Roni Loren - Fall Into You

Charli’s cat licked a paw and gave him a glance from atop the cabinets that seemed to say, I’m sorry, were you talking to me? Because I couldn’t give a shit . Grant grunted. The damn feline had gotten himself stuck up there and anytime Grant climbed up to get him out, Tom hissed and swatted at him. He didn’t think he could find a Tom Brady he disliked more than the quarterback version, but this cat was moving up the charts.

This was ridiculous. Grant had horses that would approach at his subtlest signal. Had owned dogs he’d been able to train in a matter of hours. Hell, he could walk over to The Ranch, snap his fingers, and a line of subs would be kneeling at his feet in half a second. But this cat—this cat was topping him.

He picked up the food bowl he’d set out earlier and shook it in Tom’s direction. “Come on. You must be hungry.”

God knows the cat had emptied all the contents of his stomach in that carrier on the way over. Grant’s truck was never going to smell the same.

The front door squeaked, and Grant peered through the pass-through to find Charli stepping inside. She closed the door behind her, set her bags down, and then sagged against the solid wood, shutting her eyes and running her hands over her face.

The simple despair of the move sent all his worry sensors going off. The cat forgotten, he headed out of the kitchen and into the lamp-lit living room. “Hey, you okay?”

She startled, her lids flying open and her hand going to her chest. “Grant.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He crooked a thumb at the kitchen. “I had stopped in to check on the cat.”

“Oh.”

He took in her red-rimmed eyes, her pale cheeks, and moved closer. Tentatively. He wanted to touch her, to protect her from whatever it was that had put her in this state, but knew that would be a supremely unwise move. “Did something else happen?”

She pushed off the door and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

“Well, obviously something’s upset you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but can we not talk about this?” She grabbed her bags, took a wide step around him, and made her way toward the kitchen.

His jaw flexed as he held back the demand to know more. He’d said he’d give her space and already he was itching to push her for information. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off his instinct to control the situation, and followed her into the kitchen. “I’m not trying to pry, but I need you to be an open book when it comes to any strange things happening, any threats, any information that may help us figure out who’s after you. That’s why you’re here.”

“I get it. But there’s nothing to report. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired. My boss is a dick. End of story.” She set her canvas grocery bags on the counter and started unloading things. “I want to have a glass of wine, watch some mindless TV, and go to bed.”

“No television in here.”

“What?” She sounded truly horrified but didn’t turn around.

“People come here to relax and get away, not to watch Lifetime movies.”

“Fabulous. Guess I’ll be watching on my computer then.”

He grabbed the bottle of the merlot she’d set on the counter and grimaced when he read the label. “Darlin’, I can’t let you drink this. It’s crap.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s fine. It was on sale, and I’ve had it before.”

He unscrewed the top and sniffed. God-awful as he expected. He tilted the bottle over the sink and poured. “You’d be better off drinking grape soda.”

“Hey!” She turned around and made a grab for the bottle, but most of it was already swirling down the drain. “I spent ten bucks on that.”

“They robbed you. I’ll bring over a bottle of my own stock. I promise you it’s worth more than ten bucks and will go down a lot smoother.”

She slammed the bottle down on the counter and shot him a look that could wilt flowers. “Goddammit. You said you weren’t going to hover, and already you’re controlling my alcohol selections? Back off, cowboy. I’ve had enough of people telling me what I can and can’t do today.”

He knew he should listen. Clearly she was on edge. But she looked so decadent right then—color back in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, the small curves of her breasts rising and falling with her frustrated breaths. He could tell she wanted to lash out even more, that she wanted to take out her day on someone. She needed a release, and though he’d prefer to lift her up on that counter and show her a more fun way of letting go of all that energy, he knew that wasn’t an option. So he was willing to field her wrath if it took that wrinkle out of her brow.

“So you had a bad day,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the sink, purposely prodding her.

She narrowed her eyes, then turned back to her groceries, ignoring his statement. “Where’s Tom?”

“Above you,” Grant said, nodding at the ball of fur squeezed between the ceiling and tops of the cabinets. “I was trying to get him down when you came in, but he was less than cooperative.”

She tilted her head back and looked up. “Oh, good Lord, Tommy. Get down from there.”

She made some kissing and cooing sounds and in an instant, the cat slinked to the far end of the space, hopped to the top of the refrigerator, then down onto the counter to Charli’s awaiting arms.

Grant shook his head. He’d been trying to do the same for half an hour and had been convinced the cat was stuck. Apparently, Tom was as strong-headed as his owner.

She set Tom on the floor, and Grant saw the flicker of sadness behind the stoic mask she’d put on after she’d realized he was in the cabin. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Charli, but I can be a pretty good ear if you need one. You don’t have to put on a happy face on my account.”

She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through, but her expression went smooth as glass again. “Thanks, but I told you, I’m fine. Why don’t you lay those rules on me? It’s getting late.”

So, she was going with the brush-off. Fine.

He’d let her get away with it…for now.

But if he was going to protect her, she needed to trust him.

Usually not a problem. Gaining a woman’s trust was his stock and trade. Unfortunately, this time he was going to have to figure out how to do it without restraints and a firm spanking.

Charli kept her back to Grant, loading the few items she’d bought at the market into a cabinet and the refrigerator and trying to regain her composure. When Grant had looked at her, she’d had the uncanny sense that he was seeing to the root of her, seeing every ugly fear and vulnerability, every hurt and trauma. She didn’t like it. At all.

She was too on edge after the disaster of a day to deal with someone like him. One errant word or look and she’d spill her guts on the floor like some damned therapy session. Oh, poor me. Not only did I not get the job I’ve been dreaming of all my life, but oh, yeah, people find it hard to even watch me on television. Talk about humiliating. Why not just put her in a prom dress and dump some pig’s blood on her?

“Right, the rules,” Grant said in that baritone that seemed to vibrate through her rib cage. “Pretty simple. You give me your schedule, where you’re going to be. If you deviate from that, you call me and let me know ahead of time. You send me a text message letting me know when you arrive at work and when you’re leaving. I’m putting a GPS tracking device on your rental car as a backup in case I can’t get in touch with you and you need help.”