“Cannon,” she groaned, raising her arms to wrap around herself.

He caught her wrists, keeping her still. “It bothers me, thinking about all the guys who probably saw you jogging by and immediately started imagining more.”

Her heart tried to punch out of her chest. “No one—”

“Because that’s what I’m doing.”

Though her mouth opened, nothing more came out. It took her three hard heartbeats before she thought to say, “Well, just stop it!”

“I’ll try.” Releasing her, he said softly, “If you’ll stay and talk to me.”

“But...”

“It won’t take long.”

“Neither would my shower,” she grumbled, starting to feel put out by his pushy manner.

“Maybe. But with the way you keep dodging me, I don’t trust it.”

That made her eyes narrow. “You mean you don’t trust me.”

Shrugging, he rested his elbows on his thighs and let his hands hang loosely between his knees. “Close enough.”

The insult should have taken precedence, but for a second there it looked as if he might lose the towel, and that annihilated every other thought. She held her breath, but no, it stayed put.

“Yvette.”

“You are so badly bruised.” She wanted to touch him, to somehow make his ribs better. He’d taken a vicious kick in the fight and almost lost. But somehow he’d managed to throw that one last punch—which had been enough. “Does it hurt?”

“Not much, so don’t change the subject.”

When she took in his determined expression, it shook her. Never had she wanted him to see her as anything but self-assured, mature and poised. Her best bet now would be to get the talking over with so she could go make herself presentable. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

Instead of launching into his all-important talk, he breathed deeper, zeroed in on her mouth and whispered, “First things first.”

Yvette had no idea what he meant by that—until he came forward and put his mouth right to hers. Barely there. Lightly touching. Tentative.

She froze, her breath suspended and her body taut. Only her heartbeat seemed to function as it leaped into overtime.

When he didn’t pull away, her eyes sank shut. Sharing breath with him, drowning beneath a rush of intimacy, she made a small sound.

He reciprocated by touching his tongue against her, moving softly over her lips, tracing the seam where she held them closed.

In a dark, husky voice, he whispered, “Open up for me, honey.”

The sexy command made her gasp—which was just the opportunity he wanted.

Still going slow and easy, he teased his way in as if savoring the experience.

She forgot she was a wreck, forgot this could lead nowhere, forgot...everything.

With a soft growl, he adjusted for a better fit. His mouth nudged hers open more. One of his hands caught her ponytail, tilting her head back. The other opened on the small of her back, urging her to the edge of the seat. He brought her into the solid cradle of his big body, surrounding her in so many ways. Without deliberate decision, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders, and, oh, God, he felt incredible, as good as she’d always imagined.

Every nerve ending jumped in awareness.

It had been so long since she’d been kissed, especially since she’d been kissed like this.

The last time was three years ago—with Cannon.

She forgot about her appalling state of sweat and wrinkled clothes, the wind-tangled ponytail he held.

He sank his tongue in, tasting her deeper, hotter. His hand left her back to settle boldly on her bare thigh just above her knee, his strong fingers wrapping around her, encircling her leg.

When he slid that hand upward to the edge of her shorts, she finally regained her wits.

She shoved back so fast she almost toppled the chair. For a split second, they stared at each other, his gaze smoldering, hers—though he probably didn’t realize it—full of regret. They both breathed too fast.

Shooting to her feet, Yvette got as far as the kitchen doorway before Cannon caught her.

His strong fingers held her shoulders, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. After several tense moments, he deliberately loosened his hold and eased her back into his chest. She might have thought he had calmed, except that she felt his furious heartbeat against her shoulder blades.

“Don’t run from me,” he said low, his mouth touching her ear. “Swear to God, Yvette, it only makes me want to chase you.”

If he could actually catch her, she’d have no problem with that. But she knew what he didn’t, so she’d have to be the one to stop. “This was a mistake.”

“Felt like a hell of a lot more to me.”

Not leaning against him took every ounce of her willpower. “I’ll shower and change and then we’ll talk all you want.” Now that she realized how combustible things could be, she knew they needed to clear the air. She needed him to understand that nothing would come of it.

She might even have to admit she was broken.

By small degrees, his hands opened from her shoulders and he took a step back. Time ticked by, and finally he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Knowing she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stayed in that damn towel, she asked, “Just...get dressed, okay?”

“If you promise not to keep me waiting.”

A negotiation? So she had to bargain to get him clothed? The irony of it hit her: most women would be trying to steal his towel, not urging him to put on clothes.