No Limits. Lori Foster

strong and brave and all I did was fall apart.” Laughing, she covered her face. “God, it still humiliates me to remember it.”

      “Listen to me, Yvette.” He cupped his hand around her nape, his voice low, intimate. “You were young and afraid. No one would blame you for that. But you didn’t get hysterical. You didn’t escalate things. So you shed a few tears. So what? Hell, I was shaking I was so pissed off.”

      Twisting, she faced him—and in the process she managed to move away a few inches. “You shook with anger, I shook with fear.” For a brief moment, her eyes closed. “I remember that day like it just happened. Those men breaking into the pawnshop, threatening me and hurting Grandpa, abusing that woman...”

      “Shh.” Cannon remembered it all in detail, too. If he lived to be one hundred, he would never forget. How much worse must it be for her? “They’ll spend the rest of their lives rotting in prison.”

      “Thank God.”

      “Yeah.” The cops had been after the sick fucks for a while. They were known for underground porn, forcing women into sexual situations and taping it for their own twisted thrills. They’d used the pawnshop to make one of their videos, gaining Yvette’s and Tipton’s compliance by dousing them in kerosene and threatening to set them on fire. Not because they needed the location, but because that had been part of the thrill for them.

      Yvette worried that she’d been a coward; he marveled that she was still able to smile so easily.

      “They’ll never hurt anyone else,” she swore softly.

      “No.” The two who had survived would die in prison. “They’re gone for good.” Before being caught, they’d twice gone after Yvette, breaking into Tipton’s house with a twofold agenda in mind.

      They had wanted to rape Yvette, using her in the porn video.

      And they’d wanted to trap the cops who’d been after them.

      She clenched her hands on the tabletop. “I want to see the lieutenant while I’m here in Ohio.”

      “I’m sure she’d like that.” Cannon remained friends with the lieutenant and the detectives who had intervened that day. It was that friendship that had taken him to Tipton’s house at the same time as the detectives. He’d been a part of it all, experiencing firsthand the helplessness and fear as the thugs repeatedly explained their plans to kill the cops and use Yvette.

      Luckily, they’d been outmaneuvered and things had backfired on the bastards in a big way. Cannon had gotten in on that action, too, and the attack had ended with one of them dead and the other two arrested—but not before Yvette had suffered a living nightmare. No, she hadn’t been raped, but she had been groped, threatened, terrorized and forced to watch the torment of others.

      What Cannon remembered most about that day was how badly he’d wanted to protect her. He had avoided getting involved with her, but when he’d seen her so defenseless, when he’d felt her stark fear, it had all become very personal for him.

      And somehow, through the passing of three long years, it remained personal. His hand curled into a fist.

      Leaning into him, Yvette ducked her head and covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

      “We were both thinking about it.” He turned his palm over to twine his fingers with hers. “We haven’t really talked since then. Better to just get it out in the open.” And then hopefully they could put it to rest. He didn’t want the ugliness always between them.

      He wanted, eventually, to be more to her than a reminder of a living nightmare.

      “Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Carefully, she disengaged from him, straightened, sat properly.

      “Here, in Ohio?”

      She shook her head. “I assumed you’d be here, at Rowdy’s.” Determination squared her shoulders. “I want you to know that I’m different now. I won’t get in your way. I won’t be a pest.”

      Cannon frowned. “I never said—”

      “I can take care of everything, so you don’t need to be involved.”

      He didn’t understand her. Worse, he didn’t understand himself. “What if I want to be involved?”

      That stymied her.

      Her lips parted but no words came out. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and before he could think better of it, he cupped her face in his palm, used his thumb to rub that lush lip.

      Her breath came a little faster.

      Time to redirect, or he’d be kissing her right here in the booth—and that was something better started in a more private place. “We have a lot to talk about, I know. But you look exhausted. How long have you been in town?”

      “I was here for the funeral two weeks ago, but then had to fly back to Cali to take care of some things.”

      “That’s a lot of traveling. When did your flight get in?”

      “I got here yesterday.” She sat very still until he removed his hand. “But I didn’t fly in this time. I drove.”

      No way. “From California?”

      “There’s no telling how long it’ll take to get things settled, so I brought a lot of my stuff and my car. It wasn’t a problem. I enjoy driving.”

      “And sleeping in hotels?”

      “Sometimes.”

      No wonder she looked so tired. “How long did it take you?”

      “Longer than it should have, but I could only drive so many hours without getting sleepy. I stopped twice to rent a room for the night.” And then with a cheeky grin, she added, “I’m not a hotshot fighter, so no fancy hotels for me.”

      He had no idea what she did for a living, who she lived with in California, or if the travel had cut into her budget. But they could cover all that later.

      He was about to recommend they call it a night, thinking he could take her to her hotel room and, being noble, make a date to see her in the morning.

      She spoke before he could make the suggestion. “You look a little tired yourself. I know you just got back from Japan.”

      “I’m sorry I missed the funeral.”

      “Grandpa would have understood.” She studied his face.

      “Pay no attention to the bruises. They look worse than they are.”

      “If you say so.” Her gaze went to his jaw, and then to his chin.

      Her intimate inspection almost consumed him before her eyes shifted away.

      “The fights seem different on TV. Less violent. I’m really glad I was able to see one live, but I don’t know that I’ll be going again anytime soon.”

      “It’s a charged atmosphere,” he agreed. “The music, the lights. Everyone is pretty hyped.”

      “I liked all that, actually. And it gave me a good reason to wear my SBC T-shirt.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t let this go to your head, but the T-shirt has you on it.”

      He liked it when she relaxed enough to be familiar. “Which shirt?” No matter what she wore, guys would have noticed her. But he liked that she’d worn him.

      “The one with you in a fighting stance.”

      He remembered the sponsor for that shirt—one of his first. Did that mean she’d been paying attention to his career all along?

      “What?” she asked when he couldn’t contain the smile.

      “I was just imagining you in the shirt...with me all over your chest.”

      Dismissing any real interest