by Lori Foster
Armie nodded. “Hell, yeah.”
“Good.” He gave a smile that was only partly friendly. “We’ll finish our conversation then.” Taking Yvette with him, he headed out.
“Oh, God,” she said, seeing everyone still staring at her. “It’s like walking the gauntlet.”
“Smile,” Cannon advised. “It’ll confuse them.”
To his surprise, she did. She even waved.
And every guy in the place waved back.
*
THEY REACHED THE pawnshop only twenty minutes later. With every mile they passed, Yvette’s uneasiness grew. A vicious crime had overshadowed all her wonderful memories of working with her grandpa there, and she hated that.
Was it possible to reclaim the good memories? To use them to snuff out the ugliness that had taken place at the hands of madmen?
“You okay?”
Cannon was such a rock that in comparison she felt like a complete wuss.
So she lied.
“Of course.” Her smile might not have been as bright as she intended, but she got it out there. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” After he pulled up to the curb and put his truck in Park, he turned to face her.
His close scrutiny, ripe with sympathy, only made her feel more agitated. “You guys weren’t really angry, were you?”
“Armie and me? No, course not.” Smiling at her question, he got out and walked around the hood of the truck.
Yvette opened her door. “And you and Denver?”
Because his truck sat so high off the ground, he helped her out—and then lingered, his hands on her waist, his body blocking her sight of the pawnshop, near enough to be a buffer from the darkness that tried to creep in.
“We disagree on occasion, but you don’t have to worry about us actually coming to blows. Not in anger anyway. Hell, we fight for a living. We spar almost daily. Believe me, we know the difference between sport and life.”
“It seemed so…angry.”
“Just men being men.”
“Or fighters being fighters?”
“Maybe. But keep in mind that professional athletes, in MMA especially, are extremely disciplined. We can blow off steam on occasion without letting things get out of control.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
His mouth twitched into a smile. “It was cute how you tried to take charge of things.”
Things being big, muscular, capable men. Groaning, she covered her face. How silly she must have looked.
Cannon chuckled and hugged her into his chest. “You sure got everyone’s attention.”
She thought again of all those men staring at her, and swatted at Cannon. “Stop.” But she, too, grinned.
Smile fading, Cannon tipped up her chin. “Want me to go in first?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” Somehow she’d make it so.
After a deep breath, she stepped around him and faced the squat building. Blinds kept her from seeing through the dark, dirty windows that used to be lit with neon signs and proud displays. Without her grandfather’s weekly upkeep, dry weeds grew up in clumps along the foundation where the front walk had cracked away. Leaves and garbage had gathered in the corners of the door, carried by the wind, sealed by the rain.
So many times she’d come here after school, and one of her first jobs was always to sweep the walk. Her grandpa had insisted on everything being well organized, including her. He’d given her boundaries and purpose.
And so much love.
She didn’t realize how long she’d been standing there until Cannon’s hands rested on her shoulders and he leaned down to press his mouth to her temple.
Not rushing her. Just offering understanding.
With the keys already in her hand, she began unlocking the door. She appreciated how close Cannon stayed at her back, following her in so that she didn’t have to face the musky interior alone. Without air-conditioning, every breath that filled her lungs was thick and hot and stifling.
She flipped on the overhead lights. Everything looked so…stark.
The empty shelves and cabinets. The bare floors. The paint-chipped walls.
As Cannon pushed the door open wider to let in the humid breeze, Yvette walked to a metal shelf that used to hold coin collections. Next she turned to the glass cases that her grandpa had used as a reception area. It was barren now, but she could still picture how gold and silver watches and a variety of jewelry had glinted from the overhead fluorescent lights.
That was when it hit her, the warmth occupying places she hadn’t known were still so empty.
Heart beating fast in exuberance, she turned a circle, taking in the dimensions of the big front room. She wanted to fill it again. She wanted to bring this building—and the good memories—back to life.
“Over there,” she said, “is where they set up their video camera.”
Rather than crowd her, Cannon propped a shoulder against the wall. “I know.”
Of course he did. He’d learned every detail of what they’d done. But something inside her urged out the words, as if saying them again would somehow take them away. “The woman was drugged when they came in. We were just closing up. They pulled out their guns, drew down the blinds.”
Though he held silent, his presence alone gave her the security she needed to relive the past.
That awful day had been only the start of her nightmare. After she and her grandpa had been doused in kerosene, they’d had no choice but to helplessly watch the rape of the doped-up woman, all while wondering what would happen to them next. She’d never seen her grandpa so helpless and so afraid. For her.
But when the three men had finished with their sick game, they’d packed up to go—after warning Yvette and Tipton about what would happen if they called the police.
They hadn’t called, but Cannon had noticed things amiss. He was like that, always so vigilant when it came to his neighborhood and the small-business owners he cared so much about. He’d brought two friends, both detectives, to the shop and found Yvette and Tipton.
The memory was so vivid, Yvette wrapped her arms around herself.
Pushing off from the wall, Cannon approached. “I sometimes wonder if they’d have come after you at the house if I hadn’t interfered.”
Still studying the interior and layout, Yvette said, “You could never interfere, and yes, they would have come after me anyway. I knew it all along, though I tried to tell myself they wouldn’t. I tried to believe it had ended. But I knew.” Talking about it sent a shiver up her spine despite the suffocating heat. “I think they’d always planned to come back for me.”
And they had. She’d been assaulted at the pawnshop, then again in her home. Both times, Cannon had done his utmost to protect her. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d have been raped that day at home. I know that, too.”
There wasn’t a sufficient way to ever thank him, but her grandpa had tried. Looking up at Cannon now, Yvette asked, “Do you want to sell?”
“No.”
Hope tightened her throat. “Are you sure? Because, Cannon, I owe you—”
“You don’t.” He cupped her face, his brows drawn in earnestness. “Don’t talk like that.”
But she knew the truth whether he’d accept it or not. “I’ll sell in a heartbeat if that’s what you want. We can call Whitaker’s office and—”
“What do you want?”
Such a loaded question. She could tell him that she wanted to be whole again, that she wanted to feel, to experience that special, hot culmination of sexual involvement.
That she wanted to be a woman again.
But that would be laying too much on him. And, as other men had done, he’d take it as a challenge to “fix” her. She couldn’t bear to go down that road again.
Not with Cannon.
His thumbs brushed along her jaw. “Tell me the truth, Yvette.”
She loved it when he touched her like this, when she felt his strength mixed with gen
tleness. It was a hot, macho, potent combination, and no one ever had possessed the same ability to make her feel so many things.
Wrapping her hands over his wrists, she looked up at him. “I want to give you everything you’re supposed to have.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “What if I’m supposed to have you?”
Her breath caught. “Cannon,” she chided.
Pleasure showed in his blue eyes. “Yvette.”
She cleared her throat, determined to do the right thing. “My grandfather wanted me to repay you.”
“Your grandfather wanted you to be happy,” he said when she prepared to argue. “You know it as well as I do, so don’t go there. Instead be honest with me. Tell me what would make you happy.”
She couldn’t, not about everything.
“Yvette.” He used his thumbs to turn up her face. “If every option was open to you, what would you most want to do? Right here, right now.” He kept her caught in his gaze. “Tell me the truth.”
Possibilities teased her and she smiled uncertainly. “I…I’d want to reopen the shop.”
His smile eased into place, too. “Yeah? Would it still be a pawnshop?”
“Or an upscale resale shop.” Enthusiasm expanded. “Grandpa taught me a lot, and I used what I learned for my online business, but also to buy things I knew I could sell for a profit. I have a lot of stock, stuff that I could set up in here. And it’s the right time of year for me to buy more from yard sales.”
Cannon pressed a firm, quick kiss to her mouth. “I like it.”
Carried away with the idea, and that tantalizing kiss, she breathed faster. “In no time I could have this place looking as good as it used to. I could maybe even get Vanity to come out for a visit to help get everything set up.”
“Count on me to pitch in. And some of the other guys, too.”
Whoa. Grinning like an excited kid on Christmas morning, she shook her head. “I can’t impose on them. Or you.” She spun away, seeing everything with new eyes. The reality of what had happened here remained, but the promise of what she could do nudged the ugly memories into the corner of her mind. “I’ll enjoy digging in and rearranging things.”
“You know Tipton put stuff in storage, too. You might already have a lot.”
“That’s right!” She went back to the glass case, thinking of how it’d look after she gave it a good washing. The floor looked a little rough, but scrubbing, waxing and adding some colorful rugs might fix that.
“Do you know everything that’ll have to be done?”
“Things might be a little different here than they were in California, but I should be able to get everything squared away within a month or two.”
“So we’re keeping the shop.”
We. That one word seemed to carry so much meaning. Yvette tried to calm the sudden stampeding of her heart. Keeping her back to Cannon, she said with forced lightness, “I promise to buy you out as soon as I can.”
“Or we could stay partners.”
How had he gotten so close without making a sound? She turned and he was right there, toe to toe with her.
“Not that I’d tell you how to do things. But I wouldn’t mind taking part when I can.”
“That’s what you want?” She could handle it, maybe run the place but give him a percentage of profits—
“I thought you’d have it figured out by now.” His mouth settled on hers again, longer this time, deeper and hotter until clear thought became impossible.
Reluctantly he ended the kiss, but kept her face turned up to his. “I like the shop, and the house is nice. But most of all I want you.” As if that was no big deal, he smiled. “I’m going to keep telling you until you believe it.”
And until she wanted him back?
Yvette shook her head. They both knew that had happened more than three long years ago.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TOMORROW, CANNON DECIDED, he would call Mindi to tell her they were keeping the pawnshop. Tonight he wanted to make sure things were settled with Yvette.
After he’d declared himself again at the pawnshop she’d gone so quiet that it worried him even though he tried not to let it.
He’d told her several times now, always with the same result. She did want him. He was sure of it. Eventually he’d win her over.
After picking up dinner, they’d ridden home in relative silence. Yvette used her phone to look up necessary numbers and locations to get things rolling on the shop. She made two calls and added notes to the calendar on her phone.
As he listened to her putting down roots, digging in with the intent of sticking around, a sense of peace settled over him. He wanted her to move back home for good, he realized.
If he’d had any doubts about her being happy here, listening to her now put them to rest.
Her grandfather was right. This was where she belonged.
Instead of eating the loaded burgers—a treat for him—at the table, they’d both sat on the couch and watched TV.
Yvette surprised him with her appetite. For such a small woman, he’d expected her to pick at a salad, not wolf down a burger, fries and chocolate malt.
Looking at her now, curled up at the other end of the couch, her feet tucked up beside her, a throw pillow in her lap, he wanted her more than ever.
She nibbled on her last fry and he wanted her.
She sucked at the straw in her drink and his muscles tightened.
But he could bide his time and, as Armie suggested, maybe put some effort into seducing her. That thought made him smile.
She glanced his way. “What?”
Cannon shook his head. “Just thinking.”
About seduction.
It had become a lost art. Even before making it in the SBC, women hadn’t been a hardship for him. Now, more often than not, women came easily to him.
But not Yvette.
She frowned at him askance, and with reluctance took her attention back to the TV.
“When do you want to check out the stock Tipton left behind?”
She took another long drink of her malt, finishing it off, then stood to gather up their empty wrappers. “I wouldn’t mind checking it out right away, just so I know what I have to work with. Maybe sometime tomorrow.” On her way into the kitchen she added, “I’ll call Vanity soon, too.”
Jumping right in. He liked her enthusiasm, especially since the more enmeshed she got, the better the odds of her staying on for good.
Cannon turned off the television and strode into the kitchen behind her. “I’ll go with you.”
She paused in the middle of putting the trash in the bin beneath the sink. “Okay.”
A message beeped on her phone. Without looking at him, she went back to where she’d left it on the end table, glanced at the message and put down the phone without replying.
Her boyfriend again? Ex-boyfriend, he reminded himself.
“Everything okay?”
Looking a little guilty, she gave a bright but false smile. “Sure.”
When she started around him for the kitchen again, Cannon stopped her. Seduction, he reminded himself, and he leaned closer, spoke lower. “So what do you have planned tonight?”
“Tonight?”
He touched her hair, smoothing it, then let his fingertips trail over her shoulder and down her arm. “Remember, I’m heading out soon to meet the guys.”
Second ticked by, then she shook herself. “Catching up with old friends?”
That, and more. But he only nodded. “I’ll be gone awhile.” He put both hands on her waist and pulled her closer. “You plan to just stay in?” Hopefully she’d think about him, miss him a little.
She waffled. “I’m not sure yet.”
Not the answer he’d been expecting. Where did she think to go? Not back to Rowdy’s bar. Did she have other friends in town?
Or was she nervous about being home alone? Maybe he should cancel his plans and stick around. “If you’d rather—”
“I’d
rather not be a bother. Go. Have fun.” Phone in hand, she darted around him as if seeking escape.
Once more, he trailed her into the kitchen. Luckily the house wasn’t large since Yvette seemed determined to make him chase her.
She’d set her phone on the table as she removed the garbage bag from the can. Damned if another message didn’t come in.
Yvette ignored it, so he tried to, as well. “You have some friends you’re going to reconnect with?”
“Not really. After I moved away, I didn’t stay in touch with anyone here.” She tied the bag shut and shook out another to replace it.
Was she deliberately elusive? “Then where would you go tonight?”
“I don’t know.” Dusting off her hands, she steered clear of his gaze. “I could maybe take in a movie or something.”
He should definitely cancel tonight. He’d never hear the end of it from the guys, but still, the idea of her sitting in a movie theater alone—
Her phone rang.
They stared at each other until it stopped.
Cannon cocked a brow.
Hefting the bag, she forged out of the kitchen.
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I’ll run it out to the garage.”
She didn’t let go. In a tone far too surly, she growled, “I’m more than capable of taking out the trash.”
Withdrawing his hands, Cannon held them up in supplication. “My apologies.”
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she looked away. After three beats of silence, she regained her calm demeanor. “It’s not a big deal, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Fine. Then let me do it.”
Indecision had her scowling again before she thrust the bag at him. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”
“Phrasing, honey. Never tell a fighter to get knocked out.” He stole a quick kiss off her mulish mouth, then whistled on his way to the garage. The things that got her prickly amused him, and the way she reacted each and every time to his kiss made him want to rush things despite his good intentions.
Rush them more than he already was, because seriously, he’d come on like a steamroller and he knew it. He should probably apologize—and explain that it was likely to happen again.