At the curb, he looked back with impatience.
Holding up her hands in apology, Merissa closed the window and hit the automatic locks that secured all doors.
He nodded and left.
And with every swaggering step he took, she wanted him more.
Stay away? She doubted she could.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JUST INSIDE THE BUILDING, Armie stood aside in the shadows and waited until Rissy’s car went past. Jesus. Letting out a tight breath, he dropped back against the wall. His c**k hurt and it had nothing to do with the two naked hotties carrying on without him in his apartment.
In fact, now that he’d seen Merissa, he had less than zero interest in either of them. He’d known she was coming home today¸ and that was the only reason he’d invited Avril over in the first place—as a distraction. It had been Avril’s idea to mix things up and invite Kelli to join in. Hell, the more outrageous he got, the more some women vied to keep up.
But not Rissy. No, she’d looked equal parts appalled, disgusted and embarrassed. For him.
He slammed a hand against the wall.
Nice girls were off his list, and Rissy was nicer than most. Add that to the fact she was Cannon’s sister and he had no damn business putting thoughts of her in his spank bank.
But he would anyway.
He’d rather jerk off thinking of her big blue eyes and her openmouthed surprised at finding him with his jeans open than be used up by the two nymphos.
Shit, shit, shit.
He looked up the stairs. The women wouldn’t like it, but lucky for him, he was enough of a prick that he’d send them packing anyway. Decided, he jogged up the steps.
For his peace of mind, he hoped Merissa kept her distance.
Because he sure as shit couldn’t rely on his own control. Not with her.
Not when every damn day he wanted her more.
* * *
CANNON WOKE WITH a pounding head and his arms full of soft, warm woman. But not just any woman. Yvette.
Her scent did insane things to him; her warm breath on his chest affected him like a blow job.
He was already so hard that he hurt.
Luckily, she seemed dead to the world. She didn’t even stir when he eased her to her back. Her eyelashes left shadows on her cheekbones. Barely parted lips begged for attention, and because he couldn’t resist he leaned down for a butterfly kiss. Her long hair poured over her shoulders, making a stark contrast against her pale br**sts. And those small pink ni**les...
Damn, but he wanted to put his mouth on her, to suckle her softly until her ni**les tightened and ached.
Until she woke wanting him as much as he wanted her.
When she made a sound in her sleep, his heart thumped heavily, his c**k twitched.
But she only sighed and slept on.
Damn it, he had no business doing this, tormenting himself like a masochist. As quietly as possible, he left the bed, found his shorts on the floor and pulled them on. With one last lingering look at her body, then at her beautiful relaxed face, he snuck out of the room.
He was a fighter, damn it. He had control. He had willpower.
He understood motivation and staying the course despite discomfort to his body. He could and would do this—and in the end, he’d get the prize.
Yvette.
Twenty minutes later, anxious to run off the taut urges before facing her again, Cannon headed out the door. He wore shorts and running shoes, but he had his phone with him in case Yvette woke and called him before he got back.
He saw the writing on his dusty truck as soon as he reached the driveway. “Rissy was here.”
Her typical M.O. He’d often found similar notes from her, always short and succinct, whenever he missed her visits. “Rissy was here.” That was his cue to get in touch.
He smiled. So his sister was home. He checked his cell and sure enough, the call he hadn’t answered last night was from her. He immediately called her back.
She answered on the third ring with an exaggerated groan. “Not all of us get up at the butt crack of dawn, Cannon.”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Loving her a lot, he smiled. “You wrote on my truck.”
“I wrote in your dust. Seriously, clean the thing.”
He circled the truck and noticed footprints that couldn’t belong to his sister. “Been busy.”
“Yeah.” Sounds of her sitting up filtered through the line. “I heard.”
Looking around the area and finding nothing more suspicious than an elderly couple smooching on the porch across the street, he asked, “From who?”
Silence. A long, strain-filled silence.
“Rissy?”
“Fighter gossip. You know how the guys are.”
He laughed. “You’re nuts.”
“So how about breakfast? You free?”
“Sure.” He wanted to see her. “I can skip my jog.”
“No, not now. Around ten?”
“That’s damn near lunch, but sure. I’ll pick you up.”
“No, your truck only seats two and I want you to bring Yvette. Come home. I’ll cook.”
He paused, frowning. So she knew about Yvette, huh? Maybe the guys were gossiping like a bunch of old hens.
Rather than get into it over the phone, he said, “You just flew in from Japan. Instead of cooking, take the day off. My treat.” They could spend the morning together and he could explain...what? That he’d manipulated a bad situation so he could take advantage?
She snorted. “Did you take a day off after you got home?”