by Tessa Bailey
“You’re going to miss the turn,” he pointed out.
She hit the break and flipped the turning signal, taking a right onto Cullen’s street. He rented a house at the end of a quiet street that was only a few minutes from base.
She lived in a condo about ten minutes away at the edge of Black Rock, but it was only temporary. She wanted roots. A place of her own. Hopefully a man of her own, too. A boyfriend. Someday a husband. She winced. At twenty-six, she hoped that someday would be soon.
She knew her family wanted her to return to Georgia, but she liked her job and the life she’d made here. Back home felt like a continuation of high school. The same faces. The same people doing pretty much the same thing, telling the same stories. Only now they were all getting married to one another and giving birth to mini versions of themselves.
Her life was good here, but she could admit to herself that it could be better if she had someone to share it with.
She had fallen into a deceptively comfortable routine with Cullen. Not a Sunday afternoon went by where he didn’t track her down at the library and then walk her to Java Joe’s after she checked out her books for the week. Sometimes they watched movies and ordered a pizza. He’d ask about her day and share funny stories about his trainees. He always kept it light. He never made what he did feel serious or dangerous even though she knew it was. Even though she treated his trainees often enough when one of them blew off a hand or busted an eardrum in training.
It wasn’t a bad life, but she wanted more. Needed more.
She pulled up in front of the one-story red-brick house and parked beside Cullen’s motorcycle. He’d left a porch light on and it bathed the hood of the truck in a yellow glow. She turned off the engine and climbed down, following Cullen to the door.
He turned to face her, hand extended, palm out. A sardonic smile played on his mouth. “Can I have my keys now? So I can unlock the door?”
She tossed the keys and he caught them in one hand. With a smirk, he turned and unlocked the front door.
He’d been renting the place for four years but still hadn’t done much with it, inside or out. No special landscaping. Just a yard he kept mowed. Stepping inside, there were only the bare essentials. It was the quintessential bachelor pad. Kitchen table, couch and TV. A single bedroom and guest room he used as an office—both equally sparse.
The place smelled like him. She inhaled. There it was. Clean laundry and his brand of soap—whatever that was.
He tossed the keys down on the table and moved for the fridge, helping himself to another beer. She looked away when she caught herself staring at his ass. God, that man could rock a pair of jeans.
When she looked back he had turned around again. She watched the tendons of his tanned throat work enticingly as he drank deep.
What was it with her? True, she’d always thought he was hot, but this was ridiculous. It was almost like some invisible switch on her libido had been flipped when she signed up on that dating site.
“Guess you’re stuck here now. Too bad for you. I’m shit company right now,” he said, lowering the bottle from his mouth. He waved to the fridge. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.”
“Course not.” He took a long sip, his dark eyes surveying her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shifted where she stood. Right now dipping her feet in acid would have felt better than enduring another moment in these boots.
This time when he lifted the bottle from his mouth those well-carved lips curled in a smile that made her stomach flip. Damn, she hated that he had this effect on her. Mostly because it meant she was like every other girl and not immune to him. She didn’t want to be like every other girl. She wasn’t. She was different. For starters, she was his friend. The women traipsing in and out of his bedroom could never claim that. That should be enough. It should more than satisfy her.
“You’re a lightweight. One of those girls who can’t stand the taste of beer and drank Strawberry Hill all through high school. You probably never even got drunk back then. Just took your five sips of Hill and faked a buzz.”
Crossing her arms, she glared at him even though he was closer to the truth than she liked to admit.
He chuckled as though he read her mind. “I’m right, aren’t I, sweetheart? I can see you now in some farmer’s field. Giggling and acting drunk. Probably letting some guy cop a feel and blaming it on the booze.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. There was an edge of insult to his words. He never talked to her like this. It pissed her off until she remembered what he was going through. This wasn’t about her. There was a reason he was pounding drinks like there was no tomorrow.
She moved to the table and plopped down on a chair. “It’s okay,” she announced as she tugged off one of her boots.
He frowned. “What’s okay?”
“You can be nasty. I’ll be your whipping dog if it makes you feel better. I know you don’t mean it, and I know you’re hurting.”
His dark eyes flashed and he pushed off the counter, his knuckles whitening where they clutched the neck of his bottle. “Bullshit.”
Maybe she shouldn’t push him, but he needed a friend. Someone who didn’t hold any punches and spoke honestly to him. Someone he couldn’t intimidate.
“Cullen, you need to talk about it,” she said gently.
He pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t get all shrink on me, Huntley.”
She yanked off her second boot and dropped it on the floor. “There’s no shame in how you’re feeling. You’re entitled to feel bad. You can even take a night and get hammered.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Grieve, cry … but eventually you’re going to have to talk about it—”
He cursed and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “You want me to talk? You want me to tell you how I pushed Xander into the program, and when he had misgivings, I encouraged him to stick with it.”
She winced. “That’s your job. To train and support and encourage—”
“Yeah, well, I should have been more objective. I should have seen that he didn’t have what it took.”
“You don’t know that,” she protested, her heart aching for him. “It could have happened to anyone.” She hated that he blamed himself. She knew how much he cared for his trainees. He gave everything, making sure they were prepared for the realities of what they were going to face over there.
“But it happened to him. One of my guys,” he said flatly. He turned, removed another beer out of the fridge and disappeared into the bedroom.
She stared at her discarded boots, wondering what to do. It wasn’t as though she could get in her car and drive away. She needed to call a cab or her brother or just accept she was staying the night, which really wouldn’t be a big deal. It wouldn’t be the first time they crashed under the same roof.
And there was the not-so-minor fact that she didn’t want to leave him alone when he was like this.
After a moment, she rose and followed Cullen, stopping in the threshold of his room.
Her heart constricted at the sight of him in front of his closet. The muscles and sinew of his back rippled as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. Her mouth dried as she focused on the line of his spine, the way it dipped and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
He turned, blasting her with his bare chest. The washboard abs, the happy trail that beckoned questing fingers. His hands moved, stopping at the button of his fly.
Her lips parted on a breath.
“Like the show?” He cocked a dark eyebrow and hesitated only a moment before shrugging and sliding his jeans down his narrow hips. He wore boxer briefs, and her ovaries kicked to life at the sight of the impressive bulge there. Dear God, how big would that thing be fully aroused?
He was beautiful. Toned and carved from marble. His skin was tanned, hinting at some Mediterranean lineage. The saliva rushed back into her mouth. She wanted to kiss
and lick and bite every inch of his body. One of her dates better pan out soon because she couldn’t keep eyeballing Cullen like this.
She shook her head. “Stop being so arrogant.”
“It’s who I am. You know that.” He winked at her as he flipped on the TV and moved to pull back the covers.
“What are you doing?
“I’m going to watch TV and finish this beer until I pass out,” he replied evenly as he slid beneath the dark blue sheets.
“Oh,” she said dumbly.
“What about you? Gonna stay here and babysit me? Or call Beck to come get you?” He lifted his beer to his lips.
She didn’t want to bother Beck. She told him she could handle Cullen. He would be leaving for home in a couple days, anyway. She didn’t want him to worry that he was leaving behind a hot mess. He’d waited so long to return home. He loved the farm and was eager to get back to it. He was like their grandfather. The land was in his blood.
Cullen flipped to a rerun of the The Big Bang Theory. He patted the bed beside him. “Come on, sweetheart. You like this show.”
Somewhat mollified at his familiar cajoling tone, she nodded. “I’ll stay.”
He pointed to his dresser. “You can change into one of my shirts.”
“Thanks.”
She moved and opened a random drawer, hearing him call out too late. “Wait. Not that drawer.”
Her breath caught as her gaze fell on a pair of handcuffs. She looped a finger inside one of the steel circles and lifted it, turning as she asked, “Er, what are—”
He was standing right behind her now, staring steadily at her face, that naked chest of his radiating heat. “Those are mine. You know, for when I have friends over.”
“Friends,” she squeaked, “who like to be handcuffed?”
He rubbed a hand up and down the back of his scalp. “Well. Yeah. Among other things.”
Her stomach pitched and came alive with flutters as she imagined what those other things could be. Her chest suddenly felt like a hundred-pound boulder sat on it. Try as she might, she could not draw enough air. She looked at the handcuffs and back to him again.
He shrugged like it was no big deal.
She moistened her lips, her interest piqued. “What … other things … do you do?”
He laughed and the sound curled through her belly in ribbons of heat. “Come on. You don’t really want to know about this kind of thing.”
She swallowed. “I do. I want to know.”
His smile faded. He gazed at her for one long moment before shrugging again. “All right. Sometimes it gets a little rough.”
“Rough?”
He nodded, clarifying. “Sex.”
“Sex.” God, she was a parrot now. She squared her shoulders and tried to convey she was a mature woman who could handle a discussion about sex. Not just any sex. Sex the way Cullen did it.
“Yeah. You know, a little spanking. Handcuffs on the headboard. That kind of thing.”
Her eyes widened.
“Don’t look so scandalized. I don’t do whips or canes or anything. Nothing like that. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but plenty of women get off on—”
“How do you know it’s not my thing?” Her chin shot up.
He laughed and shook his head. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you.”
“You don’t know everything about me.”
“Right. Rough sex is your thing.”
“Maybe.”
He snorted. “Your face is the color of a tomato right now.”
“S-so,” she sputtered, hating that he thought he had her so figured out. Even if maybe he did. “You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do in bed. Do you?” God, just stop. Say nothing more. “I mean, maybe I like that kind of thing, too.” Great. Babbling and lying now.
Amusement danced in his dark eyes, but thankfully he didn’t laugh. She couldn’t have handled him laughing outright in her face.
“I guess I don’t know,” he allowed. “It’s just you aren’t exactly what I would call experienced—”
Her expression must have showed how much that statement felt like a jab. He quickly amended, “Hey, I just wouldn’t think you were into anything more adventurous than—”
“Missionary?” She shot back. “Well, you aren’t exactly versed in what I like when it comes to sex, are you?”
He gave her an unreadable look. “No. I guess I’m not.”
Plucking the cuffs from her hands, he stuck them back inside the drawer and opened another one, his movements brisk and efficient. Taking out a T-shirt, he handed it to her. “Here you go.”
She continued staring at him, those flutters still dancing in her stomach. “Thanks.”
Turning, she shut herself inside the bathroom and changed into a soft cotton T-shirt that smelled like him. Even though the hem fell mid-thigh, she kept her skirt on since it fell a little lower. Stepping out of the bathroom, she found him back in bed again.
She settled down beside him, on top of the covers, telling herself this was no different than any other night they watched TV together on her couch. Even if she kept hearing Cullen’s deep voice in her head. Sometimes it gets a little rough.
Her sex ached and clenched, and she pressed her thighs together. His admission had done more than pique her curiosity. She couldn’t shut off the idea of Cullen … and her … and rough sex.
So what if they were in his bed and she was aroused and she had shaved her legs? He wasn’t going to make a move, and she sure as hell wouldn’t. Even if she wanted to, it would take more courage than she possessed to make the first move. That kind of forwardness wasn’t in her DNA.
She held herself rigidly beside him through two episodes. The tension didn’t ebb from her body. Her skin felt itchy and tight. Even if she hadn’t already seen these shows, she wouldn’t have been able to focus on the actors. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the rise and fall of his hard chest, the slope of his ridged stomach. The glint of his dog tags above his sternum.
This was insane. Her body was primed and ready to go. It had been four years since she slept with a guy. Since sex. Four years since Jackson broke up with her. Since then, there had only been the occasional kiss on a rare date. Maybe a little fondling over clothes. Her body was a drought and right now Cullen the long-withheld water. She swallowed and scratched at her itchy skin. She couldn’t handle the proximity to him.
She shifted her weight, scooting to the edge of the mattress, as far as she could go without falling. She was never going to relax, and she was stuck here for the entire night. Sleep was impossible.
That was her persistent and final thought, the last she would remember before falling asleep.
Chapter Two
Huntley was asleep.
In his bed.
It was a hell of a situation, and he could not quite wrap his mind around it. The one woman he would never fool around with was in his bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, her skirt riding high enough for him to glimpse her white cotton panties. White cotton panties that shouldn’t have been hot, but for some reason they got him as stiff as a pike. His palms itched to grip the flesh, to discover if her ass felt as firm as it looked.
He cursed and flipped to the History Channel. A war movie was playing. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to watch, but it might cool his ardor. After thirty seconds of explosions, he cursed and flipped to Comedy Central.
The comedian only held his attention for so long before his gaze strayed to Huntley again. He tapped the remote control anxiously against his leg and eyed the length of her smooth thighs on display. The swell of her ass pushed against the white cotton of her underwear.
She normally wore jeans and bulky sweaters. Blouses when the weather was warmer. He’d never seen so much of her body on display. Never had a clear idea of her shape before. He knew she was tall. Not thin. Not fat. She had always simply been Huntley.
Right now, she reminded him of those pinup girls from the 1940s. Juicy c
urves. Soft swells and dips and hollows that screamed femininity. He adjusted his cock, hoping to ease the throb there. No relief. Instead, he gave himself a few strokes as he stared at the long stretch of her legs and the two dimples on her lower back, directly above the top of her panties.
“Fuck,” he muttered. Getting a hard-on for his best friend’s sister could not be happening. Beck trusted him. He expected him to treat her with respect. She wasn’t some hook-up.
He should have brought someone home from the bar tonight. A regular at Bombs Away who he’d fucked before who knew how to play the game. It would have been one way to get his mind off Xander, and Huntley wouldn’t have insisted on following him home. He wouldn’t be so cock-hungry for her right now.
Flinging back the covers, he picked up his beer bottle from his nightstand. He deposited it in the trash and shut off all the lights in the house. Moving to his bathroom, he brushed his teeth before flattening his hands on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror.
He never should never have recruited Xander. If he hadn’t, the guy would still be alive. His bloodshot eyes stared daggers back at him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and tried to push back the urge to shout or hit something.
Beck’s words played over and over in his head. He got it wrong. He got it wrong.
Cullen had trained him. Xander wasn’t supposed to get it wrong over there. Maybe Cullen was the one who got it wrong. Maybe he left something out, some key point of instruction. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a bad call. According to his father, he only ever made bad calls. Going into EOD instead of intelligence was his worst. He was twenty-nine years old, but his old man never missed a chance to remind him that he was a total disappointment.
With a disgusted snort, he flipped off the bathroom light and then the TV as he passed it on the way to bed. The room was shrouded in shadows, the only light creeping in from the blind slats. The neighbor had left their back porch light on and a low glow suffused his bedroom, outlining the furniture.
He slipped into bed and turned on his side. Huntley had rolled onto her back, and he watched her chest rise and fall with breaths. She was still stretched out on top of the covers.
