No Limits

by Lori Foster

  Rowdy himself worked the bar tonight, and when she saw a flash of red hair, Yvette knew he had his wife by his side. She heard him laugh about something his wife said and she smiled with them.

  Cannon used to work here, right up until his fighting career took off. She knew that whenever he came to the area, he stopped in to visit, so she hoped to find him here tonight. And if not, then surely someone could tell her where he’d be.

  Before people started to wonder if she’d gotten lost, she began searching the room, making her way past the front tables, the dance floor—and finally she found Cannon back by the pool tables in the company of men and women alike.

  As if her senses had been starved for him, a dozen emotions made her muscles weak. He looked even better than she remembered. In an otherwise dim room, fluorescent lamps over the pool table added blue highlights to his dark, unruly hair, still a little too long, curling on the ends. As he bent to take a shot, his T-shirt stretched over those impossibly wide and strong shoulders. Muscles flexed, making her stomach flutter in an expected way.

  That particular reaction to Cannon was nothing new.

  A woman was draped over him, whispering in his ear, and he grinned, his blue eyes bright. The lady kissed his jaw and stepped back.

  Taking the shot, Cannon sank three pool balls.

  Yvette had never learned to play pool, but given how the others reacted, that must’ve been a good shot.

  Laughing, two of Cannon’s male friends handed over bills and the women lined up for hugs. Part of the bet, maybe?

  Or just because they all wanted an excuse to touch him? She’d bet on the latter.

  Watching it all, Yvette noted the five-o’clock shadow and a few colorful bruises that darkened his handsome face. He’d always had a lean, strong build, but now he was positively shredded, his muscles bulkier and more defined, not an ounce of extra weight on his large frame.

  Thinking of the number of fights he’d had in such a short time, she smiled. It was a running joke in the SBC that if a fight became available, if another fighter got sick or injured and had to drop out, Cannon was always there, ready to jump in. Drew Black, the owner of the SBC, loved it—especially since, so far, Cannon always won.

  He’d had a few close calls, but every time he managed to pull it off. That last bout… It still amazed her how he’d finished the fight before it finished him.

  Shifting inside the doorway and taking up an unoccupied spot against the shadowy wall, she studied him for a while, content to refamiliarize herself with how he moved and how his lips formed that particular cocky smile. Not that she’d ever really forgotten. He drew people like flies to honey, and occupied the entire room with his presence.

  Thinking of the antics her grandfather had pulled, her brows twitched together. Cannon already had so much on his plate. He was out of town more than in, and he traveled all over the world.

  He had to be wondering how he’d find the time to take on even more. Shortly, Yvette would relieve his mind. She knew her grandfather had always felt seriously indebted to Cannon. But this was not the way to repay him. As a fan favorite in the sport, he made a considerable amount of money with each fight. Endorsements were lining up for his approval. He’d been in a few commercials, done some commentating. He didn’t need her grandfather’s meager inheritance.

  He’d earned it, she would never dispute that, but he shouldn’t have to maneuver through the quagmire of responsibilities her grandfather had unloaded on him.

  Though she wished it could be otherwise, she’d stay around only long enough to sell both properties, give Cannon his share and then move on.

  But before she did that, she wanted him to know that she would no longer chase after him like a lost puppy begging for affection—especially when she couldn’t do anything about it even if she got his attention.

  Which she knew she wouldn’t. Other than that one sympathy-inspired moment after the threat had been removed, he’d made his disinterest well-known.

  Little by little, Cannon cleared the table. With only the cue ball and two others remaining, he chalked his stick, walked around for a better position, bent for a shot—and froze when his attention zeroed in on her body.

  Yvette held her breath, especially when that electric blue gaze deliberately tracked up in minute detail, from her thighs to her stomach, her breasts—and finally her face.

  Their gazes locked.

  Her heartbeat rocked into overtime when, with an arrested expression, he slowly straightened to his impressive height. No smile, just those intense blue eyes consuming her.

  Breathless from his potent stare, Yvette lifted a hand to wiggle her fingers in a small wave.

  Suddenly he went into motion. Saying something to the guy next to him, Cannon handed him the pool stick. The other men—some of them fighters by the looks of them—jokingly protested. One of the women, smiling too widely, grabbed his arm with playful arguments.

  After a whisper in her ear and a kiss to her cheek, Cannon disengaged from her. He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket, tossed them on the table to appease everyone and walked away.

  Knowing she’d caused a scene, heat rushed into Yvette’s face. She could feel everyone staring at her now; in order to cope, she kept her gaze only on Cannon. Breathing harder, she tracked his stride around the tables, around human bottlenecks and displaced chairs on a path to reach her.

  God, she thought she’d remembered, but the powerful way he affected her felt entirely new. She bit her bottom lip hard, fighting the urge to flee—or launch herself at him.

  And suddenly it was too late to do either. Cannon reached her, still saying nothing as his attention moved over her again, this time with more familiarity. The reality of him was so much better than the memory—his height, how his wide shoulders blocked out the view of the rest of the room…sometimes the rest of the world.

  She saw how deepened breathing swelled his chest, the loose-limbed way he held his long muscular arms, the intent way he watched her.

  Being this near to him wrecked her poise. The silence made her more jittery still, so she licked her lips and whispered, “Cannon…”

  One corner of his mouth curled as he touched her cheek, smoothed his fingertips along her jaw. Then, as if it happened all the time, he drew her into his chest and hugged her right off her feet.

  *

  HE COULDN’T STOP looking at her. Damn, he’d remembered her as pretty, but she’d matured into killer good looks—and didn’t seem to know it. An angel’s face paired with that trim but curvy figure, and yeah, he was pretty sure every guy in the place had already started fantasizing.

  Too bad, because none of them would touch her.

  If he’d had any doubts about wanting her, they were put to rest in a big way. Instead of three years, it felt like a decade he’d been waiting on her. Yes, he wanted her. He would have her, too.

  The only question was how soon.

  A few weeks ago she’d lost her grandfather, and she probably needed time to acclimate to being home around the unpleasant memories. He’d love to segue right from hello to hell, yeah, but he also enjoyed just looking at her and talking with her.

  Sipping her Coke, Yvette stole a peek at him. Feathery lashes framed those big green eyes he remembered so well—eyes that used to watch him with innocent infatuation, but now seemed wary. She sat straight, proper. Spoke carefully. Avoided his direct gaze.

  As Tipton had said, she was guarded.

  She wore makeup, but not a lot. Even in a ponytail, her long dark hair made him think of it spilled loose on his pillows, or gliding over his chest.

  Or his thighs.

  And her clothes, while casual, covered such a sweet body it left him visually undressing her.

  Repeatedly.

  Knowing he had to get a grip, he asked, “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “But please go ahead and eat if you want.”

  “I’m good.” Arms folded on the top of the booth, he smiled. “I can
’t get over how much you’ve changed.”

  That pleased her, he could tell. “It’s been almost three and a half years.”

  Long enough for her to put the past behind her? To put him behind her? No, he wouldn’t let her. “I’m so damn sorry about Tipton.”

  “Thank you.” She set the drink aside, then nervously drew her finger through the damp ring the glass had left on the booth top. “I wanted to talk to you about that. About—”

  “Hey, Saint.” Two guys sidled up to the table. “Can we get a pic?”

  Cannon forced his gaze away from Yvette. “Sure.” He would never alienate a fan, but damn, the timing could be better. Yvette had been screwing up her courage to say something. Now he had to wonder what.

  Stepping out of the booth, he bent a little to put himself more in line with the shorter guys, and with a double thumbs-up, smiled as a plump lady used her cell phone to snap a few photos.

  That only seemed to unleash other fans, and before he knew it, he was posing with men and women alike. Some wanted to hug him, some wanted him in a fighter’s stance, a few just wanted him to mug for the camera. Before he could get a handle on things, he’d taken around twenty photos and signed more than a dozen autographs.

  Yvette watched it all with a look of fascinated indulgence. When there seemed to be a lull, he reseated himself. “Sorry about that.”

  “You’re popular, I understand.” Her long glossy ponytail spilled over her shoulder when she tipped her head to study him. “I watch the fights.”

  That pleased him more than it should have. “Yeah? What do you think?”

  “You’re pretty amazing.”

  He held back his grin. “I do my best.”

  That earned a short laugh. “Humble, too.” Shaking her head, she teased, “No wonder they call you the Saint.”

  He’d rarely heard her laugh before, and hearing it now did funny things to him. It was nice. Rich. Husky.

  A turn-on.

  “It’s a dumb fight name, but I don’t have much say in it.”

  “Would you rather something else?”

  Sure he would, but admitting it would sound juvenile. “Doesn’t matter. What they call me isn’t as important as whether or not they remember me.”

  “Being memorable is accomplished by putting on a good fight. And you always do.” She leaned in a little, teasing him. “That’s not just my biased opinion either. I’ve heard the same from the commentators, read it in articles and heard other fans say it.”

  “Yeah? When was this?” Had she attended a fight?

  “I live in Cali. Last year you were only three hours away, so I made the trip.”

  “Only three hours, huh?” Damn it, why hadn’t she told him? “I got a knockout in the first round of that fight.”

  “Everyone was on their feet screaming. Pretty exciting.” She grinned. “A guy behind me spilled his beer down my back.”

  Cannon winced. “Idiot.”

  “I forgave him since he was cheering for you.”

  In his experience, most women who attended live fights either came on the make, or with a boyfriend. He didn’t like either possibility for Yvette. “So who went to the fight with you?”

  She shook her head. “Just me.”

  She’d gone alone? For some reason, that broke his heart. “What fun is that?”

  A dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You got a first-round knockout. Believe me, it was fun.”

  “I wish you’d told me you were there.” He’d thought about trying to look her up, but California wasn’t a small state, and there’d been so much to do prefight.

  Besides, she’d been the one who’d walked away….

  As if she’d read his thoughts, she straightened, her shoulders back. “I couldn’t be that bold. You were busy. It wouldn’t have been right to bother you.”

  He didn’t want her so uptight with him. Once, long ago, she hadn’t been. “It would’ve been nice to see you.” But carving more than a few minutes out of his jammed schedule would have been dicey.

  A flash went off behind them, and Yvette turned to see a woman taking another picture. Unlike with other women, the intrusion didn’t seem to annoy her, and the attention didn’t seem to excite her.

  Remaining poised, she said, “Maybe I should get going. There are a lot of people hoping for your time.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.” No way did he want things to end so quickly. “It’s easier for me to fend them off if you stay.”

  “You want to fend them off?”

  “I like my downtime same as any other guy.” Especially with her so near.

  “Does that happen everywhere you go?”

  The popularity inherent in the sport occasionally made him uncomfortable. This was one of those times. “More so the past year, but yeah, I sometimes get recognized.”

  Amusement had her lips twitching. “And you just take it in stride.” Reaching into her purse, she located her phone and lifted it out. “Mind if I take one, too? I’ll add it to my Facebook.”

  A good excuse to make his move. “Only if you’re in it with me.” Sliding out of his seat and over to her side of the booth, he deliberately took up space so that they sat touching. He put one arm over her narrow shoulders, keeping her close, and took the phone from her. “My reach is longer.”

  Yvette went very still, almost frozen, as he leaned in, near enough to feel the supple curves of her body, the scented warmth she radiated.

  Stretching the phone out in front of them, he said, “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  Gathering herself, she lifted her lips in a practiced smile, said, “Go,” and then held her breath.

  Sexual awareness slowly uncoiled inside him. Her long ponytail teased the skin of his arm, her sweet little body tucked in against his.

  It was as if the years had never happened—except that now she was more mature and plenty old enough for his interest.

  And yet, something held him back. Maybe her new reserve.

  After snapping a few photos, Cannon handed her back her phone—and stayed put. He’d go slow, but he wouldn’t retreat.

  He wanted to nuzzle her neck, drink in the light fragrance of her shampoo and the warmer scent of her skin. If she was any other woman, he’d whisper a suggestion or two in her ear. But this was Yvette, and they had a lot to talk about.

  “So.”

  She concentrated on adding the photo to her Facebook page, along with the location of Rowdy’s bar. “What?”

  I want to get you naked. “How come you went to the fight alone?” Leaving his arm around her, Cannon idly let his fingertips tease the warm sleek skin of her shoulder. “Boyfriend isn’t into Mixed Martial Arts?”

  After peeking up at him, she said, “If I had a boyfriend, would I be sitting here like this with you?” Satisfied that she’d labeled the picture properly, she tucked her phone away in her purse.

  “Why not?” He pressed his thigh to hers. “We’re friends.”

  She seemed preoccupied with reading the front of his T-shirt. After a shaky indrawn breath, she looked away. “I don’t have a boyfriend—but if I did, I doubt he’d like me getting so close to you.”

  “No boyfriend.” He ran his hand down her ponytail and found her hair every bit as silky as he remembered. Expanding lust made his voice lower and huskier. “California guys are blind?”

  “I had been dating, but…” She rearranged her purse, her drink, looked around as if seeking a distraction.

  Cannon had a feeling she kept busy just to avoid answering. “But what?”

  She folded her hands together on the tabletop. “We split up a little before I bought the ticket.”

  For reasons he didn’t want to explore too much, he was glad to know she wasn’t with anyone else. He gave her ponytail a gentle tug. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Things hadn’t been going well anyway, so I’m glad I didn’t waste the experience with him.”

  He liked how she put that, as if seeing him fight
had been special.

  “My best friend wanted to go, but she couldn’t get off work. So I went alone.” She lifted her narrow shoulders. “No big deal.”

  “Cheap seats?”

  “What?” Confusion brought her gaze back to his.

  He’d remembered her eyes as a striking green, but he’d forgotten how it made him feel when she looked right at him. She had that absorbed, heated look a woman got while straining toward an orgasm.

  Damn. He blew out a careful breath, determined to get his lust under wraps. “At the venue. How far were you from the action?”

  “Oh.” Once again fascinated with the logo on his shirt, she murmured, “Club seats. They weren’t too bad.”

  Without even thinking about it, Cannon continued to play with her hair. “I could have gotten you floor seats if you’d let me know.”

  “It wouldn’t be right to ask you for a favor like that! And besides, the floor seats didn’t appeal to me.”

  “How come?” Most everyone he knew coveted the limited vantage point.

  “It looked like they had their own party going on. No one was really watching the fights. The guys were all going back and forth for drinks and the women were all flirting.”

  True enough. The ladies often showed up dressed for a club atmosphere and hopeful of hooking up. “I take it you didn’t plan to flirt?”

  She shot him a guilty look that he didn’t understand. “I never do.”

  “Never, huh?” That’d be a shame. He remembered her as being really good at it. He settled his hand on her shoulder again. “Why stop now?”

  “Because it was wrong!” As if she hadn’t meant to say that, she turned her face away. Even in the dim light of the bar, Cannon could see the blush on her cheeks. Seconds ticked by before she spoke again, this time quieter, more composed. “I know I used to be a terrible flirt.”

  That was so opposite of what he’d been thinking, he smiled. “Nothing terrible about it.” She’d just gotten out of high school—though at the time he hadn’t realized that she’d fallen behind and was older than most graduates. “Everyone flirts at that age.”

  Shaking her head, she denied that. Nervously, she pulled her ponytail over her shoulder so she could play with a lock of hair, winding it repeatedly around two fingers. “I was bad, always eyeing you like I did.”