Lori Foster - No Limits

“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.

Leaving his shoes by the bed, he made no sound as he reentered the hall. At Yvette’s door he paused to listen, but it was so quiet that he imagined her holding her breath. Hard as it might be, he wouldn’t disturb her.

Not tonight.

Instead he went into the kitchen, where a low light shone over the stove. If she kept this up, the electric bill would be through the roof. But he wouldn’t complain.

Not with the proof of her difficulty there on the kitchen table.

Dead bolts, bars for the doors and alarms filled the tabletop. Seeing a few empty packages, he went to the window over the sink and found a narrow bar wedged into place, giving the lock a little backup on the off chance someone tried to get in. He checked the other windows and found the same. Striding to the basement door, he located the lock bar wedged under the doorknob, ensuring no one could sneak in—as they had three years ago.

She’d taken security measures to extremes. For her peace of mind, he could make a few more improvements.

And he’d stick close. For the foreseeable future, he’d protect her, whether she liked it or not.

* * *

WEARING ONLY JEANS, not yet shaved or showered, Cannon stood in the middle of the kitchen the next morning and cursed. Where the hell was she?

If he’d had any doubts about her dodging him, they were now confirmed.