Still edgy with carnal need, he’d imagined catching her half-awake, maybe in a nightgown, her hair tumbled, her defenses down, warm and drowsy, sensual and sweet...
Instead she’d gotten up before dawn, made coffee for him and then skipped out.
The idea that she might be running from him ramped up the raw, basic urge to claim her. Filled with the predatory need to chase—and catch—her, he paced the floor, cursing himself for not getting her phone number. But he hadn’t expected her to bolt last night, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected to find the house empty this morning.
Maybe where it concerned Yvette Sweeny, he should stop making assumptions and come up with a strategy instead.
Where to start? Confused ideas clamored in his brain, impossible to sort out. Drawn by the scent, he decided a little coffee wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t a caffeine junkie, and in fact avoided it while training. But it was one of those small treats he allowed himself between preparing for fights.
One taste and he groaned. Perfection. Strong enough without being bitter.
If Yvette ever returned, he’d thank her for it.
While waiting for her, he finished his mug off and poured another. Eight o’clock came and went. Frustration mounting, Cannon went about checking all facets of security concerning the house. He wanted to know what was needed before he made some calls.
As he’d already noticed, the lighting was over-the-top, so he would suggest motion sensors. With the occasional stray cat or critter, they could be bothersome, but it was better than lighting up the whole neighborhood.
Before the sun set again, he’d install the additional dead bolts for her. Trotting down the basement steps, he checked out the window that had been used to break in so long ago. It was now secured with a metal grate that locked from the inside. Barefoot, Cannon crossed the cold concrete floor and touched the sturdy bars.
Anger intruded, settling in his gut like molten lead. In pure reaction, he curled his hands into powerful fists. If he could fight the past, he would. If he could go back and somehow do it all differently, the miserable f**ks would never make it to prison.
Instead Yvette had to deal with the memories, same as he did. If he lived to be a hundred, it would still enrage him to think about it.
She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew it’d be the same for Yvette. Or worse. Much worse.
Trying to ease the strain, Cannon rolled his shoulders and looked around the open area of the basement. Without analyzing his decision, he configured a floor plan in his mind, knowing right where he’d put each piece of workout equipment. The overhead beams could easily support a heavy bag if he used the right hardware.
Back upstairs, he gave Armie a call. The phone rang six times before his friend answered with rushing breath. “You’re late.”
“And you sound winded.”
“I’m working out my frustrations.”
Huh. Did that mean the lady hadn’t waited for him after all? Ready to rib him, Cannon said, “I take it you didn’t get laid?”
“Actually, smart-ass, I had a three-way.”
“Yeah?” Nothing new for Armie. Sounding as serious as he could, Cannon asked, “What’s the other guy’s name?”
“Funny—not.” He could hear Armie guzzling water before he explained, “This time it was Beth and her friend Carly.”
Ah, so Beth with the many piercings and tats had not only waited, she’d brought along added enticement. He already knew it wasn’t Armie’s first ménage, but if he’d just indulged, why was he frustrated?
“Actually,” Armie said, “they asked about you.”
Him? He had to wonder how that conversation had gone—and when. But he said only, “Of course they did.”
“I told them no-go. Said you were a virgin.”
Cannon couldn’t help but laugh. “Bullshit.”
“Okay, I told them you were a lousy lay. Whatever. They settled for me.”
Glad that Armie knew him well enough not to bother trying to draw him into an orgy, he said, “Gee, thanks.”
“So is there a reason for this call? ’Cause you’re interrupting my routine.”
Cannon grinned. Didn’t matter how late Armie stayed out at night—sometimes all night—he still hit the rec center bright and early, and always jumped right into his workout. He was fanatical about staying in shape, about being healthy.
And about getting laid.
“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted you to know that I won’t make it in for a few more hours.”
“Dodging me? Damn, Cannon, I know I scare the average man, but you don’t need to worry.” Tone going suggestive, Armie asked, “Or is that sweet little thing you drooled over last night keeping you otherwise occupied?”
“Yeah, but not the way you mean.” Hard to sleep with Yvette when he couldn’t get her to stay in one place long enough to even kiss her. Maybe next time he saw her, he’d take care of that right off, then figure out the rest. “Got any free time this week?”
“Changing the subject, huh? Must mean you struck out in a big way, you poor bastard.”
“Are you busy or not?”
With new humor, Armie said, “I have a date every night, but I can rearrange things. What’s up?”
Cannon shook his head at the ready accommodation; Armie canceled dates as easily as he got them. “I want to set up some workout equipment.”
“Sticking around awhile, huh?”
Instead she’d gotten up before dawn, made coffee for him and then skipped out.
The idea that she might be running from him ramped up the raw, basic urge to claim her. Filled with the predatory need to chase—and catch—her, he paced the floor, cursing himself for not getting her phone number. But he hadn’t expected her to bolt last night, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected to find the house empty this morning.
Maybe where it concerned Yvette Sweeny, he should stop making assumptions and come up with a strategy instead.
Where to start? Confused ideas clamored in his brain, impossible to sort out. Drawn by the scent, he decided a little coffee wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t a caffeine junkie, and in fact avoided it while training. But it was one of those small treats he allowed himself between preparing for fights.
One taste and he groaned. Perfection. Strong enough without being bitter.
If Yvette ever returned, he’d thank her for it.
While waiting for her, he finished his mug off and poured another. Eight o’clock came and went. Frustration mounting, Cannon went about checking all facets of security concerning the house. He wanted to know what was needed before he made some calls.
As he’d already noticed, the lighting was over-the-top, so he would suggest motion sensors. With the occasional stray cat or critter, they could be bothersome, but it was better than lighting up the whole neighborhood.
Before the sun set again, he’d install the additional dead bolts for her. Trotting down the basement steps, he checked out the window that had been used to break in so long ago. It was now secured with a metal grate that locked from the inside. Barefoot, Cannon crossed the cold concrete floor and touched the sturdy bars.
Anger intruded, settling in his gut like molten lead. In pure reaction, he curled his hands into powerful fists. If he could fight the past, he would. If he could go back and somehow do it all differently, the miserable f**ks would never make it to prison.
Instead Yvette had to deal with the memories, same as he did. If he lived to be a hundred, it would still enrage him to think about it.
She could deny it all she wanted, but he knew it’d be the same for Yvette. Or worse. Much worse.
Trying to ease the strain, Cannon rolled his shoulders and looked around the open area of the basement. Without analyzing his decision, he configured a floor plan in his mind, knowing right where he’d put each piece of workout equipment. The overhead beams could easily support a heavy bag if he used the right hardware.
Back upstairs, he gave Armie a call. The phone rang six times before his friend answered with rushing breath. “You’re late.”
“And you sound winded.”
“I’m working out my frustrations.”
Huh. Did that mean the lady hadn’t waited for him after all? Ready to rib him, Cannon said, “I take it you didn’t get laid?”
“Actually, smart-ass, I had a three-way.”
“Yeah?” Nothing new for Armie. Sounding as serious as he could, Cannon asked, “What’s the other guy’s name?”
“Funny—not.” He could hear Armie guzzling water before he explained, “This time it was Beth and her friend Carly.”
Ah, so Beth with the many piercings and tats had not only waited, she’d brought along added enticement. He already knew it wasn’t Armie’s first ménage, but if he’d just indulged, why was he frustrated?
“Actually,” Armie said, “they asked about you.”
Him? He had to wonder how that conversation had gone—and when. But he said only, “Of course they did.”
“I told them no-go. Said you were a virgin.”
Cannon couldn’t help but laugh. “Bullshit.”
“Okay, I told them you were a lousy lay. Whatever. They settled for me.”
Glad that Armie knew him well enough not to bother trying to draw him into an orgy, he said, “Gee, thanks.”
“So is there a reason for this call? ’Cause you’re interrupting my routine.”
Cannon grinned. Didn’t matter how late Armie stayed out at night—sometimes all night—he still hit the rec center bright and early, and always jumped right into his workout. He was fanatical about staying in shape, about being healthy.
And about getting laid.
“Yeah, sorry. Just wanted you to know that I won’t make it in for a few more hours.”
“Dodging me? Damn, Cannon, I know I scare the average man, but you don’t need to worry.” Tone going suggestive, Armie asked, “Or is that sweet little thing you drooled over last night keeping you otherwise occupied?”
“Yeah, but not the way you mean.” Hard to sleep with Yvette when he couldn’t get her to stay in one place long enough to even kiss her. Maybe next time he saw her, he’d take care of that right off, then figure out the rest. “Got any free time this week?”
“Changing the subject, huh? Must mean you struck out in a big way, you poor bastard.”
“Are you busy or not?”
With new humor, Armie said, “I have a date every night, but I can rearrange things. What’s up?”
Cannon shook his head at the ready accommodation; Armie canceled dates as easily as he got them. “I want to set up some workout equipment.”
“Sticking around awhile, huh?”
