Page 61 of Black Sheep
“She didn’t work?” Cannon tilts his head to the side to study me as I loosen my grip on him.
I choke on a laugh. “No. Never. She would even tell you she was meant to be a trophy wife.”
His chest rises with an answering chuckle, but it sounds more forced than humorous. “And did she end up being a trophy wife for someone else after your dad?”
“Oh, definitely not. Because then she would’ve had to give up the alimony he paid her.” We turn a corner sharply to make a light, and I lean into Cannon’s solid shoulder.
“Ah. One of those.”
“Yep,” I say, letting theppop from my lips. “She’s definitely one of those.”
“Where does she live now?” His voice is back to being whiskey smooth, instead of charged with anger like when we pulled away from the curb.
“California,” I say, keeping it vague just in case, because Lord knows she wouldn’t be that hard to track down in San Diego. “She hates any place that doesn’t have perfect weather for her to show off her bikini body.”
We’re closing in on his apartment building, which has my senses heightening. I’m answering way too many of Cannon’s questions. I need to get the hell out of the car—and fast—so I can pull myself together, or else I’m going to spill everything.
Hell, that’s probably what’s going to happen anyway as soon as I get inside his loft.
Am I ready for that?Yes. God, yes. But also—hell no.Can I trust him? Truly trust him?
I want to. More than anything. But I definitely don’t trust Warren, and before my honesty streak gets wider, we need to get away from him.
As soon as the Bentley glides to a stop, I grab the handle and yank it, shoving the door open as quickly as I can. The suit jacket slips off my shoulders and pools into a puddle on the floorboard of the car.
“Shit.I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to throw your jacket—”
Cannon’s presence warms me from behind as he cups my elbows with both hands. “In a hurry to get up to my place, Drew?”
Chills ripple over my skin at his nearness, and I want to soak up the feeling, but hearing my fake name on his lips steals any intimacy of it.
I want to tell him. I need to tell him.But not here.
“Just need some fresh air.” Turning to look over my shoulder, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t need to go back to the club?” I reach for the jacket, but Cannon releases one of my elbows and snags it first with his free hand.
“I’m sure. Trust me.”
My stomach flips at his words as he turns me in his arms until we’re almost pressed together. His warm gaze searches my face for answers I can’t give him.God, I want to trust him.But would it be the worst mistake of my life?
Instead of chancing it, I change the subject the best way I know how. I lean toward him and plant my lips on his.
Cannon doesn’t even flinch in surprise. No, he wraps an arm tighter around me and pulls me closer into his body, taking the kiss deeper and hotter.
When he releases me, I wobble on the heels of my shoes. “Jesus, how do you do that to me?”
A glint shimmers in his ever-changing eyes. “I don’t know, but I want to do it again.”
With one hand on my elbow, he leads me across the street to his building. His hand grips mine like I’m a lifeline, or like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear at any moment.
Which I could. And should.
I’m in too deep. I want things I shouldn’t want.But I can’t walk away from this. Or from him.It’s a conundrum of epic proportions, and a situation I’ve never found myself in.
Before I can make sense of the mess that’s my brain, a short, stout gray-haired man pops out of the pizza shop, calling Cannon’s name.
“Hey, Geno. They get your oven fixed?” Cannon asks, walking back toward the storefront of the building.
“Yeah, yeah. I can’t thank you enough for calling in a favor to get them out here the same day. I would’ve been screwed without you.” The old man walks toward Cannon, extending his arm to shake hands.
