No Limits

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“I’ll try.” Releasing her, he said softly, “If you’ll stay and talk to me.”

“But...”

“It won’t take long.”

“Neither would my shower,” she grumbled, starting to feel put out by his pushy manner.

“Maybe. But with the way you keep dodging me, I don’t trust it.”

That made her eyes narrow. “You mean you don’t trust me.”

Shrugging, he rested his elbows on his thighs and let his hands hang loosely between his knees. “Close enough.”

The insult should have taken precedence, but for a second there it looked as if he might lose the towel, and that annihilated every other thought. She held her breath, but no, it stayed put.

“Yvette.”

“You are so badly bruised.” She wanted to touch him, to somehow make his ribs better. He’d taken a vicious kick in the fight and almost lost. But somehow he’d managed to throw that one last punch—which had been enough. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much, so don’t change the subject.”

When she took in his determined expression, it shook her. Never had she wanted him to see her as anything but self-assured, mature and poised. Her best bet now would be to get the talking over with so she could go make herself presentable. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

Instead of launching into his all-important talk, he breathed deeper, zeroed in on her mouth and whispered, “First things first.”

Yvette had no idea what he meant by that—until he came forward and put his mouth right to hers. Barely there. Lightly touching. Tentative.

She froze, her breath suspended and her body taut. Only her heartbeat seemed to function as it leaped into overtime.

When he didn’t pull away, her eyes sank shut. Sharing breath with him, drowning beneath a rush of intimacy, she made a small sound.

He reciprocated by touching his tongue against her, moving softly over her lips, tracing the seam where she held them closed.

In a dark, husky voice, he whispered, “Open up for me, honey.”

The sexy command made her gasp—which was just the opportunity he wanted.

Still going slow and easy, he teased his way in as if savoring the experience.

She forgot she was a wreck, forgot this could lead nowhere, forgot...everything.

With a soft growl, he adjusted for a better fit. His mouth nudged hers open more. One of his hands caught her ponytail, tilting her head back. The other opened on the small of her back, urging her to the edge of the seat. He brought her into the solid cradle of his big body, surrounding her in so many ways. Without deliberate decision, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders, and, oh, God, he felt incredible, as good as she’d always imagined.

Every nerve ending jumped in awareness.

It had been so long since she’d been kissed, especially since she’d been kissed like this.

The last time was three years ago—with Cannon.

She forgot about her appalling state of sweat and wrinkled clothes, the wind-tangled ponytail he held.

He sank his tongue in, tasting her deeper, hotter. His hand left her back to settle boldly on her bare thigh just above her knee, his strong fingers wrapping around her, encircling her leg.

When he slid that hand upward to the edge of her shorts, she finally regained her wits.

She shoved back so fast she almost toppled the chair. For a split second, they stared at each other, his gaze smoldering, hers—though he probably didn’t realize it—full of regret. They both breathed too fast.

Shooting to her feet, Yvette got as far as the kitchen doorway before Cannon caught her.

His strong fingers held her shoulders, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. After several tense moments, he deliberately loosened his hold and eased her back into his chest. She might have thought he had calmed, except that she felt his furious heartbeat against her shoulder blades.

“Don’t run from me,” he said low, his mouth touching her ear. “Swear to God, Yvette, it only makes me want to chase you.”

If he could actually catch her, she’d have no problem with that. But she knew what he didn’t, so she’d have to be the one to stop. “This was a mistake.”

“Felt like a hell of a lot more to me.”

Not leaning against him took every ounce of her willpower. “I’ll shower and change and then we’ll talk all you want.” Now that she realized how combustible things could be, she knew they needed to clear the air. She needed him to understand that nothing would come of it.

She might even have to admit she was broken.

By small degrees, his hands opened from her shoulders and he took a step back. Time ticked by, and finally he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stayed in that damn towel, she asked, “Just...get dressed, okay?”

“If you promise not to keep me waiting.”

A negotiation? So she had to bargain to get him clothed? The irony of it hit her: most women would be trying to steal his towel, not urging him to put on clothes.

When she’d found out what her grandfather had done, not once had she imagined this scene as a consequence. Other than Cannon’s one moment of weakness during the darkest time of her life, he’d kept a safe, and platonic, distance away. She’d expected more of the same.

Logic had told her that Cannon, now a superstar with many demands on his time and his choice of women, would make a quick agreement to let her take care of business. For the sake of her wounded heart, she had counted on his only involvement being that of signing papers and then accepting what was his.

Instead he’d moved in with her—for how long?—and used his body to taunt her, to tempt her into wanting things she already knew she couldn’t have.

With one sharp nod, she said, “Give me fifteen minutes.”

* * *

NONE OF THAT had gone quite as he’d planned.

Well, parts had. Like her melting.

Like the taste of her.

The softness of her skin and the way her hair smelled.

Her impact on him was the same as three years ago when he’d first kissed her. She’d started an itch that had never gone away, and instead had grown to nearly consume him. Now he didn’t have the excuse of consoling her, of trying to distract her from harsh reality.

No, he just wanted her. Bad.

But she shied away like a virgin. Or worse, like a woman injured. And for some damn reason, that made him act like a damned Neanderthal when he’d never been that heavy-handed with women.

Her reaction to him tortured him, making him want her sexually all the more, but also wanting her in other, less familiar ways.

Ways he didn’t yet want to name. Hell, they’d only been reunited for a day. Less, considering she’d spent much of that time avoiding him.

When the phone she’d left on the table made a noise, he glanced at it.

A Facebook alert. Nosy and not giving a shit, he read the screen.

Facebook 1 min ago

Heath: Who the fuck are you posing with?

Hmm. A comment on the picture he’d taken with her? He wanted to know, but didn’t want to invade her privacy enough to check the phone for more details.

To keep from tempting himself further, he went down the hall and into the bedroom across from hers. He opened his overnight bag and dug out fresh clothes. Shoving his feet into his favorite pair of worn jeans, Cannon cursed himself.

He had a boner no woman could miss. Especially not a woman so skittish and uncertain—a woman who’d devoured him with her gaze.

Carefully, he eased up the zipper while ordering his body to calm the hell down. Knowing she was so close, he had marginal success with that.

He was sitting on the side of the bed, tying his sneakers, when her bedroom door opened.

True to her word, she’d showered and changed in record time. At the open bedroom doorway, she peeked in at him, saw he was dressed and let out a tense breath.

If it were anyone other than Yvette, it’d be amusing how his exposed chest and legs had thrown her. He couldn’t recall any other woman demanding that he get dressed. Hell, if she watched the fights as she claimed, she often saw him in nothing more than shorts.

Of course, that wasn’t so up close and personal. That wasn’t near enough to sense his lust and feel his need.

Unlike her, he’d wanted to drop the damn towel, get her hands on him, maybe skin her out of those damp duds she’d worn so he could reveal the heated body beneath....

“Cannon?”

She’d changed out of the sexy running shorts and into faded skinny jeans and replaced her sports bra and tank top with a red halter. Her feet were bare, her hair wet, her face clean of makeup and still he had a hell of a time getting his dick to behave.

Holding her gaze, he stood. “Feel better?”

“Yes.” Her hand trembled as she tucked her wet hair behind her ears.

The urge to strip her naked pulsed inside him. He kept his distance, working to get those crazy, overwhelming urges under control. “Have you eaten?”

“A donut in the park.”

His mood softened, going from pure red-hot lust to something even more uncomfortable, something like tenderness. “Was that so you could stay away longer?”

Shifting, she curled her toes against the carpet. “I run to help unwind. Whenever I start to get too keyed up, I can sweat off the tension.” She glanced down the hall, one shoulder rolling. “This morning took a little longer than usual.”

Since he did the same, he understood. He walked to where she stood, resisting the instinct to touch her. “Next time you want to run, let me know. I’ll go with you.”

Her gaze shot up to his.

She looked so horrified that he lifted a brow. He’d thought it was being home, in this house, that bothered her. But maybe not. “Or am I the reason you were wired?”

Disgruntled, she started down the hall. “You were part of it, yes.”

Watching the restrained swish of her sexy ass, he followed her into the kitchen. She was wired again—or still—so he let that go for now. “A donut is hardly breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“After we work out a few things, we could go by Rowdy’s for lunch.”

She reseated herself in the same chair she’d had earlier. “I don’t want to intrude.”

What the hell did that mean? “You’re not.” How could she intrude when he wanted to spend every available moment with her? And thinking that, he took his phone from his pocket. “Before I forget, what’s your number? I don’t like not being able to reach you.”