Lifting her chin, she asked, “Do I get your number, too, then?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Clearly that surprised her. “I just assumed... I mean, you’re famous now. I didn’t think you’d want your number out there.”
He slanted her a sideways look. “Yeah, don’t post it on Facebook or anything like that.”
“I wouldn’t!”
A perfect segue.
Sitting across from her, he kept a little distance between them this time. Otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his hands to himself.
That one kiss... It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but he’d completely lost himself. He’d meant to make it a small taste, to tease her, to appease his curiosity.
Instead he’d teased himself, and his curiosity was now at a fever pitch.
With little involvement on her part, he’d forgotten everything except Yvette, her taste, her touch, the comfort of having her close.
Unsettling, to be sure.
Everything she did, every facial expression, each small gesture, seemed specifically designed to turn him on. He knew it wasn’t deliberate.
And that only made it more disturbing.
“Speaking of Facebook...”
She frowned. “Were we?”
“Who’s Heath?”
She did a double take. “How do you—”
No reason to lie about it. “An alert popped up on your phone.”
Scowling, she snatched the phone off the table, tapped the screen a few times, quickly read and then went still with disquieting resolve.
“Yvette?”
That false smile slid back into place, leading the way toward feigned composure. She inhaled, blew it out as if gearing up. “He’s no one. A guy I dated for a little while.”
Bullshit. “He’s the one you said you broke up with before going to the fight?”
She shook her head. “No, that was someone else.”
Jealousy prickled, damn it. So she got around. He’d figured as much. Just looking at her, even with her not trying to look her best, he knew guys would flock to her.
Hoping to make light of it, he said, “Left a lot of broken hearts behind, huh?”
“No. No one’s heart was involved.” She chewed her bottom lip, then launched into more explanations. “I broke things off with Heath long before Grandpa passed. It wasn’t working out.”
“How so?”
That stalled her again.
Making him a little nuts, she nibbled her lip again in what he now recognized as nervousness. Cannon couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, smoothing with his thumb, freeing that soft flesh from the sharp bite of her teeth.
As his fingers cradled her face and his thumb drifted over her mouth, she went perfectly still, her eyes wary. Against his fingers, her cheek warmed.
Sliding his hand back into her damp hair, he relished the warmth and silkiness of her neck. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”
Her forced laugh bothered him more than her uncertainty. “There’s nothing to tell.” She caught his wrist. “And really, Cannon, I keep telling you I’m not that scared, clingy kid anymore.”
“I’m glad.” They sat like that for several heartbeats, his hand curved around her nape, her slender fingers holding his thick wrist. With one more caress, he retreated. “But if anything comes up, I’m here.”
“Here, in the house.”
Here, in her life—whether she wanted to accept that yet or not. “Since we’re sharing the house for now, we should keep each other up on plans, don’t you think? If we head off to different places, I’ll tell you when to expect me back.” That way, she wouldn’t be spooked when she heard him coming in.
“You aren’t accountable to me.”
Damn it, why did she insist on fighting him over every little detail? “It’s considerate,” he told her. “I’d expect you to do the same.”
As she thought about it, she licked her lips—and he had to swallow back a groan. Damn, but he wanted to kiss that mouth again, taste her deeper, longer.
All over.
He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Your buddy, Heath.”
“Not my buddy.” She set the phone on the table—facedown. “What about him?”
“He wasn’t thrilled to see you in a picture with me.”
She shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “He’s tried to get back with me a few times.”
The understated way she explained that told more than she meant it to. Apparently old Heath was still hung up on her. Not that Cannon could blame him. “You’re not interested?”
She huffed a short laugh. “No. Definitely not.”
Unwilling to let it go, Cannon shifted. “He seemed angry.”
“I think he misunderstood the picture—”
“No, he didn’t.”
Her widened eyes locked with his. She started to reply, but appeared to have run out of words.
Cannon didn’t mind explaining it to her. “Guys have a sixth sense about stuff like this. Poor old Heath knows what I want, and he’s not happy about it.”
“What you...?” She cleared her throat, frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Then, worrying a little, her voice small and hesitant, she asked, “What is it you want?”
“You.”
As if the one-word statement had grabbed her, she pressed back in the chair and locked her hands on the seat at either side of her hips.