I shouldn’t be here.

Ugly emotions didn’t excuse her behavior. Bull had rescued her, and now, she’d essentially said he was untrustworthy and shallow. How rude and ungrateful could she be? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” She tried to sit up.

His hands tightened on her shoulders, holding her in place…and he resumed gently rubbing her shoulders. “Frankie,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, staring at the back of the sectional. How could she excuse herself gracefully with one foot in her mouth?

He chuckled and cupped her face, turning her head toward him so easily. All those muscles. So damned gorgeous. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he said firmly.

She had no choice.

A line had deepened between his brows, but he showed no anger. His dark eyes studied her. “If you grew up in the business, that’s where your dating pool is from, I bet. Were those gorgeous, shallow men all models or wannabe models?”

Her ex, yes. The rest, mostly yes. “I dated students in college. That’s how I found out that the less…hot…men were nicer.”

“Ah, got it.” He smiled at her. “Might I point out a small flaw in your hypothesis about the character of good-looking men.”

It wasn’t fair that the man was as smart as he was attractive. “All right.”

“Your sampling came from a subset of handsome men. You dated male models, people whose careers are dependent on their appearance. Because of that, a high percentage of models—probably both male and female—likely possess a certain kind of self-centered personality.”

Wait a minute, now. “You mean… What you’re saying is that male models are possibly shallow and untrustworthy, but that might not apply to gorgeous men who aren’t models?”

“It might; it might not. People are…people.” He ran light fingertips over her cheek. “I learned early on not to judge a person by outward appearance. And really, Frankie, women get pissed off when guys judge them on how they look.”

His quiet words felt like a blow because of the accuracy. She’d done exactly what she found so appalling from men. Or even women. If someone said, I don’t date ugly men, Frankie would’ve called her small minded. Stupid, even.

She was the stupid one. “I hate it when someone—besides me—is right. You know that, don’t you?”

He had such a great laugh.

She grumbled under her breath and took a moment to consider her past dating history, seeing the relationships, the men, through a new lens.

“One other thing,” he murmured. He skated his thumb over her lips, making her realize she’d been rubbing her cheek against his wide, hard palm. “Your past is telling your head not to trust me. But you already do, don’t you?”