“Well, I do.” Still feeling like a stranger in his own skin, he tugged her head back, her face up, until her lips opened for him.
Then he took her mouth. Hard.
She didn’t fight him, just gasped in surprise. He sank his tongue in, stealing the sound.
Tasting her.
The wine she’d drunk, her fear.
Her confusion.
Using his free arm to arch her closer, he turned his head, consuming her, relishing her small whimpers, her soft, accepting moan.
Armie clapped him hard on the back, returning him to the here and now. “You might want to put the brakes on that lust, Saint. Looks like you’ve forgotten, but you’re nowhere near a bed.”
Jesus.
Cannon freed her mouth, but kept her tucked against his chest. She complied, clinging to him, maybe hiding. Ruthlessly, he crammed back the darkest parts of his rage. “I guess I still have an audience?”
“Most of the women have fainted, but yeah, still there.”
Against his chest, he heard Yvette snicker.
No way. He leaned his head back to try to see her, but she squawked and squeezed in close again.
She’d just been through hell. Accosted.
By Heath, and by him.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Are you hysterical?”
Her rude snort surprised him. “Feeling a little faint myself, that’s all.”
Armie chuckled.
“Don’t set me away,” she told him when he again tried to see her face. “My shirt is ripped, remember? I’m using you for a shield.”
Amazing that she could keep it together given all that had happened. But the way she kept it together bothered him. She held on to him, she’d kissed him back, but, damn it, he felt...something. Some distance. Some trumped-up facade of self-possession.
For their onlookers?
Or for him?
“Yvette...” The timing sucked, granted. And still he wanted to strip away that cloak of untouchable poise.
She patted him. “We’ve caused enough of a buzz without me flashing the masses.”
And enough of a buzz without him forcing issues better left for privacy. “God, honey, you’re destroying me.”
She went still at that, so he sighed and figured he’d just have to set her straight as soon as he got her alone. And thinking of that... He turned his head, searching. “Where’s Heath?”
Armie looked at where he’d been, but a sea of bodies now filled the space.
“Damn it.” Armie stomped off in that direction just as police sirens split the night.
Accompanied by two uniformed officers, Detective Logan Riske made his way through the throng.
It all went downhill from there.
* * *
YVETTE FELT LIKE the Pied Piper as they all went back into Rowdy’s bar, followed by the customers. Armie had given her his shirt to cover her torn one, but she was still a mess, still the center of whispers and curious stares and speculation. She hated it.
Cannon had asked all the onlookers to back off, and he’d stated there would be no more pictures.
With mumbled apologies, the crowd dispersed.
Even during this new crisis, the respect he got from those around him made her proud.
Rowdy led the way into the break room, pulling out a chair for her at the long table.
Cannon sat beside her. Armie stood off to his side.
Both Detective Riske, who also just happened to be Rowdy’s brother-in-law, and Officer Huffer remained standing.
Rowdy set out cups of coffee for everyone, then got an ice pack for her arm.
When she ignored the coffee, Cannon put it in her hand. “Drink some.” The idea of consuming anything made her stomach pitch, but he seemed so upset that she agreed just to appease him.
But that, too, had him grinding his teeth.
Her position was so untenable that she wasn’t sure what to do or say. She felt it, how all the men watched her. Their concern burned her from the inside out, leaving her face hot and her throat tight.
Why had she gone outside?
Mindi. Jealousy and hurt had blunted her better judgment.
Why hadn’t she immediately run from Heath?
Arrogance. She’d truly thought, with others around, that she could keep her dignity intact and just walk away.
So, so dumb. And now all this fanfare. Why hadn’t she—
“A little more,” Cannon said, again pressing the sweetened coffee into her shaking hands.
“Thank you.” Feeling like a complete spectacle, she dutifully sipped.
Silence filled the room until Cannon stood and went to Logan. She could hear the hushed voices, but not exactly what was said.
Whatever it was, the room began to empty. On his way out, Armie squeezed her shoulder, bent to put a kiss to the top of her head.
Rowdy said, “If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” Cannon reclaimed his seat beside her, half-turned toward her. His knee bumped her thigh, his right hand rested on her shoulder.
Officer Huffer said nothing, just carried his coffee and silently left.
With his free hand, Cannon held the ice pack to the darkening bruises from where Heath had gripped her.
She thought of it, how scared she’d been, how stupid she felt now, and tears threatened. Gulping air, she fought them off.
Cannon’s big hand opened on her back, gently rubbing.
She hated it, all of it. The careful concern. The worried gazes. The coddling. Why did she have to keep being a victim?
“Tell me what happened,” Logan said. “Take your time, and don’t leave out any details.”
Then he took her mouth. Hard.
She didn’t fight him, just gasped in surprise. He sank his tongue in, stealing the sound.
Tasting her.
The wine she’d drunk, her fear.
Her confusion.
Using his free arm to arch her closer, he turned his head, consuming her, relishing her small whimpers, her soft, accepting moan.
Armie clapped him hard on the back, returning him to the here and now. “You might want to put the brakes on that lust, Saint. Looks like you’ve forgotten, but you’re nowhere near a bed.”
Jesus.
Cannon freed her mouth, but kept her tucked against his chest. She complied, clinging to him, maybe hiding. Ruthlessly, he crammed back the darkest parts of his rage. “I guess I still have an audience?”
“Most of the women have fainted, but yeah, still there.”
Against his chest, he heard Yvette snicker.
No way. He leaned his head back to try to see her, but she squawked and squeezed in close again.
She’d just been through hell. Accosted.
By Heath, and by him.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “Are you hysterical?”
Her rude snort surprised him. “Feeling a little faint myself, that’s all.”
Armie chuckled.
“Don’t set me away,” she told him when he again tried to see her face. “My shirt is ripped, remember? I’m using you for a shield.”
Amazing that she could keep it together given all that had happened. But the way she kept it together bothered him. She held on to him, she’d kissed him back, but, damn it, he felt...something. Some distance. Some trumped-up facade of self-possession.
For their onlookers?
Or for him?
“Yvette...” The timing sucked, granted. And still he wanted to strip away that cloak of untouchable poise.
She patted him. “We’ve caused enough of a buzz without me flashing the masses.”
And enough of a buzz without him forcing issues better left for privacy. “God, honey, you’re destroying me.”
She went still at that, so he sighed and figured he’d just have to set her straight as soon as he got her alone. And thinking of that... He turned his head, searching. “Where’s Heath?”
Armie looked at where he’d been, but a sea of bodies now filled the space.
“Damn it.” Armie stomped off in that direction just as police sirens split the night.
Accompanied by two uniformed officers, Detective Logan Riske made his way through the throng.
It all went downhill from there.
* * *
YVETTE FELT LIKE the Pied Piper as they all went back into Rowdy’s bar, followed by the customers. Armie had given her his shirt to cover her torn one, but she was still a mess, still the center of whispers and curious stares and speculation. She hated it.
Cannon had asked all the onlookers to back off, and he’d stated there would be no more pictures.
With mumbled apologies, the crowd dispersed.
Even during this new crisis, the respect he got from those around him made her proud.
Rowdy led the way into the break room, pulling out a chair for her at the long table.
Cannon sat beside her. Armie stood off to his side.
Both Detective Riske, who also just happened to be Rowdy’s brother-in-law, and Officer Huffer remained standing.
Rowdy set out cups of coffee for everyone, then got an ice pack for her arm.
When she ignored the coffee, Cannon put it in her hand. “Drink some.” The idea of consuming anything made her stomach pitch, but he seemed so upset that she agreed just to appease him.
But that, too, had him grinding his teeth.
Her position was so untenable that she wasn’t sure what to do or say. She felt it, how all the men watched her. Their concern burned her from the inside out, leaving her face hot and her throat tight.
Why had she gone outside?
Mindi. Jealousy and hurt had blunted her better judgment.
Why hadn’t she immediately run from Heath?
Arrogance. She’d truly thought, with others around, that she could keep her dignity intact and just walk away.
So, so dumb. And now all this fanfare. Why hadn’t she—
“A little more,” Cannon said, again pressing the sweetened coffee into her shaking hands.
“Thank you.” Feeling like a complete spectacle, she dutifully sipped.
Silence filled the room until Cannon stood and went to Logan. She could hear the hushed voices, but not exactly what was said.
Whatever it was, the room began to empty. On his way out, Armie squeezed her shoulder, bent to put a kiss to the top of her head.
Rowdy said, “If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” Cannon reclaimed his seat beside her, half-turned toward her. His knee bumped her thigh, his right hand rested on her shoulder.
Officer Huffer said nothing, just carried his coffee and silently left.
With his free hand, Cannon held the ice pack to the darkening bruises from where Heath had gripped her.
She thought of it, how scared she’d been, how stupid she felt now, and tears threatened. Gulping air, she fought them off.
Cannon’s big hand opened on her back, gently rubbing.
She hated it, all of it. The careful concern. The worried gazes. The coddling. Why did she have to keep being a victim?
“Tell me what happened,” Logan said. “Take your time, and don’t leave out any details.”
