A surprise inheritance reunites a mixed martial arts fighter with the woman he’s never forgotten in the first in a smoldering new series from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

Cannon Colter is quintessential hero material: chiseled jawline, shredded body—the works. He’s also the guy who rescued Yvette Sweeny from kidnappers, only to put an end to her romantic dreams. These days, she’s older, smarter, determined to face whatever life throws her way. Even the prospect of sharing a house and business with Cannon.

Cannon knew Yvette wanted him three years ago. But she was young—and some things are worth waiting for. Thrown together by her grandfather’s legacy, he realizes how deep Yvette’s scars really go, and how much danger lurks in their quiet town. As pent-up desire explodes between them, protecting her becomes the only fight that matters. And he’ll break all the rules to do it….

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

“Storytelling at its best!

Lori Foster should be on everyone’s auto-buy list.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author

Sherrilyn Kenyon on No Limits

“Foster’s writing satisfies all appetites with plenty

of searing sexual tension and page-turning action

in this steamy, edgy, and surprisingly tender novel.”

—Publishers Weekly on Getting Rowdy

“Foster hits every note (or power chord)

of the true alpha male hero.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bare It All

“A sexy, believable roller coaster

of action and romance.”

—Kirkus Reviews on Run the Risk

“Bestseller Foster…has an amazing ability to capture

a man’s emotions and lust with sizzling sex scenes

and meld it with a strong woman’s point of view.”

—Publishers Weekly on A Perfect Storm

“Foster rounds out her searing trilogy with a story that

tilts toward the sizzling and sexy side of the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews on Savor the Danger

“The fast-paced thriller keeps these well-developed

characters moving…Foster’s series will continue to

garner fans with this exciting installment.”

—Publishers Weekly on Trace of Fever

“Steamy, edgy, and taut.”

—Library Journal on When You Dare

Dear Reader,

I’m beyond thrilled to return to the world of MMA—mixed martial arts—in my new Ultimate series. No Limits is Cannon’s story—you might recognize him from my previous Love Undercover series. And while you’ll see a few familiar faces from that series making cameos here, you’ll also meet all-new characters who I hope you’ll love!

Anyone who follows me on Facebook and Twitter knows that I’m a big UFC fan. Love the sport, respect the fighters, and I’m always intrigued by how such big, capable, lethal and motivated guys can not only fit romance into their training and travel schedules, but are also loving husbands and fathers.

The Ultimate series is not about fighting. It’s about fighters, aka alpha heroes. It’s about romance. It’s about love.

I hope you enjoy No Limits! Feel free to let me know. You can always reach me via social media, or email me using the links on my website at www.lorifoster.com. And if you missed Hard Knocks, the prequel novella introducing the Ultimate series, it’s available now wherever ebooks are sold.

Happy reading!

No Limits

Lori Foster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Many, many thanks to the following people

who answered questions on police procedure

or business start-ups! You all rock:

Rick Peach, Valia Lind, Rosebud Lewis, Janel Klews, Susan Moore, Ruth Hernandez-Alequin

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

COILED TIGHT WITH TENSION, Cannon sat in the leather chair and faced the lawyer’s desk with loaded impatience. From head to toe, his battered body ached, but at present his mind focused on less-physical issues. After finally landing back in the States, he’d planned to spend the day in the hot tub, and the night in bed—with enough female company to help him forget how close he’d come to losing his last fight.

Three days ago he’d taken on the biggest challenge of his career, his most publicized bout on the main card for the Supreme Battle Championship—in Japan with a packed house and a lot of expectation from the organization.

Though he’d taken plenty of hits himself, he’d been beating his opponent on points...and then he’d fucked up.

After catching a kick to the liver, he’d lost his air, bent double in excruciating pain, and was going down. Only pure instinct had helped him throw one last punch when his opponent had charged in for the kill.

That punch had landed dead center on the Pit Bull’s glass jaw. Lights out.

He’d struggled to stand upright while the other man came back around, and the fight had ended with him as the winner. But damn, it had been close, and being the winner didn’t negate the hits and kicks he’d absorbed. He needed some R & R.

However, all his plans for taking it easy had gone awry when he’d gotten summoned back to Warfield, Ohio. It was a three-hour drive, and usually when he made the trip, he visited friends first thing.

This time, though, he waited around as a stuffy lawyer flipped through paperwork and a female assistant gave him the eye.

“Ah, here we are,” the lawyer said, rattling his damn papers and looking at Cannon over the top of his reading glasses. “I’m sorry for the delay. Since I had expected you yesterday, you’ve taken me off guard.”

The rebuke was wasted on Cannon. “Like I said, I was out of the country.” Shifting, he tried not to flinch from his many aches.

“Japan, yes?”

Unwilling to encourage more chitchat, he gave a single nod.

Again sorting papers, the lawyer said, “You’re a fighter? Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“The SBC?”

“Yeah.” Hell, he had the fight club logo on his T-shirt. He sat forward, his forearms on his thighs. He had no idea what this was about, but he wanted to get to it. “Look, how much longer is this going to take?”

Frank Whitaker divided papers into three stacks. “I only need a moment to get organized.”

Organized with what? Cannon knew this had something to do with Tipton Sweeny, a local pawnshop owner who’d recently passed away. “If I hadn’t been out of the country, I would have attended the funeral.” And maybe seen Yvette, Tipton’s granddaughter.

Just thinking about her stoked up his tension.

Without looking away from his papers, the fifty-something, overweight lawyer said, “I’m sure everyone understands.”

Cannon had only known Tipton as a local business owner, a staple in the community he loved. His granddaughter, Yvette, attended school with Cannon’s sister. That was where any real relationship ended.

Except that Yvette had always flirted with him, he’d always avoided her...right up until the day he’d kissed her, the day he’d wanted to go on kissing her and more—after helping to rescue her from perverted thugs.

Shit, shit, shit.

He didn’t want to think about that, about her. So much time had passed, and still she had the ability to blow his composure.

How was she? Still in California apparently, or she’d be the one here dealing with...whatever had to be dealt with. “Didn’t Tipton have other relatives?”

“Yes, I’m sure he did.”

So how the hell was Cannon involved?

Cannon watched the assistant glide in, leading with her big breasts. A wave of perfume drifted with her. She handed more documents to the disorganized suit and then, smiling at Cannon, moved close enough to brush her thigh against his. Smiling down at him, she touched his knee. “Would you like a cola? Coffee?”

Trying not to be too obvious, he moved out of her reach. With women, he always stayed cool.

Except for that time with Yvette.

“Water would be nice. Thanks.”

“Of course.” She shifted her hand to his shoulder, stroked, felt his muscle beneath the soft cotton of his faded T-shirt and then trailed off. “I’ll get it right now.”

Being a guy, and therefore not immune to a come-on, Cannon looked her over more closely as she left. She had one of those supercurvy figures that got enhanced with a cinched suit, skirt and soft blouse. High-heeled pumps showed off her sexy calves. Big breasts, full hips, twisted-up pale blond hair. She wore her sexuality out there, almost bludgeoning him with her interest, her sly looks and the occasional lick of her shiny red lips.

Women hit on him, no big deal. But never in a lawyer’s office under these circumstances.

Was she doing the lawyer? Were her blatant come-ons to make Whitaker jealous? Cannon eyed the older man, wondering if he’d even noticed the dozen different ways his assistant had already made her interest known.

Not that he was cynical or anything. And not that he was biting.

At least...he didn’t think he was. Still, when she came back in and leaned down farther than necessary to hand him the glass of ice water and napkin, Cannon went ahead and checked out her cleavage. Her skin looked soft, but that overpowering perfume assaulted his nostrils until he looked away.

The lawyer stacked his papers and took off his glasses. “Thank you, Mindi. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

Accepting the abrupt dismissal, she nodded. “I’ll be at my desk.” Behind the lawyer, Mindi paused in the doorway, made a show of looking Cannon over from shoulders to knees, her sultry gaze lingering on his crotch. She gave another slow lick of her lips and...yeah, okay, he was maybe a little interested.

Hell, he’d been so involved in training, traveling for the fight and then the fight itself, he’d suffered self-imposed celibacy for too long.

But for right now, Cannon gave his full attention back to Whitaker. What could the man possibly need from him that took so damn many papers and notes?

Finally, somber in his preparedness, the lawyer folded his hands together and stared directly at Cannon. “You have inherited property and funds from Mr. Sweeny.”

Whoa. A surge of fear brought Cannon forward. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. “Did something happen to Yvette?”

Bushy brows coming together, the lawyer slid his glasses back on, sifted through the goddamned papers and shook his head. “You’re talking about Ms. Sweeny, the granddaughter?”

“Yes.”

“She has inherited, as well.”

Relief sent oxygen back into his lungs. Jesus. Cannon pinched the bridge of his bruised nose, annoyed by his over-the-top reaction. But then, with Yvette, it had always been that way.

The lawyer went on. “And in fact, Mr. Sweeny has evenly divided his assets between the two of you.”

No way. “Between Yvette and me?”

“Yes.”

Blank, Cannon sat on the edge of his seat and tried to sort it out—without success. “I don’t get it. Why would he do that?”

“He left you a letter.” The lawyer handed over an envelope. “I trust it will explain what I can’t. But what I can explain is that Mr. Sweeny came to me three years ago with very detailed instructions on the distribution of his assets in the event of his demise. He revisited once a year to amend and further clarify as his financial status fluctuated. I saw him for the last time two months ago when his health started to decline.”

“He had a stroke?”

The lawyer nodded, hesitated, then again folded his hands on the desk and dropped the officious attitude. “Tipton had become a friend. He was alone and I’d just lost my wife....” Whitaker shrugged.

“I’m sorry.”

He tilted his chin to acknowledge that. “Tipton’s blood pressure was high and he knew he wasn’t well. He seemed to dismiss the first stroke, but the next was worse and the third worse still. That’s when he finally closed up the pawnshop.”

So he hadn’t closed up shop three years ago, after the vicious attacks, as Cannon had always assumed.

“He was being treated, seeing the specialist on a regular basis, but he figured it was only a matter of time....”

Seeing the sadness on the lawyer’s face sent guilt clawing through Cannon. Damn it, he should have gone to visit Tipton more. He’d known about the first stroke, but not the two after that—and then he’d been in Japan when Tipton’s body gave up the fight. “Yvette was with him?”

Shaking his head, Whitaker said, “He didn’t want to burden her.” A measure of easiness showed on his face as he collected his thoughts. “I gather all of you shared an experience. Tipton never shared the details, but I assume it was something life altering?” He didn’t wait for Cannon to give details. “His granddaughter moved away because of it and Tipton didn’t want a sense of responsibility to bring her back, not, he said, when he knew her trips home were still difficult for her. He wanted her to return on her own terms, not out of a sense of obligation.”

Bombarded with uncomfortable emotions, Cannon got up to pace the small office. Yeah, he imagined Yvette struggled anytime she had to be in town. No girl should ever have to suffer what she had. There were times when the memory of it hit him like a wild haymaker, leaving him dazed, angry, in a cold sweat.

And he wasn’t the one who’d been threatened in the worst possible way.

Remembering softened his voice. “She didn’t know Tipton was sick?”

“Like you, she knew of the first stroke. But Tipton felt strongly about carrying his burden alone.” Chagrined, the lawyer shook his head and said, “No, I’m afraid that’s not precise. He wanted you to share his burden. He said you could handle it.” The lawyer gestured at the letter. “It’s in there.”

A burden? More confused than ever, Cannon tapped the letter to his thigh. “So what are the rest of those papers?”

“Deeds, bank statements, debts to be paid, retirement funds.” He shook two sets of keys out of a padded envelope. “Responsibilities.”

Chewing his upper lip, Cannon stared at the papers—and had the god-awful urge to hand back the letter. His plate was full, and then some. He could handle it, that wasn’t the problem.

It was Yvette.

Could he handle her, the way she affected him?

More to the point, could he resist her now if she needed him? Just thinking about her, hearing her name, had his muscles tightening in that familiar way. “You said deeds?”

“One for the house, one for the business.”

“The pawnshop?”

“Yes.”

“The last I’d heard,” Cannon admitted, “he was going to sell it.” After what had happened, he’d expected Tipton to sell the house as well, but he’d stayed put.

“No. He continued to work until the health issues forced him to retire. Said it was cathartic for him to stay busy. He also redecorated the house.” The lawyer shrugged. “It was home to him.”

Home. Cannon nodded in understanding. His mother had felt the same, refusing to budge from her house, the neighborhood, even after they’d lost his dad to extortionists.

Her insistence on staying put was Cannon’s number one reason for learning to fight. He’d lost his dad, so he had been determined to protect his mother and sister. And he had—until his mother had passed away with cancer. Now it was just him and his sister, and...whatever it was Tipton had embroiled him in.

More than a little intrigued, Cannon asked, “So now what?”

“You sign a few papers and take ownership alongside Ms. Sweeny. Fifty-fifty. The two of you can decide to stay put, sell or one can buy out the other.”

Cannon shook his head. “Have you seen Yvette?” He couldn’t imagine her wanting the house, but even if she did, where would she get the funds? She’d be...twenty-three now. Still young for such responsibilities.

But finally old enough...for him.

“She was in yesterday.”

Had Yvette expected him to be there, as well? Looked forward to it?

Or maybe dreaded it?

He hated the thought that seeing him might dredge up a past better forgotten.

Whitaker turned the papers, placed an ink pen on top and pushed them toward Cannon. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

He wasn’t about to sign anything until he’d read it all and figured it out.

The lawyer sighed, pushed back his chair and stood. “Read Tipton’s letter. I’m sure it’ll all make sense then.”

“You know what’s in it?”

Whitaker looked away. “No, of course I don’t. Tipton gave it to me sealed.”

Suspicions rose.

Clearing his throat, the lawyer met his gaze. “I know...knew Tipton. He had a strong mind right up to the end. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted.”

And he wanted something from Cannon.

Coming around his desk, the lawyer clasped his shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes.” And with that he stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Walking over to a window, Cannon leaned a shoulder on the wall and studied the envelope. It was sealed, all right, closed with tape wrapped completely around it. He tore off one end of the envelope. With a sense of foreboding, he pulled out two neatly typed, folded papers. Opening them, he skimmed over the type to see Tipton’s signature at the bottom.

Going back to the first page, he began to read. Each word made his heart beat heavier with trepidation—and anticipation.

Yes, Tipton knew what he wanted. He’d spelled it all out in great detail. One particular paragraph really got to Cannon.

This is her home, Cannon. No matter what, she should be here. She always trusted you and you were always there, such a good boy.

Despite the enormity of what Tipton wanted, a touch of humor curved Cannon’s mouth. Being that he was twenty-six, only a grandpa would call him a boy.

I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after you already risked your life for us. But she’s too cautious now, too guarded. If you’ll agree, I know you can free her from the nightmares so she can be her carefree, happy self again.

Did Tipton mean literal nightmares? Or just the nasty memories of being attacked, threatened with the worst a woman could suffer?

No, he didn’t want to think about that now; it still enraged him, the helplessness, the fear he’d felt while being an unwilling spectator to the cruelty.

What a grandfather considered guarded could just be maturity. Just how free did he want Yvette to be?

The lawyer walked back in. Cannon ignored him as he finished reading.

If it’s necessary, if your life is now too busy or if she won’t agree, go ahead and sell both places with a clear conscience. But selling will require emptying the house—and that will bring about different problems for her.

What did that mean? What type of problems came with finalizing a sale?

In my heart, I know she’ll be happier here in Ohio, in Warfield, than she could ever be in California.

Whatever you decide, Cannon, please don’t tell her about this letter. Not yet. And please know, regardless, you will always have my deepest gratitude.

Sincerely,

Tipton Sweeny

Familiar feelings stirred up, feelings he’d long ago tamped down and then forgotten. Or tried to forget. God knew he’d done his best to demolish them, to sweat them out in the gym, fight them out in the ring.

Screw them away with willing women.

But, damn it all, every sensation Yvette inspired was still there, rooted deep.

Taut with anticipation, he asked, “Where’s Yvette now?”

“I’m not sure,” the lawyer said. He stood behind his desk, but didn’t take his seat. “She took a set of keys, so perhaps she’s at the house.”

Disquiet kicked Cannon in the gut, adding to the aches and pains left over from his recent fight. Would Yvette go there alone? He shrugged off the urge to race to her rescue.

Again.

He’d done that once—and then she’d walked away.

Moved away.

Across the country to California.

He tugged at his ear, uncomfortable with the latent resentment. Yvette was not the one that got away. She wasn’t a missed opportunity. She was only a girl he’d gotten to know better under extreme, dire circumstances. A girl he’d wanted, but had been too noble to touch...much.

But she had gotten under his skin, and even after three long years, he wanted her still.

Fuck it. He’d walked through one fight after another to make himself a prime contender for the belt, but resisting the lure of finally having Yvette was a fight he knew he couldn’t win.

He faced Whitaker with barely banked anticipation. “Where do I sign?”

* * *

YVETTE STOOD IN the doorway of her grandfather’s house. Yesterday, after the long drive back from California, she’d chosen to put aside the visit. Instead she’d gone to see the lawyer, and then checked into a hotel and tried to get some sleep. Impossible. The heaviness of what awaited her had her tossing and turning all night.

It wasn’t just a fear of being in the house. No, it was a fear of seeing Cannon Colter again, losing herself in his appeal, relapsing back to that young, love-struck, vulnerable girl who’d let him play the hero without a single ounce of pride.

Her grandfather wanted her to stay in Ohio. Returning for his funeral had been difficult enough. But to live here?

She’d finally learned to conceal her cowardice and, more recently, to accept the limits of her romantic capability. Being anywhere near Cannon threatened her resolve on both counts.

For now, for however long it took to sort out her obligations to her grandfather, she really had no choice. She would be in Warfield.

Pushing aside the nerve-jangling fear, she stepped into the house and closed the door behind her. The click of it sounded so final that her heart missed a beat.

Until she looked around. Then her pulse sped up.

Sunlight spilled in through open drapes, brightening the interior, showcasing the many changes. From the carpet to the paint on the walls, even the lamps on the end tables, everything was different. Her grandfather had redecorated with used items, probably from the pawnshop, but he’d pulled it all together.

For her.

Through a mist of tears she took in the remodel. God, she missed him so much already.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, ignoring the murky unease making a slow crawl up her spine, she went through the living room to the dining room and around to the kitchen. Familiar appliances filled the walls, but cheery new wallpaper and bright scatter rugs transformed even this room.

Flipping on lights as she went, she explored the house and all the changes. Although everything seemed different, the empty house still held the scent of her grandfather’s Old Spice aftershave.

Just as it held the memory of Cannon’s kiss.

Even while weepy from her loss, a tidal wave of warmth invaded her limbs whenever she thought of him. She again felt his protective touch, remembered the hot taste of his kiss. She’d built some elaborate fantasies around that brief moment in time. But now she wasn’t sure if even Cannon could make a difference to her wounded psyche. Knowing that wouldn’t stop her from wanting him, and that scared her more than anything else could.

Shame quickly followed, because she’d just lost her beloved grandpa, the one relative who hadn’t given up on her, who’d taken her in after her parents’ deaths and made her world better. She had to keep him and his wishes uppermost in her mind.

When she saw her room, fresh tears welled up. New bedding and drapes made it look different, but all of her more personal belongings were just as she’d left them. She touched a hair ribbon on the dresser, an ancient carnival doll he’d won for her.

Slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Cannon had missed the meeting at the lawyer’s office.

For over three long years she’d honed her fixation on him, using it to help her get through trying times, using the example of him to hopefully become a better person. He was everything she wasn’t, everything a good person should be. Generous, protective and caring. He had an athlete’s body, a fighter’s strength and an angel’s heart—all wrapped up in gorgeous good looks. Every girl in the neighborhood had wanted him.

After months of ignoring her childish flirting, he’d come to her rescue when she’d needed him most. And afterward, he’d felt pity for the pathetic girl she’d been.

He’d finally seen her—but as a victim.

Well, she was stronger now, and she’d prove it, to him and herself.

She watched every SBC fight, soaked up every mention of him on the internet and in numerous interviews. To the general public Cannon had been dubbed “the Saint,” in part due to his philanthropic attitude and always calm demeanor. Nothing and no one ever rocked his foundation of composure.

Insiders, however, claimed the nickname had more to do with his gentle treatment of women. He stayed too busy to engage in long-term romantic relationships. While he kept things brief, most of the ladies he knew became his friends without resentment, having nothing but good things to say about him.

Yvette could attest to his gentle concern and careful consideration. Difficult as she knew it’d be for her, she hoped he still claimed her as a friend, too.

It was necessary to see him, the sooner the better. But first... She’d learned that expending energy helped her to overcome her reservations. Before facing Cannon, she’d do what she could to shake off her nervousness and the uneasiness of being back in Ohio.

With that goal in mind, she emptied her suitcases and, doing her best to block the foul memories of what had happened in this very house, prepared for a night out.

Cannon would no doubt go to Rowdy’s bar, where he used to work. She’d find him there, and she’d show him that she wasn’t a frightened little girl anymore. She wasn’t pathetic. And she wouldn’t fawn over him. She’d convince him that she was a different person now.

And then maybe she’d be able to convince herself, too.

* * *

THE SECOND CANNON got his signature on all the papers, the lawyer stood and grabbed up an overflowing briefcase. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late for court. I hope you understand.”

“Sure.” He had no reason to hang around for small talk, especially when he had so much to think about.

“Tipton was a good man.” Friendly, sincere, Whitaker shook his hand. “If you need anything more, anything at all, please call Mindi and she can put you through.”

“Thanks.” With everything now in a big padded envelope, Cannon followed him to the door.

Before he could head out with the lawyer, Mindi reappeared. “You’re not rushing off, are you?”

That Whitaker took note, and then ignored his assistant to continue on his way, left Cannon wondering even more about their relationship.

Her body language, the way she looked at him and her tilt of her lips all invited him to stay. But if she and the lawyer were involved...yeah, he had no interest in getting mired in that sinkhole.

“Sorry. I have a dozen things to do yet today.”

Pretending to pout, she came closer. “But we have the office to ourselves.” Deliberately crowding his space, she reached around him and turned the lock on the front door. “Did I tell you that I’m a huge fan?”

Her breasts brushed against his chest; he could feel her breath on his throat. “Appreciate that. Thanks.” He kept his hands at his sides and tried not to breathe too deeply of her perfume. “Maybe another time, though.”

She teased a fingertip up and down her cleavage, and, damn it, he looked.

Encouraged, she moved that teasing finger to his chest, up and over his collarbone to twine an arm around his neck.

Temptation pulled at him. He glanced back and saw no one outside the office. After reading Tipton’s letter, he felt strung so tight that release would be welcome.

“He won’t be back,” Mindi said. Boldly she leaned into him...and stroked his crotch. “Don’t worry about him.”

God, he needed the distraction. And his body liked her touch well enough.

But his head wasn’t in it.

He got the definite vibe that she and the lawyer had a thing. Plus he figured Yvette would have dealt with Mindi, too, might even have to deal with her again. He would never do anything to make this new transition harder on her than it’d already be.

And then there was the fact that he hoped to finally have Yvette... Yeah, to his brain, cozying up with Mindi seemed like a very bad idea. “Sorry, honey, but I’m just not up for it.”

“Fibber,” Mindi whispered. Her eyes grew heavy, her breathing shallower as she stroked him. “You are most definitely up.”

Her twist of his words only marginally amused him. “Let’s just say parts of me have no sense.” Especially with her small hand expertly working him. “But the rest of me is shot, I swear.” The rest of me, he admitted to himself, wants Yvette, and only Yvette.

She pressed her lower body against his thigh. “I’d only need ten minutes.”

“Ah, now what fun would that be?” Gently, because he hated to insult any woman, Cannon tried to ease her back. “I’m sure you deserve more than ten minutes.”

“Later,” she whispered while nuzzling his neck, “when you have more time, you can make it up to me.”

Her sharp little teeth grazed his throat. Damn it, he was started to feel molested. “Listen—”

She opened her mouth on him and Cannon knew he had to get control of things before she added a hickey to his other many bruises. Catching her shoulders, he physically moved her away, saying with firm insistence, “Not today.”

Hurt overshadowed her lust, and she turned away from him. Hands to her face, she gave a nervous laugh. “Wow, this is embarrassing.”

Even annoyed, Cannon sympathized with her. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m flattered.”

She shook her head. “And not at all interested.”

Stepping up behind her, he cupped her shoulders. “You had your hands on me, so you know that’s not true.” She’d felt his semierection. His dick liked her just fine. “But my last fight took it out of me, I just got into town and now I have a load of legal responsibilities to take care of.”

“That’s all it is?” She looked at him with hope. “Seriously?”

Not about to commit himself, he shrugged. “All I know is that it’s not happening now.” Ready to make his getaway, he turned and unlocked the door. He got as far as his truck when she called to him.

Looking back, he saw her poised in the doorway.

“I’ll take a rain check then, give you some time to get settled, but I’m not giving up.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her. Since he doubted they ran in the same circles, he wasn’t worried about seeing her again. With a salute, he got behind the wheel, started the engine and drove away from the building.

No matter how many times it happened, it was still a nice thing to be wanted. Didn’t matter that part of the appeal was his status in the SBC.

One thought led to another, and he had to wonder, would Yvette be as impressed? Even before he’d been picked up by the elite fight organization, she’d looked at him with idol worship, as if he had the answer to every question.

But that was years ago. For all he knew she could be engaged, even married now. He pictured her as he remembered her: young and innocent. Just coming into her own. Shapely and sweet.

Ripe.

Unsettled with conflicting emotions, Cannon drove by Tipton’s house, but when he knocked, no one answered. He had a key, but it didn’t seem right to go in before talking to Yvette. He went by the pawnshop next, but it remained locked up, dark and empty. Like him, Yvette had probably found a motel room.

He’d track her down soon enough, and then they could get reacquainted all over again.

Damn, but he could hardly wait.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE’D BEEN GONE for hours. After making a very brief stop at the pawnshop, disappointed to see the shape it was in, Yvette had shopped for basic groceries she knew she’d need. After that, she’d bought a few new security devices, preparing the best she could for her stay at the house.

Anxiety still churned inside her, but it didn’t matter. She had outgrown that embarrassingly timid girl who’d allowed herself to be a sniveling victim.

Never again.

She concentrated on presenting herself as a proper, poised woman, using that facade to hide the truth. So many dreams had died, but no one else needed to know that.

Preparing to see Cannon, she made herself as polished as possible and then set off.

Because of the mid-August heat wave, she wore a white tank top with her skinny jeans and sandals. She’d pulled her freshly washed hair in a high ponytail that hung down between her shoulder blades.

On the walkway outside Rowdy’s bar, she hesitated. Judging by the noise alone, the place was packed. Being in such a crowded atmosphere would help keep her attraction under wraps. She had to see him, but she wanted to do it without embarrassing herself in any way.

A trio of men stepped out, gave her double takes and leered. She heard “Well, hello,” and “Hot damn,” along with a low whistle from the third guy.

Yvette made a point of not encouraging that sort of thing—really any sort of thing—with men, so she merely nodded and stepped inside. The place looked exactly as she remembered it, with people laughing, a small crowd dancing to the jukebox, every stool lining the bar taken up with a body.

More men checked her out and, wondering if she looked as out of place as she felt, she smoothed her palms over her thighs. Only on very rare occasions had she ever visited bars. Rowdy’s bar was different than most, friendlier, a part of the community she still loved and missed, but it left her self-conscious all the same.

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.”

“Hey.” Squeezing her shoulder, he hugged her a little. “I liked it.”

Her soft lips tweaked to the side. “You did not. You avoided me when you could, and when you couldn’t, you were careful not to be too familiar. I understand why now. But back then...”

Gently, he touched her chin, lifting her face so she met his gaze. “You’re one of the prettiest, sexiest women I’ve ever met. Of course I liked it when you looked at me.” But he’d thought her too young, and he’d been so determined to make it in MMA that, as she’d said, he’d avoided her.

She sounded strained when she whispered, “Thank you.”

Watching her fingers stroke in and around her hair made him think about her fingers on him—teasing him the same way.

He wondered what she was thinking, if her mind had wandered into the same sexual arena as his.

“I don’t want to make excuses.”

“About?”

“How I...came on to you. It’s just that after so many years of uncertainty, I’d finally finished school and was able to get a little independent. Not that I was planning to leave Grandpa.”

“I know.” She’d been very dedicated to Tipton, and vice versa.

Her gaze shifted away. “I loved him so much.”

“He loved you a lot, too.”

Her lips pursed, then curved with banked happiness. “He used to get after me for flirting. He said I was inviting trouble.”

At the time, Cannon had considered her the trouble. “I’d always assumed you were just eighteen.” Later, before leaving, she’d told him she was almost twenty.

As if that embarrassed her all over again, her pleasure faded. “It’s not that I was dumb or that I screwed off in school.”

“I know that.” Because her parents had died when she was thirteen, she’d spent the rest of that school year grieving and got held back. Then for the year after that, different relatives shuffled her around from state to state, no one wanting to keep her.

Until she’d landed with Tipton Sweeny. But again, she’d missed so much schooling....

“I felt dumb,” she admitted. “Most of the kids knew I was older. Especially the boys.”

Cannon could imagine how they’d hit on her. With the way she looked, she’d have been every high school boy’s wet dream.

She tugged at that lock of hair a little more before flipping it back behind her shoulder and putting both hands on the tabletop.

She did that often, catching herself and slipping back behind that mask of poise.

“You were so different,” she said. “I guess that’s why I always felt safe teasing you.”

Safe. An odd word to use. “If it’s any consolation, I had to concentrate real hard to resist you.”

Biting back a laugh, she nudged him. “You are such a fibber.”

“It’s true.” And now, being older, she was even more appealing. And he no longer had to resist.

Maybe gathering her thoughts, she sat silent for a moment. Tipton wanted him to be there for her, to make things easier, so Cannon waited patiently, giving her time—strangely content just to be with her.

When she looked at him this time, she kept her gaze deliberately direct. “After that, I proved what a coward I am.” Loathing sounded in her tone. “That was even worse than the infantile flirting.”

He was here for Tipton, Cannon reminded himself. But Tipton was far from his mind as his fingertips grazed her jaw, his thumb smoothing over her downy cheek. “That’s not true.”

Shying away from his touch, she leaned forward, her forearms on the table, her head dropping. “The rest of you were strong and brave and all I did was fall apart.” Laughing, she covered her face. “God, it still humiliates me to remember it.”

“Listen to me, Yvette.” He cupped his hand around her nape, his voice low, intimate. “You were young and afraid. No one would blame you for that. But you didn’t get hysterical. You didn’t escalate things. So you shed a few tears. So what? Hell, I was shaking I was so pissed off.”

Twisting, she faced him—and in the process she managed to move away a few inches. “You shook with anger, I shook with fear.” For a brief moment, her eyes closed. “I remember that day like it just happened. Those men breaking into the pawnshop, threatening me and hurting Grandpa, abusing that woman...”

“Shh.” Cannon remembered it all in detail, too. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never forget. How much worse must it be for her? “They’ll spend the rest of their lives rotting in prison.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah.” The cops had been after the sick fucks for a while. They were known for underground porn, forcing women into sexual situations and taping it for their own twisted thrills. They’d used the pawnshop to make one of their videos, gaining Yvette’s and Tipton’s compliance by dousing them in kerosene and threatening to set them on fire. Not because they needed the location, but because that had been part of the thrill for them.

Yvette worried that she’d been a coward; he marveled that she was still able to smile so easily.

“They’ll never hurt anyone else,” she swore softly.

“No.” The two who had survived would die in prison. “They’re gone for good.” Before being caught, they’d twice gone after Yvette, breaking into Tipton’s house with a twofold agenda in mind.

They had wanted to rape Yvette, using her in the porn video.

And they’d wanted to trap the cops who’d been after them.

She clenched her hands on the tabletop. “I want to see the lieutenant while I’m here in Ohio.”

“I’m sure she’d like that.” Cannon remained friends with the lieutenant and the detectives who had intervened that day. It was that friendship that had taken him to Tipton’s house at the same time as the detectives. He’d been a part of it all, experiencing firsthand the helplessness and fear as the thugs repeatedly explained their plans to kill the cops and use Yvette.

Luckily, they’d been outmaneuvered and things had backfired on the bastards in a big way. Cannon had gotten in on that action, too, and the attack had ended with one of them dead and the other two arrested—but not before Yvette had suffered a living nightmare. No, she hadn’t been raped, but she had been groped, threatened, terrorized and forced to watch the torment of others.

What Cannon remembered most about that day was how badly he’d wanted to protect her. He had avoided getting involved with her, but when he’d seen her so defenseless, when he’d felt her stark fear, it had all become very personal for him.

And somehow, through the passing of three long years, it remained personal. His hand curled into a fist.

Leaning into him, Yvette ducked her head and covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“We were both thinking about it.” He turned his palm over to twine his fingers with hers. “We haven’t really talked since then. Better to just get it out in the open.” And then hopefully they could put it to rest. He didn’t want the ugliness always between them.

He wanted, eventually, to be more to her than a reminder of a living nightmare.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Carefully, she disengaged from him, straightened, sat properly.

“Here, in Ohio?”

She shook her head. “I assumed you’d be here, at Rowdy’s.” Determination squared her shoulders. “I want you to know that I’m different now. I won’t get in your way. I won’t be a pest.”

Cannon frowned. “I never said—”

“I can take care of everything, so you don’t need to be involved.”

He didn’t understand her. Worse, he didn’t understand himself. “What if I want to be involved?”

That stymied her.

Her lips parted but no words came out. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and before he could think better of it, he cupped her face in his palm, used his thumb to rub that lush lip.

Her breath came a little faster.

Time to redirect, or he’d be kissing her right here in the booth—and that was something better started in a more private place. “We have a lot to talk about, I know. But you look exhausted. How long have you been in town?”

“I was here for the funeral two weeks ago, but then had to fly back to Cali to take care of some things.”

“That’s a lot of traveling. When did your flight get in?”

“I got here yesterday.” She sat very still until he removed his hand. “But I didn’t fly in this time. I drove.”

No way. “From California?”

“There’s no telling how long it’ll take to get things settled, so I brought a lot of my stuff and my car. It wasn’t a problem. I enjoy driving.”

“And sleeping in hotels?”

“Sometimes.”

No wonder she looked so tired. “How long did it take you?”

“Longer than it should have, but I could only drive so many hours without getting sleepy. I stopped twice to rent a room for the night.” And then with a cheeky grin, she added, “I’m not a hotshot fighter, so no fancy hotels for me.”

He had no idea what she did for a living, who she lived with in California, or if the travel had cut into her budget. But they could cover all that later.

He was about to recommend they call it a night, thinking he could take her to her hotel room and, being noble, make a date to see her in the morning.

She spoke before he could make the suggestion. “You look a little tired yourself. I know you just got back from Japan.”

“I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”

“Grandpa would have understood.” She studied his face.

“Pay no attention to the bruises. They look worse than they are.”

“If you say so.” Her gaze went to his jaw, and then to his chin.

Her intimate inspection almost consumed him before her eyes shifted away.

“The fights seem different on TV. Less violent. I’m really glad I was able to see one live, but I don’t know that I’ll be going again anytime soon.”

“It’s a charged atmosphere,” he agreed. “The music, the lights. Everyone is pretty hyped.”

“I liked all that, actually. And it gave me a good reason to wear my SBC T-shirt.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t let this go to your head, but the T-shirt has you on it.”

He liked it when she relaxed enough to be familiar. “Which shirt?” No matter what she wore, guys would have noticed her. But he liked that she’d worn him.

“The one with you in a fighting stance.”

He remembered the sponsor for that shirt—one of his first. Did that mean she’d been paying attention to his career all along?

“What?” she asked when he couldn’t contain the smile.

“I was just imagining you in the shirt...with me all over your chest.”

Dismissing any real interest on his part, she laughed.

She’d gotten good at deflecting attention, treating it as a joke. “Seriously, I’m flattered.” And, damn it, more than a little turned on, even though she seemed oblivious to it.

“Let me tell you, it wasn’t real flattering when the guy dumped his beer down my back.” Eyes bright, smiling, she leaned in as if to share a secret. “I had to drive home like that. I was so afraid I’d get pulled over for something, and the cop would think I was smashed based on the smell of beer alone.”

The urge to kiss her pulled at him—but she settled back in her seat.

“You didn’t stick around to meet any of the fighters?”

“No. There was such a huge, noisy crowd, and I had a three-hour drive, so it seemed smarter to just go home.”

Several men emerged from playing pool and headed toward them. “Well, you’re about to meet some now.”

She looked up in surprise—and transformed.

CHAPTER THREE

AS CANNON WATCHED, Yvette forced an expression of polite regard, adjusted her posture and smoothed her hair. To make a good impression? With his group of friends, she shouldn’t have bothered. With her looks and bod, she only needed to sit there and they would all swarm to her, talk her up, and if he didn’t set some boundaries, they’d probably hit on her, too.

Standing again, his body blocking her, Cannon asked, “So who won?”

Armie Jacobson, a good friend and partner of sorts who’d taken over the day-to-day running of the rec center Cannon had founded after Cannon had signed on with the SBC, took a dramatic bow. “That’d be yours truly.”

“I should have guessed.” Armie was good at everything he did—which included drawing women. “I think you owe me for bowing out.”

Armie’s dark gaze, a contrast to his very fair hair, jumped to Yvette with appreciation.

And now it begins, Cannon thought.

Moving around Cannon, Armie murmured, “I’d say you’ve been rewarded enough for that.” He extended his hand to Yvette. “Cannon won’t introduce us because I’m better at seduction than he is.”

Cannon snorted, but as Yvette took Armie’s hand, he said, “Yvette Sweeny, meet Armie Jacobson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jacobson.”

At the formality, Armie’s brow went up. He held her hand gently. “Pleasure’s all mine. You have to drop the mister, though. Just call me Armie—or something more wicked.”

“Wicked?”

“Yeah, like stud, or stallion, or—”

Cannon shoved him. “Stop being an ass.”

The handshake broken, Armie righted himself with a grumble. “Why they call you Saint I’ll never understand.”

“Because I have to be a saint to put up with you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Armie grinned. “We’ll see you at the rec center tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Cannon pointed back and forth from Armie to himself. “Plan to spar.”

Groaning, Armie grabbed his chest as if wounded and turned to Yvette. “You see, darlin’, that means I’m about to get an old-fashioned ass-whoopin’.”

Yvette laughed at him.

“Not funny!” And then, his voice still too smooth, Armie said, “You should come by and visit us. Pretty the place up a little—and maybe soften old Saint so he’ll go easy on me.”

Her gaze shot over to Cannon’s as if she expected him to protest. But hell, he liked the idea. “Yeah, you should. I can show you around.”

“I was there...once.”

Ignoring all the others, Cannon nodded. “I remember.” It was the night she’d come to tell him goodbye before she’d moved across the country.

The night she’d left him.

Or so it had felt, even though they’d never really been an item.

Because he had dodged her at every turn.

“If it’s been a while,” Armie told her, “it’s different now. Our boy here has brought us a lot of sponsorships.”

Denver used that opening to draw her attention. “Everyone wants a piece of Cannon.”

“Mostly women,” Miles joked, and Stack backed him up on that. A few bawdy jokes followed.

Yvette greeted the comments with indulgence, treating the big rough fighters like unruly schoolboys.

Denver eased closer to her—something Cannon didn’t miss. With one hand on the booth seat behind her shoulder, he beamed down at her. “So you’re into fighters, huh?”

“I enjoy the sport,” she explained with diplomacy. “But Cannon’s the only fighter I know.”

In some ways, Cannon decided, he’d be the only fighter she knew.

Though he surely caught the significance of what she’d said, Denver didn’t retreat. “We need to remedy that.”

“Thank you. I’d enjoy learning more.” She looked to Cannon for introductions.

While chatting her up, the guys had openly flattered her, but she didn’t reciprocate except to be cordial, so Cannon gave in.

He started with Denver, since that bum stood closest to her, and worked his way around to the others. Each one of them assessed her for possibilities, mostly because he never got that involved with women—so usually he didn’t mind. But this was Yvette, and that made a huge difference.

He’d need to set them straight, and soon.

Armie, the dick, watched it all with keen eyes, as if he already understood that Cannon wanted her to himself. Then again, he and Armie knew each other well enough that they rarely had to spell shit out.

Each man showered her with compliments, come-ons and good-natured ribbing. He knew exactly what they were thinking.

Because he was thinking it, too.

Yvette was just too hot. Her eyes were striking, her lush mouth a turn-on. And that soft, restrained laugh...it stroked over him.

Only now she was laughing with other guys—guys who didn’t need much encouragement to horn in.

Without showing a single sign of awareness for their over-the-top flattery, Yvette spoke with each of them.

Denver even took Cannon’s seat beside her. Stack sat across from her. In one way or another, each man angled in close to her until she was surrounded by big, muscled fighters.

Didn’t seem to bother her, though.

Armie, the only one hanging back now, elbowed Cannon. “You’ve been holding out.”

“She’s a friend.” Who would be more soon as he could arrange it.

“No shit? Can I be her friend, too?”

“No.”

Armie laughed.

Folding his arms over his chest, Cannon continued to watch her while schooling Armie. “She’s not your type.”

“Meaning she’s nice instead of nasty?”

“Very nice.” Cannon eyed him. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting a girl later tonight?”

“Yeah.” He checked his watch. “In fact, I’m already late.”

Armie was not known for his consideration toward the fairer sex—except maybe in bed. “Figure she’ll wait?”

He shrugged. “If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.”

There were times when Cannon didn’t understand his friend. More often than not Armie seemed to work at driving “nice” women away.

Speaking loud enough for them all to hear, Cannon said, “Time for you guys to hit the road.”

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 explore 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.”

The words no sooner left her than she winced. Of course he remembered. As Mary had said, details of the entire ordeal had played out in the news. She’d refused all interviews, but she knew her face had appeared plenty of times.

His attention, friendly as it might be, didn’t help to calm the stampeding of her pulse. “You’re not at all forgettable.”

Nodding, she said in apology, “Of course you’re right.”

One brow lifted and he grinned.

Oh, God, worse and worse. Yvette tried a glance at Cannon, but if anything, he looked more amused than Rowdy. “I meant because of the trial and everything. I sometimes forget how many times they plastered my pathetic face in the news.”

“That’s not how he meant it,” Cannon chided.

Rowdy’s mellow gaze warmed. “No, it isn’t.” Luckily, he let that go as he turned to Cannon. “Make use of the bar however you want.”

Wondering what that meant, Yvette watched Cannon, but he just nodded. “Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to your private chat in just a second. But first, a lot of people are calling in, asking if you’re really here. Word is spreading. I suspect we’ll be mobbed very shortly.”

“Damn.” Cannon stretched out his long legs and shook his head. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not a problem for me. We like the business.” After a glance at Yvette, Rowdy said, “I’m assuming you plan to cut out for the night?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“No worries. I understand.”

Well, she didn’t. Again, she wanted to protest, but with Rowdy standing between them it would be rude to interrupt.

“How would you feel about announcing a night that you’ll be around? Say in a week or two? That’ll give you time to settle in, and hopefully keep people from crowding you in the meantime.”

“A week or two?” Her appalled tone blew her cool, polite facade. “You’re staying that long?”

“Yeah, I am.” The heated stare Cannon leveled on her held too many meanings for her to decipher. “At least.”

Happiness bloomed—but she denied it. Okay, so it’d be fantastic to see him more. It was still unexpected. She had assumed he’d make it a couple of days at most—long enough for her to explain that she’d handle everything, then send him his check once things were settled. He’d said his sister still had the family home here, and she knew he visited often, but from what she’d understood, his life was now in Harmony, Kentucky. “What about your training?”

“I just finished a fight, so unless the SBC says differently, I’ll wind it down some.” His eyes darkened. “Besides, I have weights I can set up in the basement.”

“The... What basement?”

“Our basement.”

Oh, good Lord. Now he considered her grandfather’s house theirs? Sure, technically it was, but she hadn’t expected him to assert his rights beyond wanting a quick sale of the properties.

Every question she had sounded rude, so Yvette clammed up.

Apparently that suited the men just fine.

“I could throw out some promotion, make a big deal of it.” Rowdy propped a hip on the table. “Think you’d be in for autographs and photos?”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Maybe I could even work that night, like I used to.”

Rowdy laughed. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering. It’d be fun.” He glanced around the break room. “To be honest, I miss the place.”

“Simpler times?”

“Something like that.”

With both men looking at her, Yvette almost squirmed. Were they insinuating that she’d complicated things? Ha! She did her utmost to make it easier on Cannon. He was the one being difficult.

Clapping him on the shoulder, Rowdy said, “If you have the time, come by tomorrow. We can talk more then. And hey, if you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Will do.”

The second Rowdy left the room, Yvette surged to her feet. Cannon didn’t. If anything, he lounged back more, his indolent posture reminding her of a lean, muscular jungle cat.

Just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

Wound too tight, beyond weary, she rubbed at her temple to fend off an approaching headache.

“Loosen your hair,” Cannon suggested, but the way he said it made it sound sexual instead of sensible.

“It’s okay.” She dropped her hand, then went straight to her top concern. “You really intend to stay at the house?”

Folding his hands behind his head, he nodded. “Yup.”

Keeping her attention on his face instead of his awesome physique proved impossible. That particular position put outstanding biceps on display and pulled his soft cotton T-shirt taut over the solid surface of his chest and rigid abs.

Just looking at him made her breathe deeper. But then, thinking about him did that to her, too. Being in close, personal proximity with him, seeing his easy smile and modest attitude, was enough to keep her flushed with sexual curiosity.

God, the man was fine. Wide, solid shoulders, narrow hips and his... She swallowed hard and skipped her gaze past his lap to his long, solid legs.

Stop, she ordered herself. Only a masochist would continue teasing herself when she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Reminded of her deficiency, Yvette snatched up her purse and shrugged the strap over her shoulder. “All right, then. I guess I’ll see you there.”

All kinds of suspicious, Cannon sat forward. “You’re still going there, too?”

Ah, so he’d hoped to find an altruistic way to spare her from staying at the big, bad house where all her trauma had occurred.

Her lip almost curled—with self-derision. “Yes, I am.” He’d see that she didn’t need to be saved. “Is that a problem?”

Maybe now he’d bow out.

Instead he unfolded that long, tall body until he stood over her. Too close. So close that she felt the heat radiating off him.

He kept doing that, getting in her space in an intimate way. Making her heart race. Making her want things she couldn’t have.

He touched her chin. “Not for me.”

Oh. The way he said that, as if he expected it to be a problem for her.... And it would be. A torturous, frustrating problem—one she’d deal with on her own. “There are three bedrooms and two baths, so it should be fine.”

With probing intensity, his gaze moved over her face. “If you say so.”

Discretion being the better part of valor, she decided to retreat.

Catching her arm before she’d taken a single step, Cannon used his thumb to caress her skin. “It’ll be just the two of us, alone there together.”

“Well, I hope so.” She hadn’t even considered the alternative, but maybe she should have. Unpleasant possibilities had her glaring. “You don’t plan to move anyone else in, do you? Mary or some other woman?”

He laughed before catching himself. “No.” Showing no signs of offense, he caught her other arm, too. “Just you and me.”

The way he stared at her mouth prompted her to lick her lips.

Bad idea, given the flare in his blue eyes.

“I’ll, ah, give you privacy.” It took all her conviction not to lean into him, to resist the lure of his nearness. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not even close.”

The rough velvet words weakened her resolve. “Then—”

“My worry is a man and woman alone with beds nearby.” He drew her up to her tiptoes. “Unless that’s what you want.”

She couldn’t think. “What?” she whispered.

His breath teased over her lips. “Us, together.” His voice went deeper, rougher. “Making use of the beds.”

When she only stared at him, she saw the smile in his eyes—seconds before his mouth touched the corner of hers.

“Sex,” he breathed.

“Oh.” He wanted to have sex with her. “You’re coming on to me?”

Wry humor kicked up the corner of his mouth. “Seriously? You can’t tell? I must be losing my touch.”

No, his touch was dead-on, heating her with sizzling awareness. “But you just sent Mary away!”

As if she should have understood, he said, “You aren’t Mary.”

The surprise bubbled out as a small laugh. Appalled at herself, Yvette put a hand to his chest. She meant to lever herself away, but instead, the solid muscles had her curling her fingers against him. “No,” she said with apology. “I’m not.”

His thumbs started that wicked caressing again. “I’m glad.”

Only because he didn’t understand the major difference: Mary could accommodate him, but she could not.

Knowing she had to be fair, Yvette tried to explain. “You might want to rethink things. With Mary, I mean. See...I don’t...” Was there a polite way to put it? No, there wasn’t. “Do that.”

Comical confusion showed in his expression.

And no wonder. She sounded so absurd. “That is, I’m not... I can’t...”

“Can’t?”

“Won’t?”

He searched her face. “Pick one.”

She blew out a breath. “Don’t.” Now she pushed away from him, but landing back on her own feet without support left her shaky. “I don’t.” Gesturing, she explained, “Do that.”

Dubious, his gaze roamed over her from head to toes and back again. “You don’t have sex?”

“No.” And now, with him so near and so...focused, she had more regrets than ever.

“You’re not a virgin.”

She sputtered over the accusing way he said that. “No, but that was then, and now...” She rubbed her brow. “Sorry if I’m confusing you. But I don’t do any of that anymore. I mean dating or sex or anything. So anyway, you see, there’s no problem.” Her smile fell flat. More discussion was not going to make any of this better. Knowing that, she backed up one step, then another. “I’m going to head out now.”

Discontent furrowed his brows, making his blue eyes incendiary. “You’re going to say that and then just book?”

Definitely. Inching toward the door, she nodded. “I’m exhausted.” To give credence to that excuse, she staged a huge yawn. “I need some sleep. You probably do, too.”

He didn’t move.

“So...I’ll see you there. Whenever. Don’t hurry on my account, though.” She backed through the doorway. “I think Mary is still waiting for you.”

The frown got darker. “Forget Mary.”

“Okay, sure.” She continued inching away. “You have a key to get in, right?”

Muscled arms crossed over his chest and he looked down his nose at her. “Yeah.”

“Okay, then I’ll leave the door braces off.”

“Door braces?”

“Added security. You know...those bars that... Never mind. I’ll show you. Later.” She cleared her throat. “When you’re there. Though probably not until tomorrow because I’m going straight to bed—”

“I’m coming now.” He started toward her.

“You don’t have to!” More than anything she wanted to avoid another confrontation until she had her wits collected and could speak without sounding like an idiot. She could accomplish that by being in her room with the door closed before he showed up. Tomorrow morning...well, she’d get up early as usual, maybe go for a jog to clear her head and help collect her thoughts.

She hadn’t expected him to want to pick up where they’d left off.

Three years had passed!

But since he did, and since she couldn’t, she’d have to figure out a way to explain it all to him without actually baring her soul.

Still retreating, she almost bumped into someone, looked over her shoulder and apologized to Rowdy’s wife.

“Don’t mind me,” Avery said, her arms laden with dirty glasses after clearing tables. She continued on as if it was a normal night.

As if Yvette weren’t backing away from a superhunk who inexplicably wanted sexual involvement with her.

The night ranked right up there as one of the least normal she’d had—since moving away.

CHAPTER FOUR

CANNON WAS ON her by the time she looked away from Avery.

Green eyes flared wide when she realized he intended to leave with her—as in, right beside her with his hand curled around the nape of her neck beneath her long ponytail.

Unaccountably provoked, he whispered, “Let’s go,” but her feet remained glued to the floor.

Lacing her fingers together, she blinked up at him. “You don’t have to do this.”

He flexed his neck to relieve the knotted muscles there. “This?”

“Dogging my heels.”

That pissed him off.

Until she clarified, “Protecting me.”

No, maybe he didn’t. But he wanted to. Bad. Hell, he was half-hard and all he’d gotten from her so far were denials, rejections and hilarity at his interest.

And that far-fetched tale about her not having sex. He urged her forward, and she reluctantly gave in.

“This is pointless.”

Determined to prove her wrong on that score, he kept them both walking.

She dug in, saying, “I’m not going to cheat you.”

Even in the crowded, noisy bar, a few people looked up—including Mary, who stood among a small crowd of men.

Steering Yvette to the side, Cannon said, “Keep it down, will you.”

Appalled, she looked around, more upset than she should have been. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, and that implacable mask of poise fell into place.

Now, in a much softer tone, she said, “I’m sorry, but I want you to know. Soon as I sell everything, I’ll send you your half. You don’t have to hang around. I’m sure you have other, more important things to do.”

He wanted to do her, and that was as important as it got. She might not realize it, but the more she tried to run him off, the more determined he was to stay. “Understand something, Yvette.”

A little wary, she asked, “What?”

Smiling to soften his inflexible tone, he leaned closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Huffing, she gave in, no longer fighting him as they headed across the floor, but still stiff-necked under his hand.

Good thing he had a healthy ego. He sensed she wanted to avoid something, but he wasn’t convinced that it was him. There was something more going on.

He planned to find out what.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

“We’ll talk when we get home.” They were almost to the door when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

Senses prickling, Cannon turned—then ducked out of reach as someone threw a wild haymaker.

Tucking Yvette back behind him, he said, “What the hell?”

Sour beer breath blasted his face when a man swayed toward him and shouted, “You insulted ’er.”

Looking beyond the idiot slurring his words, Cannon saw Mary watching, her hand over her mouth in dismay. Shit. He hated drama over women. “No insult intended.”

The guy wouldn’t let it go. “You thin’ you’re such a hotshot?”

Sighing, Cannon felt the fascinated gazes of the crowd. The guy challenging him was big and muscular—but not a real match by any stretch. It’d be manslaughter if he took him on. “Look,” Cannon said, “why don’t you let me call you a cab?”

“Fuck you!” He poked at Cannon’s chest. “You were shitty to ’er.”

Cannon caught his hand, jerked him forward then around and put him in a headlock. It’d be so easy to put the guy to sleep...but that didn’t seem fair. He looked up at Mary. “Happy now?”

She gasped. “I didn’t know he’d come after you!”

Without much effort, Cannon contained the wild flailing of the man he held and said to her, “You didn’t put him up to it?”

“No! I would never do that.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but it didn’t really change anything anyway. “You know him?”

Miserable, she nodded. “He’s a...friend.”

“Then see that he gets home.” Cannon released the man—then had to push him back when the idiot reached for him again. Pointing at him, Cannon said, “No more.”

Too drunk to listen, the guy tucked down and charged.

Shit, shit, shit. Pulling the punch as much as he could, Cannon struck him with a straight right jab—and watched him sink, boneless, to the floor.

Stepping to the front of the crowd, Rowdy watched the drunk stir. “Sorry, I got here quick as I could.”

“It happened fast.”

“Bar fights usually do.”

That had Cannon snorting. There’d been no fight to it.

“Thanks for going easy on him.”

“No problem.”

Shaking his head, Rowdy said, “You are freakishly calm.”

With a shrug, Cannon said, “Not always, but I’m not going to get bent over a drunk.” He turned—and didn’t see Yvette. He searched the room.

“She’s gone,” Rowdy told him. “Lit out the second you got preoccupied.”

Now, that riled him. Only half under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck.”

The drunken idiot groaned. Together, Cannon and Rowdy helped him to his feet.

“All of you,” Rowdy said to the small group. “Time to go.” They grumbled, but followed Rowdy as he started toward the door. As if they weren’t escorting a bloody-nosed patron and his cronies to the curb, Rowdy asked, “You plan to move in on her?”

In more ways than one. Shrugging, Cannon held the door open as the small group departed with their buddy. “I told you, half of everything is mine.”

The last man, on his way out, handed Rowdy some cash to cover their tab. “Sorry about that.”

“If it happens again, he’s banned from returning.”

That caused more grousing, but a second later they were all gone.

Still by the door, Rowdy rested back on the wall. He stared toward Mary, who’d already moved on to a different tableful of men. “She’s trouble.”

“You could have warned me earlier.”

“You’re a big boy.” When Ella the waitress came by, Rowdy handed the money to her. “Besides, she’s only trouble when she finds an idiot to help her dole it out.”

Ella took a minute to bounce her gaze back and forth between them before sighing dramatically. “Y’all are going to cause a riot if you just stand there looking so mouthwateringly scrumptious.” She patted each of them on the chest and headed off for the cash register.

Cannon grinned after her. He and Ella had hit it off right from the start back when he’d first worked at Rowdy’s. She teased, but never, not once, had she honestly come on to him. He was willing to bet the same was true for her treatment of Rowdy.

“So you plan to claim your inheritance, huh?”

Only half listening, Cannon nodded. “For now anyway.” If he refused it, how could he cozy up to Yvette?

“What does she think of that?”

“Don’t know yet.” Should he still go to the house? Yvette had been clear on her preferences. She didn’t want him there.

“You get challenged a lot?”

“That wasn’t a challenge. That was just drunken stupidity.”

“I guess other guys have enough self-preservation not to go there, huh?”

Cannon shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.” And maybe Yvette truly didn’t need him anymore—

Laughing, Rowdy nudged him. “Yeah, you’re nice enough. So here’s some well-meaning advice—when in doubt, go with your gut.”

“Meaning?”

“You want to go to her. I can see it. Hell, everyone in here can see it.”

That prompted Cannon to look around, and he found the room ripe with speculation. He drew in a deep breath...and caved.

With new determination, he pushed off the wall. “Yeah.” He’d go to her, and if she was already in bed—probably avoiding him—well, then, at least he’d be there, close by. And in the morning he’d catch her for a nice long chat, and more. “Thanks.”

“Cannon?”

He paused.

“Go easy on her, too, okay? I think she’s probably more fragile than she’s letting on.”

Damn it, since he’d always trusted Rowdy’s insight, a new urgency gripped him. “See you tomorrow.”

Turbulent thoughts pushed him to drive too fast. When he reached the house, he found it lit up like Christmas with every outdoor light on. It was by far the most illuminated house on the block. Bright lamps decorated either side of the front door and over the driveway, and floodlights shone over each side of the yard.

Yvette had parked in the driveway, so he pulled in behind her. If she had thoughts of leaving before him in the morning, he’d know, because she’d need him to move his car.

He felt manipulative, but what the hell. For now, it worked.

He tried the doorknob, found it locked, and dug out the key to get in. Would she be curled up on the couch watching TV? Maybe in the shower? Or would she be tucked into bed? Each visual was nice, but he preferred the shower scene.

Unfortunately, when he stepped in, silence greeted him. So she had turned in? Hard to tell with so many lights on, but yeah, one glance down the hallway and he saw her closed bedroom door.

Disappointed, he dropped his overnight bag and looked around. The house was different, but how he felt about it wasn’t. The open dining room drew his gaze. It took only a nanosecond for him to recall exactly how Yvette had looked caught up against the thug’s body—and how her helplessness had turned him inside out. Thinking of how differently that day could have gone stirred his rage anew.

Yvette might not need him to be here with her now, but he needed it.

Doing his best to block the black thoughts, he roamed the house, first going down the hall to the room he’d use. Not her grandfather’s room, but the spare room—the one closest to Yvette. He set his overnight bag beside the bed and emptied his pockets on the nightstand. The bed was only a twin, but he’d manage.

Turning to the wall, he thought of Yvette on the other side. Did she sleep on her side, snuggled into her pillow? Or on her back, her legs open and relaxed? Heat crept up the back of his neck; he placed his palm on the wall, thought of touching her and had to fight the urge to knock on her door.

Leaving his shoes by the bed, he made no sound as he reentered the hall. At Yvette’s door he paused to listen, but it was so quiet that he imagined her holding her breath. Hard as it might be, he wouldn’t disturb her.

Not tonight.

Instead he went into the kitchen, where a low light shone over the stove. If she kept this up, the electric bill would be through the roof. But he wouldn’t complain.

Not with the proof of her difficulty there on the kitchen table.

Dead bolts, bars for the doors and alarms filled the tabletop. Seeing a few empty packages, he went to the window over the sink and found a narrow bar wedged into place, giving the lock a little backup on the off chance someone tried to get in. He checked the other windows and found the same. Striding to the basement door, he located the lock bar wedged under the doorknob, ensuring no one could sneak in—as they had three years ago.

She’d taken security measures to extremes. For her peace of mind, he could make a few more improvements.

And he’d stick close. For the foreseeable future, he’d protect her, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

WEARING ONLY JEANS, not yet shaved or showered, Cannon stood in the middle of the kitchen the next morning and cursed. Where the hell was she?

If he’d had any doubts about her dodging him, they were now confirmed.

The coffeepot remained half-full, and her car was still in the driveway. But her open bedroom door and the empty house told him she’d taken off.

On foot?

To where?

He’d be more concerned except for the note she’d left in front of the coffeepot that read, “Help yourself,” signed with a feminine, curly Y.

At only a few minutes after 7:00 a.m., morning sunshine poured in the kitchen window, spilling warm amber light over the counter and floor. Today would be a scorcher.

He always woke early, usually to work out, often to jog.

After a near-sleepless night where he’d pondered a dozen different scenarios, he’d planned a confrontation with Yvette. He’d expected to be there in the kitchen, alert and ready to sort out the confusion, when she emerged from her bed.

Still edgy with carnal need, he’d imagined catching her half-awake, maybe in a nightgown, her hair tumbled, her defenses down, warm and drowsy, sensual and sweet...

Instead she’d gotten up before dawn, made coffee for him and then skipped out.

The idea that she might be running from him ramped up the raw, basic urge to claim her. Filled with the predatory need to chase—and catch—her, he paced the floor, cursing himself for not getting her phone number. But he hadn’t expected her to bolt last night, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected to find the house empty this morning.

Maybe where it concerned Yvette Sweeny, he should stop making assumptions and come up with a strategy instead.

Where to start? Confused ideas clamored in his brain, impossible to sort out. Drawn by the scent, he decided a little coffee wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t a caffeine junkie, and in fact avoided it while training. But it was one of those small treats he allowed himself between preparing for fights.

One taste and he groaned. Perfection. Strong enough without being bitter.

If Yvette ever returned, he’d thank her for it.

While waiting for her, he finished his mug off and poured another. Eight o’clock came and went. Frustration mounting, Cannon went about checking all facets of security concerning the house. He wanted to know what was needed before he made some calls.

As he’d already noticed, the lighting was over-the-top, so he would suggest motion sensors. With the occasional stray cat or critter, they could be bothersome, but it was better than lighting up the whole neighborhood.

Before the sun set again, he’d install the additional dead bolts for her. Trotting down the basement steps, he checked out the window that had been used to break in so long ago. It was now secured with a metal grate that locked from the inside. Barefoot, Cannon crossed the cold concrete floor and touched the sturdy bars.

Anger intruded, settling in his gut like molten lead. In pure reaction, he curled his hands into powerful fists. If he could fight the past, he would. If he could go back and somehow do it all differently, the miserable fucks would never make it to prison.

Instead Yvette had to deal with the memories, same as he did. If he lived to be a hundred, it would still enrage him to think about it.

She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew it’d be the same for Yvette. Or worse. Much worse.

Trying to ease the strain, Cannon rolled his shoulders and looked around the open area of the basement. Without analyzing his decision, he configured a floor plan in his mind, knowing right where he’d put each piece of workout equipment. The overhead beams could easily support a heavy bag if he used the right hardware.

Back upstairs, he gave Armie a call. The phone rang six times before his friend answered with rushing breath. “You’re late.”

“And you sound winded.”

“I’m working out my frustrations.”

Huh. Did that mean the lady hadn’t waited for him after all? Ready to rib him, Cannon said, “I take it you didn’t get laid?”

“Actually, smart-ass, I had a three-way.”

“Yeah?” Nothing new for Armie. Sounding as serious as he could, Cannon asked, “What’s the other guy’s name?”

“Funny—not.” He could hear Armie guzzling water before he explained, “This time it was Beth and her friend Carly.”

Ah, so Beth with the many piercings and tats had not only waited, she’d brought along added enticement. He already knew it wasn’t Armie’s first ménage, but if he’d just indulged, why was he frustrated?

“Actually,” Armie said, “they asked about you.”

Him? He had to wonder how that conversation had gone—and when. But he said only, “Of course they did.”

“I told them no-go. Said you were a virgin.”

Cannon couldn’t help but laugh. “Bullshit.”

“Okay, I told them you were a lousy lay. Whatever. They settled for me.”

Glad that Armie knew him well enough not to bother trying to draw him into an orgy, he said, “Gee, thanks.”

“So is there a reason for this call? ’Cause you’re interrupting my routine.”

Cannon grinned. Didn’t matter how late Armie stayed out at night—sometimes all night—he still hit the rec center bright and early, and always jumped right into his workout. He was fanatical about staying in shape, about being healthy.

And about getting laid.

“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted you to know that I won’t make it in for a few more hours.”

“Dodging me? Damn, Cannon, I know I scare the average man, but you don’t need to worry.” Tone going suggestive, Armie asked, “Or is that sweet little thing you drooled over last night keeping you otherwise occupied?”

“Yeah, but not the way you mean.” Hard to sleep with Yvette when he couldn’t get her to stay in one place long enough to even kiss her. Maybe next time he saw her, he’d take care of that right off, then figure out the rest. “Got any free time this week?”

“Changing the subject, huh? Must mean you struck out in a big way, you poor bastard.”

“Are you busy or not?”

With new humor, Armie said, “I have a date every night, but I can rearrange things. What’s up?”

Cannon shook his head at the ready accommodation; Armie canceled dates as easily as he got them. “I want to set up some workout equipment.”

“Sticking around awhile, huh?”

“I think so.” But either way, he’d make himself at home here so that Yvette couldn’t easily boot him out.

With forced indifference, Armie said, “I thought your little sister turned the downstairs into a separate area for her roomie.”

Since Armie had helped him expand the outdated bath for that very reason, he already knew the answer. Was he interested in the roommate? Cannon had met her on a few occasions, each brief, so all he really remembered was medium blond hair, dark eyes and a cute bod.

Yeah, Armie was probably interested.

But that’d put him too close to Merissa, and Cannon didn’t like that idea, so he issued another warning, this one more direct. “I don’t want you messing around with the roommate.”

Armie snorted. “Don’t sweat it. She’s not my type.”

“What type is that?”

“Same as your sister—a nice girl.”

Cannon laughed at how Armie inferred being “nice” made a female unacceptable. In the case of his sister, he was glad. It’d be way too uncomfortable to think about Armie, with his over-the-top sexuality, anywhere near his little sis. “Rissy’s got her own life going on and I see no reason to move in on her.” He took a breath and admitted, “I’m staying with Yvette.”

Silence—and then, “That was fast.”

“Again, not the way you’re thinking.”

“Damn, man, I’m thinking she’s hot, you’re male and you’re arranging a lot of alone time with her. Don’t tell me it’s so you can hold her hand and watch old movies, because I just might puke.”

“It’s complicated, that’s all.” Cannon took a minute to explain the situation to Armie.

“Fuck,” Armie said with feeling. “I thought she was the girl, but I wasn’t sure. Must be rough for her.”

“Not as much as you’d think.” Or else Yvette did a great job hiding it. “Anyway, I plan to stay with her until the place sells—or until I’m sure she’s comfortable being alone.”

“Uh-huh.”

At that mocking tone, Cannon’s shoulders tightened. “What?”

“You’re all noble and shit, I don’t doubt it. That’s just you. But you’re also looking to get boned in the bargain, so just admit it.”

If it was any woman other than Yvette, Cannon might have just agreed and let it go. But with Yvette, the protectiveness smothering him was far too powerful for him to joke about it with anyone, even his best friend. “Armie—”

“Give it a rest, buddy. I know what I know. After seeing her, I’d think it was weird if you didn’t. But don’t sweat it. I’ll be all circumspect and shit whenever I’m around her.”

Defensive as well as protective, he warned, “I don’t want her hassled. By anyone.”

“Noted.” Armie moved right on past the topic, saving Cannon from more awkwardness. “How about you order in a pizza and I’ll come by after work on Friday? That soon enough for you?”

“Yeah, sure.” To be fair, he added, “Thanks. I owe you.”

Armie snorted over that. “Maybe someday I’ll collect. See you later.”

After putting his phone back in his pocket, Cannon checked the time. Almost nine o’clock.

Where the hell was she?

He was not a man who got keyed up. In the SBC he was known for his cool head and meticulous manner. But now, dealing with Yvette, his impatience rivaled a swelling tide. He needed to expend energy somehow, either by taking off on his own jog, hitting something...or maybe indulging in a long, hot shower.

He didn’t want to be gone when she returned, and he hadn’t yet installed a heavy bag, so the shower won out.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to be clean, shaved and dressed before she returned. Driven by thoughts of what he’d do and say to her, Cannon left the hall bathroom door open and kept his ears cocked as he let the warm water relieve some of his residual aches and pains from the last fight.

He’d just stepped out when the landline rang. Hastily wrapping a towel around his hips, he followed the sound and located the old-fashioned, curly corded phone on the wall in the kitchen. Huh. Skeptical that it’d really work, he picked it up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Cannon? Oh, good. I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

The female voice sounded familiar, but he wasn’t sure—

“It’s Mindi, from Frank’s office.”

“Frank?”

“Mr. Whitaker.”

Biting back the groan, Cannon dropped against the wall and forced some pleasantness into his greeting. “Morning, Mindi. How are you?”

“Working, so don’t get all worried that I’m calling in my rain check.”

Appreciating her humor, he smiled with her. “Sorry. I’m just slammed, that’s all.”

“You poor thing, having so much dumped on you. How is Tipton’s granddaughter?”

Cannon frowned. “We’re fine.”

“Working through everything?”

He pushed away from the wall. “Did Whitaker ask you to call?”

Her laugh was meant to be teasing, but instead it annoyed him. “No, but I’m hoping I can be helpful. I’ve found someone who wants to buy the pawnshop.”

A disturbing mix of regret and resolution glued Cannon to the spot. Through the restriction in his chest, he said, “Come again?”

Still sounding chipper and unfazed by his lack of enthusiastic reply, Mindi explained. “A buyer. For the pawnshop.”

Carefully, giving himself time to think, he said, “I didn’t know you were helping with that.” He got his feet moving but couldn’t pace far, not with the phone attached to the wall.

“Officially, we’re not. But you know that Frank and Tipton were friends, so I’ve let others know that it’s up for sale. I figured it was the least I could do.”

So she called the lawyer by his first name. Interesting. Then again, it could mean nothing. Whitaker ran a small office and probably didn’t go on formality. “I see.”

“Is there a good time I can bring him by to check it out?”

Just then, Cannon heard a slight noise at the front door. Anticipation surged through him, obliterating everything else. “I’ll talk to Yvette and get back to you.”

Mindi was still thanking him when he hung up.

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