No Limits. Lori Foster
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into town, but not only had she dragged him away from his friends, she’d apparently interrupted his romantic plans.
Envy stiffened her smile, making her feel clumsy and too obvious about the way she took in the circumstances.
As he stood, Cannon said, “Sorry...” as if trying to remember the woman’s name.
“Mary,” she supplied with a laugh, tightly hugging his arm, running her fingers over his solid biceps.
Damn, but Yvette envied her that. More than once tonight she’d wanted to do the same. Cannon had a body that begged to be touched. She wanted to explore all those bulging muscles and hard planes.
A lesson in frustration, for sure.
“Right, Mary.” Even standing, he stayed near the bench seat so Yvette couldn’t slide out. “Yeah, I’m sorry, but my plans have changed.”
Yvette stared. Oh, no. No way would she let him cancel on her account. She wanted him to see her as a better person now, not a continued bother.
Determination got her moving, and she deliberately slipped toward the end of the seat. “I really should get going.”
“Oh, good,” Mary said. “I was afraid you two were together.”
“We’re not,” Yvette assured her.
At the same time, Cannon said, “We are,” while he continued to block her retreat.
Both women stared at him, Mary with dismay, Yvette with disbelief.
“Yvette and I are old friends.” Not in the least bothered by her denial, Cannon pried Mary from his body. “I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Friends?” Mary asked hopefully.
“Actually—”
“Yes, only friends.” Yvette managed to say it with friendly insistence, but it wasn’t her best effort. To Cannon, she said, “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.” She wanted away from the uncomfortable situation, but his big body remained in the way. “You don’t need to—”
“I want to.” With one hand on her shoulder, he kept her in place. “We have too much to talk about.” And before Yvette could refuse him again, he said to Mary, “I’m sure you understand.”
Starting to look annoyed, Mary propped her hands on her hips. “No, I’m not sure I do.”
Oh, God, after being at the center of one of the biggest scenes the town had ever known, she hated causing them, and she especially hated feeling guilty. “Really, Cannon,” she insisted, “it’s fine.”
He ignored Yvette’s protest and, being blunt, said to Mary, “I’m sorry, but I was just about to take off with Yvette.” And then, all but dismissing Mary, he asked Yvette, “Where are you staying?”
Feeling ridiculous, Yvette avoided looking at Mary. “I’m at the house.”
Cannon’s brows went up. “By yourself?”
Oh, now that stung. She lifted her chin. “Why not? It’s my house now.” She wasn’t a child who needed adult supervision. And if memories intruded, well, she’d deal with them.
“Part mine,” Cannon gently corrected, and then, “I only asked because I planned to stay there, too.”
That unexpected announcement had her jaw loosening. “You do?” Not once had she considered that possibility. It didn’t even make sense. “You have a house already.”
In negligent response, he rolled a shoulder. “Rissy lives there now. I gave it to her. A couple of months ago she brought in a roommate.”
“I’m sure your sister would still love to see you!”
At her raised voice, Cannon’s mouth curled into a crooked grin. “Yeah, she will. But she went to Japan with me and she’s still there, stretching it out into a vacation. I doubt her roommate, who’s female—” and also in Japan, but Yvette didn’t need to know that “—would appreciate me moving in on her.” It was just a small fabrication, and Cannon didn’t mind fudging things a little to get what he wanted.
Instead of leaving, Mary stuck close, making Yvette more flustered.
“Cannon,” she began, unsure what else to say.
“Yvette,” he replied, copying her tone and fixing his will on her. “I’m staying at the house.”
Mary finally spoke up. “Oh, my God.” She pointed a manicured finger at Yvette. “You’re that woman.”
Oh, no. Heat swelled up from Yvette’s churning stomach to her chest and finally settled in her face, making her light-headed. No, no, no. The urge to flee sent her heart stuttering.
“Mary,” Cannon said, “why don’t we talk over here?” He tried to lead her away.
She resisted. “You’re that woman who was raped, the one who was almost set on fire.”
“I wasn’t raped,” Yvette squeaked, her voice far too weak.
“Those men... It was in all the local news and everyone was talking about it.” Mary shrugged off Cannon’s hand when he again tried to draw her away. “They made you watch when they brutalized that other woman. You watched them videotape it!” She splayed a hand over her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“That’s enough,” Cannon said in a low voice.
But Mary wasn’t done. Yvette couldn’t tell if she was titillated or truly sympathetic.
Either was awful.
In a scandalized whisper, Mary asked, “Did they really douse you in kerosene and threaten to burn you alive?”
Memories crept in, bring with them old feelings of panic. Although her thoughts bounced about wildly in a frantic search, Yvette couldn’t come up with a single appropriate reply to give.
“Excuse me.” Avery, Rowdy’s wife, insinuated herself into Mary’s line of vision. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but, Cannon, Rowdy wants to talk to you. He’s in the break room. Oh, and, Yvette, he’d love to see you, too.” With that, she turned to Mary, moving her petite body so close that Mary had no choice but to back up a few spaces. “Before he was famous,” Avery explained with false enthusiasm, “Cannon used to work here. He’s like family still. I’m sure you understand.”
Mary protested that no, she did not understand at all, but Cannon had already drawn Yvette out of the booth seat. Keeping a firm hold on her upper arm, he grabbed up her purse and propelled her forward.
In a shocked daze, she allowed it, stumbling along on wooden legs.
Bodies crowded the bar, but Yvette barely noticed. By rote, she kept her chin up even as Mary’s words reverberated in her thoughts over and over again. Somehow they seemed twice as damning when spoken aloud. She had stood by and watched another woman brutalized. The reality of that squeezed all the air from her lungs.
As they left the main floor for a private hallway, the din of conversation, music and laughter faded into the periphery. Cannon leaned closer, his warm breath brushing the sensitive whorls of her ear when he whispered, “Almost there.”
The concern in his tone kick-started her pride. Swallowing hard, she blinked several times and cleared away the fog of shame.
She’d been a victim, she reminded herself. Realistically she knew it, but that had nothing to do with the mélange of emotions that sometimes bombarded her, with disgrace always at the forefront.
“In here,” Cannon said, drawing her through a doorway into a private room that housed a long table surrounded by chairs, a coffeepot and paper cups, lockers and a few vending machines.
He hooked a chair with his foot and drew it out from the table. “Want something to drink?”
Knowing