Author: Roni Loren
She slammed the bottle down on the counter and shot him a look that could wilt flowers. “Goddammit. You said you weren’t going to hover, and already you’re controlling my alcohol selections? Back off, cowboy. I’ve had enough of people telling me what I can and can’t do today.”
He knew he should listen. Clearly she was on edge. But she looked so decadent right then—color back in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, the small curves of her breasts rising and falling with her frustrated breaths. He could tell she wanted to lash out even more, that she wanted to take out her day on someone. She needed a release, and though he’d prefer to lift her up on that counter and show her a more fun way of letting go of all that energy, he knew that wasn’t an option. So he was willing to field her wrath if it took that wrinkle out of her brow.
“So you had a bad day,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the sink, purposely prodding her.
She narrowed her eyes, then turned back to her groceries, ignoring his statement. “Where’s Tom?”
“Above you,” Grant said, nodding at the ball of fur squeezed between the ceiling and tops of the cabinets. “I was trying to get him down when you came in, but he was less than cooperative.”
She tilted her head back and looked up. “Oh, good Lord, Tommy. Get down from there.”
She made some kissing and cooing sounds and in an instant, the cat slinked to the far end of the space, hopped to the top of the refrigerator, then down onto the counter to Charli’s awaiting arms.
Grant shook his head. He’d been trying to do the same for half an hour and had been convinced the cat was stuck. Apparently, Tom was as strong-headed as his owner.
She set Tom on the floor, and Grant saw the flicker of sadness behind the stoic mask she’d put on after she’d realized he was in the cabin. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Charli, but I can be a pretty good ear if you need one. You don’t have to put on a happy face on my account.”
She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through, but her expression went smooth as glass again. “Thanks, but I told you, I’m fine. Why don’t you lay those rules on me? It’s getting late.”
So, she was going with the brush-off. Fine.
He’d let her get away with it…for now.
But if he was going to protect her, she needed to trust him.
Usually not a problem. Gaining a woman’s trust was his stock and trade. Unfortunately, this time he was going to have to figure out how to do it without restraints and a firm spanking.
Charli kept her back to Grant, loading the few items she’d bought at the market into a cabinet and the refrigerator and trying to regain her composure. When Grant had looked at her, she’d had the uncanny sense that he was seeing to the root of her, seeing every ugly fear and vulnerability, every hurt and trauma. She didn’t like it. At all.
She was too on edge after the disaster of a day to deal with someone like him. One errant word or look and she’d spill her guts on the floor like some damned therapy session. Oh, poor me. Not only did I not get the job I’ve been dreaming of all my life, but oh, yeah, people find it hard to even watch me on television. Talk about humiliating. Why not just put her in a prom dress and dump some pig’s blood on her?
“Right, the rules,” Grant said in that baritone that seemed to vibrate through her rib cage. “Pretty simple. You give me your schedule, where you’re going to be. If you deviate from that, you call me and let me know ahead of time. You send me a text message letting me know when you arrive at work and when you’re leaving. I’m putting a GPS tracking device on your rental car as a backup in case I can’t get in touch with you and you need help.”
She shuddered, flashbacks of her teen years rolling through her mind—the constant checking in and explaining herself to her dad and brothers. “Don’t you think that’s a little overboard?”
He frowned. “Hopefully, it is. I hope that none of this is necessary. But I’m not willing to take a chance.”
She sighed. “Right.”
“As for when you’re here, feel free to explore the grounds, but stay on this side of the property. That long fence along the eastern edge divides the winery from the resort. Members only on the other side.”
She glanced back at him, eyebrow lifted. “Seriously?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s not like I’m here for a vacation. I just didn’t realize it was exclusive with a capital E.” She grabbed a bag of chips and opened them, her lack of dinner finally hitting her. “You’re not housing the mob over there or something, are you?”
He pushed off the counter to rise to his full height and smiled. “No, nothing so sinister.”
She eyed him, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything, but his smile didn’t falter. She held out the bag of chips. “Want some?”
Instead of taking a chip from the bag, he plucked the one from between her fingertips and popped it in his mouth. “The resort’s room service is available on this side, too—twenty-four-seven. There’s a menu in the desk drawer. Dial three on the phone and you can get anything delivered to your door, no charge.”
“Oh, that’s really generous, but I think I’m covered.”
“A woman can’t live by cheap wine and ham sandwiches alone. I’ll make sure a bottle of wine and tonight’s roast chicken make it over here within the half hour.” He snagged his keys off the counter, spinning the loop around his finger and sauntered toward the side door, giving her an unimpeded view of broad shoulders and that lovely, jean-covered backside. “Give me a call if you need anything else or have any questions.”
She smirked. “What? You’re not sticking around to make sure I get tucked into bed all right?”
He halted his step and she had the urge to put her hands over her face. She’d meant the question as a joke, but once the words were out of her mouth, she’d realized how they’d sounded. Like a lame attempt at flirting.
And maybe it had been exactly that.
Maybe she wanted him to stay and help her forget her awful day.
But he kept his back to her and turned his head to the side, revealing only his profile. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Charli.”
“Right,” she said softly, then added: “I was only kidding.”
“Good night, freckles.”
She sank back against the counter. Good was about the last thing tonight could be called.
The wine better make it over here quickly.
SIX
The night was filled with a harmony of frogs and crickets as Grant headed back to his house after checking on things at The Ranch. He had interviewed a potential trainee tonight—one who was having trouble letting go of control in her scenes with other doms. She’d been pretty and open to the type of play he enjoyed. She’d read through his contract and didn’t have any major sticking points. But once he’d started talking to her, he figured out one thing rather quickly—he had no desire to tie her up and beat her. And that was a damn shame.
So instead, he’d thanked her for her time and had gone back to work. He’d ended up spending half an hour mediating a tiff between two longtime members over who had reserved what playroom when, then had worked the floor for the rest of the night. But instead of all that business clearing his mind, walking the play spaces had only inspired images of his new “neighbor” and how she would look naked and restrained on all that equipment—how she’d feel writhing beneath his hands and mouth.
In the end, he’d left with a hard-on and headache. Not exactly the kind of night he’d been craving.
He took a swig from the bottle of water he’d grabbed on his way out and made the last turn in the path toward his place. The glow of his porch light burned in the distance. Almost home. But snapping twigs and a muffled curse somewhere off to the left had him slowing his steps. He turned, squinting through the inky darkness and cluster of trees. “Hello?”
More unintelligible sounds, then a clear “goddammit.”
Uh-oh. He took a step in the direction of the noise. “Charli? Is that you?”
“No.”
But it was. Even having just met her, he would recognize that slight rasp in her voice anywhere. Despite his best efforts, the sound went straight to his groin every damn time. Something about that hint of hoarseness made him think of how she would sound when she cried out in pleasure. Or pain. He was a fan of both.
He adjusted the front of his jeans and made his way through the grove of trees, almost afraid of what he’d find. Once he got to the other side and the moon offered enough light to find her, he discovered Charli sitting in a puddle of mud with her hands above her head, holding something.
“What in the hell?”
She looked to the heavens and groaned. “Can you take this please? If it gets wet, they’ll probably fire me.”
He grabbed the device from her, an iPad from what he could tell, and offered her a hand. “Need some help?”
“I got it.” She pushed herself up and then grimaced when she put weight on her right leg. “Ouch.”
He had to hide his own grimace, but for a completely different reason. Since he’d left her earlier, she’d changed into boxers and a T-shirt—both of which were now soaked and covered in mud. If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been comical. But all he could focus on was how the garments now clung and outlined every naked part beneath—curves and dips and points. Mud wrestling had never sounded so tempting.
He cleared his throat, thankful for the dark night as his cock hardened behind the fly of his pants. “Are you all right?”
“I think I tripped over a root or something.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and winced a bit. “Pissed off my ankle.”
He frowned at the way her words stumbled into each other, hearing the slight slur in her voice for the first time. Apparently the wine had made it over to her cabin. “Let me help you get back to your place. Do you need me to carry you?”
She shook her head, swaying on her feet ever so slightly. “I can…manage. Just carry the tablet so I don’t get any of this on it. Don’t need another talk from the boss, now do I?”
She took a few hobbling steps and tilted to the left. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Enjoyed the wine, Charli?”
“It was soooo smooth,” she said, flashing him an off-kilter smile and stumbling another step. “And potent.”
“So I see.” He tightened his grip, halting her. “Tell you what. This isn’t working. Wait here and don’t move.”
Before she could protest, he left her standing there in the dark and jogged toward her cabin. She’d thankfully left the door unlocked, saving him the trouble of going to his place for the key. Once inside, he found the half-empty bottle of wine and a cupcake wrapper. The roasted chicken he’d sent over looked untouched. He set her computer tablet on the counter and grabbed a large towel from the bathroom.
He hustled back outside, finding she had followed his instruction, something that gave him more pleasure than it should have. He handed her the towel. “Clean off what you can, then I’m carrying you the rest of the way. You may have sprained your ankle.”
“I don’t need to be carried. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You’re injured and drunk.”
She raised a finger to him. “I am n—”
He cocked his head, giving a pointed glance at her muddied state, and she clamped her mouth shut. With unsteady movements, she wiped off her bare legs and cleaned her arms and hands.
He looked over her shoulder toward the fields, trying to do anything but watch her spread that wet mud along that freckled skin. “What were you doing out here anyway?”
She slammed the bottle down on the counter and shot him a look that could wilt flowers. “Goddammit. You said you weren’t going to hover, and already you’re controlling my alcohol selections? Back off, cowboy. I’ve had enough of people telling me what I can and can’t do today.”
He knew he should listen. Clearly she was on edge. But she looked so decadent right then—color back in her cheeks, fire in her eyes, the small curves of her breasts rising and falling with her frustrated breaths. He could tell she wanted to lash out even more, that she wanted to take out her day on someone. She needed a release, and though he’d prefer to lift her up on that counter and show her a more fun way of letting go of all that energy, he knew that wasn’t an option. So he was willing to field her wrath if it took that wrinkle out of her brow.
“So you had a bad day,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the sink, purposely prodding her.
She narrowed her eyes, then turned back to her groceries, ignoring his statement. “Where’s Tom?”
“Above you,” Grant said, nodding at the ball of fur squeezed between the ceiling and tops of the cabinets. “I was trying to get him down when you came in, but he was less than cooperative.”
She tilted her head back and looked up. “Oh, good Lord, Tommy. Get down from there.”
She made some kissing and cooing sounds and in an instant, the cat slinked to the far end of the space, hopped to the top of the refrigerator, then down onto the counter to Charli’s awaiting arms.
Grant shook his head. He’d been trying to do the same for half an hour and had been convinced the cat was stuck. Apparently, Tom was as strong-headed as his owner.
She set Tom on the floor, and Grant saw the flicker of sadness behind the stoic mask she’d put on after she’d realized he was in the cabin. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “I know we don’t know each other very well, Charli, but I can be a pretty good ear if you need one. You don’t have to put on a happy face on my account.”
She glanced up at him, and for a moment, he thought he’d gotten through, but her expression went smooth as glass again. “Thanks, but I told you, I’m fine. Why don’t you lay those rules on me? It’s getting late.”
So, she was going with the brush-off. Fine.
He’d let her get away with it…for now.
But if he was going to protect her, she needed to trust him.
Usually not a problem. Gaining a woman’s trust was his stock and trade. Unfortunately, this time he was going to have to figure out how to do it without restraints and a firm spanking.
Charli kept her back to Grant, loading the few items she’d bought at the market into a cabinet and the refrigerator and trying to regain her composure. When Grant had looked at her, she’d had the uncanny sense that he was seeing to the root of her, seeing every ugly fear and vulnerability, every hurt and trauma. She didn’t like it. At all.
She was too on edge after the disaster of a day to deal with someone like him. One errant word or look and she’d spill her guts on the floor like some damned therapy session. Oh, poor me. Not only did I not get the job I’ve been dreaming of all my life, but oh, yeah, people find it hard to even watch me on television. Talk about humiliating. Why not just put her in a prom dress and dump some pig’s blood on her?
“Right, the rules,” Grant said in that baritone that seemed to vibrate through her rib cage. “Pretty simple. You give me your schedule, where you’re going to be. If you deviate from that, you call me and let me know ahead of time. You send me a text message letting me know when you arrive at work and when you’re leaving. I’m putting a GPS tracking device on your rental car as a backup in case I can’t get in touch with you and you need help.”
She shuddered, flashbacks of her teen years rolling through her mind—the constant checking in and explaining herself to her dad and brothers. “Don’t you think that’s a little overboard?”
He frowned. “Hopefully, it is. I hope that none of this is necessary. But I’m not willing to take a chance.”
She sighed. “Right.”
“As for when you’re here, feel free to explore the grounds, but stay on this side of the property. That long fence along the eastern edge divides the winery from the resort. Members only on the other side.”
She glanced back at him, eyebrow lifted. “Seriously?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s not like I’m here for a vacation. I just didn’t realize it was exclusive with a capital E.” She grabbed a bag of chips and opened them, her lack of dinner finally hitting her. “You’re not housing the mob over there or something, are you?”
He pushed off the counter to rise to his full height and smiled. “No, nothing so sinister.”
She eyed him, sensing he wasn’t telling her everything, but his smile didn’t falter. She held out the bag of chips. “Want some?”
Instead of taking a chip from the bag, he plucked the one from between her fingertips and popped it in his mouth. “The resort’s room service is available on this side, too—twenty-four-seven. There’s a menu in the desk drawer. Dial three on the phone and you can get anything delivered to your door, no charge.”
“Oh, that’s really generous, but I think I’m covered.”
“A woman can’t live by cheap wine and ham sandwiches alone. I’ll make sure a bottle of wine and tonight’s roast chicken make it over here within the half hour.” He snagged his keys off the counter, spinning the loop around his finger and sauntered toward the side door, giving her an unimpeded view of broad shoulders and that lovely, jean-covered backside. “Give me a call if you need anything else or have any questions.”
She smirked. “What? You’re not sticking around to make sure I get tucked into bed all right?”
He halted his step and she had the urge to put her hands over her face. She’d meant the question as a joke, but once the words were out of her mouth, she’d realized how they’d sounded. Like a lame attempt at flirting.
And maybe it had been exactly that.
Maybe she wanted him to stay and help her forget her awful day.
But he kept his back to her and turned his head to the side, revealing only his profile. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea, Charli.”
“Right,” she said softly, then added: “I was only kidding.”
“Good night, freckles.”
She sank back against the counter. Good was about the last thing tonight could be called.
The wine better make it over here quickly.
SIX
The night was filled with a harmony of frogs and crickets as Grant headed back to his house after checking on things at The Ranch. He had interviewed a potential trainee tonight—one who was having trouble letting go of control in her scenes with other doms. She’d been pretty and open to the type of play he enjoyed. She’d read through his contract and didn’t have any major sticking points. But once he’d started talking to her, he figured out one thing rather quickly—he had no desire to tie her up and beat her. And that was a damn shame.
So instead, he’d thanked her for her time and had gone back to work. He’d ended up spending half an hour mediating a tiff between two longtime members over who had reserved what playroom when, then had worked the floor for the rest of the night. But instead of all that business clearing his mind, walking the play spaces had only inspired images of his new “neighbor” and how she would look naked and restrained on all that equipment—how she’d feel writhing beneath his hands and mouth.
In the end, he’d left with a hard-on and headache. Not exactly the kind of night he’d been craving.
He took a swig from the bottle of water he’d grabbed on his way out and made the last turn in the path toward his place. The glow of his porch light burned in the distance. Almost home. But snapping twigs and a muffled curse somewhere off to the left had him slowing his steps. He turned, squinting through the inky darkness and cluster of trees. “Hello?”
More unintelligible sounds, then a clear “goddammit.”
Uh-oh. He took a step in the direction of the noise. “Charli? Is that you?”
“No.”
But it was. Even having just met her, he would recognize that slight rasp in her voice anywhere. Despite his best efforts, the sound went straight to his groin every damn time. Something about that hint of hoarseness made him think of how she would sound when she cried out in pleasure. Or pain. He was a fan of both.
He adjusted the front of his jeans and made his way through the grove of trees, almost afraid of what he’d find. Once he got to the other side and the moon offered enough light to find her, he discovered Charli sitting in a puddle of mud with her hands above her head, holding something.
“What in the hell?”
She looked to the heavens and groaned. “Can you take this please? If it gets wet, they’ll probably fire me.”
He grabbed the device from her, an iPad from what he could tell, and offered her a hand. “Need some help?”
“I got it.” She pushed herself up and then grimaced when she put weight on her right leg. “Ouch.”
He had to hide his own grimace, but for a completely different reason. Since he’d left her earlier, she’d changed into boxers and a T-shirt—both of which were now soaked and covered in mud. If it had been anyone else, it would’ve been comical. But all he could focus on was how the garments now clung and outlined every naked part beneath—curves and dips and points. Mud wrestling had never sounded so tempting.
He cleared his throat, thankful for the dark night as his cock hardened behind the fly of his pants. “Are you all right?”
“I think I tripped over a root or something.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and winced a bit. “Pissed off my ankle.”
He frowned at the way her words stumbled into each other, hearing the slight slur in her voice for the first time. Apparently the wine had made it over to her cabin. “Let me help you get back to your place. Do you need me to carry you?”
She shook her head, swaying on her feet ever so slightly. “I can…manage. Just carry the tablet so I don’t get any of this on it. Don’t need another talk from the boss, now do I?”
She took a few hobbling steps and tilted to the left. He reached out and grabbed her elbow. “Enjoyed the wine, Charli?”
“It was soooo smooth,” she said, flashing him an off-kilter smile and stumbling another step. “And potent.”
“So I see.” He tightened his grip, halting her. “Tell you what. This isn’t working. Wait here and don’t move.”
Before she could protest, he left her standing there in the dark and jogged toward her cabin. She’d thankfully left the door unlocked, saving him the trouble of going to his place for the key. Once inside, he found the half-empty bottle of wine and a cupcake wrapper. The roasted chicken he’d sent over looked untouched. He set her computer tablet on the counter and grabbed a large towel from the bathroom.
He hustled back outside, finding she had followed his instruction, something that gave him more pleasure than it should have. He handed her the towel. “Clean off what you can, then I’m carrying you the rest of the way. You may have sprained your ankle.”
“I don’t need to be carried. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You’re injured and drunk.”
She raised a finger to him. “I am n—”
He cocked his head, giving a pointed glance at her muddied state, and she clamped her mouth shut. With unsteady movements, she wiped off her bare legs and cleaned her arms and hands.
He looked over her shoulder toward the fields, trying to do anything but watch her spread that wet mud along that freckled skin. “What were you doing out here anyway?”
