hell and back. “You called her my lover.”
“Well, yes. She talked about you loving her touch, kissing, making love…” Frankie’s face darkened with a flush.
A modest New Yorker? Oh, he liked that.
But now he remembered what he’d said. “I can see how you might think we were lovers.” Bull watched the fire gain height as the flames moved from kindling to thicker sticks. “What you’re missing is this: she’s not a current lover. She was my wife. We divorced two years ago.”
Frankie’s expression changed from surprised to appalled. She lowered her cup. “Two years? But surely… She acted like…” She flushed.
He knew what she hadn’t asked. “We haven’t been together since the divorce. I saw her in passing a year ago at the symphony. We were both there with other people.”
“Oh, che stupida che sono.” Frankie tapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. A man did have to enjoy how her emotions played out in her expressions, showed in her big brown eyes, came out in her very Italian gestures. “She played you, and I was the one who fell for it.”
“So, it seems.” As his tense muscles relaxed, Bull extended his legs. “She wanted to get back together, and I lost my temper.”
“Um, it’s not my place to say anything, but maybe she misses you? People do reconcile sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t have her back on a bet,” Bull grated out.
Frankie blinked, obviously startled at the growl in his voice.
“Before we married and while we were married, she told me she was all about loyalty and faithfulness. That people who cheated were scum. I believed her until she gave me an STD.”
Frankie’s mouth dropped open.
“She was fucking her clients when showing houses.” He felt like a fool. Why the hell had he shared that with—
“Showing houses?”
“She’s a realtor.”
“I hate liars.” Frankie scowled, then her nose wrinkled. “I guess that’s one way to ensure a sale.”
A snort broke from him, and then he was laughing, roaring, because…yeah. It felt as if sharing—and the humor—had shaken loose a knot that’d been inside for a long time.
“Sorry, that was rude,” Frankie said to her cup.
“The truth can be.” Still smiling, Bull lifted his mug to her. “Now you know why I reacted badly when she showed up.”
“I would say you showed a lot of restraint.” Frankie got up and fetched the coffee pot to refill their cups. “Here, I thought my breakups were bad.”
Bull spotted the flicker of pain in her liquid dark eyes. She’d been hurt…and he had a wayward notion to find the bastards and teach them the error of their ways. “Breakups. More than one?”
As she resumed her seat, Frankie studied Bull. He was all man—his shoulders wider than the back of the big chair. It was easy to see he was the sort of person who preferred to keep emotional baggage to himself, but he’d shared about his wife and their divorce.
It was a gift, in a way.
One that perhaps should be reciprocated.
She rose. “I’m half-Italian—and my grandmother always cooked when she got upset or unhappy. Can I make you breakfast?”
“If you let me help.” He stood, dwarfing her.
When some guys loomed over her, she wanted to punch them. Bull, instead, made her feel like moving…closer. She took a step back. “Sure. In Nonna’s house, everybody pitched in.” Even the men. Sharing the cooking and clean-up had been the only feminist directive her Italian grandmother had embraced.
In the kitchen area, she set out mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers. “You get to chop.”
She started on frying the bacon.
He washed his hands, then diced the onions in a way that said he knew his way around a kitchen. No wonder Audrey had been startled when Frankie’d doubted he could cook anything other than protein shakes.
A woman could learn a lot about a man by observing him cook. Bull was skillful. Precise. Everything went into tidy piles. When she’d told him what to do, he’d simply agreed. He was a team player.
Catching her watching, he prompted, “How many breakups have you been through?”
He was also too good at multi-tasking.
“A few, I guess. Two were serious. One marriage.”
He shot her a keen look. “Still hurts?”
After a moment of checking her emotions, she could tell him, “Not nearly as much as during the divorce period.”
His smile agreed. “Your ex cheated?”
“Actually, no.” She could feel her chest tighten around the pain and humiliation. Was this how Bull had felt when he’d told her about his wife? “It’s complicated.”
“Tell me,” he said softly and pushed