The empty room had no response. With a sigh, she tucked the towel around herself again and headed toward the boxes on the bed. Grant had sent them over after she’d gotten home from work today with a terse note. Charlotte, I’m taking you out to a business function tonight. This is what you will wear for me. No additions or subtractions. Wear your hair down. Be at my cabin by six. Grant.

She shook her head but couldn’t help smiling. He’d told her she was going as his date, not as his submissive. This was apparently something for the winery. But even on a supposedly “normal” date, the man couldn’t help but be bossy.

She opened the first box and unfolded the tissue, finding a gorgeous plum-colored wrap dress. Wow, that hadn’t been what she expected. She thought for sure he’d put her in something short and tight. But this had luxury and class written all over it.

She peeked into the smaller boxes. One had a lacy bra and panty set in the same shade of purple as the dress. She held up the thong. He’d said he’d let her wear underwear, but she wasn’t sure if this little bit of material quite counted. Cheater.

The other small box had a pendant necklace and two cuff bracelets that would perfectly cover the marks on her wrists. The final package was a pair of buttery soft, knee-high leather boots. “Ooh.”

A Post-it note was stuck to the left boot. These should be a little more comfortable than those heels I always torture you with.

She rubbed her thumb across Grant’s neat handwriting, warmth whispering through her. Her cowboy had thought of everything.

She groaned. No. Not her cowboy. She had to stop thinking of him like that.

No doubt this wasn’t the first or last time he bought an outfit for a woman to wear for him. This was all part of the game. She’d agreed to play sub to him for the month, and this was simply a part of that.

She let her towel fall to the floor and slipped on the panties and bra. If Grant ever decided to stay with someone longer than a month, did that mean he’d pick out her clothes every day? What if the woman wanted to wear jeans sometimes but he wanted her to wear a skirt? How would that work?

She frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The thought of having Grant take care of her like that was simultaneously appealing and appalling. Knowing that she’d be wearing only things he’d selected for her tonight gave her a little thrill. It felt intimate and personal, having him choose things he thought would complement her body and coloring.

But someone doing that for her every day? She’d freaking lose it. Right?

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. She needed to reel herself in. Over the last few weeks she’d had moments where she’d wondered what it’d be like to really be Grant’s, secretly imagining how it would be to push things further than just a short experiment. But even if she was discovering that she had a submissive streak, Grant didn’t want anything more than a month. He was already in a long-term relationship—with a memory. There was no room in his life for someone else.

And hell, it wasn’t like Charli was Ms. ’Til-Death-Do-Us-Part either. Getting attached to someone was dangerous enough. She’d learned that the day her mother and sister had walked out of her life. But how much more intense would that loss be if she were in a D/s relationship and her dom left her? That kind of lifestyle and level of care could become addictive quickly, and having it end would surely make someone feel adrift.

She shuddered. She could never let herself become that dependent on anyone. Already Grant was becoming too important a part of her day.

Charli shrugged on the dress, wrapping it around herself and coming to a decision. Tonight, she’d be Grant’s date, get some social practice in, but then they were going to have to talk about their situation afterward. She’d left herself too open with Grant. She’d wanted to help him see past his grief over his wife, but in the process, she’d forgotten to protect her own heart. The fact that she was even imagining the idea of giving herself to him for a moment proved she was sinking too deep, getting caught in the quicksand.

She took the cuff bracelets from their box and slipped them over her wrists, ignoring the hot shiver that went through her, and then bent to grab the necklace. But the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the bedside table had her veering in another direction.

Charli reached for the phone, the caller ID flashing unknown number. “Hello?”

“Ms. Beaumonde?”

“Yes, this is Charli.”

There was a long pause, and Charli thought the call had dropped, but then the man cleared his throat. “This is Rodney Wilson. I’m sorry about the last time we met. I’m ready to talk now. For real.”

Charli lost her ability to speak for a moment. And the first words that jumped to her lips were holy shit, but luckily she managed to choke those down. She gripped the bedpost, the reporter inside her jumping up and twirling. “On the record?”

“Yes. This whole thing is getting out of hand and needs to stop. They’re trying to buy my silence now. I’ve sent my wife and kids to stay with her family for a few weeks. These assholes need to be outed. I can name names for you and give you some documents that may help.”

“Pick the time and place. I’ll be there,” she said, searching the drawer in the bedside table for a pen.

“How about tomorrow morning around eight? You know where the Southern Pancake Hut is?”

“Yep. Perfect.” She jotted down the time and place on the back of a napkin. “Thanks so much, Rodney.”

“And, Ms. Beaumonde, watch your back. There are lots of powerful people who have their hands in this.”

The warning sent a dart of anxiety down her spine, but not enough to outweigh the excitement of knowing she was finally going to get the truth and break this story. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

She ended the call and did a little spin for real this time, her dress swirling around her. This was it. Not only would she be able to expose some nasty cheaters, but she’d prove that she was capable of handling a big story.

With a smile on her face, she hurried to the bathroom to finish getting ready. A few days and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. No more worrying about someone trying to hurt her. No more hiding out.

And no more Grant.

Her smile faltered in the mirror.

Grant stared down at the scalloped-edge invitation he’d discovered in his mailbox. He read the words again, each sentence settling in his gut like heavy boulders.

Georgia Eleanor Waters and Barry Sparks request your presence at their wedding…

Grant sank onto one of his barstools, the combating emotions too much to process standing up. His mom was getting married again? To someone who wasn’t his father. The notion seemed too preposterous to even comprehend.

And who the fuck was this Barry guy?

Did he treat his mother well? Did he make her happy? Did he have a job or was he just after the family’s fortune?

You wouldn’t know, asshole, his conscience whispered at him. You never go home.

Grant’s front door swung open, banging the wall and startling him from his thoughts. “What the hell?”

Charli burst through the doorway like a cyclone, all smiles and flushed cheeks. “Oops, sorry, the wind took the door right from my hand.”

She pranced inside and pushed the door closed behind her, her red mane whipping around in one final gust. She spun back around, a wide grin still on her face.

Fuck, she was gorgeous. The outfit he’d chosen for her looked even better hugging her body than he’d imagined. And knowing what she had on underneath had him almost forgetting what he was so upset about a moment before. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. “You’re early, freckles.”

“I know,” she said, a bit breathless. “But I couldn’t wait to tell you my good news.”

“Oh?”

“The guy I tried to get information from that day someone broke into the car is now ready to talk—on the record. He said he can name names in the cheating scandal.” The words spilled out of her like a river overflowing its banks as she made her way across the living room toward the kitchen. “He’s going to meet with me tomorrow morning. Isn’t that great? I’m going to get my story.”

Her excitement was contagious, and Grant couldn’t help but return her smile. He tossed the invitation and accompanying note onto the counter and pulled her close when she reached him, caging her between his thighs. “That’s awesome, darlin’. Congratulations.”

Without warning, she wrapped her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, almost knocking him off the stool. He closed his eyes, absorbing the scent of her shampoo and the feel of her body against his, a thread of regret knitting through him. If she landed her story, this would be one of the last nights she’d be here with him.

She pulled back from the hug but remained standing between his knees. “So I thought maybe tonight, I should stay at my house instead of coming back here. I have to meet him early, and it doesn’t make sense to come all the way back out this way.”

Grant frowned. “I’m not leaving you unprotected, Charlotte. Even for one night.”

The little shiver she gave at the use of her full name, her sub name, brought Grant more pleasure than it should’ve. She shrugged. “So stay there with me.”

The suggestion was a simple one on its surface, but the idea of sleeping next to her in her own house had tension gathering in his shoulders. He didn’t sleep with anyone. And his nightmares wouldn’t care if he was alone or otherwise. They’d come anyway. He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen some of the tightness. There was always the couch, and he could pull an all-nighter, keeping guard. God knows he’d pulled enough of them in his military career.

“All right, we’ll stay at your place.” He slid his palms along her waist, then over the curve of her ass. “Hope your neighbors aren’t too close. Having you on my arm all night, looking this edible, is going to have me ready to get you screaming the minute we’re alone.”

Her nipples hardened behind the soft material of her dress, her body instantly responding to his suggestions. She poked his chest. “Hey, you said this was going to be a normal date. Strictly business.”

“What? Vanilla people have sex after dates, too,” he teased. “Just with less…bells and whistles. Or ropes and violence, as the case may be. Poor bastards.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“So I’ve been told, but we’ll see how the night goes.” He stood, pulling her fully against him, letting her feel how hard he was for her already. “And we’ll see if I give good enough date to be asked in for a nightcap.”

“Cocky cowboy.” But the desire in her eyes belied her flippant response.

Reluctantly, he released her. “I need to get changed and pack an overnight back. Feel free to pour yourself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t be long.”

Before he realized what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed her on the corner of her mouth. Just a quick I’ll-see-you-in-a-minute peck, but it was the kind of comfortable kiss lovers share when they’ve been together forever.

He froze for a second afterward, and Charli blinked at him, obviously surprised.

“Wineglasses are in the cabinet above the sink,” he said gruffly, trying to cover his own shock, then turned on his heel and headed toward his bedroom.

Maybe it was for the best that Charli was about to walk out of his life. He liked his world steady and solid beneath his feet. And right now he was balancing on goddamned Jell-O.

TWENTY-FOUR

Charli fiddled with one of her bracelets as Grant drove along the two-lane highway. They’d made small talk about her story for a few minutes, but as dusk had settled in around them, cocooning the truck’s cab in hazy blue-and-orange light, Grant had gone silent. Clearly, that little peck he’d given her had sent him retreating into his cave.