Sully closed his eyes. How had he lucked out? Their relationship wasn’t anything that had ever raised the blip of a possibility on his future radar. Dammit, he was grateful for Brant’s presence in his life.

Especially in times like this.

He settled back in the water, slowly flexing his leg to work some of the stiffness out of it.

* * *

Clarisse smelled coffee and rolled over. Sully should be home, but she hadn’t heard anyone moving around or talking.

She could dash into the kitchen for her coffee and then retreat to her bedroom, hopefully avoid Sully until he locked himself in his office, but she knew that wouldn’t do her any good long term.

She had to face him and his whacked-out relationship with Mac sooner or later.

After pulling on her robe, she quietly opened her bedroom door.

The house was dark, but the over-counter lights were on in the kitchen. When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sight of Mac’s naked ass stopped her in her tracks. He must have heard her shocked “eep!” because he turned and offered her a smile before she could retreat.

“Good morning. You ready for breakfast?”

She stared, unable to take her eyes off his body. The gold nipple rings that she wanted to play with. The…

Holy crap, he was well-hung.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “You all right?”

“Um…uh…yeah. Okay.”

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Six months, sweetie. That’s what you promised. If it really bothers you, I’ll go put on shorts.”

“Um…yeah…I mean, no, it doesn’t bother me. I just wasn’t expecting…” What? What wasn’t she expecting? Mac in full slave mode?

He laughed and reached over for the mug she always used, poured her a cup of coffee, and offered it to her. “To see me naked?”

“Yeah.” She took the mug and held it in both hands, hoping he couldn’t see how they trembled. He was… goddamn, he looked gorgeous!

She forced her eyes up from his groin to his brown eyes. “Does Sully walk around naked too?” That could be a blessing and a curse.

If he was hung half as well as Mac…

Ohmigod.

They’re gay…they’re gay…they’re gay…

“No,” Mac said with a smile. “Not usually. Sometimes I make him do that on the boat. Otherwise, he’s usually dressed.” He pointed to the counter. “Go ahead, sit. I’ll make breakfast.”

There were far worse views than Mac’s firm and well-shaped ass as he stood at the stove and made French toast. “Is Sully eating with us?”

Mac shook his head. “I’m making him stay in bed this morning.”

Clarisse blushed. Even though Mac didn’t turn, he must have realized how that sounded because he cast a glance at her over his shoulder.

“His leg is really hurting him this morning. He came home last night barely able to walk.”

“Oh. What’d he do to it?”

“Old injury. He didn’t take his cane with him.”

After a moment, Clarisse realized she wouldn’t get any more information from him. Cane? She hadn’t seen Sully use a cane, although come to think of it, he did have a noticeable limp.

Sully didn’t make an appearance before she finished her breakfast.

Mac sat at the other end of the counter, a towel on his seat.

She realized by the time she finished eating it almost felt…well, not normal, but she’d managed to grow more accustomed to seeing Mac running around naked. She shouldn’t complain. If he was fine with it, why not? At least she got one hell of a great view out of it.

Just because he was gay didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the scenery.

She took her shower. When she finished and returned to the living room on her way to refill her coffee, she found Sully on the couch with Mac fussing over him, getting him arranged with his left leg propped on pillows.

“I’m okay,” Sully insisted.

“No, you’re not. You could barely walk and you’re going to stay put. Whip my ass if you want, but I’m not budging on this.” Mac moved the coffee table close to the couch. “I’ll bring your laptop out here. You take it easy.” He disappeared down the hallway.

When Sully’s gaze landed on her, she stifled a laugh. He looked absolutely miserable. He shrugged as if to say, “What can I do?”

Despite her reborn mistrust, she smiled. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“Thanks. It’s my own fault for overdoing it.”

“Mac said it was from an old injury?”

Sully’s face darkened. “Yeah. I got shot. Line of duty.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Before she could, Mac reappeared with the laptop and a lap desk for Sully. “All right, what else do you need?”

“A new body?”

Mac smiled. He’d pulled a pair of sweatpants on, but was still shirtless. “I’ve got to run downstairs for the laundry. If you need something, have Clarisse get it for you or wait for me. Do not get off that couch, you hear me?”

Sully glared, but snapped him a mock salute before Mac left.

Clarisse circled the couch. “Can I get you anything?”

“The remote, over there, please.”

She handed it to him and sat in one of the chairs. “Is that why you retired? You were shot?”

His face darkened again. “Yeah. Not my best day. I wasn’t supposed to be there, got called in at the last minute when I was off-duty and not at home. Only damn day I didn’t have a vest on, I get shot.” He flipped through channels before settling on MSNBC.

“Nearly died. Lots of rehab.” He rubbed his left leg, above the knee.

She spotted the pale, twisted scar that started at his knee and ran up his thigh, disappearing under his shorts. “One here, one in the gut.”

“I’m sorry.”

The hint of a smile. It turned his hard face sexy and conflicted her in ways she didn’t understand. “Why? It’s not your fault I got shot.”

“I’m still sorry.” She stood, walked to the kitchen, and poured a cup of coffee. She tried to delay her return to the living room. In reality, there wasn’t much else for her to do.

Maybe that was the answer.

She returned to the chair. “Before you get involved in your work, can we talk?”

“Sure.” He set the lap desk and computer on the coffee table.

“What’s up?”

“Our arrangement.” She cleared her throat. “What I should be doing. To help out.”

“Why don’t we discuss the elephant in the middle of the room first?”

She blushed. He still wore that sexy smile. “What do you mean?”

“The talk you and Mac had on the boat this weekend.”

She felt more heat pulsating in her face. “I told him that’s between you two.”

“No, as someone who lives here, it involves you, too.” Mac opened the front door and walked in carrying a laundry basket. Sully called out to him, “Slave, put that down. Now. Come here.”

Looking confused, he set the basket down and walked over.

“Help me up.” When Mac started to protest, Sully silenced him.

“Don’t argue with me, slave. I want this conversation over with so we can get on with life.” Mac helped Sully stand. Then he handed him a walking cane that had been leaning against the end of the couch.

“Follow us, honey,” Sully said to her.

With her fingers firmly wrapped around her steaming mug of coffee, she followed the men down the hall. At the locked door, Sully punched in a code and turned the knob. “Zero, one, one, three. His birth date,” Sully explained. “January thirteenth.” He pushed the door open and limped inside where he flipped a light switch.

When Clarisse hesitated at the doorway, Sully turned and waved her in. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone gentle.

She stepped inside. The large room, approximately the same size as her bedroom, didn’t have an attached bathroom. Separated from her bedroom by Sully’s office, it was the last room at the end of the hallway. Several large pieces of equipment were pushed against the black walls, and a large cabinet took up one corner. A window shade muted the bright sunlight outside. She spotted several eyebolts screwed into the ceiling in strategic locations.

Sully followed her gaze. “They’re screwed into the roof trusses, so they can bear weight.”

“How much weight?”

He shrugged. “At least four hundred pounds. They’re reinforced with metal plates.” He pointed to one X-shaped structure. “St.

Andrew’s Cross.” He explained how it was used, then worked his way around the room naming the devices and basic uses. He could have been holding a seminar on decomposition rates or blood spatter patterns for a group of fellow cops, not BDSM furniture.

He finished. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Want to know more?”

She glanced at Mac and didn’t miss the desperate look on his face.

He worried she’d be scared off, that much was blatantly obvious. “Do I need to?”

Sully hobbled over to one of the benches and heavily sat with a pained grunt. “Here’s the thing. We were going to have a party next weekend, but I don’t mind canceling it if it’s too soon for you.”

This wasn’t her house. “I won’t tell you what you can and can’t do under your own roof.”

“That’s not the point,” Sully countered. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“As long as nobody’s doing anything to me, don’t cancel your party on my account. I’ll turn my TV up and lock my door.”

Mac looked worried. Sully nodded. “Okay.” He studied Mac’s attire. “Why are you still dressed?”

Mac blushed but stripped off the sweatpants. It was Clarisse’s turn to blush. Okay, so maybe there were major perks to this arrangement.

“If you have any questions, you’re always welcomed to ask,” Sully assured her.