soap and warm male.
Her hungry gaze tracked down his body, taking it all in. Those sleek, hard shoulders. His wide chest half-hidden by muscular arms arrogantly folded. Down his solid rib cage and...mmm.
Those abs.
The bruises, a few of them really harsh, didn’t detract from the perfection. A silky trail of dark hair bisected his body, teased around his navel and disappeared into the loosely wrapped towel.
There wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to keep her properly ventilated.
“Yvette.”
His voice had dropped an octave, drawing her gaze up to his. “Hmm?”
“They’re just bruises.”
He thought that was why she stared? Well, yeah, the bruises were ghastly. But she’d seen enough postfight photos to know it wasn’t uncommon for a fighter to sport evidence of the battle.
The largest bruise was also the darkest, almost black in the middle, then fading into purple and lilac as it spread out over his ribs. Because it was a better excuse than the truth, she said, “You look like you should be—” In bed. Steering clear of that verbal trap, she amended, “Resting.”
As if he knew her every thought, he smiled. “I can almost feel that stare, and I don’t mind telling you, it’s having an effect.”
That made her look harder, and sure enough, the tightly wrapped towel now showed things she’d be better off not seeing.
“Yvette,” he said again, this time with gravelly insistence.
Realization of her rudeness hit and she pivoted fast to face the door. But...then what? She faced a closed door. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
“The back view is nice, too.”
No way could she ignore that tempting admission. But when she looked over her shoulder at him, he still faced her. “I can’t see the back.”
“No.” On a low laugh, he nodded at her rear end. “I meant yours.”
Slapping her hands over her butt, she turned away again. If nothing else, it hid her burning face and kept her from visually molesting him.
And, darn it, now she became the recipient of a hot stare. “This isn’t at all proper.”
“I remember a time,” he said, closer to her, “when you weren’t all that worried about being proper.”
She’d been young and foolish. “I shouldn’t have stared and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
Knowing she had to get hold of herself and the situation, she staged a friendly expression and cautiously turned back to him. Utilizing Herculean effort, she kept her attention above his sternum. “It’s hardly my fault with you standing there, flaunting yourself like that.”
“I don’t flaunt.” He made a rude sound of denial. “I’m just standing here.”
Looking as he did, that was enough. “You aren’t decently dressed.”
“I’d just gotten out of the shower when the phone rang.”
“Well.” He’d offered her the perfect excuse for fleeing. “I’ll just let you finish getting ready—”
Before she could take a single step, he moved, and she got caught up watching the muscles in his bared body flex as he closed the small amount of space left between them.
She was hot, sweaty and suddenly mute.
When he reached out, she flattened against the door and almost squawked, it so surprised her.
“You’re afraid of me?”
Her turn to scoff. “No, never.”
Cannon paused for only a second before nodding with satisfaction. “Good.” Gently catching her hand, he tugged her forward and started toward the kitchen.
Going along without complaint, Yvette tried to collect herself, but couldn’t.
He was right—the back view was freaking awesome.
Long muscles moved with each step he took. Water glistened on his shoulders. His still-wet hair sent a trickle down the deep furrow of his spine.
And that little damp towel... How she envied it. Wrapped around his hips, it hugged his butt, showcasing the tight muscles there.
A big bubble of heat popped inside her, flushing her whole body. “Mmm, what are we doing?”
“Going into the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“We need to talk.” He looked over that boulder shoulder at her. “And I don’t want you sneaking off again.”
“I didn’t sneak.” Liar. “I just went for my morning jog.”
“For more than two hours?” Pulling out two vinyl-covered chairs from her grandfather’s refurbished kitchen table, he gestured for her to sit.
Since her legs were quivering from exhaustion, ready to give out anyway, she dropped down.
“I didn’t know you jogged.” His bright blue gaze moved over her, probably seeing her perspiration-soaked clothes and shiny, flushed skin. “Need something to drink?”
She needed him to get some pants on before she fainted. “No, I’m fine.” Determined to be as blasé as him, she unhooked the belted purse from around her waist, removing the empty water bottle from the loop that held it, putting that and her cell phone on the tabletop.
Cannon gave her a long look, turned to the refrigerator and took out an icy bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and set it in front of her. “You’re pretty wilted. Drink up.”
Wilted—what a nice way to put it. Reminded of how wretched she looked, she started to stand. “I need a shower.”
A hand on her shoulder pressed her back. His tone even and cool, Cannon said, “Let’s talk first.”
He literally loomed over her with all that naked flesh up close and personal. She was eye level with a small brown nipple, with the sparse dark hair on his chest. She could smell his soap and something more. Something hot and sexy and all male.
Curling her hands into fists, she resisted the powerful urge to touch him. But that didn’t stop her from looking—at his throat, over his collarbone, those sculpted pecs...
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?” she breathed in a strangled whisper.
His other hand flattened on the table beside her, caging her in. “Eating me up with those pretty green eyes.”
She’d prefer to eat him up with her teeth, her tongue.... “Put
