Текст книги "Off Base"

Автор книги: Tessa Bailey

Соавторы: Sophie Jordan
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Her laugh sounded slightly incredulous. “I mean, I was really ready to throw down, though.”

Beck shook his head, dying to get started on the next sixty years with this girl. “It’s a good thing you held off,” he murmured, watching her green eyes go smoky. Yeah, she knew what was coming. “You’re going to need your energy.”

She gasped as he dipped down, wrapped his arms behind her legs and threw her over his shoulder. She recovered in time to smack his ass as they strode through the double doors, out into the night. Together.

HUNTLEY & CULLEN

Sophie Jordan

Chapter One

Getting piss drunk sounded like a fine idea.

Not only was Cullen having a shit week, but Huntley had decided to walk into Bombs Away in a skirt shorter than she’d ever worn. Maybe this was part of his punishment. If it wasn’t for him, Xander wouldn’t have been over there. Xander wouldn’t be dead.

The flirty hem danced around a pair of gold-skinned thighs. The soft cotton tank she wore fit her snugly, hugging breasts that she usually hid under blousy tops and sweaters. He had a hard enough time keeping her firmly in the friend zone. This just added to his misery. He had two real friends in this world—Beck and Huntley. The fact that they happened to be brother and sister only added to the utter wrongness of his sudden surge of lust.

He tilted his head back and finished his bottle of beer, trying to tear his eyes off her. He didn’t need this right now. He especially didn’t need all these meatheads looking her over like she was something they wanted to sink their teeth into. Stand down. Not your job to babysit her tonight. Her brother is here.

Despite the voice of reason whispering inside of him, he was tempted to find a blanket and drape it over her.

With a small shake of his head, Cullen turned to glare at the shots lined up in front of him. He downed one in a swift motion, slamming the glass back on the bar.

“Huntley,” her brother began. Better him than Cullen. He wasn’t in the mood to talk right now. “I didn’t expect you tonight.” Beck paused awkwardly. Cullen grimaced. He might as well have told his sister to take a hike for the injured look to cross her face. “There’s something I need to speak with Cullen about. Let’s meet tomorrow.”

Cullen’s stomach bottomed out. He knew what Beck wanted to talk about. This conversation was long overdue.

“You can’t tell me whatever it is, too?” The hurt in Huntley’s voice was undeniable, and he pushed down the urge to assure her she could stay. Looking out for her was instinctive, but Beck was right. She didn’t need to be here for this shit.

Cullen motioned for another round of shots. More drinks were poured and he downed his glass in one motion. Beck didn’t touch his. “Had a feeling this wasn’t just a friendly get-together.” Cullen waved at Beck’s glass. “You going to drink that?”

“I’m good, man,” Beck replied.

Cullen downed it.

“I didn’t realize we were getting drunk tonight.” Huntley blinked those big blues of hers, staring at Cullen with a hint of disapproval. Clearly, she wasn’t leaving. Not so surprising. She usually did what she wanted.

Cullen looked her up and down and felt a flash of irritation again. With an internal curse, he slammed back another shot and let the alcohol slide down his throat. So not cool, man. Her brother is right here.

Over the years, he’d kept dirty thoughts at bay when it came to Huntley. He rarely let himself appreciate the dark blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back. Or her curvy legs. Like nuns and cousins, she was off limits. “I didn’t realize you needed to be consulted.”

“Is that how you speak to my sister?” Beck inhaled. “We’ll have this discussion later.”

Huntley looked good tonight. There was no denying. Too good. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but she was never a wear-makeup-every-day kind of girl. She was the fresh-faced farm-girl type. You ever heard the one about the farmer’s daughter…

Beck shifted beside him again, and Cullen eyed him, guessing his injuries must be paining him. Just another side effect from the mission that had killed Xander. Hell, Beck could have died, too. Cullen should be grateful, he supposed, that Beck had made it out. And he was, except Xander was gone. He couldn’t quite shake that even though it had been months now.

Cullen stared straight ahead, catching glimpses of his stony reflection in the mirror behind the bottles of liquor. Sullen Cullen. He knew that’s what people called him, and he didn’t care. Hell, ever since he was a kid people called him that. Other kids. Teachers. When you never stayed long in one place, you forgot how to smile and make friends. What was the point? By the time he got to know anyone, he’d be gone again.

Now, here at Black Rock, it wasn’t his job to make friends. His job was to train soldiers in explosive ordnance disposal so that they saved lives. Xander was one of the first he had pushed to enter the program. One of the first he trained. One of the few he’d let in. One of the few he called a friend.

And now he was dead.

“It’s about Xander, isn’t it? You finally gonna tell me what happened over there?” He gestured for another drink and watched as the bartender poured it. “When you called to tell us he wouldn’t be coming home, I knew you were holding back. You’re a shit liar, Beck. Out with it. How’d he die? What the hell happened over there?”

As much as Cullen dreaded it, he needed to finally hear it. He’d been waiting to hear this.

Beck lifted his massive chest on a heavy breath. “If I could keep this from you forever, I would, because there’s no sense in both of us feeling guilty, Cullen. But it’s going to come out in the casualty report this week and I want it to come from me.”

Cullen remained very still. Even Huntley looked uneasy.

Beck sighed. “We were extracting a group of POWs. They’d been there a week, but we couldn’t get close enough or get an accurate count…”

Cullen listened to the steady recounting, the scene flashing clearly in his mind speaking only when Beck paused. “Finish what you have to say,” he ground out.

“He got it wrong. The explosive went off and half the tunnel caved in. Most of us were in an offshoot that remained standing.” Huntley leaned against her brother. Beck wrapped an arm around her and looked at Cullen. “This isn’t on you. No amount of training—”

Cullen shook his head. If it wasn’t on him, whose fault was it? He was the one who persuaded Xander to go into EOD. The one who trained him. It was on him and no one else. His fist shot out, sending the shot glasses crashing behind the bar. Bullshit. He shoved back his chair and took off toward the bar exit.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him how to feel. Not even Beck.

He just needed to be alone.

* * *

Huntley’s boot heels clacked on pavement as she hurried out of the bar after Cullen. Of all nights to don a pair of heels, it had to be a night she was required to run.

Cullen’s longer legs put him far ahead of her. She focused on his gray T-shirt and jeans as his lean body cut across the parking lot. Sweet Jesus, these boots were murdering her feet. “Cullen, wait!”

He continued like he hadn’t heard her, striding a hard line through the parking lot and stopping beside his truck. She ran the last bit of distance, determined to catch up with him even if she broke an ankle in these death contraption boots.

“Cullen!” She was almost to him now. The soles of her new boots skidded across loose gravel and her arms flailed at her sides until she regained her balance.

He lifted bloodshot eyes to her, and she knew they were only partly red from alcohol. The news he’d just gotten had hit him hard. The guilt of Xander’s death was etched into every line of his face.

He eyed her impatiently as she came to a clumsy, breathless stop before him. “What, Huntley? I’m not really in the mood right now for this.”

This. Her. Like she was the biggest pain in his ass. Is that how he saw her all these years? She thought he enjoyed hanging out with her. An itchy feeling swept up her neck and swarmed her face. Did he resent keeping an eye on her for Beck? God knew he could have been doing other things with his time.

Her gaze flicked from him to the keys in his hand and resolve hardened inside her. Fine. She was about to become an even bigger pain in his ass. This friendship went both ways. He took care of her. Now it was her turn to take care of him. She was an emergency room nurse. She handled people in all manner of conditions. This wouldn’t be such a stretch for her. Except Cullen wasn’t some stranger. He happens to be someone you regularly imagine naked.

“You’re not driving,” she announced, adopting the voice she used with wayward patients.

“I’ll be fine. I only had a few—”

“You only had a few that I saw. You were drinking before I even showed up.” She snatched the keys from his hand.

He growled. It was the only word to describe it. The sound made the tiny hairs at her nape prickle with awareness. With his tall, hard body, dark hair and molten chocolate eyes, he rocked sexy. She couldn’t walk down the street beside him without women breaking their necks to look him over.

But right now this awareness was different. For the first time he looked at her with an intensity that made her feel like a woman. Not his friend. Not Beck’s sister. She felt stripped bare and vulnerable, the sole object of his rapt concentration.

She was also pretty sure he wanted to strangle her.

A vein throbbed in his forehead. She’d seen him like this one time before. They’d been leaving Java Joe’s and someone had left his dog in the car on one of the hottest days of summer. Cullen had marched back inside and confronted the asshole with a few choice words.

God, she really was messed up. He was pissed and glaring at her and it actually gave her a thrill. She had to stop this. Get a boyfriend. Get laid. Stop fixating on Cullen like he was some forbidden dessert.

He held out his hand. “Hand them over, sweetheart.”

Her fingers tightened around the keys, the metal digging into the tender flesh of her palm. She wasn’t about to hand over his keys. He made a grab for them, but she thrust her fist behind her back, yelping when he wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her against him in one hard move that brought them nose to nose.

The heels of her boots lifted off the ground, her toes grazing earth. Her eyes bugged as she stared down at him. Blinking was impossible. His forearm felt rock solid around her. She was no lightweight. She was five feet eight, and it had been years since she felt comfortable in a bikini … hell, even a swimsuit. Her breasts pillowed against his chest, and heat scalded her face as her nipples hardened. Please, please, don’t let him notice that.

The only way she had even tolerated being around him all these years was because he didn’t know the lustful thoughts that swirled through her when she got within two inches of him. That would be too mortifying.

“I’m not in the mood to play, Huntley.”

She shivered at the gravel in his voice and the sensation of his long body against hers.

This man was a warrior. He dealt in death. He played with bombs, for God’s sake. Maybe she shouldn’t challenge him. Maybe she should be scared. He was drunk. Pissed. Hurt. But she knew him. She knew he loved barbecue with a side of barbecue. She knew he mowed the single mom’s yard across the street. She knew he lost his virginity on a beach in Panama on his sixteenth birthday to a girl three years his senior. She knew he loved baseball and secretly liked cats. She knew he couldn’t stand for his feet to be touched, and he thought Jeremiah Johnson was the greatest movie ever made.

And she knew she couldn’t let him drive in this condition.

“I’m not playing,” she countered.

Pressed up against him like this she practically felt petite. They had touched often enough over the years but never like this. She fought to swallow against the tightness in her throat.

“Then stop fucking with me and give me the keys.”

She gasped. He never used language like that with her. The dirty word shot a spike of heat right through her as she imagined just that. Fucking. Fucking him.

She moistened her lips and that heat spread deeper through her as his dark eyes followed the movement of her tongue.

“I’m not fucking with you.” God, had she actually uttered that word? Her grandma just rolled over in her grave. “You’ve had too much to drink to get behind the wheel, and after what you just heard tonight I don’t think you’re in any condition—”

“You don’t think I can drive a fucking truck?”

She flinched.

“I’ve driven in a lot worse conditions than this,” he bit out. “Drunk. With a concussion. I’ve even driven through a smoke-infested desert with gunfire all around me. I’m trained to handle worse situations than this. I’m supposed to know how to deal with this kind of shit.”

She knew they weren’t talking about him driving home tonight anymore. This was about Xander.

“Cullen,” she said softly, her heart aching for him.

The lines of his handsome face twisted tightly. “No. Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your patients, Nurse Collier. I don’t want your pity.” He stepped back, holding his hands up in defeat. “Fine. You can drive me home.” He growled the words like he was just humoring her.

“Good.” Unlocking his truck, she climbed behind the steering wheel and waited as he walked around and climbed in through the passenger door.

She buckled up, gratified to see he did the same and she didn’t have to ask him to.

When she looked up again, it was to catch him staring at her. He looked her up and down. “Nice skirt. New?”

Her face heated. He’d noticed. She had dressed to attract tonight, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to give her legs a shave and practice looking nice. Especially since she’d joined an online dating site and had her first coffee date scheduled for tomorrow.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He turned and stared out the windshield. “Sure about driving me home? Looked like you were getting your fair share of attention. Maybe Mr. Right was in there.”

Was she so transparent? Mortification burned her cheeks and she regretted confiding in him that she had joined an online dating site. It was time to move forward with her life.

He’d expressed his concern, of course. Beck had appointed him her protector while he was gone, after all, and Cullen took the responsibility seriously. Like any other task or duty appointed to him. He’d shadowed her life these last few years—a tame existence that consisted of work, reading and channel-surfing.

“There will be other opportunities,” she dismissed with a shrug. Now wasn’t the time to divulge about tomorrow’s coffee date. She was talking to a few other guys, too. All nice-looking, solid types. An accountant, a gym coach and a financial advisor. No baggage-ridden soldiers looking to nail everything in heels. No, these were men who were settled and grounded and looking for a relationship. In short, men not like Cullen. She figured that was healthy. No sense looking for someone like Cullen. She was only setting herself up for disappointment if she did that.

There was no one like him.

It was still early as they drove through town. Plenty of soldiers prowled the streets, looking for a little action to finish off the weekend. All except the one next to her. He stared silently out the window, arms crossed over his lean chest. She tried not to let her gaze stray to him, but it was difficult. His snug gray T-shirt strained against the cut lines of his torso. He propped one elbow on the doorframe, and the tattoo on his bicep peeked out beneath the edge of his sleeve.

“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.