Author: Roni Loren
Charli’s gaze shifted away from his, though she still held herself tightly. “I’m going to head back to the cabin, give you some space.”
He frowned, turning fully toward her. He was doing it again—putting Charli through an intense scene and then leaving her on a limb by herself while he dealt with own shit. If they gave out membership cards to doms, his should be fucking revoked. He closed the space between them. “Come ’ere.”
She lowered her arms but didn’t make any other move. He drew her against him and tucked her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the tension she still held in her muscles. He was fucking things up with her. He could almost see the protective shell closing around her.
After the briefest of embraces, she pushed back, slipping from his arms and moving out of his reach. “I’m going to get going. I have an article I need to write.”
“Charli, don’t do that. I know that I keep screwing things up, but don’t shut me out. This afternoon was fantastic.”
She graced him with a small smile but sadness hung in her eyes. “It was, and I’m not shutting you out. I just need a breather to get myself back together.”
Her eyes went a bit glassy, and she looked away. His heart lurched. “Charli.”
She turned her back to him, swiping at the tears she didn’t want him to see. “Ugh, I hate this. Am I going to cry every goddamned time? I’m supposed to be learning how to be more feminine, not how to turn into a crybaby.”
He stepped behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and massaging. “It’s my fault. We should be sitting in that chair together right now, stroking each other, and coming down slowly after that scene. Instead, I’m acting like a fucking mental case.”
The tension in her muscles unfurled beneath his fingers. Her head sagged forward. “It’s okay. Grief is a bitch. Believe me, I know. I still can’t go into a hospital without wanting to vomit. Even the scent of strong cleaners can yank me back to the day my dad died. And don’t even try to talk to me on Father’s Day.”
He spun her to face him and swiped the tear tracks off her cheeks. How she could be so understanding was a wonder. She’d just put herself completely in his hands, taken risks she’d never taken before, and he’d brought another lover’s memory into the room between them. Most women would’ve been insulted and strode out the door or pulled the saccharin oh-you-poor-thing routine.
But instead Charli was looking at him with gentle eyes—not pity, but empathy. He’d gotten used to the pity thing once people knew about Rachel. He hated it, which is why he rarely told anyone anymore. But the way Charli stared up at him only made him want to hold her tighter. To be open with her.
“You were beautiful today. Perfect,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry I ruined the afterglow.”
She slid her hands up his still-bare chest to circle her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to apologize. And you don’t have to hide that part of yourself from me. I’d rather you be honest if you’re dealing with something than putting on a happy face and pretending everything is hunky-dory. I don’t need the unflappable master dom persona all the time. I can handle the human man beneath that.”
Her words pried under that shield of armor he spent so much time honing and hit him right in the sternum. He was usually the one giving lectures to subs about letting down their defenses and being open and honest. Now his sub was turning the tables on him and calling him out on his own bullshit.
He turned her and lifted her, catching her by surprise, then carried her over to the chair she’d left. He adjusted her in his lap, fitting her against his chest.
“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.”
TWENTY-TWO
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?”
Charli’s gaze shifted away from his, though she still held herself tightly. “I’m going to head back to the cabin, give you some space.”
He frowned, turning fully toward her. He was doing it again—putting Charli through an intense scene and then leaving her on a limb by herself while he dealt with own shit. If they gave out membership cards to doms, his should be fucking revoked. He closed the space between them. “Come ’ere.”
She lowered her arms but didn’t make any other move. He drew her against him and tucked her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling the tension she still held in her muscles. He was fucking things up with her. He could almost see the protective shell closing around her.
After the briefest of embraces, she pushed back, slipping from his arms and moving out of his reach. “I’m going to get going. I have an article I need to write.”
“Charli, don’t do that. I know that I keep screwing things up, but don’t shut me out. This afternoon was fantastic.”
She graced him with a small smile but sadness hung in her eyes. “It was, and I’m not shutting you out. I just need a breather to get myself back together.”
Her eyes went a bit glassy, and she looked away. His heart lurched. “Charli.”
She turned her back to him, swiping at the tears she didn’t want him to see. “Ugh, I hate this. Am I going to cry every goddamned time? I’m supposed to be learning how to be more feminine, not how to turn into a crybaby.”
He stepped behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and massaging. “It’s my fault. We should be sitting in that chair together right now, stroking each other, and coming down slowly after that scene. Instead, I’m acting like a fucking mental case.”
The tension in her muscles unfurled beneath his fingers. Her head sagged forward. “It’s okay. Grief is a bitch. Believe me, I know. I still can’t go into a hospital without wanting to vomit. Even the scent of strong cleaners can yank me back to the day my dad died. And don’t even try to talk to me on Father’s Day.”
He spun her to face him and swiped the tear tracks off her cheeks. How she could be so understanding was a wonder. She’d just put herself completely in his hands, taken risks she’d never taken before, and he’d brought another lover’s memory into the room between them. Most women would’ve been insulted and strode out the door or pulled the saccharin oh-you-poor-thing routine.
But instead Charli was looking at him with gentle eyes—not pity, but empathy. He’d gotten used to the pity thing once people knew about Rachel. He hated it, which is why he rarely told anyone anymore. But the way Charli stared up at him only made him want to hold her tighter. To be open with her.
“You were beautiful today. Perfect,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry I ruined the afterglow.”
She slid her hands up his still-bare chest to circle her arms around his neck. “You don’t have to apologize. And you don’t have to hide that part of yourself from me. I’d rather you be honest if you’re dealing with something than putting on a happy face and pretending everything is hunky-dory. I don’t need the unflappable master dom persona all the time. I can handle the human man beneath that.”
Her words pried under that shield of armor he spent so much time honing and hit him right in the sternum. He was usually the one giving lectures to subs about letting down their defenses and being open and honest. Now his sub was turning the tables on him and calling him out on his own bullshit.
He turned her and lifted her, catching her by surprise, then carried her over to the chair she’d left. He adjusted her in his lap, fitting her against his chest.
“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.”
TWENTY-TWO
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?”
