Cannon’s brows went up. “By yourself?”
Oh, now that stung. She lifted her chin. “Why not? It’s my house now.” She wasn’t a child who needed adult supervision. And if memories intruded, well, she’d deal with them.
“Part mine,” Cannon gently corrected, and then, “I only asked because I planned to stay there, too.”
That unexpected announcement had her jaw loosening. “You do?” Not once had she considered that possibility. It didn’t even make sense. “You have a house already.”
In negligent response, he rolled a shoulder. “Rissy lives there now. I gave it to her. A couple of months ago she brought in a roommate.”
“I’m sure your sister would still love to see you!”
At her raised voice, Cannon’s mouth curled into a crooked grin. “Yeah, she will. But she went to Japan with me and she’s still there, stretching it out into a vacation. I doubt her roommate, who’s female—” and also in Japan, but Yvette didn’t need to know that “—would appreciate me moving in on her.” It was just a small fabrication, and Cannon didn’t mind fudging things a little to get what he wanted.
Instead of leaving, Mary stuck close, making Yvette more flustered.
“Cannon,” she began, unsure what else to say.
“Yvette,” he replied, copying her tone and fixing his will on her. “I’m staying at the house.”
Mary finally spoke up. “Oh, my God.” She pointed a manicured finger at Yvette. “You’re that woman.”
Oh, no. Heat swelled up from Yvette’s churning stomach to her chest and finally settled in her face, making her light-headed. No, no, no. The urge to flee sent her heart stuttering.
“Mary,” Cannon said, “why don’t we talk over here?” He tried to lead her away.
She resisted. “You’re that woman who was raped, the one who was almost set on fire.”
“I wasn’t raped,” Yvette squeaked, her voice far too weak.
“Those men... It was in all the local news and everyone was talking about it.” Mary shrugged off Cannon’s hand when he again tried to draw her away. “They made you watch when they brutalized that other woman. You watched them videotape it!” She splayed a hand over her chest. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“That’s enough,” Cannon said in a low voice.
But Mary wasn’t done. Yvette couldn’t tell if she was titillated or truly sympathetic.
Either was awful.
In a scandalized whisper, Mary asked, “Did they really douse you in kerosene and threaten to burn you alive?”
Memories crept in, bring with them old feelings of panic. Although her thoughts bounced about wildly in a frantic search, Yvette couldn’t come up with a single appropriate reply to give.
“Excuse me.” Avery, Rowdy’s wife, insinuated herself into Mary’s line of vision. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but, Cannon, Rowdy wants to talk to you. He’s in the break room. Oh, and, Yvette, he’d love to see you, too.” With that, she turned to Mary, moving her petite body so close that Mary had no choice but to back up a few spaces. “Before he was famous,” Avery explained with false enthusiasm, “Cannon used to work here. He’s like family still. I’m sure you understand.”
Mary protested that no, she did not understand at all, but Cannon had already drawn Yvette out of the booth seat. Keeping a firm hold on her upper arm, he grabbed up her purse and propelled her forward.
In a shocked daze, she allowed it, stumbling along on wooden legs.
Bodies crowded the bar, but Yvette barely noticed. By rote, she kept her chin up even as Mary’s words reverberated in her thoughts over and over again. Somehow they seemed twice as damning when spoken aloud. She had stood by and watched another woman brutalized. The reality of that squeezed all the air from her lungs.
As they left the main floor for a private hallway, the din of conversation, music and laughter faded into the periphery. Cannon leaned closer, his warm breath brushing the sensitive whorls of her ear when he whispered, “Almost there.”
The concern in his tone kick-started her pride. Swallowing hard, she blinked several times and cleared away the fog of shame.
She’d been a victim, she reminded herself. Realistically she knew it, but that had nothing to do with the mélange of emotions that sometimes bombarded her, with disgrace always at the forefront.
“In here,” Cannon said, drawing her through a doorway into a private room that housed a long table surrounded by chairs, a coffeepot and paper cups, lockers and a few vending machines.
He hooked a chair with his foot and drew it out from the table. “Want something to drink?”
Knowing he expected her to sit, she instead squared off with him. Not in anger, but in determination.
“You don’t need to pamper me.” Not anymore. Not ever again. “I’m fine.”
That drew him around, eyes narrowed and jaw hard. “Bullshit.”
Hearing him curse like that shocked her, but it was nothing compared to the inferno in his eyes. If she’d changed, well, apparently so had he.
He stepped closer, tall, powerful. Indomitable. “You don’t have to do this, Yvette.” He searched her face. “Not with me.”
A little panicky, she said, “I don’t know what you mean,” even as she attempted to get her mask of contentment back in place.
The edge of his fist touched under her chin, lifting her face so that she couldn’t avoid his probing scrutiny. So many sensations erupted: nervousness, excitement, need. She nibbled her bottom lip and literally felt it when his gaze transferred to her mouth.