by Lori Foster
But finally old enough…for him.
“She was in yesterday.”
Had Yvette expected him to be there, as well? Looked forward to it?
Or maybe dreaded it?
He hated the thought that seeing him might dredge up a past better forgotten.
Whitaker turned the papers, placed an ink pen on top and pushed them toward Cannon. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
He wasn’t about to sign anything until he’d read it all and figured it out.
The lawyer sighed, pushed back his chair and stood. “Read Tipton’s letter. I’m sure it’ll all make sense then.”
“You know what’s in it?”
Whitaker looked away. “No, of course I don’t. Tipton gave it to me sealed.”
Suspicions rose.
Clearing his throat, the lawyer met his gaze. “I know…knew Tipton. He had a strong mind right up to the end. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted.”
And he wanted something from Cannon.
Coming around his desk, the lawyer clasped his shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” And with that he stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.
Walking over to a window, Cannon leaned a shoulder on the wall and studied the envelope. It was sealed, all right, closed with tape wrapped completely around it. He tore off one end of the envelope. With a sense of foreboding, he pulled out two neatly typed, folded papers. Opening them, he skimmed over the type to see Tipton’s signature at the bottom.
Going back to the first page, he began to read. Each word made his heart beat heavier with trepidation—and anticipation.
Yes, Tipton knew what he wanted. He’d spelled it all out in great detail. One particular paragraph really got to Cannon.
This is her home, Cannon. No matter what, she should be here. She always trusted you and you were always there, such a good boy.
Despite the enormity of what Tipton wanted, a touch of humor curved Cannon’s mouth. Being that he was twenty-six, only a grandpa would call him a boy.
I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after you already risked your life for us. But she’s too cautious now, too guarded. If you’ll agree, I know you can free her from the nightmares so she can be her carefree, happy self again.
Did Tipton mean literal nightmares? Or just the nasty memories of being attacked, threatened with the worst a woman could suffer?
No, he didn’t want to think about that now; it still enraged him, the helplessness, the fear he’d felt while being an unwilling spectator to the cruelty.
What a grandfather considered guarded could just be maturity. Just how free did he want Yvette to be?
The lawyer walked back in. Cannon ignored him as he finished reading.
If it’s necessary, if your life is now too busy or if she won’t agree, go ahead and sell both places with a clear conscience. But selling will require emptying the house—and that will bring about different problems for her.
What did that mean? What type of problems came with finalizing a sale?
In my heart, I know she’ll be happier here in Ohio, in Warfield, than she could ever be in California.
Whatever you decide, Cannon, please don’t tell her about this letter. Not yet. And please know, regardless, you will always have my deepest gratitude.
Sincerely,
Tipton Sweeny
Familiar feelings stirred up, feelings he’d long ago tamped down and then forgotten. Or tried to forget. God knew he’d done his best to demolish them, to sweat them out in the gym, fight them out in the ring.
Screw them away with willing women.
But, damn it all, every sensation Yvette inspired was still there, rooted deep.
Taut with anticipation, he asked, “Where’s Yvette now?”
“I’m not sure,” the lawyer said. He stood behind his desk, but didn’t take his seat. “She took a set of keys, so perhaps she’s at the house.”
Disquiet kicked Cannon in the gut, adding to the aches and pains left over from his recent fight. Would Yvette go there alone? He shrugged off the urge to race to her rescue.
Again.
He’d done that once—and then she’d walked away.
Moved away.
Across the country to California.
He tugged at his ear, uncomfortable with the latent resentment. Yvette was not the one that got away. She wasn’t a missed opportunity. She was only a girl he’d gotten to know better under extreme, dire circumstances. A girl he’d wanted, but had been too noble to touch…much.
But she had gotten under his skin, and even after three long years, he wanted her still.
Fuck it. He’d walked through one fight after another to make himself a prime contender for the belt, but resisting the lure of finally having Yvette was a fight he knew he couldn’t win.
He faced Whitaker with barely banked anticipation. “Where do I sign?”
*
YVETTE STOOD IN the doorway of her grandfather’s house. Yesterday, after the long drive back from California, she’d chosen to put aside the visit. Instead she’d gone to see the lawyer, and then checked into a hotel and tried to get some sleep. Impossible. The heaviness of what awaited her had her tossing and turning all night.
It wasn’t just a fear of being in the house. No, it was a fear of seeing Cannon Colter again, losing herself in his appeal, relapsing back to that young, love-struck, vulnerable girl who’d let him play the hero without a single ounce of pride.
Her grandfather wanted her to stay in Ohio. Returning for his funeral had been difficult enough. But to live here?
She’d finally learned to conceal her cowardice and, more recently, to accept the limits of her romantic capability. Being anywhere near Cannon threatened her resolve on both counts.
For now, for however long it took to sort out her obligations to her grandfather, she really had no choice. She would be in Warfield.
Pushing aside the nerve-jangling fear, she stepped into the house and closed the door behind her. The click of it sounded so final that her heart missed a beat.
Until she looked around. Then her pulse sped up.
Sunlight spilled in through open drapes, brightening the interior, showcasing the many changes. From the carpet to the paint on the walls, even the lamps on the end tables, everything was different. Her grandfather had redecorated with used items, probably from the pawnshop, but he’d pulled it all together.
For her.
Through a mist of tears she took in the remodel. God, she missed him so much already.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, ignoring the murky unease making a slow crawl up her spine, she went through the living room to the dining room and around to the kitchen. Familiar appliances filled the walls, but cheery new wallpaper and bright scatter rugs transformed even this room.
Flipping on lights as she went, she explored the house and all the changes. Although everything seemed different, the empty house still held the scent of her grandfather’s Old Spice aftershave.
Just as it held the memory of Cannon’s kiss.
Even while weepy from her loss, a tidal wave of warmth invaded her limbs whenever she thought of him. She again felt his protective touch, remembered the hot taste of his kiss. She’d built some elaborate fantasies around that brief moment in time. But now she wasn’t sure if even Cannon could make a difference to her wounded psyche. Knowing that wouldn’t stop her from wanting him, and that scared her more than anything else could.
Shame quickly followed, because she’d just lost her beloved grandpa, the one relative who hadn’t given up on her, who’d taken her in after her parents’ deaths and made her world better. She had to keep him and his wishes uppermost in her mind.
When she saw her room, fresh tears welled up. New bedding and drapes made it look different, but all of her more personal belongings were just as she’d left them. She touched a hair ribbon on the dresser, an ancient carnival doll he’d won for her.
Slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed.
Cannon had missed the meeting at the lawyer’s office.
For over three long years she’d honed her fixation on him, using it to help her get through trying times, using the example of him to hopefully become a better person. He was everything she wasn’t, everything a good person should be. Generous, protective and caring. He had an athlete’s body, a fighter’s strength and an angel’s heart—all wrapped up in gorgeous good looks. Every girl in the neighborhood had wanted him.
After months of ignoring her childish flirting, he’d come to her rescue when she’d needed him most. And afterward, he’d felt pity for the pathetic girl she’d been.
He’d finally seen her—but as a victim.
Well, she was stronger now, and she’d prove it, to him and herself.
She watched every SBC fight, soaked up every mention of him on the internet and in numerous interviews. To the general public Cannon had been dubbed “the Saint,” in part due to his philanthropic attitude and always calm demeanor. Nothing and no one ever rocked his foundation of composure.
Insiders, however, claimed the nickname had more to do with his gentle treatment of women. He stayed too busy to engage in long-term romantic relationships. While he kept things brief, most of the ladies he knew became his friends without resentment, having nothing but good things to say about him.
Yvette could attest to his gentle concern and careful consideration. Difficult as she knew it’d be for her, she hoped he still claimed her as a friend, too.
It was necessary to see him, the sooner the better. But first… She’d learned that expending energy helped her to overcome her reservations. Before facing Cannon, she’d do what she could to shake off her nervousness and the uneasiness of being back in Ohio.
With that goal in mind, she emptied her suitcases and, doing her best to block the foul memories of what had happened in this very house, prepared for a night out.
Cannon would no doubt go to Rowdy’s bar, where he used to work. She’d find him there, and she’d show him that she wasn’t a frightened little girl anymore. She wasn’t pathetic. And she wouldn’t fawn over him. She’d convince him that she was a different person now.
And then maybe she’d be able to convince herself, too.
*
THE SECOND CANNON got his signature on all the papers, the lawyer stood and grabbed up an overflowing briefcase. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late for court. I hope you understand.”
“Sure.” He had no reason to hang around for small talk, especially when he had so much to think about.
“Tipton was a good man.” Friendly, sincere, Whitaker shook his hand. “If you need anything more, anything at all, please call Mindi and she can put you through.”
“Thanks.” With everything now in a big padded envelope, Cannon followed him to the door.
Before he could head out with the lawyer, Mindi reappeared. “You’re not rushing off, are you?”
That Whitaker took note, and then ignored his assistant to continue on his way, left Cannon wondering even more about their relationship.
Her body language, the way she looked at him and her tilt of her lips all invited him to stay. But if she and the lawyer were involved…yeah, he had no interest in getting mired in that sinkhole.
“Sorry. I have a dozen things to do yet today.”
Pretending to pout, she came closer. “But we have the office to ourselves.” Deliberately crowding his space, she reached around him and turned the lock on the front door. “Did I tell you that I’m a huge fan?”
Her breasts brushed against his chest; he could feel her breath on his throat. “Appreciate that. Thanks.” He kept his hands at his sides and tried not to breathe too deeply of her perfume. “Maybe another time, though.”
She teased a fingertip up and down her cleavage, and, damn it, he looked.
Encouraged, she moved that teasing finger to his chest, up and over his collarbone to twine an arm around his neck.
Temptation pulled at him. He glanced back and saw no one outside the office. After reading Tipton’s letter, he felt strung so tight that release would be welcome.
“He won’t be back,” Mindi said. Boldly she leaned into him…and stroked his crotch. “Don’t worry about him.”
God, he needed the distraction. And his body liked her touch well enough.
But his head wasn’t in it.
He got the definite vibe that she and the lawyer had a thing. Plus he figured Yvette would have dealt with Mindi, too, might even have to deal with her again. He would never do anything to make this new transition harder on her than it’d already be.
And then there was the fact that he hoped to finally have Yvette… Yeah, to his brain, cozying up with Mindi seemed like a very bad idea. “Sorry, honey, but I’m just not up for it.”
“Fibber,” Mindi whispered. Her eyes grew heavy, her breathing shallower as she stroked him. “You are most definitely up.”
Her twist of his words only marginally amused him. “Let’s just say parts of me have no sense.” Especially with her small hand expertly working him. “But the rest of me is shot, I swear.” The rest of me, he admitted to himself, wants Yvette, and only Yvette.
She pressed her lower body against his thigh. “I’d only need ten minutes.”
“Ah, now what fun would that be?” Gently, because he hated to insult any woman, Cannon tried to ease her back. “I’m sure you deserve more than ten minutes.”
“Later,” she whispered while nuzzling his neck, “when you have more time, you can make it up to me.”
Her sharp little teeth grazed his throat. Damn it, he was started to feel molested. “Listen—”
She opened her mouth on him and Cannon knew he had to get control of things before she added a hickey to his other many bruises. Catching her shoulders, he physically moved her away, saying with firm insistence, “Not today.”
Hurt overshadowed her lust, and she turned away from him. Hands to her face, she gave a nervous laugh. “Wow, this is embarrassing.”
Even annoyed, Cannon sympathized with her. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered.”
She shook her head. “And not at all interested.”
Stepping up behind her, he cupped her shoulders. “You had your hands on me, so you know that’s not true.” She’d felt his semierection. His dick liked her just fine. “But my last fight took it out of me, I just got into town and now I have a load of legal responsibilities to take care of.”
“That’s all it is?” She looked at him with hope. “Seriously?”
Not about to commit himself, he shrugged. “All I know is that it’s not happening now.” Ready to make his getaway, he turned and unlocked the door. He got as far as his truck when she called to him.
Looking back, he saw her poised in the doorway.
“I’ll take a rain check then, give you some time to get settled, but I’m not giving up.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her. Since he doubted they ran in the same circles, he wasn’t worried about seeing her again. With a salute, he got behind the wheel, started the engine and drove away from the building.
No matter how many times it happened, it was still a nice thing to be wanted. Didn’t matter that part of the appeal was his status in the SBC.
One thought led to another, and he had to wonder, would Yvette be as impressed? Even before he’d been picked up by the elite fight organization, she’d looked at him with idol worship, as if he had the answer to every question.
But that was years ago. For all he knew she could be engaged, even married now. He pictured her as he remembered her: young and innocent. Just coming into her own. Shapely and sweet.
Ripe.
Unsettled with conflicting emotions, Cannon drove by Tipton’s house, but when he knocked, no one answered. He had a key, but it didn’t seem right to go in before talking to Yvette. He went by the pawnshop next, but it remained locked up, dark and empty. Like him, Yvette had probably found a motel room.
He’d tra
ck her down soon enough, and then they could get reacquainted all over again.
Damn, but he could hardly wait.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE’D BEEN GONE for hours. After making a very brief stop at the pawnshop, disappointed to see the shape it was in, Yvette had shopped for basic groceries she knew she’d need. After that, she’d bought a few new security devices, preparing the best she could for her stay at the house.
Anxiety still churned inside her, but it didn’t matter. She had outgrown that embarrassingly timid girl who’d allowed herself to be a sniveling victim.
Never again.
She concentrated on presenting herself as a proper, poised woman, using that facade to hide the truth. So many dreams had died, but no one else needed to know that.
Preparing to see Cannon, she made herself as polished as possible and then set off.
Because of the mid-August heat wave, she wore a white tank top with her skinny jeans and sandals. She’d pulled her freshly washed hair in a high ponytail that hung down between her shoulder blades.
On the walkway outside Rowdy’s bar, she hesitated. Judging by the noise alone, the place was packed. Being in such a crowded atmosphere would help keep her attraction under wraps. She had to see him, but she wanted to do it without embarrassing herself in any way.
A trio of men stepped out, gave her double takes and leered. She heard “Well, hello,” and “Hot damn,” along with a low whistle from the third guy.
Yvette made a point of not encouraging that sort of thing—really any sort of thing—with men, so she merely nodded and stepped inside. The place looked exactly as she remembered it, with people laughing, a small crowd dancing to the jukebox, every stool lining the bar taken up with a body.
More men checked her out and, wondering if she looked as out of place as she felt, she smoothed her palms over her thighs. Only on very rare occasions had she ever visited bars. Rowdy’s bar was different than most, friendlier, a part of the community she still loved and missed, but it left her self-conscious all the same.
