He turns toward me, breathing hard from exertion as he wipes his face with his shirt. “Good.”
Well, nice to know we’re both being open and honest about everything.
He glances at his watch. “Your timing is impeccable. I just ordered some breakfast. It’ll be here in fifteen. Let me go hop in the shower.”
I nod, stepping out of his way as he sets course for the door, his scent filling my nose as he passes. God, how is it even possible that the man smells good enough to eat even after working out?
I close my eyes, reminding myself to stop going there. What is up with me today, anyway?
“Thank you for the damsel-in-distress recue last night,” I call after him. I know I’m tempting another reprimand, but I owe him the acknowledgment. I owe him a lot more than that. “To you and to the guys. I know you didn’t want me going forward, and it put all of you in danger to come after me. That certainly wasn’t my intention.”
He stops and turns, his face serious. “No thanks necessary. You’re one of ours, Reynolds. We have each other’s back no matter how the problem starts.”
I tip my head up. “Does that mean you aren’t upset anymore over my going to that house?”
Cullen leans his arms against the doorframe, his brow furrowed. I hadn’t expected him to give quite that much thought to the answer, but I’m discovering there are many things about Cullen that I didn’t expect. “Oh, I’m furious as hell. At Frank Peterson and you both,” he says matter-of-factly. “I just haven’t worked out what to do about it. But to my previous point, I don’t need to like what you’re doing to have your back.”
Stepping forward, I lay my hand on his chest, his heart beating hard against my palm. “Thank you,” I whisper, rising up on my toes to kiss his cheek.
Cullen blows out a breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“On the bright side, I’m pretty sure we saved Zack’s life. He’d have gotten seriously hurt sooner or later in that place. So all in all, it was a win.”
He snorts, unimpressed. “Bad decisions can lead to good outcomes,” he says, his gaze going distant for a moment. “And good decisions can end badly too.”
I’m fairly certain he doesn’t realize that he’s said the latter aloud, but my breath stills anyway, my journalistic instinct scenting an opening. “Is that what your nightmares are about?” I ask. “A good decision gone badly?”
Cullen tenses, his gaze narrowing. “What?”
I step back carefully, just in case.
“Damn it, I’m not going to attack you,” he says, then sighs and shakes his head—probably realizing what had happened. What I was asking and why. “Yes,” he says curtly, as if reading from a military report. “I stood up a field hospital in Afghanistan for civilians unable to get medical care. The plan backfired.” He shakes himself, a shift in his eyes and shoulders warning me against pressing further. Now, or ever. “I need a shower. Please try to stay out of drug dens, gang wars, or anything that’s likely to get you shot while I’m looking for my shampoo.”
With Cullen gone, I spend a few minutes trying to absorb everything he just told me before forcing myself to shelf the thoughts until I have the time to examine them in full detail. Shrugging myself back into the here and now, I set a course for the kitchen in search of coffee.
For an investigative journalist, I’m a hell of a terrible pantry searcher, though, given that I’m still at it when the doorbell rings a few minutes later. I start toward the door, hesitating at the thought of letting anyone into Cullen’s house, even though it’s most likely the delivery guy coming early. Still, after yesterday…
The doorbell rings again, followed by a pounding on the door that makes me flinch. Before I need to shore up courage, however, Cullen emerges from his bedroom, a towel around his otherwise bare, wet body. My adrenaline skyrockets as I take in his flawlessly shaped pectorals, abdominals, and obliques. The man could easily be on the cover of Men’s Fitness. I’m studying his six…no, eight-pack of abs when he jogs down to the living room and barks at the delivery guy to stop the racket even as he opens the door.
Except it’s not the delivery guy. It’s Frank Peterson.
20
Sky
“Why, Hunt, if I knew that’s how you felt, I’d have brought lube.” Snorting at his own jest, Frank steps inside, his beady eyes taking in the place. Before I can step behind something, the man’s gaze lands on me, his eyes widening as color rises along his neck. “Never mind. I see your cock is taken care of.”
Heat rushes to my face, though at this point, anything I do to get out of sight would only make things worse.
Shifting his weight to put himself more firmly between me and Frank, Cullen crosses his arms over his wide chest. “What do you want, Peterson?”
Frank reaches into his jacket and pulls out a sheet of paper. “This is the replacement bill for my personal property, which you damaged in your temper.”
Cullen looks impassively at the paper. “Two thousand dollars? There isn’t an iPhone on the market with that price tag.”
I keep my face schooled, though if Cullen destroyed Frank’s phone, I finally understand the lack of messages from my editor. Wait, what the hell am I even thinking? Cullen broke Frank’s phone? What are we, in middle school?
“It wasn’t from the mass market. It was customized,” says Frank, reaching for the bill in Cullen’s hand. My editor runs a hand down his suit lapels—a forest-green number with too-wide pinstripes that might work on the golf course, but not so much in real life, no matter how expensive it is. The man shrugs. “If you prefer to contest the damage, I’ll be happy to file a police report instead. This was simply a courtesy to settle things outside legal channels, one I extended only because I know your condition makes impulse control a challenge. Plus, my brother was fond of you.”
Cullen’s jaw tenses at Frank’s mention of his brother, his very unclothed body radiating menace. “File whatever you like, so long as you get out of my sight. You know my attorney’s contact information, I believe.”
Frank sighs. “This is stupid, Cullen. You’re going to pay more in attorney’s fees than you would for the phone. Look, how about we split—” Frank cuts off as Cullen advances on him, encroaching on his personal space until the smaller man retreats back out the open door, which Cullen shuts in his face.
Right. I let out a breath I forgot I held as Cullen’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, the man plainly trying to get hold of himself. Being the smart person that I am, I disappear back into the kitchen before he looks up.
By the time Cullen joins me in the kitchen a few minutes later, his face is schooled back to his usual granite. Though my lower regions miss the sight of his glistening half-naked form, the mossy-green sweater that matches his eyes and a pair of dark jeans he’s put on is a rather pleasing consolation prize.
I pull my gaze away, needing to get a grip. Of course, getting a grip on him would be nice as well.
“Thank you for…” I wave my hand over my body to show the jeans and shirt I’m wearing thanks to Cullen’s good graces. “Next time I get into a fight with a drunk drug dealer, I’ll be sure to have a change of clothes ready.”