"Not tonight," he agrees, pleasantly. "Tonight I was thinking we could?—"
"Charlie Hayden, I am not having sex in the house where your grandmother sleeps."
"She sleeps on the first floor, and this room has a very solid door." He watches my face with his casual patience. "And for what it's worth, the room was Gran's idea, start to finish."
The room is beautiful. "Your grandmother is a crafty little thing," I murmur.
Charlie snorts. "She won the Kentucky Derby in 1987 with a horse everybody told her was too small for the track." He pushes off the doorframe and crosses to me, his boots quiet on thehardwood. "She has been outmaneuvering people since before I was born. You never stood a chance."
He tilts my face up and kisses me softly.
"Bring a bag Saturday," he says against my lips.
I should argue. It’s right there, fully formed, about logistics and routines and the very sensible reasons a woman keeps her own space. But it dissolves before I can give it words, because the truth is that I want to be where he is.
"Don't push your luck, Hayden."
He grins, and it is the sweetest thing I’ve seen, warm and entirely too pleased with himself.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Sunshine."
I laugh, and Charlie’s arm slides around me like it’s always belonged there. I’m standing exactly where I want to be.
Closer to him.
Chapter 20
Charlie
Sunny is coming to stay the night, and I have been literally useless all day.
Not that I'd admit it to anyone currently on this property. Wade would never let me live it down, Oscar would raise one eyebrow in that reserved but devastating way of his, and Gran would simply sayI told you sowith a look that could strip wallpaper.
But the truth is that I've spent the last three hours in the training facility running horses through their paces. The entire time, only forty percent of my brain was engaged in the work and the remaining sixty percent was devoted to the woman who agreed, after days of negotiations that would have exhausted a diplomat, to bring an overnight bag to Twin Oaks.
Sunny has no problem kissing me on her front porch, making love to me in every room in her house, and telling me she loves me in a hotel room in Sonoma. But the idea of spending the night at the ranch with my grandmother one floor below sends her into a tailspin.
I countered every objection with patience, humor, and the occasional reminder that Gran's bedroom is on the opposite side of the house and she wouldn’t hear a thunderclap if it happenedoutside her window. By Thursday, Sunny was running out of reasons to say no. And yesterday, she finally texted me a single word.
Fine.
I give the last horse a final brush and hang the tack on its peg, then stand in the barn aisle and take stock of myself. My shirt is plastered to my back with sweat, my jeans have a smear of something green across one thigh that I'd rather not identify, and I smell like a man who has spent seven hours in close proximity to large animals in the Texas heat. This is not the version of Charlie Hayden that should be greeting anyone, let alone the woman I love.
I cross the yard at a pace that borders on jogging and take the stairs two at a time. The shower runs hot, and I stand under the spray longer than usual, letting the water work the knots from my shoulders while my mind runs ahead to the evening. By the time I towel off and pull on clean jeans and a dark henley, the restlessness has given way to a hum of pure anticipation.
I'm halfway down the stairs, running a hand through my damp hair, when Gran's voice reaches me from the back of the house.
"Charles. Come here for a moment."
I follow the sound through the main hall and down the corridor that leads to her suite. Gran's apartment occupies the far corner of the first floor, a comfortable sitting room with a small sofa and a rocking chair, and a large bedroom with tall windows that overlook the north pasture. The door is open, and I find her standing near the closet beside her antique jewelry box. The piece is mahogany, standing nearly four feet tall, with carved filigree along the edges and a hinged mirror that Gran keeps angled just so.
"When is Sunny arriving?" Gran asks without turning around. Her fingers move through the top drawer of the box.
"She should be here soon. She had to finish up a bottling run to fulfill the new distribution orders at the winery first."
"Good. I want to show you something." Gran reaches inside. When she turns to face me, her palm is extended, and the object resting in it catches the lamplight and sends a scatter of green fire across the wall.
The ring is breathtaking. An antique gold band set with a large emerald that glows with the deep, saturated color of old money, flanked by two substantial diamonds. The setting is detailed and elegant, built for forever.
