d.a.m.n it, he had no business doing this, tormenting himself like a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. As quietly as possible, he left the bed, found his shorts on the floor and pulled them on. With one last lingering look at her body, then at her beautiful relaxed face, he snuck out of the room.

He was a fighter, d.a.m.n it. He had control. He had willpower.

He understood motivation and staying the course despite discomfort to his body. He could and would do this-and in the end, he'd get the prize.

Yvette.

Twenty minutes later, anxious to run off the taut urges before facing her again, Cannon headed out the door. He wore shorts and running shoes, but he had his phone with him in case Yvette woke and called him before he got back.

He saw the writing on his dusty truck as soon as he reached the driveway. "Rissy was here."

Her typical M.O. He'd often found similar notes from her, always short and succinct, whenever he missed her visits. "Rissy was here." That was his cue to get in touch.

He smiled. So his sister was home. He checked his cell and sure enough, the call he hadn't answered last night was from her. He immediately called her back.

She answered on the third ring with an exaggerated groan. "Not all of us get up at the b.u.t.t crack of dawn, Cannon."

"It's seven-thirty."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

Loving her a lot, he smiled. "You wrote on my truck."

"I wrote in your dust. Seriously, clean the thing."

He circled the truck and noticed footprints that couldn't belong to his sister. "Been busy."

"Yeah." Sounds of her sitting up filtered through the line. "I heard."

Looking around the area and finding nothing more suspicious than an elderly couple smooching on the porch across the street, he asked, "From who?"

Silence. A long, strain-filled silence.

"Rissy?"

"Fighter gossip. You know how the guys are."

He laughed. "You're nuts."

"So how about breakfast? You free?"

"Sure." He wanted to see her. "I can skip my jog." "No, not now. Around ten?"

"That's d.a.m.n near lunch, but sure. I'll pick you up."

"No, your truck only seats two and I want you to bring Yvette. Come home. I'll cook."

He paused, frowning. So she knew about Yvette, huh? Maybe the guys were gossiping like a bunch of old hens.

Rather than get into it over the phone, he said, "You just flew in from j.a.pan. Instead of cooking, take the day off. My treat." They could spend the morning together and he could explain...what? That he'd manipulated a bad situation so he could take advantage?

She snorted. "Did you take a day off after you got home?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Cannon walked around the house, checking every window, but saw nothing amiss. "That's a long story."

"And I can't wait to hear it. So are you taking a break? Can I cook an old-fashioned breakfast or do I need to make puke, puke, puke-wheat pancakes or something?"

Grinning at her antics, Cannon said, "I'd kill for some home fries and bacon."

"And drop biscuits and honey? Yum. I'm on it. Ten o'clock, okay? Don't be late."

He ended the call and clipped the phone to his waistband, but before he could take off, he felt eyes on him.

Turning, he found Yvette in the front doorway. When his gaze met hers she blushed bright red and looked down at her feet.

Morning sunshine poured over her, making her fair skin golden and showing reddish highlights in her dark hair. She wore only a shirt, leaving her beautiful legs on display. He knew for a fact she wasn't wearing a bra, and given how she tugged down the hem of the shirt, he guessed she'd left the panties behind, too.

f.u.c.k the jog. A triathlon wouldn't diminish the l.u.s.tinspired need twisting through him.

Looking at her body, he headed back up the walk. "Morning."

Her bare feet shifted. "You were going without me?"

"You looked pretty zoned when I left the bed." When he reached her, he smoothed back her long hair. Her skin was sleep warm, her hair tangled, her eyes heavy-and his c.o.c.k thickened with wanting her. "Sleep well?"

Nodding, she asked, "You?"

Barely a wink, but he lied. "Yeah." She wouldn't meet his gaze, and he knew it was embarra.s.sment. He never should have rushed things. "I'll wait if you want to get ready."

She shook her head.

Only then did he realize how she held herself. Not just embarra.s.sed, but defensive. Worried. Uncertain.

"Hey." He tipped up her chin. "What is it?"

"I want...I want to be totally up-front and honest. About everything."

"Yeah." He wanted that, too. Nudging her back inside and out of view of pa.s.sersby, he agreed. "Always."

She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, drawing his attention to her legs again. Like a molten flashback, he remembered her tender thighs against his jaw, the heady taste of her, how she'd moved and the provoking sounds she'd made.

"That was so...unexpected."

"What was?"

"How you made me...come."

He got his gaze off her rack and onto her face in time to see her tongue slick over her bottom lip.

He barely contained a groan. d.a.m.n, he was on the ragged edge again. If she touched him just once, he'd go off like a Fourth of July celebration.

Since she was still fussing with the hem of the shirt, he took her hands in his and tried to sound reasonable instead of turned on. "What's on your mind, honey?"

In a sudden rush, she blurted, "I hope you believe me. I mean, you made it seem so easy that now I'm kind of embarra.s.sed for making such a big deal of it." She breathed faster, her hands squeezing his. "But I swear, until last night, I couldn't... I hadn't..."

"We're good together," he told her with satisfaction. And he knew, even if she didn't, that once he got inside her it would be nothing short of mind-blowing.

"No." She shook her head. "It was you."

"It was us."

"But I didn't do anything!" And with accusation, "You wouldn't let me."

He absolutely could not think about her reciprocating right now, not if he wanted to maintain any semblance of control. "I helped you along, true. It's called foreplay, and I loved it. But there was never anything wrong with you."

Pulling away, she hugged her arms around herself. "But don't you see, there was. Is. I...I don't know." She pivoted back to him. "I don't want you to think I exaggerated."

Now he was really lost. "What?"

"Don't think that I was somehow using my-" she searched for a word "-my issues, to use you. That I was only telling you things to get pity or to coerce you."

She thought he'd accuse her of making it up? "Yvette-"

"It's not a secret that I always wanted you," she continued in a rush. "Back then, back before-" she swallowed "-before what happened, I'd have done a lot to get your attention."

He reached for her, but she sidestepped him. "I wouldn't use the sympathy card, though, I swear. I would never make up something so pathetic or-"

"Stop it." Pushed too far, Cannon caught her shoulders and brought her around. "You think I'd accuse you of that?"

Her eyebrows lifted at his anger. "I don't know."

"Well, I wouldn't. Jesus, Yvette, I'm not an idiot."

"I never said-"

He kissed her, but only for a second because, d.a.m.n it, he had a lot to say. "And you're not that manipulative."

Breath left her in a sigh and she touched his bare chest. "You can't know that, Cannon, because you don't really know me. You never did, but now, after so long, well, I've barely been home a week, so how could you?"

She was wrong. On some elemental level, he'd always known her. "I know women." Kissing her again, he backed her up to the wall, leaned into her and continued kissing her until her hands were clutching his shoulders and her mouth was moving under his, just as hungry.

He wedged one thigh between her legs, then lifted his head to suck in air because he'd just verified it.

No panties.

Slowly, dragging out the suspense, he slid his hands down to her hips, holding her still while he wedged in closer to her.

All but straddling his thigh, she stared up at him, her gaze smoky, her lips parted.

He fought it...and lost. Keeping her pinned to the wall, he reached beneath the loose shirt to find warm flesh. Bringing his hands up her body, he raised the shirt so that his hard abs were against her smooth belly, and, G.o.d, that was sweet.

"I know women," he repeated against her throat. "Groupies who come after all the fighters. Women who just want a good time. Women who hope to tie me down."

"I don't want to hear about them," she whispered, moving subtly, already aroused.

Knotting his hands in either side of the shirt, he pulled it up more until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were bared.

"I know how to read women. I know how to read you. You're different from all the rest." He breathed hard, then bent to draw on one nipple.

Yvette reacted immediately, arching her back, sinking her hands into his hair. Going on basic carnal instinct more than good common sense, he hooked an arm under her a.s.s and lifted her up.

She wrapped her legs around him.

This was no slow tease. He sucked at her breast, relishing her broken groans, how she twisted against him.

Bracing one hand on the wall by her head, he ground against her.

"Oh, G.o.d, oh, G.o.d, oh..." Her voice rose. "Cannon."

He was about to tear off his shorts and to h.e.l.l with consequences when Yvette's phone rang.

The sound didn't entirely cut through the l.u.s.t, but it did slow him down.

"No," she said, her tone pleading. "Cannon, please."

The phone stopped ringing.

He'd just about convinced himself to seal the deal when it started again.

Then again.

She groaned loudly.

"It must be important," he reasoned. "You blocked Heath, right?"

She looked near tears. "Yes."

Torn over what to do, he stepped away from the wall, still holding her, and went to the couch. He sat with her on his lap, facing him, and snagged the phone with one hand.

Using his thumb, he answered. "h.e.l.lo?"

Silence, before an outraged woman demanded with a touch of panic, "Where's Yvette? Is she all right? Who is this?"

"She's right here," Cannon soothed. "She's fine." Very fine. "Who's calling?"

"I asked first."

So he had to play? "Cannon Colter."