She wouldn’t be thanking him later when she found out what he was about to do on the walk back to his cabin. In his personal life, he considered a woman’s consent as sacred as religion. But when it came to someone’s safety, he wasn’t going to waste time asking for permission.
He was taking charge of this rodeo.
THREE
The ride back to Dallas was a quiet one. Grant made attempts at polite conversation with Charli, but she couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was the fact that she’d been purposely run off the road by someone—that she could’ve been killed.
She planned to call the cops when she got home and was out of Mr. Sexy Cowboy’s earshot. But she knew that whatever small-town police force covered that stretch of country road probably couldn’t do much without any witnesses or license plate numbers. She couldn’t even give them the make or model of the car. The lights had been so bright. All she could figure was that it had been a truck or SUV of some sort. Something that was taller than her vehicle.
And most likely it had been a drunk driver or kids letting a prank get out of hand. At least she hoped that’s what it’d been. The other possibilities were too frightening to consider.
“So you’re really not going to tell me what happened, huh?” Grant asked, his tone light, but his expression tense beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “Even if I ask all polite-like?”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. With that low drawl and dimpled cheek, he could pretty much ask her anything, and she’d probably fold at some point. But she knew his type too well. Her brother Max was the same way. If Grant found out she could be in some kind of danger, he’d be calling her brother in an instant and treating her like she was ten. She definitely didn’t need that. “You’re not used to hearing no, are ya, cowboy?”
He smirked, deepening that dimple and confirming her allegation. “You must’ve given Max hell growing up.”
She shrugged. “I grew up in a house of dudes who would’ve locked me in a protective tower if there’d been one available. It was grow some balls or perish.”
“Eloquently put.”
She turned away, trying to hide her cringe. God, why was she always doing that? Talking like she lived in a locker room. It was fine at work because working with the sports crew was like a locker room, but sometimes she forgot that most women in the world didn’t go around talking about balls. “Sorry. They taught me how to throw a perfect spiral, but eloquence, not so much.”
“No apology needed. I was just teasing.” He took the ramp off I-30 and headed toward her neighborhood. “Remember, I was in the military. I can be disgustingly offensive in six different languages if necessary.”
For some odd reason, that knowledge sent a little tingle through her. The thought of him talking dirty with that molasses-toned accent…oh, my. She rolled down her window a tick, hoping the blast of air would cool her suddenly warm skin and dissipate some of the enticing soap and fresh-cut-grass smell wafting off Grant. The man was downright intoxicating. She probably would never see Grant Waters again in her life, but he had sure as shit secured a starring role in her next sexual fantasy. “Take that next left. It’s the fourth house on the right.”
Grant followed her directions and some of the tightness in her shoulders loosened, knowing she was getting back to her own territory where things made sense. But as soon as they made the last turn, the blue-and-red flashing of police lights had her heartbeat rising. Was that car parked in front of her house?
Grant glanced her way, his frown lines deep. “Is that your place?”
She nodded, her tongue thick in her mouth.
He rolled to a stop in her driveway, and she was shoving the door open before Grant had even shifted into park. Her shoes hit the pavement, and she made a beeline toward the first officer she saw. His head was bent over his pad as he made notes.
“Excuse me? What’s going on?”
He lifted his head. “You a neighbor?”
“No, I live here. I’m Charli Beaumonde.”
He looked toward her little white house, his expression grave. “Sorry, ma’am. We tried to reach you on your cell phone, but couldn’t get you.”
“It’s dead.”
“Well, your neighbor called us early this morning to report suspicious noises and a man in your backyard. It was too dark to get a description, but she knew he didn’t belong there. Said you never have men over.”r: Roni Loren
“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.