She grinned and hopped off the fence when she saw him, a new light in her eyes. “Well, look at that. The cowboy actually does farm work?”

The shift to a lighthearted version of Charli surprised him. Huh, maybe they were actually going to be able to move on from the mess of the last few days. He closed the distance between them and tossed the rag back over his shoulder. “Have the calluses to prove it. How ’bout you? Aren’t you supposed to be at your job, Ms. Beaumonde?”

She raised her palm to block her eyes from the glare and looked up at him. “Research day.”

He reached up, took off his hat, and sat it on her head. “You need to get yourself a hat or some sunscreen. You’re already starting to burn.”

The hat tilted off-kilter, too big for her head. She tucked her hands in her pockets with a shrug. “Irish skin, what are you going to do?”

He could think of a number of things to do with it. Like lick it or bite it or turn it bright pink without any help from the sun. He pushed the images out of his head. Focus, man. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I need a favor.”

Oh, Lord. “And I need a drink. Inside.”

He walked past her and she followed him into the house, finding her way to one of his kitchen stools. He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, set one out for her, and then went about downing his in one long gulp.

He could feel her stare on him.

“You look like one of those Coke commercials with the sweaty construction worker,” she mused. “Though he had his shirt off. That’d be better.”

He tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin and sent her a wary look. “Be careful, freckles. That sounds dangerously close to flirting.”

“So?” she challenged, toying with the label on her water.

“So, I thought we settled that little situation last night.” He leaned against the granite-topped island, feeling more than just physically tired. Resisting Charli was wearing him down like an iceberg grinding rock. “You said you needed a favor.”

She straightened in her seat, and he couldn’t help but notice how fucking cute she looked with his too-big hat on her. He wondered what she’d look like wearing only his hat.

“It’s kind of a big favor.”

Maybe he should have put bourbon in his water. “Okay…”

She rolled the plastic bottle between her palms, her hands belying her nerves despite her steady voice and gaze. “Is Colby available for private lessons?”

He damn near choked on his own spit. “What?”

“Well, I was thinking about those women last night and how…graceful and feminine they were. And if I could learn to capture even ten percent of that thing—whatever that thing is that those women have—I think I could turn things around at work.” She peeked up at him from beneath the hat, but then trundled on, not giving him time for a response. “There’s an anchor position coming open soon. Those positions are a big deal. There’s no way they can pick someone who doesn’t have rock-solid sports chops. I already have the knowledge and a big story brewing. And I know I’ve got what it takes to be on camera. I just need some, I don’t know, refinement. Some softening.”

Grant’s thoughts were banging together in his head like cymbals. Crash. Crash. Crash. She wanted sub training? With Colby? “But you’re not a submissive.”

“Who says I can’t learn? I can be a good student.” She squared her shoulders. “I graduated salutatorian in high school, you know.”

“It’s not simply a skill, Charli,” he said, his protest coming out more emphatic than he intended. “It’s like a bone-deep thing, a part of who a person is. I’ve spent years in this world. I can sense it in people. And with you, I don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and he could feel her digging her heels in on the topic. “So what, you’re like the Sorting Hat in Harry Potter? You’re the be-all, end-all decision on which group I belong in?”

“No, I—” He stood, this whole conversation knocking him for a loop. “You don’t even know what you’re asking. That training is about more than kneeling and looking dainty. It’s about being a sexual submissive. You ready to have Colby tie you up, spank you, and have you suck his dick in front of a room full of people?”

Her already sun-pink cheeks went full red, and he thought he’d succeeded in scaring her.

But then her nipples hardened beneath her T-shirt, and the pulse at her throat visibly quickened. Subtle signs, but ones that were his instinct to notice. He blinked at her, his own blood surging below his belt. Fuck. What he’d said had turned her on. She was having a submissive response.

At that realization, the need he was trying so hard to keep locked down jumped to the surface, uninvited but undeniable. All the urges he’d been failing to feel each time he interviewed a potential sub trainee flooded him like they’d just been lying there in wait for this moment, ready to yank him under. He stepped closer and braced his hands on the counter, inches from her. He needed to back away, to kick her out. Her response was probably a fluke, a reaction to the mention of sex. But he couldn’t move.

She was holding her breath, but he didn’t sense any fear. He sensed…want.

His voice was deadly calm when he finally managed words. And they weren’t the words he’d intended to say. “Are you thinking about Colby doing those things to you, Charli? Is that why your body is coming to life?”

Her hands had stilled against the bottle and the hum of the refrigerator seemed deafening in the silence. She stared at the patch of counter in front of her, her normally defiant gaze not venturing upward. “No. Not him.”

A slew of emotions came with her answer. Relief that she wasn’t hot for Colby. Dread over who she was interested in. And fear about the swiftly dwindling control he had over his own desires. “Damn, you’re bullheaded. Didn’t you hear anything I said last night? I can be tough and mean, freckles. I don’t just like to dominate a submissive; I like to own her while she’s in training with me. You think I’m bossy now? You have no. Fucking. Idea.”

She looked up at him, a glimmer of honest fear finally inching into the green depths of her eyes.

He took his hat off her head and tossed it to the side. “You need to go back to your cabin and forget about this plan. You’re in over your head.”

She stared at him with a go-to-hell in her eyes and a fuck-off hovering on her lips. He thought she was going to traipse off in a huff. But after a few pregnant beats, she tilted her chin up. “Try me.”

The response didn’t even compute in his head. “What?”

“Go ahead and dish it out, cowboy. I’m tougher than you think. If I can’t handle it, I’ll never bring it up again. If I can, you agree to train me.”

She leaned back in her chair, sassy with courage now.

Which only made the crotch of his jeans go tighter, that haughtiness of hers taunting his most primal instincts. The sleeping tiger inside him stirred and lifted a dark eye, his prey in sight.

This was wrong in so many ways Grant had lost track. Charli was Max’s sister. Non-submissive. Someone Grant was supposed to protect. They had no contract between them, no carefully negotiated limits. She was a D/s virgin, for God’s sake. It was everything he was against.

But the switch had been flipped, the temptation too much.

He would have her.

“You think you can handle it, huh?” He crossed his arms and stared her down. “Stand up, Charli. And don’t say another thing unless it’s yes, sir.”

Charli’s lips rolled inward as she watched the change come over Grant. There was almost a visible ripple over his skin, like he was shedding some costume he wore in public and showing her what really lay beneath.

She swallowed hard and rose to her feet. Knowing for sure that her mouth had gotten her into trouble this time. What the fuck was she doing?

But something about Grant’s challenging tone and sun-and-sweat-glazed body had caused a coup in the decision-making part of her brain. Her hormones were now solidly in charge.

Grant walked with slow, measured steps around the counter, then stopped in front of her, peering down with a dark, almost clinical expression. “Your safe word is Texas. You know what that means, Charli?”

She tried to respond but her tongue had forgotten how to work. She shook her head.

“No, sir is the proper response. Say it.”

She cleared her throat twice before managing a feeble “No, sir.”

He grabbed her unopened bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and handed it to her. “Drink.”

She did.

“In my world, stop and no are sometimes thrown around for effect. The only thing that makes everything stop is your safe word. Here that word is Texas. You say it and whatever is happening stops, no questions asked.”

Everything stops. Meaning, if she said that word, he’d have proven she really couldn’t handle him. Fat chance. Losing wasn’t her style.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes…sir.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“What? Like here?” She knew the words sounded stupid even as she said them, but she couldn’t help it.

He stalked forward, backing her into the counter. “Make me request something twice and I’ll be sure and show you the punishment part of this dynamic. A favorite of mine.”

The edge of the granite pushed into the small of her back. Her instinct was to rail against him. To tell him to fuck off. But her body wasn’t on board with that plan, and she had agreed to try. So try she would. “Sorry.”

She’d never stripped down for a guy in broad daylight like this. The blinds were open and anyone walking by would easily see inside. But bringing that up to Grant probably wasn’t going to go over so well. With awkward fingers, she fumbled with the buttons on her shirt and peeled it off, revealing her plain cotton bra underneath. One that had gone an odd shade of gray when she’d accidentally washed it with the color load. Fabulous. Nothing said sexy like old Hanes.

She let the shirt fall to the floor, and Grant took a small step back, giving her room to continue. His hawk-like gaze watched her every move, every flinch. She took a steadying breath, toed off her sandals, and went to the button of her khakis. She closed her eyes and tugged them down, knowing that the comfy panties beneath were older and in worse shape than her bra. She stepped out of the puddle of clothing and stared down at her toes. Now she remembered why she always had sex in the dark.

“All of it,” Grant said, his voice quiet but firm.

She glanced up at him, finding his expression maddeningly unreadable. “Grant, I feel—”

Awkward, embarrassed, freaking exposed.

“I didn’t ask how you feel. This is about what I want. Not you. And right now, I want to see all of you. Go back to your cabin or get naked.”

She gritted her teeth. So this was how it was going to be. Fine. Her brothers had learned a long time ago to never call her bluff. She never backed down from a dare. So if Grant thought he could scare her off of this by being an asshole, he had another thing coming.

“I’m waiting, freckles.”

Here goes nothing.

She reached behind her, unhooked her bra, revealing her barely B-cup breasts, and then tugged her panties down and off. The warm air in the cabin suddenly felt ten times cooler against her bared skin. She shifted her weight, all too aware of the telltale moisture between her thighs. Damn. She almost didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that simply seeing him walking in from the fields all glistening and dirty had gotten her body revving.

She stared at his boots, not wanting to see his reaction. Fearing she’d find disappointment there. Knowing that would make her call her safe word before anything else would.