Page 72 of Walking Red Flag

“We’re not even married yet and you’re watching me like you want to devour me,” he teased.

I looked up at him and said, “I’ve never seen a man have quite so many muscles before.”

“Manual labor, time in the gym, and good genetics,” he said as he bent down, testing the tuck job of the towel as he did.

The towel parted and I saw the tanned expanse of one muscular thigh before the towel broke free at his waist.

He caught it just in time to keep his junk covered, but not the rest of him.

I squeaked and closed my eyes.

“Guess I wasn’t decent after all.” He chuckled.

The bag unzipped and I heard fabric rustling.

“Now I’m actually decent,” he pronounced.

I opened one eye and saw that he was, indeed, decent.

Or, more accurately, he was clothed from the bottom down.

He had on a pair of pants and nothing else.

I doubted he even had underwear on.

But with him turned the way he was, I only got the backside view.

“Show me that panic room, darlin’.”

Before I could, the doorbell rang, and I sighed. “That’s probably my family.”

He jerked his chin toward the shower and said, “Your turn. I’ll get the door.”

I’m not clearing up any rumors about this unless they say I’m out there drinking unsweet tea.

—Cutter to Copper

CUTTER

She was right.

It was her family.

Only, it was Shasha with a stack of papers that said, “Congratulations. She kept her last name, though.”

I took the papers from him and looked at the top sheet.

It was a marriage certificate.

I blinked at the documents and said, “I should probably have told my sister and brothers before I went and got hitched.”

“It happened kind of fast.” Shasha laughed. “Have a good night.” He paused halfway down the walk. “With you here, I won’t leave the guard.”

I nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

His eyes studied me for a long second before he said, “One hundred and seventeen confirmed rapists killed by you and your club is reassuring, Cutter.”

I snorted. “Confirmed.”

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