Max’s hand, guilt nipping at his boot heels. Max was trusting him with what he treasured most—his family. Now Grant had to figure out if he was worthy of that kind of endorsement. Though, with the way Charli had looked at him when she’d realized he’d called her brother, he may not have to worry about it. She wasn’t exactly president of his fan club at the moment.
A few minutes after Max left, Charli stepped off her front porch with a bright red scratch on her cheek, her hair falling out of her bun, and a blue plastic carrier. She headed down the driveway and looked toward the end of her street. “So Mr. Save-the-Day is gone?”
Grant eyed the blue box warily. “Had to get back to work.”
“Sure he does. The chicken.” She handed him the carrier and it hissed. “Tom Brady doesn’t like to travel. He may throw up by the time you get back to your place.”
“Now, wait a second.” The box jolted and the cat made some noise that sounded like it was in its death throes. “I invited you to stay, not…quarterback kitty.”
“We’re a package deal, cowboy. You should’ve listened when I told you not to call Max. Now he’s thrown a kink into both of our worlds.” She leaned against his truck, eyebrow cocked. “You know you can still back out. I won’t tell him.”
“Not a chance, freckles.” Grant cringed when the carrier jolted again, and he yanked open the passenger door, setting the hissing beast inside the cab. “I know you’re upset I called, but I would’ve wanted him to do the same thing for me if the roles were reversed. And I made him a promise. I don’t make those unless I intend to keep them.”
“Come on, you know this is ridiculous. I’m a grown woman. I’ve taken self-defense classes. Do I look like I need a babysitter?” She pushed off the truck, standing to her full height, which would probably be eye to eye or above most men. Too bad for her, he was six-seven and not afraid to use the advantage.
Before she could blink, he grabbed the crook of her elbow, spun her around, and hauled her against him, locking his arm around her waist and pressing his other thumb against her neck, mimicking a knife blade. She struggled, tried to stomp on his foot, but a few self-defense classes were no match for CIA training. “First rule of combat: hubris will bring you down every time.”
“Let me go.” She struggled for another second, but when she realized she wasn’t going to escape, she stopped fighting him. Her muscles softened beneath his hold, her chest rising and falling with quick, choppy breaths—breaths that could indicate fear. But when he glanced down her body and saw the tight beads of her nipples pressing against her shirt, he realized her reaction was anything but. His cock stirred at the sight, and he quickly released Charli, stepping back before she could feel exactly how much she affected him.
She spun around, her cheeks flushed but her jaw clenched. “That was dirty fighting, cowboy.”
“Only trying to show you that overconfidence can get you hurt.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, fighting the urge to touch her again. “Look, I get it. No one wants someone hovering over them. And I don’t have time to be glued to your side, anyway. I have a business to run. I’m going to give you your space as long as you follow a few rules to keep safe.” He saw her stiffen at the word rules but kept going. “We’ll get through whatever this threat is and then you can get back to your normal life, and I’ll get back to mine.”
She stared at him for a second longer, then leaned over to pick up her purse, which had slipped off her shoulder when he’d grabbed her. She missed it on the first swipe, clearly flustered, and then yanked the strap upward on the second attempt. “I’ve got to go into work and take care of some things. I called my insurance company and got a rental car lined up. If you don’t mind giving me a ride over to the car place, I can sneak Tom into work.”
He took her lack of combative response as victory. And though the last thing he wanted to do was traipse around with a vomiting feline, he needed to offer an olive branch. “I can drive you over and keep the cat with me. I have a quick meeting with a supplier to pick up a few things, then I’ll be headed back. I’ll make sure he’s not left alone in the car.”
“Okay, well, thanks.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll head back to your place after work. You can enlighten me on these so-called rules of yours.”
He smirked at her tone. “Look forward to it.”
“I bet you do. You look like a guy who loves a rule.”
Oh, you have no idea, freckles.
Charli gave up trying to keep her bun intact and secured her out-of-control hair into a ponytail before heading into the main offices of the Texas Sports Network. Even after the drive over, her hands were still shaky from the earlier moment with Grant. When he’d restrained her against him, she’d wanted to melt into the hold, give into it. But, of course, it had been a gesture meant to instill fear and prove a point, not to inspire images of a naked cowboy and sweaty sheets. Leave it to her to get turned on by a freaking choke hold. Her long stretch between relationships was apparently making her hormones light up over anything.
Luckily, Grant hadn’t seemed to notice her body’s instant reaction. When they’d broken apart, she’d been left a jittery mess, but he had looked cool as a November morning—all business and matter-of-fact.
She scoffed. Like he’d have any real interest in her anyway. She’d known men like him. They liked their women prim, yielding, and sweet. Those three words had never been used to describe her. If she was going to be hanging out at Grant’s place, she needed to get her libido out of the clouds and steer clear of the cowboy. She’d only end up making a fool of herself if she kept entertaining illicit fantasies about him anytime a southern-soaked word slipped past his lips.
She shook the errant thoughts from her mind, trying to focus on work. Despite all the drama of the past two days, she did have one positive thing going for her—the potential for a monster story. She didn’t have her fat file of notes since whoever had broken into her house had made off with that, but she still had the information from her investigative trip yesterday and the details she knew by memory. It wasn’t enough to break a story yet, but it was a damn good foundation for a killer scoop. Her boss Trey was going to flip his shit when he saw how big this could be. The on-air position would be hers wrapped up with a bow.
This was going to be her moment. Finally, she could prove her mother wrong. This girl was meant to be on TV. Her dream wasn’t something to laugh at.
Charli pushed open the doors to the main lobby and was greeted by the massive digital scoreboard that covered the back wall. All the scores of each Texas team’s last game were displayed in bright blue numbers. She gave a little wave to the receptionist, then stepped into the elevator, her stomach flipping over for reasons other than the rush to the top floor.
The elevator dinged and the funeral-like hush of the executive floor greeted her. Two levels down, where Charli worked, there was constant noise—phones ringing, all the sports channels cued up on the television screens, chattering over the walls of the cubicles. She loved the energy of it, the adrenaline. All this peacefulness on the top floor would drive her crazy.
She made her way to the far end of the hall and rapped on Trey’s partially ajar door. The door nudged open a bit farther from her knocking, and she could hear he wasn’t alone. She probably should’ve called up first, but trying to catch Trey when
