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  Kenna dropped her hand from the door, saying something under her breath, and Beck’s pulse heated back up, started to race. When their gazes met, he saw bravery there and wanted to shout at the ceiling. Thank God.

  Arms locked at her sides, Kenna came closer, staying just out of his reach.

  “Hey, Mary?”

  His ex-girlfriend jolted at the sound of another female voice, although how she could have missed his rapt attention on Kenna baffled him. Couldn’t everyone tell he was taken? The fact was so carved in stone it had to be stamped on every inch of his body.

  Mary swiped a hand across her eyes, darting a look between Kenna and Beck. “Y-yes?”

  “I, um.” Kenna shifted in her heels. “You seem nice and all, which kind of blows. I was hoping you’d be evil, maybe wearing a coat made of puppies or something.” She took a step toward Beck. “But I’m sorry. You’re going to have to fight me for him.”

  For the first time in his life, he experienced what it felt like to be weak and strong, both at the same time. His limbs shook with the need to hold her, while his heart rumbled like an approaching locomotive, gaining power with each passing second. Kenna had already been his, but nothing would ever compare to hearing her make it official, despite her own fears. Nothing.

  Mary gave a resigned laugh. “Looks like someone beat me to it.” She wedged her purse beneath her arm. “I can’t even say I’m the least bit surprised. I knew if it wasn’t me, a good woman was going to snatch you up one day and never let go.”

  As Mary repeated the words Kenna had said to him their first night together, her mouth fell open. That’s right, darlin’. You’re that good woman. And I’m the luckiest fucking guy on the planet.

  Neither one of them broke eye contact as Mary turned and left the building. Beck wasn’t sure he’d look anywhere but at Kenna ever again.

  “So, yeah. I’m fighting for you,” she whispered. “And I’ll go with you to Georgia on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  Her smile melted the remaining ice in his chest. “I drive.”

  “Thank Christ.” Beck lunged forward to grip the sides of her face. “You don’t have to fight for me, you crazy, gorgeous girl.” His thumbs swept across her cheeks. “Neither of us has to fight. We won.”

  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.”

  Cul
len 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 t
o 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.