Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5)

“And then I told the officer that I would be pressing charges.” Angela finished her tale by lifting her glass of white wine to the table and taking a sip.

I didn’t lift my glass—the only one at this miserable table who didn’t.

“You’d think you’d have a little more compassion,” I said, then blinked as every set of eyes landed on me. I shrugged. “You don’t know the woman’s backstory or situation. Perhaps she truly was asking for help.”

Michael patted my shoulder from where he sat on my right, and I subtly shifted away from under his touch. “That’s our Sephie,” he said to the luncheon. “Always using her heart instead of her head.”

I bit down on my response, exhaustion settling over me. These lunches had become more taxing in recent months. Since I returned from college and started my own career. Since my socialite friends had become colder and more crass and more…well, snobby. The tale Angela had recanted—a homeless woman approaching her on the street corner and asking for money to feed her child—had spurned a sadness in me. It most certainly wasn’t a story to laugh about, and the woman hadn’t deserved to have the cops called on her either.

“Not everyone is born with money,” I snapped, glaring at Michael in the special southern way I’d learned from my mother—the look was equal parts sugar and salt.

“How is Cannon?” Michael asked.

I swallowed hard. Flashes of our moments near his personal rink, on that bench, raced through my mind. The way his mouth had claimed mine. The way he’d touched me, stroked me into a wild mess of tangled tension. The way he’d effortlessly brought me to that edge and made me shatter for him. The man drove me crazy in the best of ways, and I wanted so much more. But I would never force him, never push him beyond his limits. He’d asked me to walk away, and I did. But it had been one of the hardest things to do in my life.

It’d been a week, and he hadn’t touched me in that way since. Sure, we spent our nights reading together in bed, our bodies almost touching but never quite. Sometimes he’d graze my hand as we lost ourselves in conversations—like the one where he admitted how badly he’d wanted a dog as a child, but out of all the foster homes he’d went into, they never had one. Or the time he’d told me about Lillian’s boy band phase and how he’d worked as a busboy after school to save up to buy her the new albums when they dropped. Or the small pieces he’d given me about his time with his mother—the way she’d been trapped in an abusive marriage and when she’d finally gotten the courage to leave, it had been too late. She’d had no resources, no money, no family, nothing to cling to. Nothing to help her take care of her children. Glimpses—he’d given me mere pieces of the life he’d lived.

The memories brought a sad smile to my lips. He’d let me in a little—his story inspiring my current charitable focus, one I would be discussing with Mr. Silas in a little over two hours.

“OMG,” Angela said, drawing my thoughts back to the luncheon. “Yes! How is that tall drink of badass?”

“Please give us all the details!” Brittany chimed in from Angela’s left. You wouldn’t know she’d been in a slap-fight with my sister mere weeks ago. No, everything about her was a concocted mask of perfection, an outward pretty package for every passerby to admire. I wondered what she’d said to my sister to set her off, but Anne had never told me. She claimed it was because she was too drunk, but I gathered there was more to it than that.

Michael groaned into his wine, rolling his eyes.

“He’s at a pickup game,” I answered. “And he’s incredible,” I answered honestly. The man had enchanted me, not only with his lips but with his words, his soul. The way he could see straight to the heart of me, the way he could slip his way into places I hadn’t let anyone in—my mom’s illness being one of them. I could talk to him about it for hours and afterward feel all the better for it. Because he listened.

Outsiders took in his rough exterior and his stoic silence and deemed him dangerous or uninviting, but the truth was Cannon was an observer. More perceptive than anyone I’d ever met. He could read a room, a person, a group, and know the mood. Know how to navigate out of it if need be. And he used that same skill set to hone in on my needs these past weeks, satisfying them and beyond, even if that was merely a hot bath and a quiet night.

Not that he’d take the hot bath with me.

No, that I was still working on.

Because while I wouldn’t push him, I wanted to prove to him that my intentions were real—I wanted him on every level. I had to earn his trust first. Had to show him nothing about it was a passing whim, a fantasy I wanted to play out. Cannon—though he’d never admit it—craved depth and truth and unflinching loyalty. I would prove to him that it wasn’t his perfect body or his bad-boy exterior that I hungered for, but him. The man he was and the happiness he brought to my life—for however long I was allowed to keep him.

Chatter continued around me, aimless and this side of haughty. I wondered how I’d ever managed these luncheons before, but figured it was mostly for Father’s benefit. He’d always urged me to maintain close relations with club members. Though, just because some of his best friends originated from here didn’t mean mine had to.

No, I had found myself friends with a much different group of people—people who laughed freely and loved deeply. People who were fiercely loyal and equally as kind.

My Reaper family. And after two years of being surrounded by that family, I was quickly realizing they were the ones I found myself needing to be around more and more.

An hour later, I happily walked to the parking lot, ready to drive to my meeting with Mr. Silas—partly because of my excitement to discuss a new venture and partly because I knew Cannon would be there.

Sweaty.

In hockey gear.

Sliding across the ice like a lightning strike.

“Sephie!”

I jolted at the sound of my name, so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard Michael behind me.

“Yes?” I asked, turning toward him as he approached my car.

“What was that back there?” He motioned toward the club.

“What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice, dipping his head slightly toward mine. “You were distracted. Downright rude to your friends who haven’t seen you—”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but someone has to tell you.” He raised his hands. “You’ve changed.”

A small smile played at the corners of my mouth.

“I mean, seriously, Sephie. What the hell?”

I raised my brows, clicking the unlock button on my car.

“We had a plan,” he continued. “And you up and married some…some piece of trash like that?”

“Careful,” I said with unnerving calm. “I adore my husband,” the truth of that statement filled my heart. “And I have no qualms about smacking that mouth into place when it rattles off insults like that.”

“We had a plan,” he repeated, totally ignoring my words.

“You had a plan,” I snapped. “I was never, not once, involved in that plan. Just you and your parents and your wild dreams. Well, if you knew me at all, you would know I’d never marry someone for money, let alone connections as old family friends.”

He gaped at me like I’d grown another head.

“And,” I continued, “if you knew me at all, you’d know I’d never laugh at the expense of others like that crap up there was.” I pointed toward the club. “And I’d never stand for you calling my husband trash.” I sucked my teeth, shaking my head. “We’re done here, Michael. I’ll kindly ask that you leave, or I’ll just have to run your ass over on my way out.”

I sank into my car and slammed the door, the force of which made him jump. I revved the engine, more than prepared to reverse if he didn’t get out of my way.

He did, though, because he was a bit smarter than he acted.

Thirty minutes later, I greeted Mr. Silas with open arms. “Silas,” I said as he tucked me gently into his side. He wore an all-black Armani suit today, the lone pop of color a blood-red silk handkerchief folded into a perfect triangle peeking out of his breast pocket. “Good to see you,” I said as he released me.

“And you,” he said, smiling down at me. It was shocking to me how identical his eyes were to his sister Harper’s—Nathan Noble’s fiancée and one of those newly formed friendships I’d been waxing poetic about earlier. The sharp angle of his jaw was dusted with a five o’clock shadow, his dark hair ruffled in a way that suggested he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. Handsome, powerful, and with endless connections and intelligence, this man should be the feared Reaper, not my Cannon.

My Cannon.

I smirked a bit at the claiming in my mind.

Though it was true. I should be weak in the knees for a man like Asher Silas, but nothing but true friendship rang between us. And yet, one brief instant in the arena hallway with Cannon Price and I sparked for no one else.

Silas settled himself into one of the many chairs situated around the table in our designated meeting room. “What do you have for me today?”

I grinned at his straight-to-business attitude, something I admired and appreciated when most people loved to talk and talk until the cows came home. I sat across from him, drawing the folder from my bag and sliding it toward him.

“I believe this charity should be this season’s focus.” I tapped the folder before he opened it. He leafed through the pages, nodding at some text, tilting his head at others.

“This looks solid,” he said after a few minutes. “Though, I wouldn’t expect any less from you. That’s why I hired you.”

“To which I’m eternally grateful,” I said, smiling at him. “Do you like the direction?”

“I do,” he said, but there seemed to be something left unsaid from the furrowed features of his face.

“But?”

He grinned. “I suppose I’m wondering what inspired you to choose this one. Beyond the statistics, that is. Clearly, I see the need in the numbers.”

I pursed my lips a bit. Silas was a friend, but he was also my boss, and technically Cannon’s as well. Though, I supposed a bit of truth wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Cannon,” I said, his name rolling off my tongue with an admiration I couldn’t hide.

“Ah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought so, but I wasn’t certain.”

“His story,” I said, swallowing a bit. “Touched me. Opened my eyes to the need of more successful women’s shelters, as well as accessibility. There are so many women who have been in domestically violent relationships for so long that once they have the courage to leave, they leave with absolutely nothing but hungry children in tow. We need to focus funding on expanding the shelters so there are fewer women turned away due to lack of space. And we need to up the security of the shelters too.”

Cannon’s story flooded my mind, my heart, my blood. If his mother had had access, more help, more confidence to get free…would he be here now? Would he be different?

Would you want him to be?

No. I adored him for who he was, but…the pain. I wouldn’t mind erasing that, despite my lack of ability to do so.

Silas tapped the table. “I agree completely, though I don’t know Cannon’s story.”

“He’s a private man.” Even I didn’t know all the details, and I was married to him.

“That he is.” Silas grinned. “Though, it makes a bit of sense now.”

“What does?”

“Why he donates so much of his earnings to particular charities.” He eyed the paperwork before him and noted the look of surprise on my face. “Private man,” he said. “But hard to be private about that when I’m the one who pays those earnings.”

“Indeed,” I said, my heart swelling just a bit more, though I wasn’t surprised one bit. Cannon needed little to satisfy his material needs, and he’d earned enough money for the rest of his life in his last contract.

“Well, as usual, I grant you full permissions. Just copy me on the specifics, yes?” Silas pushed back from the table, re-buttoning his suit jacket.

“Of course,” I said, standing too.

Silas glanced at his watch. “I’d wager they’re out of the locker room by now,” he said, and winked at me before exiting the room.

I may have walked with a bit more speed in the hopes of catching Cannon coming out of that locker room.

Freshly showered and in nothing but athletic pants, a tight T-shirt, and a massive gear bag thrown over his shoulder, the man looked like a wet dream.

“Hey, Princess,” he said as he greeted me in the hallway.

Sounded like a wet dream too.

Damn him.

“You want to ride home with me?” He reached his free hand toward me but dropped it before he could touch my face. A motion I was getting unnervingly used to.

“I’d love to,” I said. “But I drove here.” My shoulders dropped, and without any really good reason. I lived with the man. I’d see him at home.

“We’ll get your car in the morning when I bring you back,” he said, and jerked his head toward the exit. I fell into step beside him, an easy quiet settling between us.

“How’d the pickup game go?” I asked after he’d ensured I was secured into the passenger seat of his massive car.

He pulled onto the street with a grunt. “I was a few seconds slower than Connell today.”

“Seconds,” I gasped. “That bad?” I teased.

He growled from the driver’s seat but kept his eyes on the road.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, eying the length of his body as if I could answer the question by merely looking.

“No,” he said. “Top shape.”

“Then what’s with the slowness?”

He spared me a glance of shock, but that rough laugh escaped his lips, causing all kinds of delicious chills to tickle my skin. “Slowness, she says.” He shook his head.

“Well, you are the faster skater in the NHL.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

Another small laugh.

The car filled with a familiar quiet, the sweet weight of comfort draping around my shoulders. We’d settled into a rhythm I rather enjoyed, and it didn’t occur to me until today how beautiful our normal could be…if we’d let it. If he’d allow it.

And it wasn’t until he’d pulled into home that he finally admitted, “I was distracted.”

“By what?” I asked as I followed him into the house. I headed to the kitchen island as he dropped off his bag in the mudroom.

“Things,” he grumbled.

I pulled out the grilled chicken and veggie plates I’d prepped this morning and stuck them in the oven to heat them up.

“Care to share?” I asked, eying him as he took a seat at the island.

A debate raged in his eyes, one I knew could take hours, even days. That was Cannon…calculative, thoughtful—unless someone lit his fuse, then all bets were off. Except for me, I suppose. Because despite our ability to crash against each other in verbal waves of sass, he never once snapped on me.

We shared a quiet dinner, something we’d settled into the past weeks together, and he cleaned up while I got ready for bed. I didn’t push the subject, not when I knew Cannon had to come to me—like some wild feral jungle cat. If I pushed, he’d retreat so far I’d never see him again. Luckily for him, I had the patience of a saint.

I slipped into another one of Cannon’s shirts—this one a freshly washed Reaper shirt with his number on the back—and delighted in my newest nightly satisfaction, watching Cannon struggle with the sight.

“Damn you, Princess,” he growled from his spot in bed.

“What?” I asked innocently and spun around to show him the name scrawled across my back.

Another low growl.

I practically pranced to my side of the bed, alight with the game we’d been playing.

He grabbed the book off his nightstand, opening it to the page where we’d left off last night.

“You didn’t even want to take a gander at the book I brought home?” I teased.

He refused to look at me as I settled in next to him, close, but not close enough to touch.

“I saw it.”

“Did you find anything interesting in it?” My heart raced.

He gave me a good side-eye before returning focus to the book. “I didn’t find it funny if that’s what you mean.”

I gaped at him in faux shock. “Well, I would hope not. The Kama Sutra is no laughing matter.”

He laid the book against his chest, glaring at me.

I raised my hands. “I wouldn’t need a book if I had a teacher.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed before his tongue darted out to wet his lips. God, that little tick. It made heat pulse between my thighs.

“You don’t need a book, Princess.”

“Then you’ll do it?” I asked, breathless. “You’ll teach me?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head.

I pretended not to deflate, and instead nodded toward the book on his chest. “Where did we leave off?”

He scooped up the book, the breath rushing from his lungs like he was equally glad and disappointed I’d given up the fight.

Tomorrow I might push a little harder, but for now?

For now, I reveled in this.

The sound of his voice as he read from the pages of the book he’d decided to share with me. The feel of his warm body next to mine, the scent of him drenching the sheets and my skin despite not touching. I fell into this sweet, deep sense of happiness with Cannon beside me—something beyond lust, beyond forced proximity.

Happiness.

A true happiness I’d never experienced before, and I had Vegas and a mishap to thank for it, but damn I loved my new normal.