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“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 (#ulink_2d3ffa85-3464-5e68-bd90-194fbe52e6d3)
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.
