She looked down, bracing herself for the blow. But he grabbed her chin, not allowing her to look way.
“Listen, freckles. That guy is me. That’s how I feel about you. I love you, Charlotte Beaumonde. Not second best, not as a consolation prize. You’re the only woman I want in my life. Past, present, and future.”
“But…” His image went wavy in front of her as tears clouded her vision, blocked her words.
“I’m done running, Charli.” He held up his bare hand, the tan line the only remnant of the ring that used to be there. “And I know that being with me is complicated. I’ll never be vanilla and my job is…interesting. And I’ll probably freak out every time you go to chase some adrenaline rush because God knows you can get yourself into some predicaments. But I’ll do whatever I need to if it means I get to have you. I’ll even learn to like Tom Brady…the cat, not the quarterback—that’ll never happen. I just—”
She pressed her fingers against his lips, laughing through her tears. “Stop.”
He grinned beneath her touch. “Too much?”
“A dom should never beg, right?”
He grabbed her wrist and kissed her fingertips. “Darlin’, if it means you’ll be with me, I’ll let you shackle me to the floor in front of everybody at The Ranch and beg like a dog.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She shook her head, bliss seeping through her every pore, pushing out the melancholy that had claimed her minutes earlier. He loved her back. Really loved her back. She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Haven’t you figured it out? You already have me, Grant. Even if you had dropped me off in Louisiana tonight, my heart would’ve left with you. I’ve been gone since the first time you kissed me. I’m the easiest sell in Texas right now.”
He grinned, a boyish light she hadn’t seen before filling his eyes. “You’re going to be anything but easy, freckles. But I can’t wait to get started.”
She slid off the swing and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing the top of her head to his chest. “Your place or mine?”
He nuzzled her ear, his breath a soft caress. “Our place, love. I don’t want to sleep another night without you next to me.”
The words were ones she never knew she needed but were exactly what she’d been waiting for her whole life. She raised her face to him and pressed her lips against his, relishing the feel of that once-forbidden territory. “Let’s go home, cowboy.”
EPILOGUE
Grant paced across his living room one more time, his boots creating a monotonous beat in the empty cabin. How could she not be answering her phone? Maybe the thing had died. Or, maybe she wanted to tell him the news in person. Or, maybe it hadn’t worked out, and she was sobbing in her car and too upset to call him.
“Dammit.” He checked his phone one more time to make sure it had a signal, then shoved it back in his pocket. “Come on, baby, toss me a crumb—a text, something.”
He laced his fingers behind his neck, trying to massage some of the tension away. He’d offered to go with Charli this morning, but she’d given him that back-off-cowboy look that he’d learned to heed. She had no idea how that feistiness made him hard every time she directed it his way. If she thought she was getting away with being a bossy thing, so be it. She didn’t need to know that all it did was add to the list of things he’d do to her later when he had her tied up and begging.
The sound of an engine had him hustling toward the front door. He stepped outside, his blood pressure immediately lowering. She was home. Safe. However the audition went, she was here and they could deal with it. Charli climbed out of the car, and Grant scanned her expression trying to read the answer before she told him.
Her lips were tipped down as she headed up the driveway. “Hey there.”
Her sad puppy tone and hang of her shoulders had his hopes tumbling. She hadn’t gotten it. He pulled her up onto the porch as soon as she was within arm’s reach and dragged her against him. “I’m sorry, freckles.”
She circled her arms around his waist. “They said I was too quirky for an anchor position.”
He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length. “Quirky? What the fuck is wrong with them? It’s called having a goddamned personality. I thought the new executives they hired couldn’t be as idiotic as the others, but clearly I overestimated them.”
She looked down, shaking her head. “It’s my fault. I stumbled in my heels on the way to the desk, then tried to make a joke out of it by taking off my shoes and telling them I was the barefoot reporter. Then when they gave me a story about Tom Brady sustaining an injury, I mentioned in the report that I’d named my cat after him because they both had good hair.”
Grant couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.
She hit him with a look equivalent to a kick to the balls. “You think this is funny? My dream just went to hell and you’re laughing?”
She shrugged out of his grip and stomped into the house past him.
Well, shit. “Baby, I’m not laughing at you or your dream, I just…” He followed her into the house. “If those assholes can’t appreciate your humor, the girl you are, then who the fuck needs them? There are other TV stations out there who’ll appreciate you. We’ll look…”
But as he babbled on like an imbecile, she spun around on her her heel and with her hands on her hips, her how dare you glare morphed into a broad gotcha grin.
His words halted and he narrowed his gaze, her shift in demeanor smacking him upside the head. “You little shit. You got the job, didn’t you?”
She tipped her head to the side, her eyes all sunshine and mischief. “Not exactly.”
“Spill it, freckles.”
“So…all that stuff I told you was true. I did trip and talk about my cat. And they offered someone else the anchor job. But…” She rocked forward on her toes with every word, like she was barely restraining herself from bouncing up and down. “They offered me my own show.”
“What?”
She made a sound he’d never heard come from her before—the oh, my God squeal that teenage girls seemed to have the patent on. Then her words poured out of her at a speed that could break the sound barrier. “They’ve been wanting to do a daytime show that features the kind of stories I research, feel-good stories about athletes and local organizations. Dig into the beyond-the-playing-field things. And they wanted someone the viewers could relate to—someone who would make them laugh but also who knew her sports. And they think that’s me. They want it to be me!”
She did hop this time and then launched herself at him. If she’d known how very girly she looked in that moment, she’d never worry about being too tomboy again. He wrapped his arms around her and spun her off her feet, her elation contagious. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew someone would have to see how perfect you are for this.”
He set her down on her feet and she grinned up at him. “I had you going there, didn’t I? Mr. Dom who can read everybody got punked by my superior acting skills.”
He attempted a stern look, though he was too thrilled for her to truly pull it off. “You had me worried out of my mind. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“And miss out on this fun? Hell, no.”
He gripped her hips and seated her against the growing bulge in his jeans. “You realize how much trouble you’re in now, right, Charlotte? You didn’t think tricking me would have consequences?”
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips in a nervous tic that had anticipation tightening in his groin. “Maybe I don’t mind consequences.”
He pulled her down onto the couch with him, a soft yelp slipping past her lips. “Well, now I really have no choice. Purposely goading me. Reckless girl.”
“Sorry, sir.” The words were an apology, but he could hear the want in her voice, the ache.
God, he loved how playful she was. It made everything all the more fun. He turned her to the side, then draped her across his spread thighs. She squirmed against him for a moment, then softened, her muscles melting against him. He could already sense her slipping into subspace. She fell under so easily now it took his breath away. Beautiful.
He lifted her skirt and slid her lacy panties down her thighs. He ran a hand along the smooth skin of her ass, loving the quiver her body gave at his slightest touch. Her sexy scent drifted up to him and he had to take a few seconds to settle his own aching drive. Sometimes he wanted her so badly he feared he’d fire off like an inexperienced teenager.
“You think it was nice to make me worry about you, Charlotte?”
Her fingers curled into the couch cushion. “No, sir.”
He rubbed a circular pattern along the globes of her ass with his palm, then drew back in a high arc and delivered a stinging smack on the right side. She arched her back and her breathy moan stoked the embers already burning hot in him. He gave her a matching swat on the other side, her fair skin going pink instantly. He relished seeing his handprint on her, his mark. His fingers traced the shape. Pity those marks faded so quickly.
“You made me pace the floors, love.” He spanked her center, right above the soft, already damp folds of her sex. She let loose a more desperate sound as a shudder worked through her. Whether she realized it or not, her hips tilted higher, silently asking for more. He brushed his fingers along her wetness, dipping inside and feeling the clench of her pussy. “You know, if I was a betting man, I’d say that you tricked me knowing this would be the outcome. Am I not being hard enough on you, freckles? You need more discipline than I’m giving you?”
Since they’d moved into together, he’d been testing her limits, getting a feel for where she needed him to push and where he needed to pull back. But maybe he’d been too soft. Figuring out how to do this with love in the mix had been his own version of edge play—scary and thrilling but uncharted territory.
She turned her head, her cheek pressed to the couch but her hooded gaze on him. “All I need is you, Grant. You don’t have to be careful with me or hold back. What pleases you is going to please me.”
The words wrapped around his chest and squeezed, the gift of her true submission almost too heady to process. She was his. Honestly and without fine print. No contracts or carefully negotiated rules. Just he and Charli finding their way together.
He brushed the back of his hand over the line of her jaw. “Get up, Charlotte. Show me you know how to properly apologize for your inconsiderate behavior.”
Charli pushed herself up and off his lap, her blood pumping and her head buzzing. Today had been one of the happiest she could remember, but nothing had felt complete until she’d walked into this cabin and told Grant about it. And he’d been right. She knew he’d make her pay for teasing him, but she’d needed nothing more at the end of this day then to give herself over to him, to surrender.
She’d never been able to stand the quiet before him, had always sought distraction. But now, this sacred space created between them in these moments was like balm for her psyche—the silence soothing. Contentment bled through her as she stood in front of Grant and slipped out of her clothes, keeping her eyes down and her movements slow. She could feel his gaze on her without looking up, could sense his overwhelming desire for her. If his goal in the beginning had been to make her feel beautiful, he’d succeeded. She never felt more confident than when she was stripped bare before him.
She knelt in front of him, placing her hands on her thighs.
He shifted forward on the couch, his hand drifting over her shoulder. “Darlin’, I have to tell you, I’ve never been happier to have been so damn wrong about someone. You’re more perfect in submission than anyone I’ve ever seen.”