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 couldn’t blame Bull for being unhappy that she’d let Nabera grope her. She slept with Bull, made love with him, spent hours with him every day. Certainly, he’d feel as if they were exclusive.

It was how she felt, too. It was why when she’d flirted with the PZ and let him touch her, she’d felt sick—and guilty.

What if Bull let some woman hold his hand or fondle him? What if he flirted with a woman?