The Choice

by Jean Brashear

  “That’s not the measure of a real man.”

  “Then what is?”

  “A real man takes care of his responsibilities, doesn’t let down those who care about him, those he cares for.”

  Jillian held her breath, hearing in those words something deep within the man himself.

  But who did Cullinane care for? Who cared for him? She’d never met a more solitary man. Knowing that, and hearing his words, gave her a deeper understanding of the somber shadows she’d sensed.

  “I can’t make much money to help my mom. I’m only twelve.”

  “Money isn’t the key. What your mom needs is for you to be an example for the younger ones. Adam watches every move you make, and the girls need your guidance, too. Haven’t you noticed that they’re afraid of Rabbit and of how you act when you’re with him?”

  “No, I—I never thought about it.”

  “Let me tell you something, J.T. When I was your age, I was the biggest badass around. All puffed up with my swagger and how nobody could tell me nothin’ about nothin’.”

  Jillian smiled as his cadence brought a young, dark-haired wild boy to life in her mind.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You think that sounds great, right? Well, let me tell you something. I almost got my best friend killed with my swaggering because I was like Rabbit, too mixed up in my head to see the dead-end I was walking down. And like you, I was mad at the whole world because I’d been given a rough turn. I had no dad, I lived in a shack, and nobody cared if I lived or died except one old man.”

  His tone quieted. “They hauled my best friend to the hospital, bleeding from a stab wound that hit real close to his heart in a fight with some guys I wouldn’t back down from. The cop who brought me home told my grandfather that he’d be smart to let them take me into foster care. He said I’d never be anything but misery for him.”

  Jillian found herself leaning forward.

  “So what did your grandfather do?”

  “First, he blistered my butt so hard I couldn’t sit down until the next afternoon.”

  “And then?”

  “And then he hugged me. Hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. And he told me something I’ve never forgotten.”

  “What?”

  “Sometimes the strongest person is the one who walks away.”

  It was difficult to believe that she was listening to the same hardass who was so determined to get rid of her.

  But the compassion she heard in his voice as he reached out to a troubled boy was another face of a complex man. A man of deep feelings, hidden by a very tough shell.

  A shell that had cracked open last night long enough to singe her to her toes.

  A complex man, indeed. Jillian shook her head, fingers pressed to her lips, wishing she hadn’t heard this conversation. It only made it harder to resist him.

  “You, uh, you think I should stay away from Rabbit, huh?”

  “No. I don’t, not necessarily.”

  “You don’t?”

  “You have to make your own decisions, J.T. That’s part of becoming a man. But remember that who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be. Make your choices count.” She heard him start to walk. “But for now, how about shooting some hoops with me in the gym?”

  “Yeah!” No more world-weary tones from J.T.

  And then they were gone, leaving Jillian to wonder who this man really was. Who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be.

  He was here, with the man who killed her sister.

  She rose slowly from the chair and left the room, her forehead wrinkled, her mind racing.

  * * *

  Jillian arrived at the gym early the next morning, raw with fatigue from an uneasy night. The man who stood most squarely in the way of a goal she’d banked everything on had interfered with her sleep, as well.

  Tossing and turning, she’d foolishly wished that she and Cullinane had met some other place, some other time. He fascinated her. She’d seen the smooth exterior, but it was the jumble underneath that captivated her.

  Before yesterday, she’d never have dreamed that he would handle J.T. with such care. That he’d handle J.T. at all, for that matter, regardless of what Alice had said. The man who’d spoken of his grandfather with such longing in his voice was a man she wanted to know. The man who’d guided J.T. to walk away from a fight was at odds with the man who’d sicced two toughs on her as she lay sleeping.

  Jillian struggled to relax as she stretched. She didn’t understand him—and couldn’t afford to try. So why couldn’t she just forget him and get on with the task at hand?

  Because the task you set yourself is not going according to plan.

  She’d never counted on this taking so long. She’d never planned to meet Alice and wonder what would happen to her and her four children if Hafner died. She’d never envisioned wondering if Fred’s days drove him crazy because he had to be so inactive.

  But most of all, she’d never counted on Cullinane.

  And that might be the most deadly omission of all.

  Hafner was still Hafner, college funds or no. He was a merchant of death and needed to vanish from the earth. Cullinane protected that amoral killer, yet he kissed her with an intensity that set her every nerve on fire. He taunted and tested her at every turn, doing everything in his power to break her, yet he helped a confused young boy off the path to destruction with a firm, gentle hand.

  Jillian balled up her t-shirt and threw it at her reflection in the mirror. It floated to the floor, ineffectual as she herself had been so far.

  “What are you doing here, Jillian?” she asked her reflection.

  “I’d be interested in the answer.”

  She jolted.

  Cullinane stood in the doorway. “What are you doing here, MacGregor?”

  “It seems obvious, since I’m in the gym.” She scanned his sweat-soaked t-shirt. “You’re ahead of me this morning.”

  “I decided to run first.” So I’d miss meeting you here.

  He thought Jillian looked tired, not her usual spunky self. Cullinane wondered if her nights were as sleepless as his. He hoped so. He didn’t want to be the only one off-balance.

  Swiftly she pivoted and climbed on the stair stepper. He considered going back outside or skipping his workout altogether—but he couldn’t avoid her forever. He’d faced down cold-blooded killers with less trepidation than he felt seeing her again after losing control with her like that.

  And now, watching her from the rear, seeing those long legs, that taut, delicious behind in motion...hell. Work, Drake. Sweat her out if you have to. But get this obsession with her out of your mind.

  The mirrors made it too easy to see her from anywhere in the room, so he hit the floor to do push-ups. He was safe from her reflection while he was staring downward.

  Jillian focused on the mirrors in front of her, trying to look anywhere but at the powerful ropes of muscles in his arms, across his back. His already-wet shirt clung like a second skin, revealing the ripple of strength as though he were naked.

  She closed her eyes and climbed, digging for the anger that had protected her in the beginning. She wished she’d never heard his conversation with J.T. She didn’t want to know that he could be gentle. She wanted to remember the ruthless bastard and keep herself on target.

  Anger simmered, and she nursed it like the only flame in a world of winter, begging it to keep her alive, in tune with her mission.

  When she found herself watching him again, she jammed a finger on the panel, setting the pace higher. You’re not pushing hard enough, if you have energy to think. That was the answer, to work until she dropped, and push to find a way to get Hafner alone, very soon.

  And get out of this place before Cullinane makes you forget why you’re here at all.

  Time passed in silence. Cullinane studiously avoided looking at her, working his way through each set of reps with the concentrat
ion of a drone, the precision of a machine, trying to forget she was in the same room...

  Until he heard her quiet gasp.

  He crossed to her quickly. “Give it to me,” he ordered, standing behind her to lift the bar out of her hands, then settling it carefully in the rack above her head.

  She faced him, hands on hips, eyes bright with anger. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “If you’d had any sense at all, you’d have asked me to spot you.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “That’s obvious. What the hell are you doing, upping the weight that much?”

  “How do you know I’ve upped it?”

  “I notice a lot of things about you, Jillian.” His voice went husky against his will.

  “Don’t.” She whipped around, giving him her back.

  “Don’t what?”

  Her eyes met his in the mirror, anguished and confused. “Just...don’t.” She reached for the bar again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s obvious,” she snapped. “I’m finishing my set.”

  “Take off some plates.”

  “Go to hell.” She grasped the bar firmly, preparing to lift it off the rack.

  “Don’t do it, Jillian.” He couldn’t interrupt her motion once she started. She’d definitely hurt herself.

  “Get out of my way.”

  He stood right behind her, ready to catch it. “You’re not doing this alone.” He softened his tone. “If you insist on adding the extra weight, let me help you.”

  She didn’t answer, but he saw the concession in her eyes. Keeping the smallest distance between them that would still allow her to lower herself into the squat, he fitted his body to hers like spoons in a drawer, mirroring her every action, arms out and ready to catch the bar if she faltered.

  With slow, steady motion downward, she bent, her behind brushing the air so close to his groin he hardened in an instant. Their bodies fit together too well.

  Carefully he watched her every movement, letting his body follow hers in the rhythm she set, molding himself to her as if half of one whole.

  Jillian could barely concentrate on isolating her muscles, so aware was she of the feel of him at her back. They fell into sync, Cullinane matching her motions so perfectly that she felt strengthened by his presence, safe and protected.

  When her muscles screamed at the burn, she lifted the bar toward the rack, but her arms trembled. Immediately he took the weight from her and replaced the bar.

  Then he pulled her back against his hard chest.

  For an endless moment, they stood there, facing the mirror together, Cullinane’s powerful arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him like a woman cherished.

  She didn’t want to feel cherished. Couldn’t afford to feel at all.

  But his once-steely eyes were alive with pain and promise, fixed on her face as though he had questions as tormented as her own. His fingers spread across her ribs, his thumb grazed the lower curve of her breast. She could see her nipples peak, could feel him harden against her. Heat shimmered around them, wrapping them in a web of longing, casting them under his sorcerer’s spell.

  She’d never seen a sight more erotic. Or more frightening. She stirred, tensed to escape.

  He held her fast. “Don’t. Just give us this moment.”

  For what? What good would it do? They were forever at odds, always would be. There was no meeting ground between them.

  “Let’s not lie to ourselves,” he said. “You want me as much as I want you.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  Wrapping his other arm around her so that each hand cradled one soft globe, he trapped her gaze in the mirror while he squeezed her breasts gently, his cock pulsing against her ass.

  “Neither do I, Jillian. But that doesn’t seem to matter.” His hands caressed her with slow, soft, swirling strokes.

  She couldn’t look away, even as his hands glided over her waist, caressed her hips. Slid to her belly, one hand spreading fingers wide in possession, the other cupping her mound.

  Jillian’s nostrils flared. She rocked into his hand, sought more. Cullinane smiled, and the effect was dazzling.

  She reached up and tugged his hair loose from the leather band restraining it. Dark locks fell to his shoulders, outlining his dangerous, compelling beauty, the silver streak at the temple a mark of his power. Silver eyes glowed, and she fell deeper into his spell. He lowered his head, fastened his lips to her throat, suckled gently. Jillian let her head fall back with a moan, her body arching under his hand.

  “Let me make you come,” he murmured.

  She fought to remain in control. “No...no, I can’t.”

  “You can, Jillian. You want this, I want this. Just for this moment, forget all the rest. Let’s burn this out of our systems.”

  If only that would work. She shook her head dully, struggling to extract herself from the web their desire had woven. “Can’t...can’t forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  “My...” My sister, she’d almost said. She tore herself from his arms and backed away. Oh, God. He’d gotten too close, too near her secrets. She shivered, realizing how much she’d wanted to open up to him, to let down her guard.

  Terrified, she stared at him for a heart-pounding moment, chilled to realize how close she’d come to baring her soul to the man who protected her enemy, the man who blocked her goal.

  Seeing him standing there, holding her in a gaze so dark and intense, his body ready for her, her own crying out for his even now, Jillian lifted shaking fingers to her lips—

  —then whirled and ran out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  That night Cullinane hung up the phone after activating the signal for a meet with his handler, and his gaze caught by the image on the monitor. The pool glowed azure in the light beneath the surface. A shadowy figure moved through the trees nearby.

  Jillian. As she approached the water, he leaned closer to the screen. A simple black one-piece swimsuit shouldn’t be as erotic as a bikini, but somehow, just like the woman, what she hid was even more alluring than what she revealed.

  He zoomed in the camera, frowning at the lines of strain on her face. The secrets she wouldn’t share were taking their toll.

  Now her identity wasn’t enough. He wanted to know more. Who did she love? Who loved her? Who would send her out and leave her so alone?

  Kindred spirits they were, both so solitary, both caught up in lies. Crazy that she might be his closest counterpart, even as she represented his greatest threat.

  Somewhere deep in them both, like called to like, and Cullinane wanted to answer.

  She dove gracefully into the pool, then began slicing strong, clean strokes through the water.

  He watched her and burned. “Someday, Jillian whoever...someday, it’s going to be just you and me,” he promised himself as much as her. “Without all that separates us now.”

  He settled in a chair before the screen, letting his eyes drink their fill of what his body and soul could only crave.

  * * *

  Each stroke through the cool water cleared away some of the deadly debris of the morning’s shattering encounter in the gym. She’d spent far too much time since then asking herself questions she was afraid to answer. Was she fooling herself that she could do this? What was it about Cullinane that made her stray from her duty?

  She longed for the sweet taste of freedom, of a life no longer bowed under the burden of righting wrongs that had ended Belinda’s life. Hafner’s wrongs...her own wrongs...would she ever again know life out from under the cloud?

  She kicked harder, trying to out-swim her thoughts.

  “My, so intent. The Gulf might be a better challenge, my dear.”

  Jillian flipped to her back at Hafner’s voice, frowning at his slurred cadence.

  “Yes, I’m drinking. I thought you might wish to join me. They say you’re not in trouble if you don’t like to drink alone.” H
e smiled, waving the bottle of tequila. “Besides, I’ve got a salt shaker in my pocket and limes right here.” He held up the other hand to demonstrate. “Of course,” he chuckled, “that left me no hand for glasses, so we’ll have to share the bottle.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “No? Just one. Come sit and talk to me.”

  It was what she needed to happen, wasn’t it? To be alone with him and watch for her chance, so she could get out of this place before it was too late? And one shot of tequila wouldn’t kill her. She couldn’t take him down out here in the open, anyway. Cullinane would have guards patrolling the grounds, even now.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m coming out.”

  Open delight brightened his face. “Good. It’s about time.” He edged across the deck with the cautious gait of the inebriated, headed toward the table and chairs at the end.

  Jillian swam to the steps, then rose from the water, surprised to feel chilled, given how steamy the night was. Hafner had set down his burdens and returned with her towel, holding it open. He wrapped it around her and leaned close. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his liquor, stepping away quickly.

  “Sorry—I forgot. Not in your job description, the watchdog says.” With that, he threw back his head and laughed. “Come on, come on,” he gestured. “Have a seat.”

  “The limes aren’t sliced,” she offered. “Shall I get a knife from the kitchen?”

  “No, no,” he waved away her objection. “I’m prepared.” Hafner chuckled. “Cullinane’s no Boy Scout, but I am, at least right now. Be prepared, that’s the motto, right?” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a knife unlike any she’d ever seen. The ornately-carved handle bore a design that obscured the necessary button. With a whisper of a click, it opened, a curving blade revealed.

  He noted her scrutiny. “Like it? It was a gift from...a woman I knew.” His tone was off, a faraway look in his eyes.

  Jillian’s blood chilled. It couldn’t be Belinda he meant, could it? She watched him cut the limes with slow precision. Should she ask? Did she want to know?

  “Here,” he held up a section. “Open your hand.”

  Jillian complied, and he placed the lime segment in it.