No Limits
Page 82
“Want me to run to the p**n shop for a movie?”
The teasing almost got her to smile, but instead she turned it into a “behave” look.
And that made him smile. Assuming he’d have to suffer through some sappy drama, he said, “What, then?”
Picking up the remote, she found an old horror movie. “How about this?”
Damn, she made it easy to like her. “Looks good.”
They settled in for the duration, and thanks to a lot of special-effects blood and the gruesome movie monster, she ended up curled against his side.
He wanted her, so damn much, but he didn’t know of an easy way to segue from what had happened to seduction.
He was lounged back, legs sprawled, Yvette a warm, soft weight against him, when the movie ended. He started to move—and realized she’d fallen asleep.
Carefully, unwilling to wake her, he eased her down so that her head rested on his thigh. He played his fingers along her braid, then over her shoulder. On her side, she dipped from her shoulders to that small waist, then back up to her rounded hip and down the long length of her slender, shapely legs.
As much as he wanted her naked and under him, he also wanted her to feel secure and safe when with him.
He wanted her to lean on him.
No way in hell would he move.
* * *
EVERY TIME SHE looked at Cannon, her temperature spiked.
Partial chagrin, partial desperate need.
She’d fallen asleep on him last night.
The last thing she’d remembered was waiting for him to make a move. But he hadn’t. And as much as she hated herself for it, she had to wonder if he’d held back out of consideration for her, maybe thinking she needed more time.
Or because he did.
She’d awakened this morning when he stretched and only then did she realize they were still on the couch. Startled, she’d jerked upright and accidentally head butted him. They’d both groaned, him rubbing his jaw, her rubbing the top of her head.
Cannon always looked drool-worthy, but never more so than in the mornings with beard stubble and dark, rumpled hair and sleep-heavy blue eyes shadowed by long sooty lashes.
When he’d gifted her with that small, sexy smile... Yeah, she’d wanted to demand that he satisfy her. Right there and then.
Instead she’d stayed mute until he’d kissed her softly and headed off to the john.
Remembering, she wanted to groan again.
After that, he’d gotten a call from one of his trainers, a guy named Havoc, who gave him more details on the upcoming fight. She’d made coffee while listening in.
He’d fight again right after Halloween.
That meant he’d have to get back to more rigorous training soon. Full-time. In Kentucky.
Away from her.
And, damn it, she missed him already!
With near desperate urgency, she wanted to take advantage of the time they had left. But right after their jog, he’d put in a call to Armie, telling him about the vandalism, and the next thing she knew the guys were there. Guys, plural. Armie, Stack and Denver. Only Miles and Brand were missing, left behind to run the rec center.
They took turns hugging her, commiserating, offering to break heads for her and inadvertently keeping her from jumping Cannon’s very sexy bones.
They were all protective, hilariously so, but after Margaret called to say Heath had apparently already checked out, Cannon turned grim. The lieutenant explained that she’d gone to the hotel first thing that morning, but he was no longer registered there.
Either he’d gone back home, or he’d moved locations.
There weren’t many places to stay in the small town of Warfield, but just outside their township, in the city limits, there were a variety of hotels to choose from.
If Heath hadn’t flown back home, at least he was no longer so close, and that gave her comfort.
To put Cannon more at ease, she called Vanity and requested an update if Heath posted anything on his Facebook. So far, he hadn’t.
She could tell it worried Cannon, which in turn made him more demonstrative. He continually touched her, kissed her, watched her.
Now, in the late afternoon, she was still feeling the need.
While Denver and Cannon worked to get the new door installed, Armie and Stack finished loading the last of the boxes from the garage into Cannon’s truck. She was just in the way at that point, so she went inside to get more drinks.
With them all helping, the shop was now ready for her to arrange things, the garage was almost empty, the front porch had no signs of paint and...and she felt like crying for no good reason at all. Worry? Relief? A buildup of everything, starting with losing her grandpa and ending with an unknown vandal?
Maybe lack of sexual relief? She blew hair out of her face. Yeah, that could be it, because around Cannon she stayed keyed up.
When Merissa and Cherry dropped in, Yvette heard them before she saw them. Merissa started giving someone directions, and Cherry was flirting, saying those teasing things that seemed to come so naturally to her, but always eluded Yvette.
After adding more ice to the pitcher, she poured herself a tall glass. Working with the guys now had her sweaty, dusty, grimy and far too emotional.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see Armie striding in, his countenance grim.
Lowering the glass, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He stepped around her to refill his own drink, then guzzled it down like a man dying of thirst.
“I would have brought that to you.”
The teasing almost got her to smile, but instead she turned it into a “behave” look.
And that made him smile. Assuming he’d have to suffer through some sappy drama, he said, “What, then?”
Picking up the remote, she found an old horror movie. “How about this?”
Damn, she made it easy to like her. “Looks good.”
They settled in for the duration, and thanks to a lot of special-effects blood and the gruesome movie monster, she ended up curled against his side.
He wanted her, so damn much, but he didn’t know of an easy way to segue from what had happened to seduction.
He was lounged back, legs sprawled, Yvette a warm, soft weight against him, when the movie ended. He started to move—and realized she’d fallen asleep.
Carefully, unwilling to wake her, he eased her down so that her head rested on his thigh. He played his fingers along her braid, then over her shoulder. On her side, she dipped from her shoulders to that small waist, then back up to her rounded hip and down the long length of her slender, shapely legs.
As much as he wanted her naked and under him, he also wanted her to feel secure and safe when with him.
He wanted her to lean on him.
No way in hell would he move.
* * *
EVERY TIME SHE looked at Cannon, her temperature spiked.
Partial chagrin, partial desperate need.
She’d fallen asleep on him last night.
The last thing she’d remembered was waiting for him to make a move. But he hadn’t. And as much as she hated herself for it, she had to wonder if he’d held back out of consideration for her, maybe thinking she needed more time.
Or because he did.
She’d awakened this morning when he stretched and only then did she realize they were still on the couch. Startled, she’d jerked upright and accidentally head butted him. They’d both groaned, him rubbing his jaw, her rubbing the top of her head.
Cannon always looked drool-worthy, but never more so than in the mornings with beard stubble and dark, rumpled hair and sleep-heavy blue eyes shadowed by long sooty lashes.
When he’d gifted her with that small, sexy smile... Yeah, she’d wanted to demand that he satisfy her. Right there and then.
Instead she’d stayed mute until he’d kissed her softly and headed off to the john.
Remembering, she wanted to groan again.
After that, he’d gotten a call from one of his trainers, a guy named Havoc, who gave him more details on the upcoming fight. She’d made coffee while listening in.
He’d fight again right after Halloween.
That meant he’d have to get back to more rigorous training soon. Full-time. In Kentucky.
Away from her.
And, damn it, she missed him already!
With near desperate urgency, she wanted to take advantage of the time they had left. But right after their jog, he’d put in a call to Armie, telling him about the vandalism, and the next thing she knew the guys were there. Guys, plural. Armie, Stack and Denver. Only Miles and Brand were missing, left behind to run the rec center.
They took turns hugging her, commiserating, offering to break heads for her and inadvertently keeping her from jumping Cannon’s very sexy bones.
They were all protective, hilariously so, but after Margaret called to say Heath had apparently already checked out, Cannon turned grim. The lieutenant explained that she’d gone to the hotel first thing that morning, but he was no longer registered there.
Either he’d gone back home, or he’d moved locations.
There weren’t many places to stay in the small town of Warfield, but just outside their township, in the city limits, there were a variety of hotels to choose from.
If Heath hadn’t flown back home, at least he was no longer so close, and that gave her comfort.
To put Cannon more at ease, she called Vanity and requested an update if Heath posted anything on his Facebook. So far, he hadn’t.
She could tell it worried Cannon, which in turn made him more demonstrative. He continually touched her, kissed her, watched her.
Now, in the late afternoon, she was still feeling the need.
While Denver and Cannon worked to get the new door installed, Armie and Stack finished loading the last of the boxes from the garage into Cannon’s truck. She was just in the way at that point, so she went inside to get more drinks.
With them all helping, the shop was now ready for her to arrange things, the garage was almost empty, the front porch had no signs of paint and...and she felt like crying for no good reason at all. Worry? Relief? A buildup of everything, starting with losing her grandpa and ending with an unknown vandal?
Maybe lack of sexual relief? She blew hair out of her face. Yeah, that could be it, because around Cannon she stayed keyed up.
When Merissa and Cherry dropped in, Yvette heard them before she saw them. Merissa started giving someone directions, and Cherry was flirting, saying those teasing things that seemed to come so naturally to her, but always eluded Yvette.
After adding more ice to the pitcher, she poured herself a tall glass. Working with the guys now had her sweaty, dusty, grimy and far too emotional.
“Hey.”
She looked up to see Armie striding in, his countenance grim.
Lowering the glass, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He stepped around her to refill his own drink, then guzzled it down like a man dying of thirst.
“I would have brought that to you.”
