She loved the energy of it, the adrenaline. All this peacefulness on the top floor would drive her crazy.
She made her way to the far end of the hall and rapped on Trey’s partially ajar door. The door nudged open a bit farther from her knocking, and she could hear he wasn’t alone. She probably should’ve called up first, but trying to catch Trey when he wasn’t busy was like trying to find a break in traffic at rush hour.
“Yeah,” he called out.
She pushed the door fully open and stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, Tr—Mr. Winger.” Though she’d known Trey since college and had dated him briefly back then, she did make an effort to address him formally in front of others. “I needed to talk to you about something. I was hoping you’d have a minute.”
“Sure, Beaumonde, come on in,” Trey said, his voice like a barking dog. “I was just finishing up with Stormy here.”
The leggy blonde rose from her seat and flashed a toothpaste-ad smile Charli’s way.
Trey came around his desk and pressed a palm to the small of Stormy’s back as he guided her toward the door. “Let me know if you have any more questions, all right? I’m so happy this worked out.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Winger,” she said, her tone as perky as her Wonderbra. “And thank you. I know you’ll be a great mentor.”
Charli’s eyebrows lifted. Was Trey blushing? She’d seen the former-football-player-turned-executive get red with rage before, but never a blush. She pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.
Trey walked the girl out without introducing her to Charli, then came back to sit behind his desk. Charli sat in the chair the blonde had vacated. “Is she the new intern or something?”
“Not exactly.” Trey adjusted his suit jacket as if it had suddenly grown too small for his shoulders and frowned. “I called you earlier this morning, but you weren’t at your desk.”
“I had car trouble on the way back from an investigative trip. I sent you an e-mail about it.”
