No Limits. Lori Foster

real flattering when the guy dumped his beer down my back.” Eyes bright, smiling, she leaned in as if to share a secret. “I had to drive home like that. I was so afraid I’d get pulled over for something, and the cop would think I was smashed based on the smell of beer alone.”

      The urge to kiss her pulled at him—but she settled back in her seat.

      “You didn’t stick around to meet any of the fighters?”

      “No. There was such a huge, noisy crowd, and I had a three-hour drive, so it seemed smarter to just go home.”

      Several men emerged from playing pool and headed toward them. “Well, you’re about to meet some now.”

      She looked up in surprise—and transformed.

CHAPTER THREE

      AS CANNON WATCHED, Yvette forced an expression of polite regard, adjusted her posture and smoothed her hair. To make a good impression? With his group of friends, she shouldn’t have bothered. With her looks and bod, she only needed to sit there and they would all swarm to her, talk her up, and if he didn’t set some boundaries, they’d probably hit on her, too.

      Standing again, his body blocking her, Cannon asked, “So who won?”

      Armie Jacobson, a good friend and partner of sorts who’d taken over the day-to-day running of the rec center Cannon had founded after Cannon had signed on with the SBC, took a dramatic bow. “That’d be yours truly.”

      “I should have guessed.” Armie was good at everything he did—which included drawing women. “I think you owe me for bowing out.”

      Armie’s dark gaze, a contrast to his very fair hair, jumped to Yvette with appreciation.

      And now it begins, Cannon thought.

      Moving around Cannon, Armie murmured, “I’d say you’ve been rewarded enough for that.” He extended his hand to Yvette. “Cannon won’t introduce us because I’m better at seduction than he is.”

      Cannon snorted, but as Yvette took Armie’s hand, he said, “Yvette Sweeny, meet Armie Jacobson.”

      “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jacobson.”

      At the formality, Armie’s brow went up. He held her hand gently. “Pleasure’s all mine. You have to drop the mister, though. Just call me Armie—or something more wicked.”

      “Wicked?”

      “Yeah, like stud, or stallion, or—”

      Cannon shoved him. “Stop being an ass.”

      The handshake broken, Armie righted himself with a grumble. “Why they call you Saint I’ll never understand.”

      “Because I have to be a saint to put up with you.”

      “Yeah, maybe.” Armie grinned. “We’ll see you at the rec center tomorrow?”

      “I’ll be there.” Cannon pointed back and forth from Armie to himself. “Plan to spar.”

      Groaning, Armie grabbed his chest as if wounded and turned to Yvette. “You see, darlin’, that means I’m about to get an old-fashioned ass-whoopin’.”

      Yvette laughed at him.

      “Not funny!” And then, his voice still too smooth, Armie said, “You should come by and visit us. Pretty the place up a little—and maybe soften old Saint so he’ll go easy on me.”

      Her gaze shot over to Cannon’s as if she expected him to protest. But hell, he liked the idea. “Yeah, you should. I can show you around.”

      “I was there...once.”

      Ignoring all the others, Cannon nodded. “I remember.” It was the night she’d come to tell him goodbye before she’d moved across the country.

      The night she’d left him.

      Or so it had felt, even though they’d never really been an item.

      Because he had dodged her at every turn.

      “If it’s been a while,” Armie told her, “it’s different now. Our boy here has brought us a lot of sponsorships.”

      Denver used that opening to draw her attention. “Everyone wants a piece of Cannon.”

      “Mostly women,” Miles joked, and Stack backed him up on that. A few bawdy jokes followed.

      Yvette greeted the comments with indulgence, treating the big rough fighters like unruly schoolboys.

      Denver eased closer to her—something Cannon didn’t miss. With one hand on the booth seat behind her shoulder, he beamed down at her. “So you’re into fighters, huh?”

      “I enjoy the sport,” she explained with diplomacy. “But Cannon’s the only fighter I know.”

      In some ways, Cannon decided, he’d be the only fighter she knew.

      Though he surely caught the significance of what she’d said, Denver didn’t retreat. “We need to remedy that.”

      “Thank you. I’d enjoy learning more.” She looked to Cannon for introductions.

      While chatting her up, the guys had openly flattered her, but she didn’t reciprocate except to be cordial, so Cannon gave in.

      He started with Denver, since that bum stood closest to her, and worked his way around to the others. Each one of them assessed her for possibilities, mostly because he never got that involved with women—so usually he didn’t mind. But this was Yvette, and that made a huge difference.

      He’d need to set them straight, and soon.

      Armie, the dick, watched it all with keen eyes, as if he already understood that Cannon wanted her to himself. Then again, he and Armie knew each other well enough that they rarely had to spell shit out.

      Each man showered her with compliments, come-ons and good-natured ribbing. He knew exactly what they were thinking.

      Because he was thinking it, too.

      Yvette was just too hot. Her eyes were striking, her lush mouth a turn-on. And that soft, restrained laugh...it stroked over him.

      Only now she was laughing with other guys—guys who didn’t need much encouragement to horn in.

      Without showing a single sign of awareness for their over-the-top flattery, Yvette spoke with each of them.

      Denver even took Cannon’s seat beside her. Stack sat across from her. In one way or another, each man angled in close to her until she was surrounded by big, muscled fighters.

      Didn’t seem to bother her, though.

      Armie, the only one hanging back now, elbowed Cannon. “You’ve been holding out.”

      “She’s a friend.” Who would be more soon as he could arrange it.

      “No shit? Can I be her friend, too?”

      “No.”

      Armie laughed.

      Folding his arms over his chest, Cannon continued to watch her while schooling Armie. “She’s not your type.”

      “Meaning she’s nice instead of nasty?”

      “Very nice.” Cannon eyed him. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting a girl later tonight?”

      “Yeah.” He checked his watch. “In fact, I’m already late.”

      Armie was not known for his consideration toward the fairer sex—except maybe in bed. “Figure she’ll wait?”

      He shrugged. “If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.”

      There were times when Cannon didn’t understand his friend. More often