by Lori Foster
Stack leaned in toward Yvette. “He means he wants you all to himself.”
“Selfish,” Miles added. “That’s Cannon.”
“At least when it comes to the pretty girls,” Armie explained. “Otherwise, he’s a ‘saint,’ don’t you know.”
As Denver stood, he said, “Right now, I can’t say I blame him.”
The way she gazed up at them from her seat made her eyes look even bigger and more innocent. She lowered her lashes—and they all looked ready to fall at her feet.
Cannon shook his head.
Not understanding just how smitten they all were, Yvette teased, “Are all fighters so outrageous?”
That started another round of jokes, but as they wrapped it up, Armie said with a teasing lilt, “’Bye, Yvette.”
She grinned. “’Bye.”
When the last guy had walked away, Cannon reseated himself beside her. “There you go. You’re now well acquainted with the warped psyche of fighters.”
“I’d call them colorful, not warped.”
“That’s because you’re a nice person.”
Far too serious, she shrugged. “I try to be.” Before he could question her on that, she said, “Do they fight professionally? I don’t recognize any of them.”
“At different levels, yeah. Armie’s good. He could be competing with the SBC if he really pursued it. But he’s also great with kids and he loves coaching, so he runs the rec center for me around fights in smaller, more local organizations.”
“He has a lot of interesting tattoos.”
“Not as many as some of the fighters.” Armie’s tats were mostly on his forearms, with one in the middle of his shoulder blades. “He’s into the art, though.”
“Do they have special meaning?”
“He’s never said.” In general, guys didn’t talk about special meanings with each other. Smiling, he told her, “The woman he’s seeing now has more ink than him, along with a lot of jewelry.”
Yvette tipped her head in that curious way. “You mean like a belly button ring?”
Cannon tugged at his ear. Yeah, the girl had that—and more. She hadn’t been shy about sharing the various body parts she’d pierced. Armie swore it was hot, but it hadn’t appealed to Cannon.
Rather than go into all that, he said, “Denver’s already with the SBC, but he’s between fights right now.”
“He’s the one with the longer brown hair, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He has to put it in a ponytail when he fights.”
“Does he wear contacts?”
Ah, so she had noticed. Most women commented on Denver’s predatory gaze, usually to Denver himself. Cannon appreciated that Yvette hadn’t reacted as others had. “No, that’s his natural eye color.”
Her phone made a sound; she glanced at it while saying, “He has the eyes of a wild animal.”
“So I’ve heard.” Cannon would admit the color was different, sort of a bright golden-brown.
She frowned at the phone before tucking it away.
“Anything important?”
“No,” she said too quickly and without conviction. When she didn’t elaborate, Cannon let it go.
For now.
“Miles is good, too. He’s making a name for himself. And Stack is getting there. He helps Armie at the rec center a couple times a week.”
As if looking for a change in subject, she asked, “How’s the rec center doing?”
“Great. Busy. Come by tomorrow and see for yourself.”
She nodded, started to say something and instead had to cover a yawn. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”
They’d indulged in a lot of chitchat and numerous interruptions. It all felt so surface, when being with her wasn’t. He took her hand. “You look good, Yvette.”
“For someone who’s driven cross-country?” She smiled. “Thank you. Of course you know you look amazing. You were always incredibly fit, but now…”
“Now what?”
Squeezing his hand, she pulled away and glanced around the bar. “Every woman in here is stealing looks at you.”
He doubted that was true, and even if it was, he didn’t care. “The men are all watching you.”
She smoothed her ponytail. “Probably wondering how they can come and get a picture with you.”
More like wondering how they could get her in bed. But saying so might be pushing things too much. “How long will you be in town?”
“However long it takes.” She caught her bottom lip in her teeth, visibly collected herself and finally lifted her gaze to his. “I want you to know I’ll take care of everything.”
Following along wasn’t easy when lust kept getting in his way. “Everything?”
“All the legal stuff.” Nervousness rushed her into a long explanation. “I can only imagine how busy you are now with your fight career and the rec center and everything you do for the community. You have your sister and your friends and all that training and travel. I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about anything.”
He’d already told her he wanted to be involved. No reason to beat it into the ground. She’d find out soon enough when he didn’t back off.
“I plan to talk to a Realtor tomorrow so I can get the properties listed right away. Hopefully we’ll get a quick sale. In the meantime I’ll take care of—”
“You want to sell?”
The question took her off guard before she recovered and said, “Of course.” She drew in a careful breath. “I can’t really pay you otherwise.”
“Pay me for what?”
“Your half of the inheritance.”
Damn. He didn’t want it, any of it. But Tipton had trusted him to discourage her from selling. Her grandfather wanted her to stay in Warfield, to claim it as her home. And now, after seeing her again, Cannon wanted the same.
They needed to talk. In no way did he feel entitled to her inheritance; the only thing he’d take from her was her time, her attention.
Her sexual interest.
Yeah, he wanted that. More so by the second.
He started to reach for her hand again, and a woman leaned down, twining her arms around his neck. “There you are. I wondered where you’d gotten off to.”
Well, hell. He’d totally forgotten that he’d made alternate plans.
Earlier in the evening, thinking he wouldn’t see Yvette until tomorrow, and being on edge, he’d made a semiagreement to hook up.
But once he’d seen Yvette, he’d forgotten all about the woman now latched on to him. He had to figure out a way to get rid of her without too much insult, because no way in hell was he letting Yvette walk away until they got a few things settled.
*
YVETTE LOOKED AT the beautiful woman pressing herself up against Cannon’s solid shoulder, one hand on his chest, the other in his hair, and she wanted to flee. Unfortunately, short of crawling over or under the booth table, Cannon had her trapped in her seat.
The other woman was chic and polished in a way Yvette could never be. Wavy, light brown hair, a sheer blouse and high heels only made her more attractive—and left Yvette feeling underdressed, out of place and far too intrusive. She’d come to the bar to give Cannon a message, to release him from any obligations, and instead she’d just…enjoyed him.
When so many others wanted his time and attention, her actions reeked of selfishness, making her stomach burn. Cannon had just gotten into town, but not only had she dragged him away from his friends, she’d apparently interrupted his romantic plans.
Envy stiffened her smile, making her feel clumsy and too obvious about the way she took in the circumstances.
As he stood, Cannon said, “Sorry…” as if trying to remember the woman’s name.
“Mary,” she supplied with a laugh, tightly hugging his arm, running her fingers over his solid biceps.
Damn, but Yvette envied her that. More than once tonight she’d wanted to do the same. Cannon had a body that begged to be touched. She wanted to ex
plore all those bulging muscles and hard planes.
A lesson in frustration, for sure.
“Right, Mary.” Even standing, he stayed near the bench seat so Yvette couldn’t slide out. “Yeah, I’m sorry, but my plans have changed.”
Yvette stared. Oh, no. No way would she let him cancel on her account. She wanted him to see her as a better person now, not a continued bother.
Determination got her moving, and she deliberately slipped toward the end of the seat. “I really should get going.”
“Oh, good,” Mary said. “I was afraid you two were together.”
“We’re not,” Yvette assured her.
At the same time, Cannon said, “We are,” while he continued to block her retreat.
Both women stared at him, Mary with dismay, Yvette with disbelief.
“Yvette and I are old friends.” Not in the least bothered by her denial, Cannon pried Mary from his body. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Friends?” Mary asked hopefully.
“Actually—”
“Yes, only friends.” Yvette managed to say it with friendly insistence, but it wasn’t her best effort. To Cannon, she said, “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.” She wanted away from the uncomfortable situation, but his big body remained in the way. “You don’t need to—”
“I want to.” With one hand on her shoulder, he kept her in place. “We have too much to talk about.” And before Yvette could refuse him again, he said to Mary, “I’m sure you understand.”
Starting to look annoyed, Mary propped her hands on her hips. “No, I’m not sure I do.”
Oh, God, after being at the center of one of the biggest scenes the town had ever known, she hated causing them, and she especially hated feeling guilty. “Really, Cannon,” she insisted, “it’s fine.”
He ignored Yvette’s protest and, being blunt, said to Mary, “I’m sorry, but I was just about to take off with Yvette.” And then, all but dismissing Mary, he asked Yvette, “Where are you staying?”
Feeling ridiculous, Yvette avoided looking at Mary. “I’m at the house.”
Cannon’s brows went up. “By yourself?”
Oh, now that stung. She lifted her chin. “Why not? It’s my house now.” She wasn’t a child who needed adult supervision. And if memories intruded, well, she’d deal with them.
“Part mine,” Cannon gently corrected, and then, “I only asked because I planned to stay there, too.”
That unexpected announcement had her jaw loosening. “You do?” Not once had she considered that possibility. It didn’t even make sense. “You have a house already.”
In negligent response, he rolled a shoulder. “Rissy lives there now. I gave it to her. A couple of months ago she brought in a roommate.”
“I’m sure your sister would still love to see you!”
At her raised voice, Cannon’s mouth curled into a crooked grin. “Yeah, she will. But she went to Japan with me and she’s still there, stretching it out into a vacation. I doubt her roommate, who’s female—” and also in Japan, but Yvette didn’t need to know that “—would appreciate me moving in on her.” It was just a small fabrication, and Cannon didn’t mind fudging things a little to get what he wanted.
Instead of leaving, Mary stuck close, making Yvette more flustered.
“Cannon,” she began, unsure what else to say.
“Yvette,” he replied, copying her tone and fixing his will on her. “I’m staying at the house.”
Mary finally spoke up. “Oh, my God.” She pointed a manicured finger at Yvette. “You’re that woman.”
Oh, no. Heat swelled up from Yvette’s churning stomach to her chest and finally settled in her face, making her light-headed. No, no, no. The urge to flee sent her heart stuttering.
“Mary,” Cannon said, “why don’t we talk over here?” He tried to lead her away.
She resisted. “You’re that woman who was raped, the one who was almost set on fire.”
“I wasn’t raped,” Yvette squeaked, her voice far too weak.
“Those men… It was in all the local news and everyone was talking about it.” Mary shrugged off Cannon’s hand when he again tried to draw her away. “They made you watch when they brutalized that other woman. You watched them videotape it!” She splayed a hand over her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“That’s enough,” Cannon said in a low voice.
But Mary wasn’t done. Yvette couldn’t tell if she was titillated or truly sympathetic.
Either was awful.
In a scandalized whisper, Mary asked, “Did they really douse you in kerosene and threaten to burn you alive?”
Memories crept in, bring with them old feelings of panic. Although her thoughts bounced about wildly in a frantic search, Yvette couldn’t come up with a single appropriate reply to give.
“Excuse me.” Avery, Rowdy’s wife, insinuated herself into Mary’s line of vision. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but, Cannon, Rowdy wants to talk to you. He’s in the break room. Oh, and, Yvette, he’d love to see you, too.” With that, she turned to Mary, moving her petite body so close that Mary had no choice but to back up a few spaces. “Before he was famous,” Avery explained with false enthusiasm, “Cannon used to work here. He’s like family still. I’m sure you understand.”
Mary protested that no, she did not understand at all, but Cannon had already drawn Yvette out of the booth seat. Keeping a firm hold on her upper arm, he grabbed up her purse and propelled her forward.
In a shocked daze, she allowed it, stumbling along on wooden legs.
Bodies crowded the bar, but Yvette barely noticed. By rote, she kept her chin up even as Mary’s words reverberated in her thoughts over and over again. Somehow they seemed twice as damning when spoken aloud. She had stood by and watched another woman brutalized. The reality of that squeezed all the air from her lungs.
As they left the main floor for a private hallway, the din of conversation, music and laughter faded into the periphery. Cannon leaned closer, his warm breath brushing the sensitive whorls of her ear when he whispered, “Almost there.”
The concern in his tone kick-started her pride. Swallowing hard, she blinked several times and cleared away the fog of shame.
She’d been a victim, she reminded herself. Realistically she knew it, but that had nothing to do with the mélange of emotions that sometimes bombarded her, with disgrace always at the forefront.
“In here,” Cannon said, drawing her through a doorway into a private room that housed a long table surrounded by chairs, a coffeepot and paper cups, lockers and a few vending machines.
He hooked a chair with his foot and drew it out from the table. “Want something to drink?”
Knowing he expected her to sit, she instead squared off with him. Not in anger, but in determination.
“You don’t need to pamper me.” Not anymore. Not ever again. “I’m fine.”
That drew him around, eyes narrowed and jaw hard. “Bullshit.”
Hearing him curse like that shocked her, but it was nothing compared to the inferno in his eyes. If she’d changed, well, apparently so had he.
He stepped closer, tall, powerful. Indomitable. “You don’t have to do this, Yvette.” He searched her face. “Not with me.”
A little panicky, she said, “I don’t know what you mean,” even as she attempted to get her mask of contentment back in place.
The edge of his fist touched under her chin, lifting her face so that she couldn’t avoid his probing scrutiny. So many sensations erupted: nervousness, excitement, need. She nibbled her bottom lip and literally felt it when his gaze transferred to her mouth.
Hotly, he stared, then inhaled a slow, deep breath—and stepped back. “That woman upset you.”
“That woman?” Derision choked her. “You had a date with her and you don’t remember her name?”
The accusation gathered his dark brows together. “Mary or something. Who cares? And it wasn’t a date.”
“
Sounded like a date to me.”
“Then you haven’t gotten around much in the past three years.” He indicated the chair. “Let’s talk.”
She’d had enough talk for one night. Now she just wanted to escape…all of it—Mary’s taunting insight, Cannon’s seductive caring, the exposure of old wounds. But fleeing would be cowardly, and by God, she would not regress.
Dropping her purse onto the long table, she sat. Mulish. Annoyed.
And, damn it, amusement replaced discontent as Cannon took his own seat. “Am I holding you up from something important?”
“No.”
He nodded to her phone sticking out of her purse. “Someone contacted you earlier. Someone male?”
She thought about lying, but no, he deserved better from her. “That was nothing…important.” Sitting forward to convince him, she said, “I want to go to the house and catch some sleep. It’s been a long trip and this is all—” unbearable “—uncomfortable.”
“Which was my point.” The opposite of her, he slouched back in his seat. He continued to study her until, very softly, he said, “I’m sorry.”
Now, why did that make her heart trip and her eyes burn? “For what?”
“Bad timing?” While collecting his thoughts, he looked down at nothing in particular. “I hooked up with Mary before I knew you’d be here.” His gaze swung back up to snare hers. “But now that you are here, I—”
Her forced laugh cut him off. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s not about owing.” His right hand worked, closing into an imposing fist, then relaxing again. “We have a whole lot to straighten out.”
“We could talk tomorrow.”
“Count on it. But tonight—”
Rowdy stepped in, a cola in each hand. Clearly he and Cannon had caught up earlier, given the relaxed way they greeted each other.
“Better?” Rowdy asked.
“Much. Thanks.” He accepted the cola. “For this, too.”
Rowdy set the other drink in front of her. “Yvette Sweeny, right?”
“Um, yes. Hi.” For a moment there, her tongue got stuck. Rowdy Yates was just so…much. Of everything. No way would she have forgotten him, but… “I’m surprised you remember.”
