“Regular sex and relationships. I’m not satisfied in that kind of dynamic.”
She blinked, her tears forgotten. He didn’t do normal sex at all? And…“Wait, you think I’m attractive?”
He laughed and lowered his hands to his sides. “Good grief, freckles. Is that your first question for me after my big I’m-a-kinky-bastard confession?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes. I need to hear what you think. The truth.”
He looked to the heavens as if pleading for some divine patience. “The truth? You’re hardheaded, you wear clothes too big for that body of yours, and you have awful taste in wine. But yes, I wanted you so badly last night that I could barely make it back to my cabin before wrapping my hand around my cock and jerking off to thoughts of you.”
Even the tips of her ears went hot at that. “Well, there’s a backhanded compliment if I’ve ever heard one.”
He shrugged. “You wanted the truth. Would you rather I bullshit you?”
She glanced down at her comfy T-shirt and loose jeans, seeing her clothes through his eyes instead of hers for the first time. “No. I can take it.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, his expression turning resigned. “Go back to your cabin, Charli. Don’t tell anyone about this place, and we’ll move on.”
“So that’s it?”
“We’ve got nothing left to discuss.” He turned around and headed through the side door that led to his office. He picked up the phone, keeping his back to her. “Marc, can you come to my office and make sure Ms. Beaumonde makes it back to her cabin safely? Thanks.”
And with that, she was dismissed.
So they were attracted to each other and it didn’t matter. Because she wasn’t some dainty, submissive girly girl.
If she were, then he’d probably have his mouth on her right now. And hell, she’d probably have her promotion, too.
The thought was like a match being struck. She peeked over at Grant again, a small smile forming on her lips.
Tonight, she’d let him be. But tomorrow…Tomorrow he’d find out just how hardheaded she could get.
Game, set, match, cowboy.
NINE
Grant grabbed the rag he’d thrown over his shoulder and wiped the sweat off his face. After the night he’d had, the only cure he could think of this morning was working his ass off in the fields. At least the grapes were doing well because everything else was going to shit. He’d had another failed interview with a potential trainee last night and then Charli had, once again, thrown a grenade into his evening.
Lord, seeing her kneeling there in that class had taken the floor right out from under him. For a moment, he hadn’t been able to decide what action he wanted to take more—drag her to his office to yell at her or haul her off to his play space to discipline her in a much more inventive fashion. His body had wholeheartedly decided on the latter, but his brain had overruled.
This time.
He trudged through the last of the brush to get back to the main path, but muttered a curse when he saw Charli sitting on the fence near his cabin. Think of the devil and she shall appear. Charli had hooked her feet onto the cross post and that red mane of hair was blowing around her like wildfire. If trouble could be photographed, that’s what it would look like.r: Roni Loren
The clipped command sent both a whisper of fear and some other unidentifiable emotion through her. She shivered beneath his grip, which apparently didn’t go unnoticed by him. He gave her the side eye and the hard line of his mouth dipped into a full frown. But he stayed silent until they’d gone up an elevator, down another elegantly decked-out hallway, and into cozy sitting room, complete with a stone fireplace. Through another open door, she could see a bigger room with a desk and large plate-glass windows that looked out onto the black night. Grant’s office.
He let go of her arm and shut the door they’d come through, then pinioned her beneath an iron gaze. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Charli, it’s been a long night. You’re trespassing after I explicitly told you not to, and you’ve taken me away from something important tonight. Do you really want to play word games right now?”
She sat, suddenly feeling the true extent of his anger. He was always a bossy son of a gun but here, at this place, she sensed that part of him had dialed up from low buzz to rattle-and-hum mode.
Then it hit her.
Grant was like Colby.
She remembered the way Grant had made her hold the bar in the shower, the way he’d taken control.