He’d directed her to wait in one of the cowhide upholstered chairs, then had disappeared behind a large mahogany door that seemed to scream do not effing enter. That had been a solid ten minutes ago. Now she was beginning to wonder if he was coming back at all. Maybe she should just go. Find some roadside motel.
But the grit scraping her eyeballs every time she blinked reminded her that if she got back on the road, her car would probably end up with a tree for a hood ornament.
The door opened finally and instead of the front desk guy, Grant Waters stepped through. He was in his standard-issue Wranglers and had a plaid work shirt thrown over a wifebeater, but his dark wavy hair was clearly bed-rumpled and he had flip-flops on instead of his usual boots.
“Ms. Kennedy,” he said in an East Texas drawl that could probably inspire the panties off a nun. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Hell,” she said, getting up to meet him halfway. “I didn’t know he was going pull you out of bed. I’m so sorry.”
“Not a problem, I was in the military. I can handle an early-morning wake-up call. Especially for one of my members.” Instead of taking her hand, he placed a knuckle beneath her chin, tilted her face up to him, and evaluated her expression like a parent trying to catch a child in a lie. “Camden said he thought you could be on something, but that’s obviously not the case. What’s going on, darlin’? Who put that lost look in your eye?”
She stepped away from his touch, his all-too-knowing gaze. “I just need a place to stay. Is there any room tonight?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and peered down at her, his fingers drumming against his bicep. “We don’t actually. There’s a big collaring ceremony this weekend. Multiple couples participating. So we’re booked through the next few days.”
His answer landed like a sack of rocks on her shoulders, making her bones feel like they might snap beneath the weight of all she’d dealt with today. “Oh. I see.”
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he said, sounding truly apologetic.
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have assumed anyway.” She reached for the handle of her suitcase. “I’ll just drive a little farther and find a motel. No big deal.”
She attempted to lift her suitcase and barely got it off the floor. The bag seemed to be filled with bricks, even though she knew there were only a few changes of clothes in it. Grant caught sight of her struggle and reached down, placing his hand over hers on the handle. “Wait.”
She released the bag and straightened. “What’s wrong?”
He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze seeming to tunnel into her, unzipping her casing and peering inside. Instinct told her to look away, look down, look anywhere but at him, but the stare held her as captive as Andre’s handcuffs would’ve.
Finally, he broke the eye contact and hefted her suitcase with ease. “You’ll stay with me. You’re tired.”
She blinked, then his suggestion registered. Oh, shit. The Dom with a capital D commanding her to stay with him? Did that mean . . . ? “What? Oh, no, I couldn’t. I can’t—”
“You will,” he said as if he were Supreme Master Ruler of the Universe. “I’m not letting you get on the road and risk killing yourself or someone else.”
“But I can’t—”
He laid his free hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Evan. This isn’t a sexual invitation. If it were, you would know. I have a guest room. It’s nothing fancy, but you can stay there this weekend.”
Her muscles loosened beneath his reassurance. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“You won’t be. Now come on, let’s get you to bed.” He put his arm fully around her shoulders, and she couldn’t help but sag against his side, her body’s internal battery fully depleted.
Under normal circumstances, she may have put up more of a fight. May have been more wary of sleeping at some stranger’s house. But right now, all she wanted was a bed and the oblivion of sleep. Right or wrong, she trusted Grant. On some primal level she sensed his goodness, his honest nature.
Grant led her to a golf cart parked outside the main building and helped her get seated before securing her suitcase in the back. The ride to his corner of the property was blessedly quiet. She’d expected more questions from the ever watchful owner, but apparently he wasn’t going to pry. For now. She had a feeling all bets were off in the morning.
The house they parked in front of was a modest version of the cedar-planked cabins that dotted the grounds of The Ranch. Wraparound porch. Views of the vineyards from two sides. Beautifully simple. Much smaller than she would’ve expected for a man with Grant’s kind of money.
“Let’s get you inside,” he said, climbing out and grabbing the suitcase. “Sun’s starting to rise, and I have horses to feed.”
The inside of the cabin was as understated as Grant’s wardrobe. Comfortable furniture, simple decor. Not even a family photo in sight. The only make-a-Realtor-go-wild feature was the two-story wall of windows in the living room that framed the vineyard and the horizon beyond. “Wow, that’s some view.”
“Thanks. It’s why I picked this spot.”
She let her gaze go all the way to the top of the windows where they narrowed to a peak. Not a curtain anywhere. “Sacrificing a little privacy though. Anybody working in the vineyards could totally see you if you decided to have a romantic evening on the couch or something.”
He smiled as he led her through a hallway, his large hand like a heating pad on the base of her spine. “Not an issue. I don’t bring women here.”
She straightened. “Wait, like ever?”
He opened the door on his right and set her suitcase down inside the bedroom. “I have a whole playground at my fingertips. I don’t need to bring someone into my personal space.”
“Then why are you letting me?”
“Because you needed me to.” He flipped on the light switch in the bedroom. She followed him inside. “And because you’re the sub of two very good friends of mine. They would want me to keep you safe and off the roads.”
“You can’t let them know I’m here,” she said, the words whipping out of her mouth before she could reel them back.
He walked around the bed and folded the comforter down. “Oh, and why is that?”“I— There’s just a lot going on and I need to be away from it all to think. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m here—my fiancé, Jace, Andre, none of them. And if any reporter calls—”
He paused in turning down the bed, looked up. “Darlin’, no press would even know the number to call. As far as the rest of the world knows, we don’t exist.”
“Good,” she said, nodding. “I need to be alone.”
“Three men on your tail. Sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into quite a bind.”
She groaned. “Are you seriously being punny right now? Because if I wasn’t so tired, I would totally throw something at you for that.”
He chuckled, the baritone sound making his chest bounce. “Sorry, unintentional. Is there anything else I should know? No bodies in your trunk, right?”
“None for now. Though a few people may want my head on a stake by the end of the day. It’s going to come out in the media that I’ve cheated on Daniel.”
He straightened, pinned her with his stare. “But you didn’t. I talked to Daniel myself when he set up your membership.”
“Yeah, well, open relationship isn’t something that’s going to fly with the general public. If I don’t take the fall, he’ll lose his television deal.”
“I see.” Disapproval marked his face like a thundercloud rolling over the calm plains. She shivered. His poor subs must fall over themselves trying to avoid that look.
Even though he wasn’t her dom she found herself scrambling for some way to make it better. “It’s the only way.”
“It’s your life, darlin’. But in my opinion, any man worth his salt would never let his woman take the hit for something that was his doing. His job is to protect you from anything and anyone who may hurt you.”
Her I-am-woman-hear-me-roar gene snapped to attention. “I don’t need some guy to protect me. I’ve handled way worse than bad press.”
He walked over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t get your feathers all fluffed. I have no doubt you could slay the hounds of hell if faced with them. But the question is, should you have to? And would a man who’s supposed to love you, make you?”
“You sound like Jace.”
His lips hitched at the corner. “That guy’s wiser than people give him credit for.”
Jace. Her chest ached like she’d been running for miles. “Thanks for the room.”
Grant lowered his hand and headed to the door. “Get some rest, darlin’. You have my word that I won’t tell anyone you’re here. You’re safe from it all for now.”
Grant closed the door and left her in silence.
Safe. But alone.
Seems she could never be one without the other.
Maybe it was time she accepted that.
She walked over to her suitcase and unzipped it, staring at what she’d tucked in the front flap. Daniel had handed them to her before she’d left, and she’d wanted to toss them back his way. But now the little prescription bottle beckoned her with its promise. She pulled out the antidepressants she hadn’t touched in months, rolling the bottle between her fingertips.
She looked at the empty room, her empty bed, and then went into the bathroom for a glass of water. She tilted one of the pills onto her palm and swallowed it.
Time to get on the train back to numb. Living life in 3-D hurt too much.
TWENTY-SIX
Jace sat at a table in the back of the bar, trying to drown his thoughts in beer and rock music. He’d planned to go home and do the same in a more comfortable chair. But when he’d walked into the loft, Andre had been packing boxes.
Fucking packing!
Jace had asked what the hell was going on, but Andre had simply shrugged. “Going to stay with my brother for a while. I’ll get the rest of my stuff when I find a new place.”
The few remaining bricks in Jace’s already cracked foundation had seemed to crumble into dust beneath him. Andre was leaving? The two of them hadn’t talked much in the days following Andre’s confession. Jace had been knocked on his ass by the one-two punch of losing Evan and finding out how Andre felt and hadn’t even known where to start. But the last thing he wanted was for Andre to bail. “You don’t have to fucking move out.”
Andre had looked up, his expression flat. “Yeah, man. I do.”
And what had Jace done? Had he insisted Andre sit down and talk with him? Had he told him that the reason he’d been quiet was because he had no fucking idea what to do with the stir of feelings Andre’s admission has caused inside him?
No. He’d turned on his heel and walked out. Like a fucking coward.
And now Jace had lost not one, but both the people who actually meant something to him.
He swigged another gulp of beer and leaned his head against the booth, the pulsing beat of the music like a hammer against his throbbing skull. He should’ve never let himself care. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t open up to anyone again, but maybe he had a deeper masochistic streak than he thought. Because it seemed his whole life he’d done nothing but fuck himself over and let down the people he loved.
“Adding alcoholism to your long list of vices?” a familiar female voice asked.
Jace’s head snapped upward just as Diana slid into the other side of the booth, her cherry-red lips curled into a sneer.
He had no idea why she was there or how she’d tracked him down, but he didn’t care. Now was not the time to have a discussion with her—not when he had more anger and alcohol coursing through him than good sense. “Go away, Di. I’m not in the mood to deal with you.”