enjoyable but hearing Obadiah’s disobedient wife scream would make up for it.
The roadhouse was closed.
The night had been profitable, Bull thought as he finished with the bar receipts. Near the center of the empty room, Frankie waited for him at a table, doing her own paperwork.
The routine let them leave together so she could spend the night at his house. Even though he liked her little cabin, it wasn’t good to leave Gryff alone too long. The traumatized rescue needed more than his snug doghouse on the deck—he needed people.
After putting his paperwork away, Bull leaned on the bar top to watch Frankie work. Such a beautiful woman. Although when he called her that, she’d laugh and say she was pretty enough, but her sisters were the beauties. Not to gain herself compliments, just stating what she believed.
He didn’t agree. Maybe society considered her sisters to be more attractive than she was, but as a man, he had his own opinion.
Francesca Bocelli was beautiful.
However…
His jaw tightened. He might not know her as well as he’d thought. He’d figured her to be honest and straightforward. But tonight, her behavior with the PZs had him questioning his ability to read people.
Usually when men tried to touch Frankie, she sidestepped and called them on it. Effortlessly. Yet, earlier tonight, Nabera had held her hand, put his arm around her waist, even squeezed her ass. She’d not only let him but leaned in closer.
Her flirting had roused ugly feelings in Bull. Ones that hadn’t died down in the hours since.
Done with closing, Bull walked over to her table.
She rose and smiled. “Ready to go?”
“In a minute.”
Her smile faltered. “What?”
“Want to tell me what was going on with you and Captain Nabera?”
“That was Nabera?”
He blinked. She didn’t know who the guy was? Maybe he’d misread the situation. “It was Nabera who held your hand. Who squeezed your ass.”
Dark color rose in her cheeks, and his indecision faded away. That was guilt in her face.
Dammit. He’d been through this before, back when Paisley had taught him not to ignore his gut. “Oh, Bull, I was just flirting a smidgeon with the buyer. Everybody does it.” Only her flirting had been a prelude to fucking her clients.
Then again, his past might have skewed his judgment. “Maybe I’m too sensitive because of my ex.” His brows drew together. “Both ex’s, actually, since my first wife messed around when I was deployed.”
“While you were risking your life, she…” Frankie shook her head, her dark eyes softening with concern. “That must have been horrible.”
“Yeah. It was. But now…” He ran a hand over his head, feeling the first signs of roughness. Much like this relationship, eh? “I know we’ve never talked about how this relationship should work.” He’d been pleased she even recognized it as one. “But no matter how short-lived our time together might be, I have certain expectations of…loyalty.”
“What?”
“Loyalty for both of us,” Bull added. “For instance, that we only have sex with each other.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She jumped to her feet, hands lifting in the air. “I didn’t fuck the man. He just held my hand.”
“He fondled your ass, woman, and you let him. You’ve never let anyone else touch you like that.” So why now? What was he missing here?
Her mouth opened—and he expected some good Italian cursing. But she sighed and her shoulders sagged.
Surprised, Bull stepped closer to her. “What’s going on, sweetheart? Tell me so I can understand.”
She retreated a step, blinking hard, then shook her head, and looked him in the face.
And lied. “Nothing. Nothing is going on. And I’m going home. It’s been a long night.”
Feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut, he stared at her. Feeling as if he was back watching a marriage dissolve. Just like Paisley, she wasn’t going to talk. Explain. Work on making it right.
When she walked out of the roadhouse, he stayed silent.
Chapter Eighteen
Every time someone says, “Expect the unexpected”, the best course of action is to test that quote by punching them in the face. ~ Unknown
Frankie was still awake. She punched up the pillow again and curled into a tighter ball.
Her eyes burned. From crying. And crying. And crying.
How could she have messed up so badly? Handled Bull’s questions so clumsily? When reading romance novels, she’d snicker at the messes the heroines fell into and call them idiots. All those complications because the man and woman didn’t talk about the problem.
Isn’t this great. I’ve fallen right into the you-are-really-dumb category.
She