by Lori Foster
The door opened behind him and the redhead, grinning at her wickedly, asked, “Is she joining us or not?”
Merissa stumbled back.
Together, she and Armie both said, “Not.”
The woman wore only Armie’s shirt with mile-high strappy sandals. Pouting, she reached around him for his fly, her hand dipping inside the open waistband. “Then where’s Kelli?”
Armie caught her wrist and held her hand higher—still against his bare, taut skin.
Merissa’s heart pounded in sick resentment. She licked her dry lips and started to come up with any excuse to leave. “So I, ah—”
From behind her, a woman said, “Here I am!”
She turned. A blonde. With more boob showing than she had covered. She carried a bottle of wine in one hand, her sandals in the other, and she looked ready to…party.
Eyes narrowed, jaw set, Armie pushed the door open and said to the women, “Wait inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”
The two women greeted each other with a lingering kiss. Armie watched without interrupting, and when they finally got out of the way, he pulled the door closed again.
Rissy had a difficult time breathing. Okay, sure, she’d heard about Armie’s excesses just as she’d heard about his aversion to nice women. Maybe nice meant anyone who wouldn’t accommodate his overblown sexual appetite.
For far too long he stared at the floor, then finally turned to her. “Why are you here?”
She no longer remembered her excuse. “You…? They…?”
He worked his jaw. “It’s a threesome. No big deal. Don’t faint.”
Armie flaunted the fact that he was a sexual hedonist—and so many women loved that about him.
She wasn’t one of them.
Finally finding her voice, she said, “I make no guarantees.”
Eying her, he took a step forward. “Shit. You do look pale.”
With embarrassment! “I can’t believe you—”
Through the door, one woman yelled in a singsong voice, “Hurry up, Armie, or we’ll start without you!”
Armie rubbed his mouth, then dropped his hand. “There you go. Seems I’m needed inside, so how about you get to the reason for this little unexpected visit.”
No. This was a big mistake; no reason to make it worse with lame excuses. “Never mind.” Hugging herself to ward off the chill of humiliation, she turned to go.
Armie caught her upper arm. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Very close behind her ear, he growled, “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
She felt the heat of his bare torso all along her back. Her height of five-eleven put him only an inch taller. But where she was thin, he had the bulk and muscle of a fighter.
When she remained mute, he didn’t step away. He might have even smelled her hair.
“You shock me,” she admitted in a mere breath of sound.
“Back atcha.”
Merissa freed herself and turned to face him. “Is that a joke?”
Shaking his head, he tracked his gaze over her. Unlike his lady friends, she was fully dressed in jeans and a sleeveless baby-blue blouse.
Almost unwillingly, he grated, “Every fucking time I see you.”
Her jaw loosened. “My God! You have two women waiting inside for you—”
“Probably not waiting anymore.” His smile taunted her. “They’re the impatient sort.”
“—and still you flirt with me?”
His bare shoulders bunched. “I wasn’t.”
Oh. Her confidence suffered, but she faked it, flipping back her long hair and staring him in the eyes. “I thought—”
One big stride brought him chest to breasts with her. He radiated hot anger—and so much more. “You came to me, little girl.”
She didn’t quail, not from Armie. In a whisper, she asked, “Why are you mad?”
His gaze searched hers, and he jerked away with a curse, turning from her, his hands on his hips, his head dropped forward. Muscles twitched, locked. His chest repeatedly rose with slow, deep breaths.
Merissa stared at his long back, his sun-darkened skin in appealing contrast to his fair hair. The deep furrow of his spine bisected all that firm muscle and without even thinking about it, she followed it down to the paler skin of his taut backside displayed by the loosened, drooping jeans.
Catching herself, she pulled her gaze back up to the tattoo of a winged heart wrapped in barbed wire that rested between his shoulder blades. No color. Just stark black and…sad.
The tats on his arms were different—simple, colorful tribal designs that backed up his badass rep. She doubted they meant anything. But that heart…
He rubbed the back of his neck and muscles shifted everywhere, igniting a secret heat inside her.
“I’m sorry for dropping in,” she said softly.
Over his shoulder, he scowled at her, then slowly faced her again.
“I was looking for Cannon, but obviously he’s not here.” She couldn’t imagine her discriminating brother ever participating in a ménage à trois. If he did, no one would ever know about it—and it definitely wouldn’t be with such extroverted women who might kiss and tell.
Armie’s deep brown eyes watched her with a sizzling sort of menace, and she cleared her throat. “I tried calling him, but he didn’t answer, and he’s not at the hotel. I thought maybe—”
“He’s with Yvette.”
Why did Armie always keep her at a distance? And why, for the love of God, did that only make her want him more? “Yvette who?”
“Sweeny. You knew her, I think. She’s—”
“I do!” Wow, she’d wondered if Yvette would ever return. A million questions went through her mind, but she settled on one in particular. “Why is Cannon with her?”
Armie cocked a brow.
“Oh.” Wow again. Cannon and Yvette? Still? It had to have been…what? Three years. In rapid order, she went through the timeline, recalling how Yvette had always crushed on Cannon and how Cannon had helped to rescue her—and how he’d gone off to fight in the SBC and she’d gone off to live in California. “I see.”
“I have company waiting, so Cannon can fill you in on everything, but he’s at her family home with her. Living with her, actually.”
The surprises kept coming. “Since when?”
“Since the get-go, far as I can tell.” For the first time that night, Armie gave her a sincere smile. “She arrived and he moved in.”
“That was fast.”
“Slow, if you ask Cannon.”
When Armie smiled, he was the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen. “Slow?”
“Seems he’s been waiting on her for a while.”
The door opened yet again, and this time the redhead and blonde each wore only their panties.
“Oh, for the love of…” Merissa turned away, anxious to avoid any more embarrassment.
From behind her, she heard hushed words from Armie, whining words from the women, and thought about sticking her fingers in her ears. Instead she concentrated on her retreat.
She’d gotten down ten steps when Armie grabbed her again.
“Hold up, damn it.”
“What?” she asked as she turned to face him.
Her temper apparently cooled his. He turned patronizing. “I’m walking you to your car.”
“Ha! No way.” She started off again.
He didn’t argue, but damn him, he followed all the same. Mostly naked. Those worn, faded, open jeans riding low on his lean hips.
Using both hands, Merissa slammed open the wide double entry doors and stalked out into the humid evening air. Security lights warded off any imagined danger, except for the danger of Armie at her back.
Danger to her peace of mind. “Go away, Armie.”
Mocking her, he asked, “Why are you so mad?”
“I’m not.”
He snorted and tugged on a lock of her hair. “You have steam coming out your ass.”
Gasping, she rounded on him. “I
do not!”
He scrutinized her. “Maybe your ears, too. And just where the hell did you park?”
“Over there.” She pointed to her little—and ancient—blue car.
Hands on his hips, Armie stared where she indicated. “In the dark. Away from the apartment building.” His gaze slanted her way. “Just where the hell is your boyfriend?”
She shrugged. Didn’t know and didn’t really care. He was supposed to pick her up from the airport, but he hadn’t shown. Which was fine by her. He wasn’t her boyfriend so much as…convenient. Now that he wasn’t so convenient, well, then, she had no reason to keep seeing him.
Knowing she’d have to explain that to him, though, she said, “I’ll hook up with him tomorrow.”
Both brows lifted. “Hook up?”
“I don’t mean that. I mean meet up.” She shook her head at him. “Not all of us are oversexed apes.”
“I’m not an ape.”
She noticed he didn’t deny the oversexed part. “Goodbye, Armie.”
He followed her. Again. Still.
“You aren’t worried that your lady friends will finish without you?”
“If they do, I’ll just get them started again. I’m good at that, you know. At revving the engine and—”
When she looked at him, he clammed up, then muttered, “Damn it.”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t talk like that to you.”
“You talk like that to everyone.”
Ignoring her interruption, he added with more heat, “You shouldn’t let me. Hell, you shouldn’t even be here.”
Another smackdown. In every way imaginable he’d let her know she was unwelcome.
While trying to think of a suitable rejoinder, Merissa opened her car door and got in. Already the interior had gotten stuffy, so she rolled down the window, kicked on the engine and turned up the air.
Suddenly Armie was there, his hands braced on the top of the window frame as he leaned down, his face somber, his mood officious. “Don’t ever do this again.”
Why the sight of his underarms left her flustered, she didn’t know, except that the way he stood and what he displayed emphasized his masculinity in a big way.
“Rissy?” he whispered, sounding pained.
She’d heard the nickname most of her life. It sounded very different coming from him, somehow more personal. Preparing herself for his impact, she met his gaze.
As she stared up at him, his face hardened. “Never again.” He straightened. “Lock your doors,” he ordered before walking away.
At the curb, he looked back with impatience.
Holding up her hands in apology, Merissa closed the window and hit the automatic locks that secured all doors.
He nodded and left.
And with every swaggering step he took, she wanted him more.
Stay away? She doubted she could.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JUST INSIDE THE BUILDING, Armie stood aside in the shadows and waited until Rissy’s car went past. Jesus. Letting out a tight breath, he dropped back against the wall. His cock hurt and it had nothing to do with the two naked hotties carrying on without him in his apartment.
In fact, now that he’d seen Merissa, he had less than zero interest in either of them. He’d known she was coming home today¸ and that was the only reason he’d invited Avril over in the first place—as a distraction. It had been Avril’s idea to mix things up and invite Kelli to join in. Hell, the more outrageous he got, the more some women vied to keep up.
But not Rissy. No, she’d looked equal parts appalled, disgusted and embarrassed. For him.
He slammed a hand against the wall.
Nice girls were off his list, and Rissy was nicer than most. Add that to the fact she was Cannon’s sister and he had no damn business putting thoughts of her in his spank bank.
But he would anyway.
He’d rather jerk off thinking of her big blue eyes and her openmouthed surprised at finding him with his jeans open than be used up by the two nymphos.
Shit, shit, shit.
He looked up the stairs. The women wouldn’t like it, but lucky for him, he was enough of a prick that he’d send them packing anyway. Decided, he jogged up the steps.
For his peace of mind, he hoped Merissa kept her distance.
Because he sure as shit couldn’t rely on his own control. Not with her.
Not when every damn day he wanted her more.
*
CANNON WOKE WITH a pounding head and his arms full of soft, warm woman. But not just any woman. Yvette.
Her scent did insane things to him; her warm breath on his chest affected him like a blow job.
He was already so hard that he hurt.
Luckily, she seemed dead to the world. She didn’t even stir when he eased her to her back. Her eyelashes left shadows on her cheekbones. Barely parted lips begged for attention, and because he couldn’t resist he leaned down for a butterfly kiss. Her long hair poured over her shoulders, making a stark contrast against her pale breasts. And those small pink nipples…
Damn, but he wanted to put his mouth on her, to suckle her softly until her nipples tightened and ached.
Until she woke wanting him as much as he wanted her.
When she made a sound in her sleep, his heart thumped heavily, his cock twitched.
But she only sighed and slept on.
Damn it, he had no business doing this, tormenting himself like a masochist. As quietly as possible, he left the bed, found his shorts on the floor and pulled them on. With one last lingering look at her body, then at her beautiful relaxed face, he snuck out of the room.
He was a fighter, damn it. He had control. He had willpower.
He understood motivation and staying the course despite discomfort to his body. He could and would do this—and in the end, he’d get the prize.
Yvette.
Twenty minutes later, anxious to run off the taut urges before facing her again, Cannon headed out the door. He wore shorts and running shoes, but he had his phone with him in case Yvette woke and called him before he got back.
He saw the writing on his dusty truck as soon as he reached the driveway. “Rissy was here.”
Her typical M.O. He’d often found similar notes from her, always short and succinct, whenever he missed her visits. “Rissy was here.” That was his cue to get in touch.
He smiled. So his sister was home. He checked his cell and sure enough, the call he hadn’t answered last night was from her. He immediately called her back.
She answered on the third ring with an exaggerated groan. “Not all of us get up at the butt crack of dawn, Cannon.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Loving her a lot, he smiled. “You wrote on my truck.”
“I wrote in your dust. Seriously, clean the thing.”
He circled the truck and noticed footprints that couldn’t belong to his sister. “Been busy.”
“Yeah.” Sounds of her sitting up filtered through the line. “I heard.”
Looking around the area and finding nothing more suspicious than an elderly couple smooching on the porch across the street, he asked, “From who?”
Silence. A long, strain-filled silence.
“Rissy?”
“Fighter gossip. You know how the guys are.”
He laughed. “You’re nuts.”
“So how about breakfast? You free?”
“Sure.” He wanted to see her. “I can skip my jog.”
“No, not now. Around ten?”
“That’s damn near lunch, but sure. I’ll pick you up.”
“No, your truck only seats two and I want you to bring Yvette. Come home. I’ll cook.”
He paused, frowning. So she knew about Yvette, huh? Maybe the guys were gossiping like a bunch of old hens.
Rather than get into it over the phone, he said, “You just flew in from Japan. Instead of cooking, take the day off. My treat.�
� They could spend the morning together and he could explain…what? That he’d manipulated a bad situation so he could take advantage?
She snorted. “Did you take a day off after you got home?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Cannon walked around the house, checking every window, but saw nothing amiss. “That’s a long story.”
“And I can’t wait to hear it. So are you taking a break? Can I cook an old-fashioned breakfast or do I need to make puke, puke, puke-wheat pancakes or something?”
Grinning at her antics, Cannon said, “I’d kill for some home fries and bacon.”
“And drop biscuits and honey? Yum. I’m on it. Ten o’clock, okay? Don’t be late.”
He ended the call and clipped the phone to his waistband, but before he could take off, he felt eyes on him.
Turning, he found Yvette in the front doorway. When his gaze met hers she blushed bright red and looked down at her feet.
Morning sunshine poured over her, making her fair skin golden and showing reddish highlights in her dark hair. She wore only a shirt, leaving her beautiful legs on display. He knew for a fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, and given how she tugged down the hem of the shirt, he guessed she’d left the panties behind, too.
Fuck the jog. A triathlon wouldn’t diminish the lust-inspired need twisting through him.
Looking at her body, he headed back up the walk. “Morning.”
Her bare feet shifted. “You were going without me?”
“You looked pretty zoned when I left the bed.” When he reached her, he smoothed back her long hair. Her skin was sleep warm, her hair tangled, her eyes heavy—and his cock thickened with wanting her. “Sleep well?”
Nodding, she asked, “You?”
Barely a wink, but he lied. “Yeah.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he knew it was embarrassment. He never should have rushed things. “I’ll wait if you want to get ready.”
She shook her head.
Only then did he realize how she held herself. Not just embarrassed, but defensive. Worried. Uncertain.
“Hey.” He tipped up her chin. “What is it?”
“I want…I want to be totally up-front and honest. About everything.”
“Yeah.” He wanted that, too. Nudging her back inside and out of view of passersby, he agreed. “Always.”
She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, drawing his attention to her legs again. Like a molten flashback, he remembered her tender thighs against his jaw, the heady taste of her, how she’d moved and the provoking sounds she’d made.
