Fall Into You. Roni Loren
Читать онлайн книгу.
sure never felt around most anyone.
He set down a plate of sandwiches and peeked over his shoulder, those killer blue eyes crinkling a bit at the corners when he noticed her looking back at him. “Well, look who’s awake. I wasn’t sure if you were going to crack an eye open before the sun went down.”
She pushed up on her elbows, fighting past the slight wave of nausea the movement caused. “Have I been sleeping long?”
“It’s almost six,” he said, pushing an escaped lock of his wavy dark hair off his forehead. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Doc said to check you every few hours by touching your arm to see if you moved. Plus, I thought you might be hungry.”
So he had touched her. Even knowing that sent rosy warmth coursing through her veins, a warmth that seemed to be zeroing in on the juncture between her thighs. She shifted her weight in the bed, suddenly all too aware that she was only wearing panties and her T-shirt beneath the blanket. She tried, unsuccessfully, to fight off the blush that rose in her cheeks.
God, what was wrong with her? She’d just been in an accident and all she could focus on was the way this man got her hormones hopping. Maybe she’d done damage to her brain with the accident and had reverted to crushing on someone like a damn teenager. She should take his picture and hang it on her wall so she could draw hearts on it.
“I’m not sure I should eat. I still feel kind of queasy.”
“Yeah, you’re pale.” He grabbed a few saltines off the plate and handed them to her. “Maybe try some crackers first. Might help to put something dry in your belly.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t bother telling him she always looked pale—compliments of her mother’s Irish genes, the only thing her mother had bothered to give her. She bit into one of the crackers and it crumbled, covering her and the bedcovers with crumbs. “Oops, sorry. Guess that’s why crackers in bed are a bad idea.”
He laughed, a deep tenor of a chuckle. “I promise I won’t kick you out of my bed for that.”
Her chewing paused, and a hot shiver went through her, drawing her nipples tight against her T-shirt. She couldn’t tell if Mr. Handsome Cowboy had intended that to come across as flirty as it sounded; his expression gave no indication either way. But her body sure wanted to take the comment down a certain path.
She almost laughed at the thought. Who was she kidding? Guys who looked like him didn’t flirt with girls like her—especially considering she probably looked like a midnight mug shot with a lump on her head, her hair in a tangle, and no makeup—not that she ever bothered to wear makeup on a normal day anyway.
She needed to get her concussed head out of lusty la-la land and focus on getting back home. She had work to do. “What time do you plan to head to Dallas tomorrow?”
He leaned back against the dresser, crossing his ankles, and creating a nice frame for the healthy bulge in his jeans. His gaze flicked down briefly, no doubt noticing the now-hard points beneath her shirt. He wet his lips. “My appointment isn’t until two, but I reckon we can head out a bit earlier so we can get you home.”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, not sure if it was the saltines or the view making her mouth so arid. “Sounds good. I really appreciate this. I’ll pay you whatever the fee for the cabin would’ve been for the night.”
“You won’t,” he said with the simple authority of someone used to getting no argument. “You’re my guest. Your money’s no good here.”
She sat up straighter, his tone pushing her least favorite button. “Then I’ll pay for the gas to get back to Dallas.”
He shoved off the dresser, rising to his full height, a smirk hiding beneath his five o’clock shadow. “And my grandmother would flip in her grave. Women in my world don’t pay for anything.”
Her hackles rose. “Well, now wa—”
He took her hand and rubbed a thumb across the top of it, his touch incinerating the thoughts in her brain. “You’ve had a rough twenty-four hours. I don’t need your money. And you don’t owe me anything. Though I do have one small request, Ms….”
“Beaumonde.”
“Beau— Wait a second,” he said, cutting off whatever he’d been planning to ask her and dropping her hand like she’d become contagious. “Do you know Max Beaumonde?”
She frowned, trying to pull herself from the hypnotic state his touch had induced. “Yes. He’s my older brother.”
Grant tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. “Ah, hell. Of course he is.”
Charli had no idea if her head injury was messing with her focus, but she had trouble following the shift in Grant’s demeanor and the conversation. “You know him?”
Grant sniffed. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s got a bullet lodged in his shoulder that was meant for me.”
Charli stared at him, the words taking a few moments to register. “You’re Ice?”
A dark cloud seemed to cross over Grant’s face. “Was. Gotta love those army nicknames.”
Her brother had told her stories about his army buddy, Ice. Had told her the guy had gotten his name because nothing seemed to get to him or scare him. But when one of their missions had gone awry, Max had ended up being the one to protect Ice from a fatal shot. Her brother had gotten a medal for it, but no one in her family had ever met the guy Max had saved.
“Wow, Max will be thrilled to know you’re only a state away. He lives in Baton Rouge.”
Grant went to the tray of food, turning his back to her. He busied himself pouring a bottle of water into a glass. “He knows where I am. We’ve kept in touch. He’s mentioned he had a sister a few times, but I assumed you were in Louisiana with the rest of his family.”
The air in the room had changed directions—awkwardness replacing the electricity she’d felt moments before when he’d held her hand. She cleared her throat. “Uh, you were saying you had a request for me?”
He headed back her way and set the glass of water on the bedside table. “Never mind. Wasn’t important. Now you rest up, and I’ll check on you later tonight. My cell number is next to the phone if you need anything.”
What she needed was him touching her again, but apparently that buzz of sexual energy had only been one-sided.
“Grant?”
He turned around in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am?”
“If you do talk to my brother anytime soon, don’t mention this, okay? His heart’s in the right place, but he’s a little…overprotective.” And bossy and overbearing. And thinks she can’t handle the big, bad city alone.
“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Grant’s gaze traced down the length of her, lines of strain around his mouth. She thought she heard him mutter—who could blame him?—but he walked out before she could ask.
Grant shifted on the too-short couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but only ended up twisting his blanket into a knot around his thighs. With a groan, he yanked off the blanket and sat up. The clock had already crossed over to four a.m., so falling asleep had sort of lost its point anyway. He rolled his shoulders, trying to coax out the tension that had embedded there the moment he’d caught Charli looking at him with interest in her eyes.
Charli-freaking-Beaumonde. He’d been on the verge of asking her out—a stupid move in the first place because he didn’t mess with women who weren’t part of the scene. That was setting up disaster from step one. Nothing like springing on a vanilla person—Hey, I’m a dominant and a sexual sadist. Oh, and I run a BDSM resort where I have submissives