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.Author: Roni Loren
She grinned and hopped off the fence when she saw him, a new light in her eyes. “Well, look at that. The cowboy actually does farm work?”
The shift to a lighthearted version of Charli surprised him. Huh, maybe they were actually going to be able to move on from the mess of the last few days. He closed the distance between them and tossed the rag back over his shoulder. “Have the calluses to prove it. How ’bout you? Aren’t you supposed to be at your job, Ms. Beaumonde?”
She raised her palm to block her eyes from the glare and looked up at him. “Research day.”
He reached up, took off his hat, and sat it on her head. “You need to get yourself a hat or some sunscreen. You’re already starting to burn.”
The hat tilted off-kilter, too big for her head. She tucked her hands in her pockets with a shrug. “Irish skin, what are you going to do?”
He could think of a number of things to do with it. Like lick it or bite it or turn it bright pink without any help from the sun. He pushed the images out of his head. Focus, man. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I need a favor.”
Oh, Lord. “And I need a drink. Inside.”
He walked past her and she followed him into the house, finding her way to one of his kitchen stools. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, set one out for her, and then went about downing his in one long gulp.
He could feel her stare on him.
“You look like one of those Coke commercials with the sweaty construction worker,” she mused. “Though he had his shirt off. That’d be better.”
He tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin and sent her a wary look. “Be careful, freckles. That sounds dangerously close to flirting.”
“So?” she challenged, toying with the label on her water.
“So, I thought we settled that little situation last night.” He leaned against the granite-topped island, feeling more than just physically tired. Resisting Charli was wearing him down like an iceberg grinding rock. “You said you needed a favor.”
She straightened in her seat, and he couldn’t help but notice how fucking cute she looked with his too-big hat on her. He wondered what she’d look like wearing only his hat.
“It’s kind of a big favor.”
Maybe he should have put bourbon in his water. “Okay…”
She rolled the plastic bottle between her palms, her hands belying her nerves despite her steady voice and gaze. “Is Colby available for private lessons?”
He damn near choked on his own spit. “What?”
“Well, I was thinking about those women last night and how…graceful and feminine they were. And if I could learn to capture even ten percent of that thing—whatever that thing is that those women have—I think I could turn things around at work.” She peeked up at him from beneath the hat, but then trundled on, not giving him time for a response. “There’s an anchor position coming open soon. Those positions are a big deal. There’s no way they can pick someone who doesn’t have rock-solid sports chops. I already have the knowledge and a big story brewing. And I know I’ve got what it takes to be on camera. I just need some, I don’t know, refinement. Some softening.”
Grant’s thoughts were banging together in his head like cymbals. Crash. Crash. Crash. She wanted sub training? With Colby? “But you’re not a submissive.”
“Who says I can’t learn? I can be a good student.” She squared her shoulders. “I graduated salutatorian in high school, you know.”
“It’s not simply a skill, Charli,” he said, his protest coming out more emphatic than he intended. “It’s like a bone-deep thing, a part of who a person is. I’ve spent years in this world. I can sense it in people. And with you, I don’t.”