as she lifted her hand, intending to pull him closer, he straightened with a reluctant sigh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to take advantage.”
“You didn’t.” She gave him a wry smile. “I think you know that.” Because she wanted him as much or more than he wanted her—and he was too astute to misread the signs. Even now, the feeling of his arm against hers was making goosebumps rise on her skin. He’d taken a shower and each breath brought her the crisp, clean scent of his soap.
She’d always been attracted to him, but this almost dying stuff? Somehow, all she wanted right now was to have him take her. Hard. Pound away and let her know that she’d survived. The need was almost primal.
Biology was a bitch, wasn’t it?
“Nonetheless.” He shook his head. “Hang out for a while. Read a book; take a nap. You’re safe here—and you can relax.”
“But I can’t just intrude on your evening and—”
“Sure, you can.” He smiled easily. “All I’d be doing tonight is paperwork anyway. I’ll be at the dining room table.”
“Oh.” Despite the smile, his expression was uncompromising. She might as well give in. “Well. Thank you.”
“Very good answer.” He pulled a golden Sherpa-lined fleece blanket off the back of the sectional. The feeling of his hands tucking it around her, being so very gentle, sent another frisson of desire over her skin.
No, don’t grab him, Frankie.
From a bookshelf against the wall, he brought over a mix of books. “I don’t have a large selection of genres.”
Setting aside her naughty thoughts, she glanced at the titles. Children’s books, thrillers, and… “Horror?”
“The kid’s books are for when I have my niece over. The rest are mine. I also have gardening or recipe books if you’d prefer.”
“Much as I like gardening books, my only plants are on my apartment balcony.” Grief stabbed her heart. How she missed her summers gardening with Nonna where they’d pick produce and then cook together. Her sisters had never wanted to spend time on the farm; it’d been just Frankie and Nonna—and the rest of the Italian clan.
Bull’s eyes softened. “Frankie…”
“But I love thrillers and horror, and you have one of my old favorites.” She picked up The Watchers by Koontz, wiggled into a comfy position on the corner, and smiled up at him. “Thank you. For your rescue—and your care.”
“My pleasure.” He brushed his hand down her hair in a caress that was as soft as the blanket around her. When she leaned into his touch, his eyes heated, but then he stepped back with an almost inaudible sigh. “Gryff, want to keep her company?”
At the invitation, the dog jumped up and curled into a ball with his head on her feet.
“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?” she murmured, patting his soft fur. And so is your owner.
Bull disappeared for a minute and returned to leave a travel cup of tea in the sectional console, then moved away again. He sat down at the dining room table and opened a laptop.
Leaning her head back on the cushions, she took in a slow breath, feeling the low hum of desire in her veins. She shouldn’t let him kiss her, touch her, and somehow, after being almost killed, she no longer wanted to be prudent. She wanted to celebrate being alive…with the one man who tangled her emotions and wakened her lust in a way no one had in, perhaps, ever.
No. Behave yourself, Frankie. She shouldn’t start something. Not here. Not now.
Grumbling under her breath, she petted Gryff, let the simmering desire fade, and listened to the sounds around her. So quiet, she could hear the light clicking of his laptop keyboard. Through the open deck door came the soft lap of waves against the lake shore, and birds calling to each other. No traffic, no sirens, no neighbors talking or shouting or playing loud music.
Slowly, her muscles loosened as she sipped the tea. After a minute, she opened the book and started to read about a dog.
Chapter Ten
Words are slicker’n grease, boy. Don’t listen; watch. What does the guy do? It’s actions that’ll show who he really is. ~ First Sergeant Michael “Mako” Tyne
Finished with work, Bull motioned Gryff off the sectional and settled in his place beside Frankie. Such a pretty sight.
She’d fallen asleep not long after she’d started reading. Gradually, the strain had disappeared from her face.
Damn the PZs. All the same, it could be the assholes hadn’t realized they were shooting at a woman—or even