Free Protecting Cheyenne (SEAL of Protection Book 5) by Susan Stoker

Cheyenne blushed furiously, knowing Faulkner had been in the room while she’d been completely naked just a few steps away. Had he seen anything? Did he like what he might have seen?
    Cheyenne had been honest with him in that she didn’t think she was horrible looking. She did like parts of her body, but others she could take or leave. Cheyenne wasn’t huge, she wasn’t skinny. She didn’t have long hair, she didn’t have short hair. She didn’t have lavender or ice blue eyes, she had normal brown eyes. She wasn’t short, but she wasn’t tall either. She was right smack in the middle of everything. Pretty darn normal. Her mom and sister had told her often enough that she was nothing special, and while Cheyenne knew she shouldn’t listen to what they said, in this case they were more right than wrong.
    Cheyenne quickly dressed in the clothes he’d left on the counter, blushing at Faulkner’s choice of underwear. It was obvious he had to dig deep in her undie drawer to find the black lace nylon thong. She normally didn’t wear such a thing, and she knew it’d been buried under the more practical cotton and nylon bikini underwear. She wasn’t going to put them on, but she couldn’t resist. She felt tingly and beautiful knowing Faulkner had picked it out and she was now wearing it.
    He’d also pulled out a pair of gray sweat bottoms and a V-neck shirt which plunged way too deep for Cheyenne’s peace of mind. The bra he’d also dug out of her drawer was the one push up bra she owned. She’d bought it on a whim, thinking it might make her feel sexy, but it hadn’t, it’d made her feel uncomfortable and like she was falsely advertising something she didn’t have. But now, wearing it because Faulkner had picked it out? She got it. She felt sexy.
    Cheyenne looked at herself in the mirror when she’d finished dressing. The bra made her have more cleavage than ever before, and it definitely lived up to its name. It pushed her boobs up and accented them inside the low cut shirt. Cheyenne knew she should probably put on a regular T-shirt, and probably one of her regular bras, but she made herself walk out of the door of the bathroom and into her room.
    She might never have a chance like this again. She had no idea where this, whatever this was, was going to go, maybe nowhere, but she’d ride the wave for as long as she could. She’d be a fool not to. She had no idea what Faulkner was still doing there. Cheyenne had been honest, too honest, thanks to the pain killers, last night when she’d questioned what Faulkner was doing with her, but it was no more clear now in the morning when her mind wasn’t clouded by drugs as it was last night.
    Cheyenne walked into the main area of her apartment, and stopped abruptly and stared. Faulkner was standing in her kitchen at the stove holding a spatula over a steaming pan that held what looked like an omelet. He looked up when she entered the room as if he could sense her there.
    “Hey, you look a lot better.”
    His words were innocuous, but the look in his eye was anything but. Cheyenne watched as his eyes went from her feet, up her legs, stopping at her chest for a moment, then coming back up to meet her eyes.
    “Thanks.”
    They looked at each other a beat longer than was truly comfortable, or polite, before Dude looked back down at the omelet he was making. He took a deep breath and tried not to imagine how the underwear he’d picked out would look on her without the sweats and shirt in the way.
    He’d opened her drawers looking for something for Cheyenne to wear after her shower and came face to face with her underwear. It was stuffed into a drawer haphazardly, with no organization and nothing was folded. Dude had been stunned for a moment, then, as if he was watching from far away, saw himself shifting through the cotton until he’d seen the miniscule little black thong on the bottom of the pile of material. He’d plucked it out without thinking and rubbed his