No Limits

They had wanted to rape Yvette, using her in the porn video.

And they’d wanted to trap the cops who’d been after them.

She clenched her hands on the tabletop. “I want to see the lieutenant while I’m here in Ohio.”

“I’m sure she’d like that.” Cannon remained friends with the lieutenant and the detectives who had intervened that day. It was that friendship that had taken him to Tipton’s house at the same time as the detectives. He’d been a part of it all, experiencing firsthand the helplessness and fear as the thugs repeatedly explained their plans to kill the cops and use Yvette.

Luckily, they’d been outmaneuvered and things had backfired on the bastards in a big way. Cannon had gotten in on that action, too, and the attack had ended with one of them dead and the other two arrested—but not before Yvette had suffered a living nightmare. No, she hadn’t been raped, but she had been groped, threatened, terrorized and forced to watch the torment of others.

What Cannon remembered most about that day was how badly he’d wanted to protect her. He had avoided getting involved with her, but when he’d seen her so defenseless, when he’d felt her stark fear, it had all become very personal for him.

And somehow, through the passing of three long years, it remained personal. His hand curled into a fist.

Leaning into him, Yvette ducked her head and covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“We were both thinking about it.” He turned his palm over to twine his fingers with hers. “We haven’t really talked since then. Better to just get it out in the open.” And then hopefully they could put it to rest. He didn’t want the ugliness always between them.

He wanted, eventually, to be more to her than a reminder of a living nightmare.

“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Carefully, she disengaged from him, straightened, sat properly.

“Here, in Ohio?”

She shook her head. “I assumed you’d be here, at Rowdy’s.” Determination squared her shoulders. “I want you to know that I’m different now. I won’t get in your way. I won’t be a pest.”

Cannon frowned. “I never said—”

“I can take care of everything, so you don’t need to be involved.”

He didn’t understand her. Worse, he didn’t understand himself. “What if I want to be involved?”

That stymied her.

Her lips parted but no words came out. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and before he could think better of it, he cupped her face in his palm, used his thumb to rub that lush lip.

Her breath came a little faster.

Time to redirect, or he’d be kissing her right here in the booth—and that was something better started in a more private place. “We have a lot to talk about, I know. But you look exhausted. How long have you been in town?”

“I was here for the funeral two weeks ago, but then had to fly back to Cali to take care of some things.”

“That’s a lot of traveling. When did your flight get in?”

“I got here yesterday.” She sat very still until he removed his hand. “But I didn’t fly in this time. I drove.”

No way. “From California?”

“There’s no telling how long it’ll take to get things settled, so I brought a lot of my stuff and my car. It wasn’t a problem. I enjoy driving.”

“And sleeping in hotels?”

“Sometimes.”

No wonder she looked so tired. “How long did it take you?”

“Longer than it should have, but I could only drive so many hours without getting sleepy. I stopped twice to rent a room for the night.” And then with a cheeky grin, she added, “I’m not a hotshot fighter, so no fancy hotels for me.”

He had no idea what she did for a living, who she lived with in California, or if the travel had cut into her budget. But they could cover all that later.

He was about to recommend they call it a night, thinking he could take her to her hotel room and, being noble, make a date to see her in the morning.

She spoke before he could make the suggestion. “You look a little tired yourself. I know you just got back from Japan.”

“I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”

“Grandpa would have understood.” She studied his face.

“Pay no attention to the bruises. They look worse than they are.”

“If you say so.” Her gaze went to his jaw, and then to his chin.

Her intimate inspection almost consumed him before her eyes shifted away.

“The fights seem different on TV. Less violent. I’m really glad I was able to see one live, but I don’t know that I’ll be going again anytime soon.”

“It’s a charged atmosphere,” he agreed. “The music, the lights. Everyone is pretty hyped.”

“I liked all that, actually. And it gave me a good reason to wear my SBC T-shirt.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t let this go to your head, but the T-shirt has you on it.”

He liked it when she relaxed enough to be familiar. “Which shirt?” No matter what she wore, guys would have noticed her. But he liked that she’d worn him.

“The one with you in a fighting stance.”

He remembered the sponsor for that shirt—one of his first. Did that mean she’d been paying attention to his career all along?

“What?” she asked when he couldn’t contain the smile.

“I was just imagining you in the shirt...with me all over your chest.”

Dismissing any real interest on his part, she laughed.

She’d gotten good at deflecting attention, treating it as a joke. “Seriously, I’m flattered.” And, damn it, more than a little turned on, even though she seemed oblivious to it.

“Let me tell you, it wasn’t real flattering when the guy dumped his beer down my back.” Eyes bright, smiling, she leaned in as if to share a secret. “I had to drive home like that. I was so afraid I’d get pulled over for something, and the cop would think I was smashed based on the smell of beer alone.”

The urge to kiss her pulled at him—but she settled back in her seat.

“You didn’t stick around to meet any of the fighters?”