No Limits

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.

The coffeepot remained half-full, and her car was still in the driveway. But her open bedroom door and the empty house told him she’d taken off.

On foot?

To where?

He’d be more concerned except for the note she’d left in front of the coffeepot that read, “Help yourself,” signed with a feminine, curly Y.

At only a few minutes after 7:00 a.m., morning sunshine poured in the kitchen window, spilling warm amber light over the counter and floor. Today would be a scorcher.

He always woke early, usually to work out, often to jog.

After a near-sleepless night where he’d pondered a dozen different scenarios, he’d planned a confrontation with Yvette. He’d expected to be there in the kitchen, alert and ready to sort out the confusion, when she emerged from her bed.

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 fucks 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?”