For the first time since arriving in Colorado, hell, for the first time since the whole Fleet Week-and-Jaden debacle, one hundred percent of my focus is on my inhales, my exhales, my next handhold, the next bit of stone to which I entrust my weight. They’re the only things that exist. And it feels great.
Pulling up onto our horizontal target, I clip myself into an anchor Jaz has set up and sit on the ledge, my legs dangling over the abyss. Below us, the Garden of the Gods spreads out like a bumpy tapestry, the sharp protrusions of sandy rock mixing with the adjacent reddish columns. Adding to the breathtaking texture, the pointed tops of the evergreens draw designs over the patches of white snowcaps, underscoring the whole awesomeness of nature.
“It’s like looking at an alien planet,” Jaz says quietly.
Nodding, I lean back on my outstretched arms and let the pine-scented wind kiss my face. Between Cullen’s training and now this, my body is going to be hating me the rest of the week. But it’s more than worth it. Plus, I need to increase my stamina.
This thought, of course, makes my mind wander to Cullen’s level of stamina, and then I’m all tangled up in my thoughts again. Except it’s not Cullen’s stamina that worries me. Between first my father and then Jaden, I’ve brushed up against military types enough that I know what happens when tempers snap—and there’s nothing to suggest that Cullen is any different. There’s an aggression there, lurking behind those moss-green eyes. Couple that with ability and an internal compass that says that sometimes, hurting people is okay, and you get a not very good cocktail. What happens if a Lincoln Drive-type situation arises again, with Cullen believing I shouldn’t go after a story—except this time, he’s close enough to physically stop me? Would he? Would that fall under the military’s code of measured response and acceptable loss?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Considering going for number three is insane.
I run my gloved fingertips over the rough material of the stone we’re sitting on. “Hey, Jaz? Do you think it’s strange how none of the Tridents are in a relationship?”
“Nah. I mean, they’ve always been like that. They’re basically just a pack of wolves on the prowl all the time. Although it sounds like Cullen may be trying to mend his ways.” She gazes out at the vastness surrounding us, her expression turning wistful, and we both fall quiet for a moment. “Give him a chance,” she says finally. “Don’t put up with any shit, but give him a chance.”
“I don’t think Cullen wants to date me,” I say finally, picking up the threads of conversation. “Though I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed our other pursuits. Except… When I came to train with them Tuesday, Cullen and Liam were going after Eli. Hard. Whatever Eli said about not minding, what kind of assholes hurt someone they care about?”
Jaz turns to me, her brows lifted. “You’re kidding me, right? Liam has a whole kink for hurting people.”
I stare at her blankly. “What?”
“You really don’t know?” She chuckles. “He likes to take charge…with a crop and shit. I mean, it’s consensual and all, and the women absolutely throw themselves at his feet to be walloped, but at the end of the day, it says a lot about him. Namely that any suspicions you may have about him being an asshole are well-founded.” The last comes out with more force than necessary, and Jaz screws her lips to one side in consternation. “You ready for the descent?”
As we rappel back down—my favorite part—Jaz’s words mix with my own thoughts. While I don’t share my friend’s indignation over Liam’s sexual preferences, the fact that I had no idea of what’s apparently common knowledge shows how little the guys have shared with me. How little Cullen has shared with me. Hell, I learned more about the man in these few hours with Jaz than I had in our entire time knowing each other.
If the two of us are going to be nothing but occasional sex buddies, that’s fine. But that’s the extent to which it could ever go. Jaz called him closed-off and private, but what that truly equates to is secretive. I know more than most about him, and that’s still near nothing.
I’ve already been with someone I’d believed I could trust and had been dead wrong. Being with someone who actively hides everything? If that’s not a definition of foolishness, I don’t know what is.
Cullen is closed-off. Controlling. Obstinate. He’s big enough to do damage and very possibly volatile enough to do it.
Good thing I’m not looking for a relationship with anything but journalism, because digging too deeply into Cullen is a way to disaster.
27
Sky
Friday morning, I stride back into Liam’s gym like a warrior wearing chain mail, determined not to let the naked time I shared with Cullen derail my learning plans. Unlike on my previous visit here, the guys are busy with calisthenics instead of beating the shit out of each other—though the sweat-soaked shirts and a fresh bruise on Kyan’s chin suggest that was done earlier this morning. Fortunate happenstance of schedule or a catering to my tender sensibilities? And is it bad that I’m glad for it?
Before I can spiral down into a puddle of self-doubt, Liam waves me over for a tour of the training circuit setup today around the gym. Everything from jump ropes and push-ups, which the guys are doing upside down, to rope climbs.
I listen with too much attention, the effort of not thinking about Liam’s North Vault activities taking up as much mental effort as ignoring the thump thump thump of Cullen’s knuckles against the leather punching bag. The man is shirtless today, his tattoos glistening with sweat as light and shadow sculpt every muscle. Even standing a few yards away, I can remember inhaling his male musk, which is not altogether different from the thick scent of testosterone that seems to saturate the air.
“Reynolds.” Liam’s low command snatches my gaze back. Apparently, I wasn’t as successful at avoiding staring at Cullen as I thought.
My face is hot as I pull my focus back to Liam, his stern, beautiful face making me wonder what he wears when he goes about his other activities. Which in turn makes me think about what Cullen looks like naked. Jesus Fucking Christ on a popsicle stick.
Compared to the last session, the workout passes uneventfully, with Cullen mostly busy with his own work. The few times he walks over to coach me on proper form, the man remains an utter professional. Not to say he goes easy on me—he doesn’t—but he doesn’t push me beyond my limits. Not today. And I wish I knew why. Wish that I understood the puzzle that is Cullen Hunt a great deal better than I do.
By the end of the morning, all perfectly aloofly professional, I’m starting to doubt whether our little interlude had truly happened. No, of course it happened. It just wasn’t anything more than it was. Which is good. After all, I don’t want it to be any more than it was. Not with a man like Cullen.
“Do I have time for a quick shower?” I ask, seeing Liam pick up his vibrating phone and curse at the screen, his thumb scrolling violently.
Cullen juts his chin toward the locker room, which I take for his usual gruff male uncommunicative acknowledgment. Right. Taking my duffel bag, I disappear behind the wooden door, exchanging the scent of sweat for a soft lavender fragrance Liam’s cleaning crew must have put here. Peeling off my purple crop top and yoga pants, I step into a nicely appointed stall and tip my face up to the hot stream.