by Lori Foster
Admitting it to herself didn’t improve the fault.
With all her avoidance, she’d only managed to make things more difficult, because now she looked outright awful.
Trying not to make a sound, hoping she’d be able to sneak to her bedroom for a quick shower and change before seeing Cannon, she turned the doorknob, poked her head inside—and found him standing there.
Arms crossed over his bare chest. Legs naked. Hips and other…vital parts…barely concealed by a small white towel.
Good Lord. Her jaw loosened.
Her heart punched into her throat, and then dropped hard into her belly.
She stared without blinking.
Mouth quirking, Cannon said, “You may as well come on in. I’m not budging.”
She did, quickly stepping in and closing the door behind her, then dropping back against it. “You’re—” naked “—not dressed.”
“Just got out of the shower.”
It took a very deep breath before she could squeak out, “Oh.” That breath had filled her head with the scent of masculine soap and warm male.
Her hungry gaze tracked down his body, taking it all in. Those sleek, hard shoulders. His wide chest half-hidden by muscular arms arrogantly folded. Down his solid rib cage and…mmm.
Those abs.
The bruises, a few of them really harsh, didn’t detract from the perfection. A silky trail of dark hair bisected his body, teased around his navel and disappeared into the loosely wrapped towel.
There wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to keep her properly ventilated.
“Yvette.”
His voice had dropped an octave, drawing her gaze up to his. “Hmm?”
“They’re just bruises.”
He thought that was why she stared? Well, yeah, the bruises were ghastly. But she’d seen enough postfight photos to know it wasn’t uncommon for a fighter to sport evidence of the battle.
The largest bruise was also the darkest, almost black in the middle, then fading into purple and lilac as it spread out over his ribs. Because it was a better excuse than the truth, she said, “You look like you should be—” In bed. Steering clear of that verbal trap, she amended, “Resting.”
As if he knew her every thought, he smiled. “I can almost feel that stare, and I don’t mind telling you, it’s having an effect.”
That made her look harder, and sure enough, the tightly wrapped towel now showed things she’d be better off not seeing.
“Yvette,” he said again, this time with gravelly insistence.
Realization of her rudeness hit and she pivoted fast to face the door. But…then what? She faced a closed door. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
“The back view is nice, too.”
No way could she ignore that tempting admission. But when she looked over her shoulder at him, he still faced her. “I can’t see the back.”
“No.” On a low laugh, he nodded at her rear end. “I meant yours.”
Slapping her hands over her butt, she turned away again. If nothing else, it hid her burning face and kept her from visually molesting him.
And, darn it, now she became the recipient of a hot stare. “This isn’t at all proper.”
“I remember a time,” he said, closer to her, “when you weren’t all that worried about being proper.”
She’d been young and foolish. “I shouldn’t have stared and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
Knowing she had to get hold of herself and the situation, she staged a friendly expression and cautiously turned back to him. Utilizing Herculean effort, she kept her attention above his sternum. “It’s hardly my fault with you standing there, flaunting yourself like that.”
“I don’t flaunt.” He made a rude sound of denial. “I’m just standing here.”
Looking as he did, that was enough. “You aren’t decently dressed.”
“I’d just gotten out of the shower when the phone rang.”
“Well.” He’d offered her the perfect excuse for fleeing. “I’ll just let you finish getting ready—”
Before she could take a single step, he moved, and she got caught up watching the muscles in his bared body flex as he closed the small amount of space left between them.
She was hot, sweaty and suddenly mute.
When he reached out, she flattened against the door and almost squawked, it so surprised her.
“You’re afraid of me?”
Her turn to scoff. “No, never.”
Cannon paused for only a second before nodding with satisfaction. “Good.” Gently catching her hand, he tugged her forward and started toward the kitchen.
Going along without complaint, Yvette tried to collect herself, but couldn’t.
He was right—the back view was freaking awesome.
Long muscles moved with each step he took. Water glistened on his shoulders. His still-wet hair sent a trickle down the deep furrow of his spine.
And that little damp towel… How she envied it. Wrapped around his hips, it hugged his butt, showcasing the tight muscles there.
A big bubble of heat popped inside her, flushing her whole body. “Mmm, what are we doing?”
“Going into the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk.” He looked over that boulder shoulder at her. “And I don’t want you sneaking off again.”
“I didn’t sneak.” Liar. “I just went for my morning jog.”
“For more than two hours?” Pulling out two vinyl-covered chairs from her grandfather’s refurbished kitchen table, he gestured for her to sit.
Since her legs were quivering from exhaustion, ready to give out anyway, she dropped down.
“I didn’t know you jogged.” His bright blue gaze moved over her, probably seeing her perspiration-soaked clothes and shiny, flushed skin. “Need something to drink?”
She needed him to get some pants on before she fainted. “No, I’m fine.” Determined to be as blasé as him, she unhooked the belted purse from around her waist, removing the empty water bottle from the loop that held it, putting that and her cell phone on the tabletop.
Cannon gave her a long look, turned to the refrigerator and took out an icy bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and set it in front of her. “You’re pretty wilted. Drink up.”
Wilted—what a nice way to put it. Reminded of how wretched she looked, she started to stand. “I need a shower.”
A hand on her shoulder pressed her back. His tone even and cool, Cannon said, “Let’s talk first.”
He literally loomed over her with all that naked flesh up close and personal. She was eye level with a small brown nipple, with the sparse dark hair on his chest. She could smell his soap and something more. Something hot and sexy and all male.
Curling her hands into fists, she resisted the powerful urge to touch him. But that didn’t stop her from looking—at his throat, over his collarbone, those sculpted pecs…
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?” she breathed in a strangled whisper.
His other hand flattened on the table beside her, caging her in. “Eating me up with those pretty green eyes.”
She’d prefer to eat him up with her teeth, her tongue…. “Put on more clothes and I won’t stare!”
Contentment showed in his eyes. “I will.”
Thank God.
“After we talk.”
Trying to find her backbone, she straightened in the chair and put a hand to his chest—his hot, hard, naked chest—to lever him back a few inches. “You’re acting too familiar, Cannon.” She had to concentrate hard to keep her fingers from caressing. “Like we’re involved or something.”
The second she touched him, he went still, then his eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed. “We’ve been involved for over three long years.” Too serious, he covered her hand with his, keeping it trapped against his body. His chest hair tickled her palm and made breathing harder still. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how far away
you were. There’s something between us.”
Choking off a groan, she offered a compromise. “Tell you what.” Infusing a dose of reason into her tone, she said, “Get dressed while I shower and then we’ll—”
“Not happening.”
Why did he always have to sound so controlled and collected? “Does another fifteen minutes really matter?”
“Does since you’ve been avoiding me. Given half a chance, you might take off again.”
“Cannon…” She really, really needed him to back up enough to let her unclench. “You can’t expect me to do this with you naked!”
Finally he stepped away, glanced down at himself, then tightened both the towel and his mouth. “Everything is covered.”
“Actually…” Stop eating him with your eyes. “There’s still a whole lot of you showing.”
His mouth didn’t smile, but, damn it, she could tell he enjoyed her extreme reaction.
When he continued to watch her, she shifted her feet, tried crossing her arms, but there was no way to hide. “I am a miserable mess,” she muttered with embarrassment.
“No,” he asserted, “you aren’t.” He dragged a chair over close to her and seated himself.
In. A. Towel.
With his knees almost touching hers, he looked at her legs, at her snug shorts and her damp, fitted tank top. “If you want the truth—”
“I’m not sure I do,” she said in a hurry.
“I can’t stop picturing you without the shirt and shorts.”
His blunt admission left her blank. “Naked in running shoes?”
His mouth quirked. “Okay, you can maybe lose the shoes, too.” His focus now on her chest, he continued. “And you know, I’m betting that sports bra didn’t do enough to stop some sexy bouncing.”
“Cannon,” she groaned, raising her arms to wrap around herself.
He caught her wrists, keeping her still. “It bothers me, thinking about all the guys who probably saw you jogging by and immediately started imagining more.”
Her heart tried to punch out of her chest. “No one—”
“Because that’s what I’m doing.”
Though her mouth opened, nothing more came out. It took her three hard heartbeats before she thought to say, “Well, just stop it!”
“I’ll try.” Releasing her, he said softly, “If you’ll stay and talk to me.”
“But…”
“It won’t take long.”
“Neither would my shower,” she grumbled, starting to feel put out by his pushy manner.
“Maybe. But with the way you keep dodging me, I don’t trust it.”
That made her eyes narrow. “You mean you don’t trust me.”
Shrugging, he rested his elbows on his thighs and let his hands hang loosely between his knees. “Close enough.”
The insult should have taken precedence, but for a second there it looked as if he might lose the towel, and that annihilated every other thought. She held her breath, but no, it stayed put.
“Yvette.”
“You are so badly bruised.” She wanted to touch him, to somehow make his ribs better. He’d taken a vicious kick in the fight and almost lost. But somehow he’d managed to throw that one last punch—which had been enough. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much, so don’t change the subject.”
When she took in his determined expression, it shook her. Never had she wanted him to see her as anything but self-assured, mature and poised. Her best bet now would be to get the talking over with so she could go make herself presentable. “All right. Let’s hear it.”
Instead of launching into his all-important talk, he breathed deeper, zeroed in on her mouth and whispered, “First things first.”
Yvette had no idea what he meant by that—until he came forward and put his mouth right to hers. Barely there. Lightly touching. Tentative.
She froze, her breath suspended and her body taut. Only her heartbeat seemed to function as it leaped into overtime.
When he didn’t pull away, her eyes sank shut. Sharing breath with him, drowning beneath a rush of intimacy, she made a small sound.
He reciprocated by touching his tongue against her, moving softly over her lips, tracing the seam where she held them closed.
In a dark, husky voice, he whispered, “Open up for me, honey.”
The sexy command made her gasp—which was just the opportunity he wanted.
Still going slow and easy, he teased his way in as if savoring the experience.
She forgot she was a wreck, forgot this could lead nowhere, forgot…everything.
With a soft growl, he adjusted for a better fit. His mouth nudged hers open more. One of his hands caught her ponytail, tilting her head back. The other opened on the small of her back, urging her to the edge of the seat. He brought her into the solid cradle of his big body, surrounding her in so many ways. Without deliberate decision, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders, and, oh, God, he felt incredible, as good as she’d always imagined.
Every nerve ending jumped in awareness.
It had been so long since she’d been kissed, especially since she’d been kissed like this.
The last time was three years ago—with Cannon.
She forgot about her appalling state of sweat and wrinkled clothes, the wind-tangled ponytail he held.
He sank his tongue in, tasting her deeper, hotter. His hand left her back to settle boldly on her bare thigh just above her knee, his strong fingers wrapping around her, encircling her leg.
When he slid that hand upward to the edge of her shorts, she finally regained her wits.
She shoved back so fast she almost toppled the chair. For a split second, they stared at each other, his gaze smoldering, hers—though he probably didn’t realize it—full of regret. They both breathed too fast.
Shooting to her feet, Yvette got as far as the kitchen doorway before Cannon caught her.
His strong fingers held her shoulders, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. After several tense moments, he deliberately loosened his hold and eased her back into his chest. She might have thought he had calmed, except that she felt his furious heartbeat against her shoulder blades.
“Don’t run from me,” he said low, his mouth touching her ear. “Swear to God, Yvette, it only makes me want to chase you.”
If he could actually catch her, she’d have no problem with that. But she knew what he didn’t, so she’d have to be the one to stop. “This was a mistake.”
“Felt like a hell of a lot more to me.”
Not leaning against him took every ounce of her willpower. “I’ll shower and change and then we’ll talk all you want.” Now that she realized how combustible things could be, she knew they needed to clear the air. She needed him to understand that nothing would come of it.
She might even have to admit she was broken.
By small degrees, his hands opened from her shoulders and he took a step back. Time ticked by, and finally he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stayed in that damn towel, she asked, “Just…get dressed, okay?”
“If you promise not to keep me waiting.”
A negotiation? So she had to bargain to get him clothed? The irony of it hit her: most women would be trying to steal his towel, not urging him to put on clothes.
When she’d found out what her grandfather had done, not once had she imagined this scene as a consequence. Other than Cannon’s one moment of weakness during the darkest time of her life, he’d kept a safe, and platonic, distance away. She’d expected more of the same.
Logic had told her that Cannon, now a superstar with many demands on his time and his choice of women, would make a quick agreement to let her take care of business. For the sake of her wounded heart, she had counted on his only involvement being that of signing papers and then accepting what was his.
Instead he’d moved in with her—for how long?—and used his body to taunt
her, to tempt her into wanting things she already knew she couldn’t have.
With one sharp nod, she said, “Give me fifteen minutes.”
*
NONE OF THAT had gone quite as he’d planned.
Well, parts had. Like her melting.
Like the taste of her.
The softness of her skin and the way her hair smelled.
Her impact on him was the same as three years ago when he’d first kissed her. She’d started an itch that had never gone away, and instead had grown to nearly consume him. Now he didn’t have the excuse of consoling her, of trying to distract her from harsh reality.
No, he just wanted her. Bad.
But she shied away like a virgin. Or worse, like a woman injured. And for some damn reason, that made him act like a damned Neanderthal when he’d never been that heavy-handed with women.
Her reaction to him tortured him, making him want her sexually all the more, but also wanting her in other, less familiar ways.
Ways he didn’t yet want to name. Hell, they’d only been reunited for a day. Less, considering she’d spent much of that time avoiding him.
When the phone she’d left on the table made a noise, he glanced at it.
A Facebook alert. Nosy and not giving a shit, he read the screen.
Facebook 1 min ago
Heath: Who the fuck are you posing with?
Hmm. A comment on the picture he’d taken with her? He wanted to know, but didn’t want to invade her privacy enough to check the phone for more details.
To keep from tempting himself further, he went down the hall and into the bedroom across from hers. He opened his overnight bag and dug out fresh clothes. Shoving his feet into his favorite pair of worn jeans, Cannon cursed himself.
He had a boner no woman could miss. Especially not a woman so skittish and uncertain—a woman who’d devoured him with her gaze.
Carefully, he eased up the zipper while ordering his body to calm the hell down. Knowing she was so close, he had marginal success with that.
He was sitting on the side of the bed, tying his sneakers, when her bedroom door opened.
True to her word, she’d showered and changed in record time. At the open bedroom doorway, she peeked in at him, saw he was dressed and let out a tense breath.
