Her Forever Hero (Unexpected Heroes #3)(37)

“Well, your luggage is loaded in my truck, so if you need anything, you might want to follow me home,” he said with a lazy, crooked smile.

“You’re not amusing me. I’m hungry, tired, and not in the best of moods right now. So be a gentleman and move my luggage over to my car,” she said between clenched teeth.

“We can discuss it over dinner. Climb in,” he told her, pointing to her seat.

“Seriously, Cam, you’re pissing me off,” she growled.

“Good. I like it when there’s fire in your eyes.”

He decided talking was doing him no good, so before she had a chance to blink, he pulled her into his arms and lowered his head. He was planning on kissing her into submission.

The tables quickly turned on him, though, and within seconds she was the one who was controlling him. The softness of her lips molding to his, the scent of her subtle perfume drifting between them, and the barely audible sigh slipping from her throat had his body hard and aching, and he was wishing they were already home.

After a minute or maybe twenty—time didn’t matter—he pulled back and looked into her smoldering eyes. “Follow me home, Grace.”

He didn’t give her time to answer him, just assisted her into her car and shut her door. Then he moved over to his vehicle and climbed in the driver’s side. And waited.

Five minutes passed, and he wondered if the stubborn woman would sit there all night just to punish him. Grace Sinclair was certainly tenacious enough to do just that. But then her car started and he gave a sigh of relief. Maybe he should follow her, just in case she tried to change her mind and give up on her bags.

She pulled out, and he let out a satisfied breath when she turned in the direction of his house. Cam had no illusions that she was suddenly going to comply with his wishes. Still, his anticipation grew the closer they got to home.





What a controlling jerk. Why was he doing this? Why did everything seem to be going wrong at once? Her life was in an uproar, and it had all started the moment that stupid fraud file had shown up on Cam’s desk.

Yes, Grace could see that he was trying to help her, but he was royally ticking her off. The thing was, though, that she didn’t really know where to go, and the only place in Sterling was a down-at-the-heels motel.

If she had the choice to stay there or in one of Cam’s spare rooms, though, she would probably choose the motel, because staying at his house left her open to temptation that would be hell to fight.

She had practically begged him to take her this morning, and as much as he’d wanted her, he’d said no, not unless she gave him all of her. She just wasn’t able to do that. If she did, she knew where she would be left standing—if she were still standing—when it all came to an end.

And she had no doubt that it would come to an end. He’d left her before. He would leave her again. This time, though, she was weaker. There weren’t enough pieces of her left to pick up, not after the stuff that had happened with her mother and then with the guy in New York. He’d used her. Gotten what he’d wanted and then left her broken. It seemed to be the story of her life. She’d been kicked back down too many times to be able to keep getting back on her feet. A person could only withstand so much before they were completely broken.

But even having those thoughts upset Grace tremendously. She wasn’t a quitter. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she drove on doggedly toward Cam’s house. If he wanted to play games with her, she wouldn’t just sit idly by while he held all the ace cards up his sleeve.

Cam had no right to try to take over her life, to try to tell her how to live and what to do. If only she were able to get that point across to him, she’d be a very happy woman. As she pulled up in front of his house, she threw back her shoulders and put her player’s face on. He would listen to what she had to say.

“You drive like a grandma, you know,” Cam said as he approached her at the car, holding two of her suitcases.

“I drive safely, unlike most of the cowboys in this area,” she replied, going to the back of his truck and climbing on the tire to reach the last bag.

“I’ll get that,” he told her with a frown.

“I am more than capable of getting my own bags. Just leave those in the foyer. I’m not unpacking here.” With that, she led the way up his steps.

“Nah. I don’t like things cluttering up my entry hall. We’ll just take them to your room—unless you want them in mine,” he said, ascending the stairs as well.

“You don’t perform to my satisfaction. I’ll take my own room,” she told him with a smirk.

“Ah, baby, you know that isn’t true. When you pull your head out of your cute little arse and admit how much you want me, I’ll perform all night and all day,” he told her, opening the door directly across from his own bedroom.

“Don’t you have a ton of spare rooms in this monster-sized house?”

“This is my favorite guest room, reserved for only the most elite of visitors.” He proceeded through the doorway and set her bags in an amazing walk-in closet.

“No one needs this much space,” she scolded him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way she was salivating at the floor-to-ceiling shoe racks. “Especially in a guest room.”

“I like big spaces. It comes from a time when two other boys and I shared a room that was smaller than the average linen closet.”