Fall Into You (31 page)

“Grant, really, I’m okay. I don’t need this.”

He ignored her protest, afraid that if he responded, he wouldn’t get what he needed
to say out. He watched the second hand ticking on the clock over his desk, not really
seeing it, but trying to decide how to start. How could he even explain? Finally,
he began with the barest truth possible. “I loved her more than I ever thought was
possible to love another person.”

Charli stilled against him.

“I’d known Rachel since we were teenagers and had never planned to be with anyone
else. The first time I kissed her I saw our whole future rolled out in front of us.
Kids, house, the whole damn thing. I knew, just knew, she was the girl for me.”

He paused, the sadness threatening to grip his throat and steal the rest of the story.
He hadn’t talked about Rachel aloud in so long. And certainly never to a woman he
was with. But for some reason, he needed to get it out, to say it to Charli. He ran
his hand up and down Charli’s back, drawing strength from her warmth, from her willingness
to listen.

He took a deep breath. “When she got pregnant, I thought things couldn’t get any better.
I remember wondering how I’d managed to get so lucky, to find the perfect life for
me on the first try. And I thought I had it all figured out. She was naturally yielding,
probably submissive if we’d been together long enough to figure out what that meant.
She looked to me to be the man of the house, and I loved that, loved that sense of
responsibility, that I was her rock, her protector. She’d had a pretty rough upbringing
and I promised her I’d never let anyone hurt her again.”

Charli’s hand curled into his shirt, right over his now-pounding heart.

“But I failed her,” he said softly, the familiar pain creeping into his chest, pressing
on his lungs. “We had a break-in one night and instead of calling the police, I ran
downstairs with my gun to go after the burglar. I left Rachel hiding in the bedroom,
thinking she’d be safer there. The robber stabbed my shoulder, but I was able to shoot
him. I thought I’d saved the fucking day. Big, brave husband to the rescue. But the
guy hadn’t been alone.”

He shook his head, remembering the sick feeling when he’d heard Rachel’s cry for help.

“The other guy came in and saw what I’d done to his brother, and he killed Rachel
right in front of me.”

Charli looked up at him, horror on her face.

“My wife and my unborn son died in my arms that night,” he said, the words flat, like
they were coming from someone else instead of from him.

Charli reached up and touched his face, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Grant. I’m so
sorry.”

He looked away. “One phone call to the police and everything could’ve been different.
I should’ve never left her side that night.”

“You were doing what you thought was right. You didn’t know—”

“Yeah, well, I should’ve,” he said, cutting her off, unable to handle platitudes even
though he knew she meant well. “I’m not telling you this to get your sympathy. I’m
telling you because you deserve to know why I keep acting like a lunatic when things
get too intense. And why what we’re doing, us, can’t go beyond what it is.”

She looked as if she was going to push, to challenge him, but instead she simply nodded.
“I understand. Thank you for telling me. I know you didn’t have to do that.”

He pushed her hair away from her face and smiled, trying to chase off the gut-wrenching
memories he’d invited into the room.
“You made me want to tell. Maybe you missed your calling as a domme, pulling all my
dark secrets from me.”

She brushed at the tears she’d shed over his story and managed her own wavering attempt
at a smile. “Maybe. Want to give me control of your whip, cowboy?”

He sniffed. “Hell, no. Your tongue is sharp enough. You’d be lethal with a weapon.”

“Damn straight.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to his stubbled chin, carefully
avoiding his mouth. “Plus, I’ve always been the take-control girl in my life. I realize
now that I don’t want to have to do it in the bedroom, too.”

“Well, I’ll gladly take that responsibility off your hands,” he said, turning her
and wrapping her legs around his waist so he could see her face-to-face, see something
good after all the ugliness of the rehashed memories.

She wiggled against his lap, obviously trying to distract him further.

He adored her in that moment. Any other woman would’ve wanted to talk about his feelings,
would’ve wanted to coddle and
there-there
him. But not Charli. She’d recognized how much it had cost him to talk about Rachel,
and she’d let him change topics without asking a bunch of questions or prodding for
more. Somehow in a matter of minutes, she’d managed to lift his mood and ease the
crushing pressure in his chest. Like it or not, this girl was getting to him.

And suddenly he wasn’t sure if that was such a bad thing.

“Let’s get you back to your cabin before I defile my desk a second time.”

Charli sat in the break room at work, lost in thought as she unwrapped her sandwich.
Coming into work after two weeks with Grant almost felt like waking up from some crazy-hot
dream and realizing reality was still there waiting for you. It had been good to get
back in the routine of things, to see some of her coworkers, but she’d missed Grant
and the country as soon as she’d crossed the line into downtown.

The realization was sobering. She and Grant had definitely made strides in dropping
the pretenses of their arrangement. They both knew they weren’t doing this simply
for training anymore and had agreed to another two weeks together. They enjoyed each
other, had rocking chemistry and a taste for pushing boundaries. But every night after
being together, she was painfully aware of the fact that he never kissed her, never
stayed over at her cabin, and never invited her to his. This may not be training,
but it was still a temporary dalliance. One that would be over soon.

Voices sounded to her left as her coworkers Pete and Steven pushed through the door
of the break room. They were laughing
and engrossed in conversation. Neither seemed to notice her sitting in the far corner
of the room.

“Man, did you see how fucked up her report was at last week’s game?” Pete said, pulling
open the communal refrigerator. “She said the only way SMU could win was to get more
points than the other team.”

Steven barked a laugh. “Well, that
is
truly the only way to win. Though I didn’t notice the gaffe. I was too busy looking
elsewhere. Apparently, it was very cold out there on the sidelines, looked like she
was smuggling Tic Tacs.”

Pete grabbed a take-out container from the fridge. “Yeah, wouldn’t mind having a little
taste of that candy. Just wish the bitch wouldn’t have stolen my promotion.”

Anger, white hot and instant, flashed through Charli. Her soda can, which she’d been
squeezing since the first off-color comment, clinked against the table, drawing both
men’s attention.

“Oh, crap,” Steven said, having the nerve to look ashamed. “Didn’t see you there,
Charli. Sorry.”

Pete sniffed and tossed his food in the microwave. “You don’t need to apologize to
Beaumonde about a little guy talk. She’s one of us. Plus, I’m sure Stormy isn’t her
favorite person either. Beaumonde wanted the job, too.”

Charli’s can buckled beneath her death grip. “So because she got the job, you have
the right to act like a goddamned pig, Pete?”

Steven hung back, sipping his soda and shifting from foot to foot like he had to pee.
But Pete, undeterred, grabbed his food and perched on the edge of one of the tables
near Charli. “Oh, chill out, Beaumonde. Every guy in this office is talking about
her tits. If she cared, she wouldn’t wear shirts that are two sizes too small. She
likes the attention.”

Charli’s stomach turned. She pushed her sandwich away, muttering, “I think I’ve stepped
back into 1970.”

Pete brought a bite of his stir-fry noodles to his mouth, eyeing
her, his brows rising as he took in the full view for the first time. He choked down
the bite. “Well, fuck me. Look at you. You’re taking a page from her book, aren’t
you?”

She stood, too disgusted to tolerate another second of this conversation. “I’m outta
here. The average IQ level of the room has plummeted to prehistoric levels.”

But he hopped off the table, sliding in front of her path. His gaze raked down her
new silk blouse and the pencil skirt she’d worn as Grant’s
assistant
. “I haven’t seen you since your vacation. That’s what you were up to, wasn’t it?
Redoing your image? You’re worried you’re going to get passed over again so you’re
going for the hot-piece-of-ass angle.”

“Dude,” Steven interrupted. “Shut the fuck up and get out of her way. You’re just
being a prick now.”

She shuddered, feeling as if she needed to bathe in disinfectant after his perusal,
but straightened to her full height, reminding him she had an inch or two on him.
“I suggest you move or you’ll be talking in soprano for your next audition.”

“You’re kind of cute when you get mad, Beaumonde.”

As if acting on its own accord, her fist reared back and landed an uppercut square
into Pete’s stomach. He doubled over with an
oof
. She put her hand on his shoulder and bent next to his ear as he gasped for air.
“You’re lucky I’m wearing a skirt because otherwise your nuts would be in your throat
right now. You say another disgusting thing about me or any other woman in this office,
and I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”

She shoved past him and leveled a look at Steven, who raised his palms in surrender.
“I really am sorry.”

She simply shook her head and left the two of them in the break room. By the time
she made it to the other end of the building, the nausea still hadn’t abated. Pete
was a dick, but what he’d said had rung a bell of truth inside her. Wasn’t what she’d
been doing these past two weeks exactly what he’d said? She was trying to mold
herself into something that would please the guys who only wanted to ogle some girl’s
boobs on television.

She sagged in her desk chair, letting her head fall back. Was this the kind of thing
she was signing up for? She wanted the on-air position more than anything, and knew
her approach had needed some refining, but pretending to be something she wasn’t suddenly
felt way too similar to her failed pageant days.
Smile a little brighter, Charli. Flutter your lashes. Speak softly to the judges
.
Watch how your sister does it.

Without thinking too much about it, she followed her first instinct. She picked up
her office phone and dialed Grant’s number.

After two rings, she almost chickened out, but then heard the click.

“Hey there, freckles,” he said, his voice like warm ocean water over her skin, soothing
her. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you until you were done for the day. Everything
okay?”

“I guess. Am I interrupting you?” she asked, feeling silly calling him in the middle
of the day.

“You’re never an interruption.” She heard a squeak, as if he was leaning back in his
desk chair. Even though she’d never seen the office he used in town, she could picture
him there—tilted back, boot hitched over his knee. “How’s your day going?”

She looked behind her to make sure no one was standing near her cubicle and lowered
her voice. “I punched a guy in the stomach already. How’s yours?”

Grant coughed. “You what?”

Somehow Grant managed to pronounce the
h
in
what
, his accent getting thicker when caught off guard. The simple little quirk managed
to make the knot in her belly loosen a bit. “The guy I’m competing with for the job
called me a hot piece of ass and then wouldn’t get out of my way.”

The chair squeaked again. “That motherfucker. I’m on the way over.”

“No,” she said, then realized she’d spoken too loudly. She took a breath. “I’m not
calling you for help. I handled it. I just…I don’t know. I’m starting to think morphing
myself into something I’m not is the coward’s way of getting this promotion.”