by Lori Foster
His gaze flickered to her again, maybe with remorse, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
“When Heath grabbed me, I wanted to scream.” She’d wanted to so badly. She clenched her hands to still the trembling. “But he held me so tight.” She saw it all again, felt it again and panic bubbled up. Desperately she fought it back. She would not go hysterical on him. “I could barely even breathe,” she whispered. “It felt like he was going to break my ribs—”
Fury bunched Cannon’s shoulders, tightened his hands and turned his voice into a snarl. “I should have killed him.”
Oh, wow. Speechless, Yvette watched the working of his jaw, the way his right eye twitched. He was even more volatile than she’d realized.
Nervously twining two fingers in the ends of her hair, she considered him, then came to a decision. If it was Heath, or for that matter any other man, she’d be worried at the level of his rage.
But this was Cannon, and no matter what, she always felt safer with him, never threatened.
She understood that his fury was on her behalf. Putting aside any errors in judgment when it came to Mindi, Yvette knew he cared for her—as he cared for everyone. She couldn’t bear seeing him like this.
There were no words to make the situation better. It required more than that.
She knew what she needed.
He was a big, bad fighter, but maybe he needed it, too.
Unhooking her seat belt, she scooted over next to him.
“What are you doing? Get your belt back on.”
“No.”
His hands tightened on the wheel, squeezing it as if to crack it in half. “Yvette,” he warned.
Hugging up to his arm, she sighed at the contact with his warm body. Rock-solid muscles flexed under her hands, more evidence of his anger. “I’m okay,” she gently told him.
When Cannon growled, “What if he’d gotten you into his car?”
She could only admit, “I don’t know.” It had scared her to death, wondering what he’d do.
They would be home in another two or three minutes. She wanted a bowl of cereal, her pj’s, Cannon and bed. Not necessarily in that order.
She put her head back against his shoulder. “He kept saying he loved me and just wanted to talk.” Needing the contact, she slipped her fingers up under the sleeve of his T-shirt, opening her palm over all that sleek, hot strength. He had the most amazing shoulders and biceps, she wanted to bite him. Lick him.
Kiss him everywhere.
Musing aloud, she said, “Maybe I should try calling him. Let him talk—”
“Hell, no.”
“Okay.” She squeezed his arm, loving the feel of him despite all that had happened.
Tomorrow she’d bring it up again and suggest they ask Margaret about it. It might be a way to bring Heath out in the open. She could even give the number to one of them to try calling from her phone.
Knowing he lurked around the area, able to spring on her again, scared her more than anything else.
It seemed so quiet, being on the road this time of night with only the occasional car going past. She idly stroked the inside of Cannon’s arm, where he was sleek and smooth and hard.
“Don’t be mad at me, okay?” She was too tired for that.
“I’m not.” He shrugged her off his shoulder, but only so he could put his arm around her. “I’m mad at…a lot of shit. But not you.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Yeah, I do.” He gave her a brief warning squeeze. “We’re going to have a nice long talk.”
Stifling a groan, she asked, “Not tonight, right?”
“We’ll see.”
Which as good as meant he planned to talk tonight. Another groan tried to get out, but she swallowed it back. If he needed to talk, she’d talk. Maybe while sitting on his lap.
In her pajamas.
And maybe under those circumstances, she’d be able to avoid the conversation until morning.
A minute later he pulled into the driveway, got out to open the garage door and pulled in to park.
Holding the hem of Armie’s oversize shirt, Yvette hopped out on her own. More than anything, she wanted comfort, snuggling. Sex.
She wanted Cannon.
But if he wanted to lecture her instead, he could damn well wait, at least until she’d gotten her cereal.
*
CANNON WATCHED HER hustle her sexy little ass inside and knew he’d chased her away.
He struggled with his temper, knew it was useless and considered heading straight downstairs to the workout equipment in the basement.
Wouldn’t hurt for him to work off some rage before confronting her.
Mad? Hell, mad didn’t even begin to cover it. He was caught in such a gripping fury it was all he could do not to go out and find trouble. Surely someone somewhere in the neighborhood needed an old-fashioned beatdown. And if it was more than one person, that’d suit him just fine.
Right now he’d relish a brawl.
But he was respected in his self-assigned role as peacekeeper, in large part because he didn’t seek trouble.
He just took care of it when it happened.
It’d be unfair to leave Yvette wondering what he had to say, so he got out of the car. The light from his open door spilled out around the concrete floor and pegboard walls—and reflected off the open garage window.
Knowing he’d left it closed and locked, Cannon slowly got out. Something in the air alerted him; he scanned the garage, and then the window.
One pane was missing, broken out, the glass crunching underneath his feet.
Broken so an intruder could reach inside and open the lock.
He searched the interior and noticed only a few displaced items, the garbage can moved, tool drawers open as if someone had been searching.
Vigilant, he went to the window to pull it down—and thanks to a bright moon he saw the shadow move across the lawn.
Someone was still here.
Hoping it’d be Heath, needing it to be that prick, he headed outside to investigate, his stride long and hurried. He’d just passed through the garage door when more glass crashed—inside the house.
Followed by Yvette’s screech.
*
HEART STILL LODGED in her throat, flattened up to the wall, Yvette took in the broken glass glittering over the sink, across the floor. The item that had sailed through the window? There, half under the table…
A fist-size rock.
Cannon shot into the room, heaving like a marauder. His gaze went everywhere in a nanosecond before searching over her body.
“I’m okay,” she told him fast, and pointed. “A rock. From outside.”
“It didn’t hit you? You aren’t cut?”
“No. Just…it startled me.”
His gaze narrowed on the window, frustration visibly mounted, and he started to bolt out again.
“Wait!”
Gaze locking on hers, he barked, “What?”
He really wanted to take someone apart, she could tell. But she didn’t want to be left alone.
Using his pause to her advantage, Yvette grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare go out there.” She prepared an excuse for why he should stay, but the worry quickly became a reality.
Aghast at the possibility, she whispered, “What if someone is in the house?”
Cannon’s eyes flared. “Call 911.” He again started to turn away, but thought to add, “Stay in the kitchen.”
Hands shaking, she put in the call, then leaned out the kitchen doorway to watch as Cannon went down the hall, this time with more stealth. He checked the basement door, saw it was still locked and continued down to the baths and bedrooms.
When the dispatcher answered, she quickly explained the situation to the very calm lady on the other end of the line.
The dispatcher assured her that an officer was on the way, but wanted Yvette to stay on the phone until he arrived.
Giving a blow-by-blow report of Cannon’s progress
through the house—without finding anything—helped her recollect her calm.
When Cannon returned, Yvette explained that he hadn’t found anything. Almost at the same time the flashing red-and-blue lights showed out front.
With relief, she dropped back against the wall.
Using his flashlight, the officer walked around the house. Two security lights had been shot out with a BB gun. The officer found BBs on the ground and embedded into the side of the house. He took a report, promised to update Logan and Officer Huffman—and got a picture with Cannon.
Though his patience looked strained, Cannon remained friendly and smiled for the photo.
After the officer left, she cleaned up the glass while Cannon secured the kitchen window, and when that was done, she trailed him to the garage.
“Why don’t you go get your shower while I take care of this?”
She hated to admit it, but didn’t see an alternative. “I’d rather wait on you.”
Cannon paused in the act of closing the garage window. As if her vulnerability shaved off a layer of his rage, his shoulders eased. “All right. I’ll only be a minute.”
She sat on the hood of her car, knees drawn up, jumping at every sound. When Cannon hammered a plank of wood over the window, she covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
The noise ended, and his arms came around her, his big hands open on her backside. “You okay?”
She wasn’t, not by a long shot, but she nodded anyway. “Tired.” Forcing her head up, she met his electric-blue eyes, now volatile with indiscernible emotion. “You?”
Calm as you please, he said, “Murderous rage.”
For some reason, that made her smile even as her eyes burned. “I’m sorry.”
“Come on.” He scooped her up against his chest and carried her into the house.
Just for a minute, Yvette thought, as she rested her cheek against his chest. Then she’d get her gumption back and stop letting him pamper her.
“What do you want to do first?” His chin brushed her forehead. “Shower? Eat? Bed?”
You, she answered silently. I want to do you. But sadly, he hadn’t made that an option. Food no longer appealed, not even a bowl of cold cereal. If she tried to eat she just might barf.
“I’m beat,” she said with a trumped-up smile. “I just want to wash my face, brush my teeth and go to bed.” With you hugged tight around me.
“All right.”
She didn’t protest when he carried her into the bathroom. And when he stayed so that they brushed their teeth side by side, she was grateful not be alone.
But then he peeled off his clothes while she washed her face—which made her get soap in her eyes because, seriously, how could she not watch?
When she finished, he took her hand and, wearing only snug boxers, walked with her back into the bedroom.
With every step they took, her heart punched harder, making her breathless. Anticipation sizzled along every nerve ending.
She needed this—she needed him.
He opened a drawer and got out another SBC shirt, then held it in his fist while facing her. “You’re not sleeping in Armie’s shirt.”
Actually, she’d forgotten she had it on. “Okay.” With Cannon near naked, she didn’t need to be convinced. The idea of being skin to skin with him ramped up her excitement even more.
Being daring, thrilled with the way he watched her, she skinned out of her jeans, pulled Armie’s shirt off over her head and then removed the ripped shirt. Seeing the blue of his eyes darken, she reached back for the closure of her bra.
Cannon made a rough sound of near pain and averted his gaze.
Voice quavering, she told him, “You can look.” She wanted him to. She wanted him to look and touch and kiss….
“No.” A heavy load of rigidity resettled in his broad shoulders. “If I do, I won’t be able to stop.”
Did he not understand how badly she wanted him? “So let’s not stop.”
Eyes still averted, he held the shirt out to her. “Take my word on this, okay? Tonight is not the night.”
Ignoring the offered shirt, she moved up against him, her breasts to his naked back. “Why?”
He stiffened. “Yvette…”
Arms around him, she smoothed her palms over his chest hair, down those rock-solid abs. He dropped the shirt and caught her wrists. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“If I’m seducing you, then, yes, I do.”
He laughed, the sound strained. “Yeah, you do.” Still clasping her wrists, he drew in a deep breath and turned to her.
Though she wore only a pale pink thong, his attention remained stubbornly on her face.
She might have been humiliated over that, even hurt, except that she knew Cannon was trying to be noble for her benefit. Tonight had been rough, and he thought she needed time to recoup.
If she wanted Cannon to see her differently, she’d have to be different, too.
Bolder.
She needed to go after what she wanted. Him.
Determined to convince him, she snuggled in close.
Her nipples, now stiffened, brushed his abdomen. He groaned and tried to loosen her hold. “You’re hurt.”
“Only a little.”
“You’re upset, too.”
“I am. And I know I’ll feel better if we—”
“What?” With clear reservation, he cupped her face, lifted it so he could nip her bottom lip then soothe it with his tongue. “If I go nuts on you? Because that’s where I’m at, baby. No finesse, no patience like I had last time.”
“I like the idea of you going nuts.” She didn’t need patience; she just needed him.
His nostrils flared. His eyes closed. “I’m not a selfish prick.”
“No, you’re not. You’re sweet—”
He snorted.
“—and hot, and I need to be with you.”
Resistance crumbling, he breathed harder. “I can’t guarantee you’ll come—”
Opening her mouth on his chest, she took a soft love bite.
He shuddered. “Because I can’t guarantee I’ll last long enough.”
She cupped his testicles through the soft cotton of his boxers, then wrapped her fingers around his throbbing length. Stroking, squeezing. “So we’ll skip sleeping and do it until we get it right.”
His erection flexed—and a second later he lifted her hands away from his body. “You need to hold up a minute.”
Stunned that he’d still deny her, Yvette pushed back to see his face. “I’m beginning to think you’re the one with the problem!”
After running a hand over his face, he nodded. “Maybe my problem is with you.”
The breath left her, the words hurting like a physical blow. Thinking only of getting away, she turned from him.
He pulled right back around again. His hands on her shoulders were tight but not hurtful. Looking as agonized as she felt, he put his forehead to hers. “You don’t trust me, Yvette, and I want you to. I want that so goddamned bad.”
Trust him? “Of course I do.”
“No, you wear this mask, hiding who you are and what you feel. How you react to things. You don’t trust me not to judge you. You don’t trust me to see the truth of things.”
“What truths?”
“That you’re strong and smart and independent. But shit happens to everyone, and we all have to deal with it. The thing is, you don’t have to deal alone. Not when I’m here.” He gave her a small shake, followed quickly by a cradling hug. “Even now,” he said, his voice raw, “I can tell something’s wrong.”
“My ex tried to kidnap me!”
“I know.” He stroked her hair, his determination pouring over her. “You’re pissed, and a little rattled still. That’s understandable. But that’s not what’s between us now.”
No, he couldn’t possibly read her that easily, know her that well. “I don’t understand you.” Suddenly she felt naked and reached for the shirt he’d dropped on the floor
.
Cannon stood on it. She tugged, but he didn’t move. She was eye level with his lap, him wearing only boxers, her in a thong.
They should be having sex, not arguing. If it was any other man, anyone but Cannon, they would be.
But if it was any other man, she wouldn’t want it.
The absurdity of it hit her, and with it a fresh rush of indignation.
Still kneeling before him, she breathed faster…and blurted, “Mindi said you only wanted to finish what we’d started so long ago.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Tonight at the bar. Before she hooked up with Armie.”
“Mindi and Armie?”
Yvette again yanked at the shirt; he again didn’t move. “She said once it’s over, you’ll be done with me. I don’t know how that can be if you refuse to ever start with me.”
She gave up trying to get the shirt and straightened again, wrapping her arms around herself to shield her breasts. Her gaze met his and stalled.
His killing expression gave her pause.
Cannon stepped close. Voice low and menacing, he said, “You discussed me with Mindi?”
He was offended? Full of accusation, she went on tiptoes and leaned into his anger. “You did! You told her my entire history!”
“Never happened, and you should know that.”
The whispered words, said through his teeth, stole her anger. She dropped back to her heels. “But…then, how?”
“No way for me to know. But Heath was at the bar. There’s a damn good chance he talked to her.”
All her most prevalent emotions—anger, umbrage, hurt—crashed in on her. “I never told it all to Heath.”
“He’s here. It’s not a secret. If he did any digging—”
“You’re probably right.”
He took her shoulders again. “Instead of thinking it through, you automatically believed that I’d told her?”
“She led me to believe…” Yvette rubbed her temple. How many ways could she botch things in a twenty-four-hour period? “I’m sorry.” When he didn’t reply, she added, “For everything.”
Hopefully after a few hours’ sleep, things would look better, because at that moment, she couldn’t imagine them getting any worse.
She stood there, unsure what to do next, dreading making another wrong move.
