Grady nodded. “I know.”

“I’m not interested in taking this from fake to real.”

He opened his mouth to say really? Because she’d been very fucking interested a minute ago. So had he. And that’s because, like it or not, he was attracted to her. He hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a very long time, and he’d bet the ranch she was attracted to him.

Which was seriously fucking inconvenient.

So maybe denial was better. Because he didn’t want a woman in his life—he didn’t need one, goddamn it—especially not this one who’d turned his house into a Christmas nightmare and given him an even greater aversion to wreaths.

“Neither am I.”

He may want to have sex with Suzanne St. Michelle more than any other woman he’d ever met, but that was the sum total of his interest in her, and he was an adult in control of his impulses. He was practically a monk as it was, and there was always his right hand.

She nodded stiffly. “Good. Let’s not cross that line, okay? It’s complicated enough.”

“Agreed.”

Clearing her throat, she said, “I’ll move my stuff into your spare room tomorrow morning. My parents should be here about two in the afternoon. Is it possible for you to be here when they arrive?”

Grady wanted that about as much as he wanted her in his house. Right now he’d rather be buried under a pile of Christmas wreaths than be a party to either. “I’ll try.”

If it worked out—fine. But he wasn’t going to neglect his ranching duties because Suzanne had gotten herself caught in a lie. Resentment flared anew at the predicament and warred with a body still clamoring to be back on the couch with her.

He had known she was going to be trouble. He just thought she’d be the kind of trouble he could resist. The universe, however, had other ideas.

“Thank you.” She dropped her arms, her gaze darting to the door and back again. “Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Grady nodded. She didn’t wait to see if any words would follow the nod, just strode across the room and out the door. It clicked shut behind her, and Grady eased down onto the couch, cradling his head in his hands.

“Fuck.” What had he gotten himself into?

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

A roil of nausea undulated through Suzanne’s stomach muscles as she watched her parents’ rental car turn in from the road to the ranch and make its way down the long drive to the cabin. Two thirty—right on time.