by Lori Foster
He didn’t want to leave her.
“I’m fine, I promise. Please, tell Cannon so he doesn’t desert his fans.” She touched Armie’s wrist. “I’ll die if I throw a kink in the works.”
“All right.” Before he left, he pointed at her. “If you let a bitch like Mindi bother you, I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”
Funny Armie.
Wonderful Cannon.
Ohio… Home.
So many thoughts, worries, emotions scurried around her mind. But the most prevalent of all was love. For Cannon.
When Mary stepped out of the bar, Yvette let out a long breath. Maybe she didn’t need those three minutes anyway. All she really needed was Cannon.
She pushed away from the wall—and the lamppost sent a long shadow across her path.
With ominous dread, she looked up.
As if genuinely pleased to see her, as though they were old friends who’d just happened to run into each other instead of a stalker finding his prey, Heath smiled down at her. “Yvette.”
So he hadn’t left after all. Fear tried to intrude, but they were in public. People all around them. Lit buildings. Traffic.
Remembering what Margaret had said, Yvette shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am.” He moved closer so that she was trapped between the brick wall and his big body.
Anxious about his mood, she tried to push past him.
His smile fading, he blocked her. “Did you think I’d leave without us talking?”
“You checked out of the hotel!”
He searched her face. “How do you know that?” Desperation darkened his eyes; yearning softened his voice. “Did you come looking for me?”
“God, no. I sent a cop to talk to you, to tell you to leave me alone.”
A flash of rage mottled his complexion. Bunching up, he leaned down so close she felt his hot breath on her face. “You think I’m a fucking idiot? Is that it?”
His voice was a low hiss, not overly perceptible to the others nearby. “I think you should leave me alone.” She again tried to move past him but he caught her arm. It was the same unbreakable, bruising hold he’d used at the rec center. “Stop it!”
“I thought about why your new boyfriend asked where I was staying. I knew what that bastard wanted.”
She strained away from the menace of his low tone, his big body. “He wants you to leave me alone, same as I do.”
Comprehension had his eyes flinching. “You’re drunk.”
“I am not.” At the moment, she felt plenty clearheaded, and plenty worried. How could she defuse this situation without screaming bloody murder?
His hand tightened even more. “Did that fucker get you drunk?”
“Stop being an idiot!” It was bad enough this had happened at the rec center. To have it get repeated here, while Cannon entertained his fans—
“I smell it on your breath.”
“Get out of my space and you won’t.” She shoved hard against his chest, but with very little effort he jerked her in close to his body, squeezing her so forcefully she couldn’t get breath.
“No,” she rasped, the only protest she could manage.
No one intervened. No one said a word.
As he tightened his hold, blackness edged in around her vision. She tried to fight it off, to fight him.
He hushed her, smoothing her hair, whispering, “It’s okay, honey, just relax.” Her toes barely touched the ground with the way he held her pinned to his side.
To observers, he probably looked like a concerned boyfriend helping a drunken girlfriend home. “We need to talk.” He looked over his shoulder as he continued dragging her away. “And it’ll best be done in private.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AFTER RUDELY PUSHING her way to the front, Mary grabbed his arm. “Cannon?”
Not again. He’d just fended her off as politely as he could, but she hadn’t been gone two minutes before returning.
He’d already told her there’d be nothing between them. He didn’t feel like rehashing it again so soon.
Easily sidestepping her with the way others wanted his attention, he gave her his back.
But she tangled a hand in the back of his waistband and gave a tug. When he looked at her in disbelief, she said, “I’m sorry,” then said it again to the young couple he’d been about to serve. “I wouldn’t interrupt, except that this is important. At least, I think it is.”
Something in her tone gave him pause, and that had him automatically scanning the bar for Yvette.
He didn’t see her. Armie had claimed she was only getting air and would be right back in.
But then where was she?
Mary tugged at him again, and when he leaned closer, she whispered, “I just want to help, I promise.”
Help with what? He handed the tray over the bar to Rowdy. “I’m taking a break.”
“Sure.” He skipped his attention to Mary, but didn’t comment. “You’re long overdue anyway.”
“Thanks.” Promising he’d be right back, he excused himself from the crowd. Seeking a modicum of privacy, he pulled Mary slightly away. “All right. What is it?”
“Your… I guess your girlfriend?”
“Yvette?”
As if that confirmed something for her, she let out a disappointed breath. He would have commented on that, but she immediately rallied with determination.
“I saw her outside.”
Yeah, he knew that. “She’s grabbing some fresh air.” Impatience and something more, something turbulent, churned inside him.
“I…I think she needs you.”
Needed him because she was upset? Or something more?
Wanting to see for himself, he nodded at Mary. “Thanks.” He started away, but again she held on.
“Listen to me, will you?” Aware of the crowd, she lowered her voice. “When I went out, she was there alone. But then some guy got in her space, and I don’t know her well, but I do know pushy men. That guy was pushy.” Mary lifted her shoulders. “I could tell she didn’t like it.”
Heath? No, it couldn’t be.
Not here, at a crowded public place. Probably just some idiot flirting with her. But, damn it…
Cannon quickly kissed her cheek. “Thanks, honey. Appreciate it.” Apprehension pulsed in his temples. He crossed the bar in long strides, wending his way through the patrons with haste, unable to reply to greetings and ignoring questions.
He knew Mary followed him, maybe a few others, too. Damn it, Yvette hated scenes. If he charged out there, half the damn bar would go with him.
He was probably overreacting; he couldn’t imagine any guy seeing her and not making a play.
That wasn’t reason to go on a rampage.
But his heart beat harder and a dangerous mix of fury and fear stacked up inside him.
He pushed through the doors, quickly scanned the groups of people loitering about. He didn’t see her and the panic set in. He turned, searching every dark corner and alley, and finally glanced across the street.
A trio of boys he knew spotted him, and by their expressions alone he knew something wasn’t right.
Jogging, he headed toward them. A car horn blared; a driver cursed him.
They didn’t greet him as usual, didn’t smile at his presence. They were young, but they’d seen enough brutality to recognize it at a gut level.
“Have you seen her?” Cannon asked even before he’d reached them.
“She is with you, then?” one of them asked.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Where is she?”
The oldest of boys, probably only sixteen, jerked his head to the side and back.
Cannon peered through the dark between tall buildings to a gravel lot behind them—and saw Heath and Yvette next to a car. Body language said they were both pissed. Heath’s voice rose, indistinct but angry.
The kids shuffled restlessly, taught to stay uninvolved, but influenced by Cannon to do just the opposite. It was a
daily battle they fought between social apathy and schooled justice. “We were trying to decide if we should come get you—”
Heath opened a car door and Yvette protested. She turned to leave, but Heath grabbed her back.
Every combustible feeling Cannon suffered suddenly ignited, then blew. Forgetting the boys, he took off in a run, rage expanding with his pounding footsteps.
Everything faded from his periphery except for Yvette. Her fear-widened eyes. How she strained away from Heath. The noise her sandals made as they slipped in the gravel.
“Let her go.” The lethal order must have given Heath pause, because he hesitated. Yvette almost twisted away, but Heath caught her by the back of her T-shirt. It ripped from the shoulder.
Uncaring who might hear, Cannon told him, “You are so fucking dead.”
At that, Heath shoved her to the side and charged.
He had only a second to glance at Yvette, to see she was okay, before Heath was there, right in front of him.
Cannon met him with a fist that knocked his head back. Another to his gut. As Heath reeled back, Cannon kicked his ribs. The hit sounded like a blast, and he knew he’d just broken a rib or two.
On a savage groan, Heath threw his body against Cannon and they both went down.
Not a problem.
Despite the overload of emotion, Cannon moved with precision. Heath thought he had the advantage, being on top. Allowing him to raise up a little, Cannon waited for him to throw a punch, then isolated his arm. Too fast for Heath to see it coming, he used his legs to trap his head and upper body, one leg under Heath’s chin, the other across his chest with his arm between. Lifting his hips, he extended Heath’s arm until he popped his shoulder.
Then popped it again, ensuring he’d dislocated the joint.
Heath gave a wounded-bear roar. The second Cannon released him, he tried to curl in on himself.
Wasn’t happening.
Still driven by fury, Cannon punched his smug face again, heavy punches, right fist, then left, right again—
“Enough.” Armie tackled him away from Heath and they both went down on the rough gravel. When Cannon instinctively fought him off, Armie said again, “Enough.”
Cannon meant what he’d said. He wanted to kill Heath.
Arms locked around Cannon’s torso, Armie said in a harsh whisper, “This isn’t the audience you want to perform for.”
The black cloud dissipated and reality sank in. Familiar faces from the bar circled them, moving in, all talking, taking pictures with their cell phones.
Breathing hard, Cannon easily shrugged Armie off.
Easy only because Armie wasn’t fighting him. It was more a matter of keeping him from killing the putz.
“Rowdy called Logan,” Armie told him. “Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter.” His body still singing with the need for violence, he pushed to his feet. The flashes from a dozen camera phones continued to light the night. “Fuck.”
“Take a breath,” Armie advised.
He tried. But what he felt right then, pure bloodlust, was night and day from a sanctioned fight where he used his cool to win. Different from the defense he offered to the neighborhood businesses to counter bullying thugs. Different from…anything he’d ever known.
This was red-hot, blind and…strangling the fuck out of him.
Sticking close, maybe in case he went after Heath again, Armie said, “She could use a little of that control you’re known for.”
He’d been avoiding looking at Yvette, only because in that moment he didn’t know himself. He’d fought in plenty of competitions. Fought for justice. Fought for friends.
Three years ago, he’d fought twisted fucks who’d tried to rape Yvette, who probably would have killed her. That had been devastating. For her and for him.
But this was so much more personal, because back then she’d been a sweet girl from the neighborhood. Too young. Untouchable.
And now…now she was his.
He’d never fought for anything this important.
The second his gaze found her, standing well away from Heath’s car, cradling one arm and looking lost on many levels, he had to touch her.
Had to.
He started toward her. To his surprise, she sucked it up, squared her shoulders and came to meet him halfway. When they were close, she bit her lip, undecided.
He made up her mind for her, gathering her close, his arms locking around her, holding her but mindful of her arm.
It took him a bit, but he asked, “You’re okay?”
She gave a small, jerky nod. “I’m so sorry.”
For only a second more, he kept her against him, absorbing her scent and softness and the steady beating of her heart. But, damn it, she had the means to set him on fire with need, and to piss him off with confusion. Without even trying she left him undone and in pieces.
Another breath helped, one more, and by the third he could grasp sanity again.
“First,” he grated, his voice hoarse, “your arm?”
“I’m fine.”
His jaw flexed until his temples hurt. “Let me see.” He tried to take her arm, but she resisted.
“Cannon.” In a hushed, breaking whisper, she told him, “My shirt is ripped,” as if she’d committed a sin.
“I’ll give you another shirt. Hell, I’ll give you fifty fucking shirts.” Okay, so maybe sanity wasn’t quite attainable just yet. One more deep breath, and more firmly this time, “Let me see your arm.”
She ducked her face and managed to hold the pieces of the oversize shirt together while letting him look.
Bruises already purpled her skin, and damn if that didn’t throw a match on the smoldering embers of his temper. “I should have broken his leg, too. Or his fucking neck.”
“No.” Her breath hitched, a little too high and thin. “You shouldn’t even be involved in this mess.”
It was the wrong thing—the worst thing—to say to him.
Stepping away from her seemed his best choice, but he only got two feet before storming back. “I’m involved because we’re involved.”
Eyes widening, lips parting, she stroked him like a mongrel dog. “I know,” she said softly, her tone soothing, “and I’m glad.”
Glad? She was fucking glad?
“But you don’t have time for—”
“What? You?”
No answer, just a lot of flinching uncertainty. He wanted to pull back, to be what she so obviously needed right now, but he couldn’t.
“Sex?” He tunneled a hand into her hair, anchoring her to him. “A relationship?”
She blinked big, bewildered eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do.” Still feeling like a stranger in his own skin, he tugged her head back, her face up, until her lips opened for him.
Then he took her mouth. Hard.
She didn’t fight him, just gasped in surprise. He sank his tongue in, stealing the sound.
Tasting her.
The wine she’d drunk, her fear.
Her confusion.
Using his free arm to arch her closer, he turned his head, consuming her, relishing her small whimpers, her soft, accepting moan.
Armie clapped him hard on the back, returning him to the here and now. “You might want to put the brakes on that lust, Saint. Looks like you’ve forgotten, but you’re nowhere near a bed.”
Jesus.
Cannon freed her mouth, but kept her tucked against his chest. She complied, clinging to him, maybe hiding. Ruthlessly, he crammed back the darkest parts of his rage. “I guess I still have an audience?”
“Most of the women have fainted, but yeah, still there.”
Against his chest, he heard Yvette snicker.
No way. He leaned his head back to try to see her, but she squawked and squeezed in close again.
She’d just been through hell. Accosted.
By Heath, and by him.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Are you hysterical?”
Her rude snort surprised him. “Feeling a little faint myself, that’s all.”
Armie chuckled.
“Don’t set me away,” she told him when he again tried to see her face. “My shirt is ripped, remember? I’m using you for a shield.”
Amazing that she could keep it together given all that had happened. But the way she kept it together bothered him. She held on to him, she’d kissed him back, but, damn it, he felt…something. Some distance. Some trumped-up facade of self-possession.
For their onlookers?
Or for him?
“Yvette…” The timing sucked, granted. And still he wanted to strip away that cloak of untouchable poise.
She patted him. “We’ve caused enough of a buzz without me flashing the masses.”
And enough of a buzz without him forcing issues better left for privacy. “God, honey, you’re destroying me.”
She went still at that, so he sighed and figured he’d just have to set her straight as soon as he got her alone. And thinking of that… He turned his head, searching. “Where’s Heath?”
Armie looked at where he’d been, but a sea of bodies now filled the space.
“Damn it.” Armie stomped off in that direction just as police sirens split the night.
Accompanied by two uniformed officers, Detective Logan Riske made his way through the throng.
It all went downhill from there.
*
YVETTE FELT LIKE the Pied Piper as they all went back into Rowdy’s bar, followed by the customers. Armie had given her his shirt to cover her torn one, but she was still a mess, still the center of whispers and curious stares and speculation. She hated it.
Cannon had asked all the onlookers to back off, and he’d stated there would be no more pictures.
With mumbled apologies, the crowd dispersed.
Even during this new crisis, the respect he got from those around him made her proud.
Rowdy led the way into the break room, pulling out a chair for her at the long table.
Cannon sat beside her. Armie stood off to his side.
Both Detective Riske, who also just happened to be Rowdy’s brother-in-law, and Officer Huffer remained standing.
Rowdy set out cups of coffee for everyone, then got an ice pack for her arm.