Bull didn’t make the obvious comment—that curiosity had almost killed this cat. When she checked his face, his gaze was far more thoughtful than she liked. Not surprising, really. Under that good-natured, sociable front was a frighteningly intelligent man.

With a fingertip, he traced a scratch so lightly that it barely hurt as if to remind her of the danger she’d been in. “I think there’s more to it than curiosity…but you don’t know me that well, do you?”

A much better subject to pursue.

“Not exactly. For all I know, you could be a serial killer who’s leaving corpses all over the mountainsides.” She gave him a half-smirk. “Maybe I was out there searching for all those dead bodies.”

His dimple appeared for a second, but then he ran his fingers through her hair, moving the heavy strands to fall down her back. “When you’re ready to share the rest, I’ll be here. Ready to listen.”

She wanted to share. To tell him everything. And couldn’t.

At the burn of tears in her eyes, she hastily slid out of bed. “It’s morning. I should get moving. My shift starts early today.”

“Frankie.” He lifted those black eyebrows, his gaze steady. “You’re going to be too sore to carry trays. You’ll have the next two nights off from work. Stay.”

But if she didn’t leave right now, they’d probably do…sexy stuff…in that bed. And that was the problem.

Cazzo, she knew this would happen—that she’d start feeling all emotionally vulnerable and get attached. Just because of a few orgasms. And the way he felt inside her. That deep voice calling her sweetheart. His hand on her face. Those black eyes and…

No, no, no. Casual sex. Nothing more. She needed to concentrate on getting Kit out of that place. He was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

“I have lots of other stuff that must be done.” She pulled on her clothes, still astounded he’d not only washed everything for her yesterday, but had managed to get all the blood out, as well.

He rose from the bed, intimidating in size, yet so very tempting. Because she knew the feeling of his fingers on her skin, the taste of his mouth, his skin, his—

“Let me make you breakfast.” He adjusted her shirt sleeve, easing it over the bandage on her arm.

“No, no, thank you. I need to get home.” She wanted to settle her feelings, get past the sadness that this was all there could be.

She forced a smile. “This was a one-time thing, remember? No complications or entanglements. No expectations for anything afterward.” She bent to pet Gryff, taking comfort in the soft fur and wagging tail. Dogs were so straightforward.

When she straightened, Bull had pulled on a pair of jeans and stood watching her.