Fall Into You (2 page)

She felt around for her cell phone, but the damn thing had tumbled to the floorboard
when she’d made the hard lane change. Keeping her hands firmly on the wheel and knowing
her speedometer was sliding into a zone it’d never ventured to, she tried to bump
the phone closer with her left foot. Once it was within reach, she took one hand off
the wheel and attempted to make a grab for the cell.
Come on, come on, just another inch.
But as soon as her fingers closed around her only lifeline, a hard jolt rocked the
vehicle, knocking her head hard into the steering wheel and sending her world into
a spin.

The sound of squealing tires was the last thing Charli heard before everything went
black.

Grant liked the quiet cocoon of the night. His resort, The Ranch, didn’t slow down
until three a.m. most evenings. So after spending his time over there, supervising
and making sure everything was running smoothly, he relished the walk over from the
main resort area to his private cabin on the far corner of the property.

Not many things could match the calming effect of the breeze
blowing through the fields of grapevine, the night bugs singing, and the kind of rich
silence that could only be had this far out of the city. In fact, there was only one
other thing that could trump it—having a beautiful woman fully surrendering under
his hand.

That’s what he’d really been hoping to find tonight—and every night for the last four
months since he’d handed off his last trainee to her new dom. But even with The Ranch
at his fingertips, finding a woman who appealed to him and his particular wants was
proving near impossible. His tastes had grown refined, specific. He had no shortage
of applicants for his monthlong immersion training. But the submissives he came across
were either not ready for the level of commitment he required during training or were
secretly hoping he’d take them on long term. And long term wasn’t his game.

The one-off, uncommitted play sessions could sometimes meet his immediate needs in
between trainees. But it was like a carnivore living on a vegetarian diet. He was
never truly satisfied. He craved the intensity that could only be reached when a sub
fully gave herself to him for weeks at a time.

So instead of clearing his mind with the all-encompassing experience of D/s, he was
left to rely on the sound of the crickets and the blanket of the night to soften the
edges of his thoughts. It was really the only time of the day when his brain would
shut down and simply be.

But when he made the turn around the last bend in the path toward his home, a faint
screeching sound sliced through the thick night air. He stilled, his ears and body
going on full alert—a skill he’d never shaken from his years in the army and CIA.
The distant sound of a revving engine followed the screech and then faded.

He frowned. Probably a driver stopping suddenly to avoid an animal in the road or
something. The car had sounded like it had driven off, but Grant didn’t want to assume
everything was okay. The highway his ranch sat off of wasn’t heavily traveled. So
if someone
had gotten in an accident, the coyotes and bobcats would probably find them before
help did.

He jogged the rest of the way to his cabin and headed straight for his pickup truck.
He pulled his keys from his pocket and his boot hit the gas before he’d even shut
the door completely. The drive up to the main road only took a few minutes at a normal
pace, but when Grant saw twin beams of light in the distance, he kicked into overdrive,
his truck bouncing along the dirt road like an off-road racer.

By the time he got to the main gate, he could see the front end of a car peeking out
of the ditch on the opposite side of the road. The soft whine of the dying horn filled
his ears. “Shit.”

He threw the gear into park and jumped out of the truck. The gate was chained with
a padlock, but he didn’t want to waste time getting it unfastened, so he planted a
foot on one of the bars and vaulted over it.

“Hello?” he called out after landing with a thud on the other side. Only the fading
horn and the smell of burnt rubber greeted him. He hurried across the road and peered
down into what appeared to be a wrecked Toyota. The tail end had slid into the ditch,
the runoff rainwater from yesterday’s storm rushing past the back tires. Grant squinted,
trying to see into the front seat. The headlights were the only illumination besides
the moon, and all he could make out was the outline of a person in the front seat.

“Hello?” he called again. “If you can hear me, I’m here to help you.”

No response.

Grant hurried around to the other side of the car and carefully worked his way down
the muddy embankment to get closer to the driver. His boots hit the bottom of the
gully and water sluiced over his feet. Even this close, it was still too dark to see
much. He grabbed his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and hit the button to
illuminate the screen, holding the phone out toward the closed driver’s side window.
The faint light from the phone spilled onto the profile of a woman, head slumped against
the headrest, eyes closed.

His stomach flipped—a familiar sick feeling that never failed to show up no matter
how much injury or death he’d seen in his life.
No. Come on. Be okay.
He wedged open the door, the soft earth only allowing him to get it halfway open,
and leaned into the car to put fingers against the woman’s neck. The strong
thump, thump, thump
of her pulse touched his fingers.

“Thank you, God.” He touched her clammy cheek. “Ma’am, can you hear me? You’ve been
in an accident. We’re going to get you some help.”

Though, with the nearest hospital forty-five minutes away, he wasn’t exactly sure
when said help might get there. He hit another button on his cell phone.

Marc, one of his managers, answered on the first ring. “Hey, Grant, what’s up?”

“I need you to find Dr. Montgomery. I think he was playing with Janessa tonight in
a cabin on the west side.”

“You want me to interrupt a scene?” Marc asked, the surprise in his voice evident.
“Is everything okay?”

Grant quickly explained what was going on and told him to also put in a call to 911
to get an ambulance headed this way. Once he’d given Marc his marching orders, Grant
returned his focus to the woman in the car. He’d learned first-aid skills in the military
so knew not to move her neck or try to get her out of the car. But he checked her
breathing to make sure nothing was obstructed.

Her seat belt was on, so she’d had some protection in the crash. But based on the
swelling knot on her forehead, she’d hit her head on something—most likely the steering
wheel. With gentle fingers, he brushed her hair away from the tender spot to examine
it closer and make sure it wasn’t bleeding. He leaned in to get a better look, but
a low moan made him halt.

He turned his head and the woman’s eyelashes fluttered. Another garbled sound passed
her lips.

“Shh, easy now,” he soothed, using the tone he employed when dealing with skittish
horses. “Try not to move, darlin’. We’re going to get you some help.”

Her entire body went rigid, and her lids flew open, her eyes going wide with fear.

He backed out of the car a bit, so as not to freak her out more, but put a hand on
her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ve been in an accident. I need you to stay
still until the doctor gets here to check you.”

She blinked, her lips parted as if to say something, but then she winced and her hand
went to her head. “Dizzy.”

“You’ve hit your head. Try to take some nice, slow breaths.” Grant kept his voice
coaxing as he watched her follow his directions. “Can you tell me your name, darlin’?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, continuing to take deep breaths. “Uh…Charlotte, no…Charli.”

“Okay, good, Charli,” Grant said, relieved to hear she still knew her name. “Do you
know where you are or what happened to you?”

“I’m…I…” A crease appeared between her brows as if she were trying hard to locate
the information. “I can’t remember.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “That’s all right. We’ll worry about that later.”

The sucking sound of feet hitting wet earth drew Grant’s attention back toward the
ditch’s embankment. Dr. Theo Montgomery was making his way down, wearing a pair of
pajama bottoms and an open oxford shirt, and holding one of the well-stocked first-aid
kits from The Ranch. Red marks, no doubt from Janessa’s flogger, marked his bare chest.

“Status,” Theo said, all business.

“Name is Charli. She just woke up. Breathing is fine. Probably
concussed—can remember her name but nothing about what happened. Contusion on her
forehead. I haven’t moved her.”

“Good.” Theo moved in when Grant stepped out of the way. He introduced himself with
the short, quick style of an ER doctor and started his examination. Charli would be
in good hands.

An hour and a half later, the sun was starting to peek over the horizon as an EMT
checked Charli over one last time and discussed the situation with Theo. Grant stood
off to the side, watching as the beautiful redhead tried to stay focused on the conversation
these people were having about her.

“Looks like it’s only a mild concussion. We can bring her back to Graham Regional
and keep her for observation,” the EMT told Theo.

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Charli said, her voice low and hoarse. “I just
want to go home and rest.”

The young guy frowned down at her. “Ma’am, do you have someone at home who can keep
an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours?”

She closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose, like it hurt to think. “Uh, Tom
Brady.”

The EMT’s head tilted. “The quarterback?”

“My cat.”

The ever-serious Theo smiled a bit at that. “Charli, I don’t think your cat can call
911 if you go unconscious again.”

“He’s very smart,” she said, not opening her eyes, but her mouth twitching at the
corner. “Could probably…figure it out.”

Her voice was fading a bit, her exhaustion evident.

“No, I think you’d better let them take you in,” Theo said. “You need to have someone
with you for a little while. And you can’t drive home right now, anyway. It’s not
safe and your car is trashed.”

She raised her gaze then, a flicker of fight-or-flight passing through those green
eyes. “Please, don’t make me. I hate hospitals.”

The underlying quiver in her voice hit Grant square in the sternum. He prided himself
on being able to read even the subtlest of clues in others. It had served him well
when extracting information from people in his days in the CIA and made him quite
the formidable dominant now. And what he was sensing was honest fear in this woman.
It was more than not wanting the inconvenience of a hospital—she was genuinely freaked
out at the thought.

Before he could think it through, he stepped forward. “If the lady doesn’t object,
she can stay here for the day. I have unoccupied cabins at my vineyard. She’s more
than welcome to use one, and I can check on her every few hours.”

Charli’s attention slid to him, her eyebrow lifting beneath the knot on her forehead.
“You have a vineyard?”

He chuckled. No doubt his muddy jeans and plaid work shirt didn’t scream that in addition
to his covert side business, he ran one of the most successful wineries in Texas.
He held out his hand. “Grant Waters, owner and operator of Water’s Edge Wines.”

She took his offered hand, and Grant felt the slight tremor go through her fingers,
caught the quick-as-lightning glance at the open collar of his shirt, the slight hitch
in her breathing.
Well, well.
His body warmed in a wholly inappropriate way at her subtle signs of interest. He
quickly dropped the handshake and stepped back.
She’s had a blow to the head, horn dog. Reel it in.

Theo crossed his arms and nodded in Grant’s direction. “I can vouch for Mr. Waters.
I’m a guest at his…vineyard cabins all the time. You’ll be comfortable and safe here.”

“And I can drive you back to town tomorrow,” Grant offered, trying not to sound as
eager as he felt. “I have to go into Dallas for a business meeting anyway.”

She smirked and the faint freckles on her nose twitched. “You’re not some serial killer
rapist, right? Because I’ve had a shitty enough night already.”

The unexpected comment made him laugh. No, he wasn’t a serial killer rapist. But the
way she bit her lip after making that comment had his less-than-pure thoughts driving
up to an NC-17 rating.

“Nope. Just a rancher and winemaker.” And owner of the most elite BDSM resort this
side of the Mason-Dixon. But that wasn’t something she needed to know about him.

At least not while she was concussed.

But later…well, later was ripe with possibilities.

He’d always had a thing for freckles.