away from a superhunk who inexplicably wanted sexual involvement with her.
The night ranked right up there as one of the least normal she’d had—since moving away.
CANNON WAS ON her by the time she looked away from Avery.
Green eyes flared wide when she realized he intended to leave with her—as in, right beside her with his hand curled around the nape of her neck beneath her long ponytail.
Unaccountably provoked, he whispered, “Let’s go,” but her feet remained glued to the floor.
Lacing her fingers together, she blinked up at him. “You don’t have to do this.”
He flexed his neck to relieve the knotted muscles there. “This?”
“Dogging my heels.”
That pissed him off.
Until she clarified, “Protecting me.”
No, maybe he didn’t. But he wanted to. Bad. Hell, he was half-hard and all he’d gotten from her so far were denials, rejections and hilarity at his interest.
And that far-fetched tale about her not having sex. He urged her forward, and she reluctantly gave in.
“This is pointless.”
Determined to prove her wrong on that score, he kept them both walking.
She dug in, saying, “I’m not going to cheat you.”
Even in the crowded, noisy bar, a few people looked up—including Mary, who stood among a small crowd of men.
Steering Yvette to the side, Cannon said, “Keep it down, will you.”
Appalled, she looked around, more upset than she should have been. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, and that implacable mask of poise fell into place.
Now, in a much softer tone, she said, “I’m sorry, but I want you to know. Soon as I sell everything, I’ll send you your half. You don’t have to hang around. I’m sure you have other, more important things to do.”
He wanted to do her, and that was as important as it got. She might not realize it, but the more she tried to run him off, the more determined he was to stay. “Understand something, Yvette.”
A little wary, she asked, “What?”
Smiling to soften his inflexible tone, he leaned closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Huffing, she gave in, no longer fighting him as they headed across the floor, but still stiff-necked under his hand.
Good thing he had a healthy ego. He sensed she wanted to avoid something, but he wasn’t convinced that it was him. There was something more going on.
He planned to find out what.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
“We’ll talk when we get home.” They were almost to the door when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
Senses prickling, Cannon turned—then ducked out of reach as someone threw a wild haymaker.
Tucking Yvette back behind him, he said, “What the hell?”
Sour beer breath blasted his face when a man swayed toward him and shouted, “You insulted ’er.”
Looking beyond the idiot slurring his words, Cannon saw Mary watching, her hand over her mouth in dismay. Shit. He hated drama over women. “No insult intended.”
The guy wouldn’t let it go. “You thin’ you’re such a hotshot?”
Sighing, Cannon felt the fascinated gazes of the crowd. The guy challenging him was big and muscular—but not a real match by any stretch. It’d be manslaughter if he took him on. “Look,” Cannon said, “why don’t you let me call you a cab?”
“Fuck you!” He poked at Cannon’s chest. “You were shitty to ’er.”
Cannon caught his hand, jerked him forward then around and put him in a headlock. It’d be so easy to put the guy to sleep...but that didn’t seem fair. He looked up at Mary. “Happy now?”
She gasped. “I didn’t know he’d come after you!”
Without much effort, Cannon contained the wild flailing of the man he held and said to her, “You didn’t put him up to it?”
“No! I would never do that.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but it didn’t really change anything anyway. “You know him?”
Miserable, she nodded. “He’s a...friend.”
“Then see that he gets home.” Cannon released the man—then had to push him back when the idiot reached for him again. Pointing at him, Cannon said, “No more.”
Too drunk to listen, the guy tucked down and charged.
Shit, shit, shit. Pulling the punch as much as he could, Cannon struck him with a straight right jab—and watched him sink, boneless, to the floor.
Stepping to the front of the crowd, Rowdy watched the drunk stir. “Sorry, I got here quick as I could.”
“It happened fast.”
“Bar fights usually do.”
That had Cannon snorting. There’d been no fight to it.
“Thanks for going easy on him.”
“No problem.”
Shaking his head, Rowdy said, “You are freakishly calm.”
With a shrug, Cannon said, “Not always, but I’m not going to get bent over a drunk.” He turned—and didn’t see Yvette. He searched the room.
“She’s gone,” Rowdy told him. “Lit out the second you got preoccupied.”
Now, that riled him. Only half under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck.”
The drunken idiot groaned. Together, Cannon and Rowdy helped him to his feet.
“All of you,” Rowdy said to the small group. “Time to go.” They grumbled, but followed Rowdy as he started toward the door. As if they weren’t escorting a bloody-nosed patron and his cronies to the curb, Rowdy asked, “You plan to move in on her?”
In more ways than one. Shrugging, Cannon held the door open as the small group departed with their buddy. “I told you, half of everything is mine.”
The last man, on his way out, handed Rowdy some cash to cover their tab. “Sorry about that.”
“If
