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.