No Limits. Lori Foster
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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