Fall Into You (3 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hackles rose. “Well, now wa—”

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

“Beaumonde.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Grant?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The very one.”

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

He cleared his throat. “You all right?”