Ultimate.

No Limits.

Lori Foster.

CHAPTER ONE.

C oiled tight with tension, Cannon sat in the leather chair and faced the lawyer's desk with loaded impatience. From head to toe, his battered body ached, but at present his mind focused on less-physical issues. After finally landing back in the States, he'd planned to spend the day in the hot tub, and the night in bed-with enough female company to help him forget how close he'd come to losing his last fight.

Three days ago he'd taken on the biggest challenge of his career, his most publicized bout on the main card for the Supreme Battle Championship-in j.a.pan with a packed house and a lot of expectation from the organization.

Though he'd taken plenty of hits himself, he'd been beating his opponent on points...and then he'd f.u.c.ked up.

After catching a kick to the liver, he'd lost his air, bent double in excruciating pain, and was going down. Only pure instinct had helped him throw one last punch when his opponent had charged in for the kill.

That punch had landed dead center on the Pit Bull's gla.s.s jaw. Lights out.

He'd struggled to stand upright while the other man came back around, and the fight had ended with him as the winner. But d.a.m.n, it had been close, and being the winner didn't negate the hits and kicks he'd absorbed. He needed some R & R.

However, all his plans for taking it easy had gone awry when he'd gotten summoned back to Warfield, Ohio. It was a three-hour drive, and usually when he made the trip, he visited friends first thing.

This time, though, he waited around as a stuffy lawyer flipped through paperwork and a female a.s.sistant gave him the eye.

"Ah, here we are," the lawyer said, rattling his d.a.m.n papers and looking at Cannon over the top of his reading gla.s.ses. "I'm sorry for the delay. Since I had expected you yesterday, you've taken me off guard."

The rebuke was wasted on Cannon. "Like I said, I was out of the country." Shifting, he tried not to flinch from his many aches.

"j.a.pan, yes?"

Unwilling to encourage more chitchat, he gave a single nod.

Again sorting papers, the lawyer said, "You're a fighter? Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"The SBC?"

"Yeah." h.e.l.l, he had the fight club logo on his T-shirt. He sat forward, his forearms on his thighs. He had no idea what this was about, but he wanted to get to it. "Look, how much longer is this going to take?"

Frank Whitaker divided papers into three stacks. "I only need a moment to get organized."

Organized with what? Cannon knew this had something to do with Tipton Sweeny, a local p.a.w.nshop owner who'd recently pa.s.sed away. "If I hadn't been out of the country, I would have attended the funeral." And maybe seen Yvette, Tipton's granddaughter.

Just thinking about her stoked up his tension.

Without looking away from his papers, the fiftysomething, overweight lawyer said, "I'm sure everyone understands."

Cannon had only known Tipton as a local business owner, a staple in the community he loved. His granddaughter, Yvette, attended school with Cannon's sister. That was where any real relationship ended.

Except that Yvette had always flirted with him, he'd always avoided her...right up until the day he'd kissed her, the day he'd wanted to go on kissing her and more- after helping to rescue her from perverted thugs.

s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t.

He didn't want to think about that, about her. So much time had pa.s.sed, and still she had the ability to blow his composure.

How was she? Still in California apparently, or she'd be the one here dealing with...whatever had to be dealt with. "Didn't Tipton have other relatives?"

"Yes, I'm sure he did."

So how the h.e.l.l was Cannon involved?

Cannon watched the a.s.sistant glide in, leading with her big b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A wave of perfume drifted with her. She handed more doc.u.ments to the disorganized suit and then, smiling at Cannon, moved close enough to brush her thigh against his. Smiling down at him, she touched his knee. "Would you like a cola? Coffee?"

Trying not to be too obvious, he moved out of her reach. With women, he always stayed cool.

Except for that time with Yvette.

"Water would be nice. Thanks."

"Of course." She shifted her hand to his shoulder, stroked, felt his muscle beneath the soft cotton of his faded T-shirt and then trailed off. "I'll get it right now."

Being a guy, and therefore not immune to a comeon, Cannon looked her over more closely as she left. She had one of those supercurvy figures that got enhanced with a cinched suit, skirt and soft blouse. High-heeled pumps showed off her s.e.xy calves. Big b.r.e.a.s.t.s, full hips, twisted-up pale blond hair. She wore her s.e.xuality out there, almost bludgeoning him with her interest, her sly looks and the occasional lick of her shiny red lips.

Women hit on him, no big deal. But never in a lawyer's office under these circ.u.mstances.

Was she doing the lawyer? Were her blatant comeons to make Whitaker jealous? Cannon eyed the older man, wondering if he'd even noticed the dozen different ways his a.s.sistant had already made her interest known.

Not that he was cynical or anything. And not that he was biting.

At least...he didn't think he was. Still, when she came back in and leaned down farther than necessary to hand him the gla.s.s of ice water and napkin, Cannon went ahead and checked out her cleavage. Her skin looked soft, but that overpowering perfume a.s.saulted his nostrils until he looked away.

The lawyer stacked his papers and took off his gla.s.ses. "Thank you, Mindi. I'll let you know if we need anything else."

Accepting the abrupt dismissal, she nodded. "I'll be at my desk." Behind the lawyer, Mindi paused in the doorway, made a show of looking Cannon over from shoulders to knees, her sultry gaze lingering on his crotch. She gave another slow lick of her lips and...yeah, okay, he was maybe a little interested.

h.e.l.l, he'd been so involved in training, traveling for the fight and then the fight itself, he'd suffered selfimposed celibacy for too long.

But for right now, Cannon gave his full attention back to Whitaker. What could the man possibly need from him that took so d.a.m.n many papers and notes?

Finally, somber in his preparedness, the lawyer folded his hands together and stared directly at Cannon. "You have inherited property and funds from Mr. Sweeny."

Whoa. A surge of fear brought Cannon forward. His heart thumped heavily in his chest. "Did something happen to Yvette?"

Bushy brows coming together, the lawyer slid his gla.s.ses back on, sifted through the G.o.dd.a.m.ned papers and shook his head. "You're talking about Ms. Sweeny, the granddaughter?"

"Yes."

"She has inherited, as well."

Relief sent oxygen back into his lungs. Jesus. Cannon pinched the bridge of his bruised nose, annoyed by his over-the-top reaction. But then, with Yvette, it had always been that way.

The lawyer went on. "And in fact, Mr. Sweeny has evenly divided his a.s.sets between the two of you."

No way. "Between Yvette and me?"

"Yes."

Blank, Cannon sat on the edge of his seat and tried to sort it out-without success. "I don't get it. Why would he do that?"

"He left you a letter." The lawyer handed over an envelope. "I trust it will explain what I can't. But what I can explain is that Mr. Sweeny came to me three years ago with very detailed instructions on the distribution of his a.s.sets in the event of his demise. He revisited once a year to amend and further clarify as his financial status fluctuated. I saw him for the last time two months ago when his health started to decline."

"He had a stroke?"

The lawyer nodded, hesitated, then again folded his hands on the desk and dropped the officious att.i.tude. "Tipton had become a friend. He was alone and I'd just lost my wife... ." Whitaker shrugged.

"I'm sorry."

He tilted his chin to acknowledge that. "Tipton's blood pressure was high and he knew he wasn't well. He seemed to dismiss the first stroke, but the next was worse and the third worse still. That's when he finally closed up the p.a.w.nshop."

So he hadn't closed up shop three years ago, after the vicious attacks, as Cannon had always a.s.sumed.

"He was being treated, seeing the specialist on a regular basis, but he figured it was only a matter of time... ."

Seeing the sadness on the lawyer's face sent guilt clawing through Cannon. d.a.m.n it, he should have gone to visit Tipton more. He'd known about the first stroke, but not the two after that-and then he'd been in j.a.pan when Tipton's body gave up the fight. "Yvette was with him?"

Shaking his head, Whitaker said, "He didn't want to burden her." A measure of easiness showed on his face as he collected his thoughts. "I gather all of you shared an experience. Tipton never shared the details, but I a.s.sume it was something life altering?" He didn't wait for Cannon to give details. "His granddaughter moved away because of it and Tipton didn't want a sense of responsibility to bring her back, not, he said, when he knew her trips home were still difficult for her. He wanted her to return on her own terms, not out of a sense of obligation."

Bombarded with uncomfortable emotions, Cannon got up to pace the small office. Yeah, he imagined Yvette struggled anytime she had to be in town. No girl should ever have to suffer what she had. There were times when the memory of it hit him like a wild haymaker, leaving him dazed, angry, in a cold sweat.

And he wasn't the one who'd been threatened in the worst possible way.

Remembering softened his voice. "She didn't know Tipton was sick?"

"Like you, she knew of the first stroke. But Tipton felt strongly about carrying his burden alone." Chagrined, the lawyer shook his head and said, "No, I'm afraid that's not precise. He wanted you to share his burden. He said you could handle it." The lawyer gestured at the letter. "It's in there."

A burden? More confused than ever, Cannon tapped the letter to his thigh. "So what are the rest of those papers?"

"Deeds, bank statements, debts to be paid, retirement funds." He shook two sets of keys out of a padded envelope. "Responsibilities."

Chewing his upper lip, Cannon stared at the papers- and had the G.o.d-awful urge to hand back the letter. His plate was full, and then some. He could handle it, that wasn't the problem.

It was Yvette.

Could he handle her, the way she affected him?

More to the point, could he resist her now if she needed him? Just thinking about her, hearing her name, had his muscles tightening in that familiar way. "You said deeds?"

"One for the house, one for the business."

"The p.a.w.nshop?"

"Yes."

"The last I'd heard," Cannon admitted, "he was going to sell it." After what had happened, he'd expected Tipton to sell the house as well, but he'd stayed put.

"No. He continued to work until the health issues forced him to retire. Said it was cathartic for him to stay busy. He also redecorated the house." The lawyer shrugged. "It was home to him."

Home. Cannon nodded in understanding. His mother had felt the same, refusing to budge from her house, the neighborhood, even after they'd lost his dad to extortionists.

Her insistence on staying put was Cannon's number one reason for learning to fight. He'd lost his dad, so he had been determined to protect his mother and sister. And he had-until his mother had pa.s.sed away with cancer. Now it was just him and his sister, and...whatever it was Tipton had embroiled him in.

More than a little intrigued, Cannon asked, "So now what?"

"You sign a few papers and take ownership alongside Ms. Sweeny. Fifty-fifty. The two of you can decide to stay put, sell or one can buy out the other."

Cannon shook his head. "Have you seen Yvette?" He couldn't imagine her wanting the house, but even if she did, where would she get the funds? She'd be...twenty-three now. Still young for such responsibilities.

But finally old enough...for him.

"She was in yesterday."

Had Yvette expected him to be there, as well? Looked forward to it?

Or maybe dreaded it?

He hated the thought that seeing him might dredge up a past better forgotten.

Whitaker turned the papers, placed an ink pen on top and pushed them toward Cannon. "If you wouldn't mind?"

He wasn't about to sign anything until he'd read it all and figured it out.

The lawyer sighed, pushed back his chair and stood. "Read Tipton's letter. I'm sure it'll all make sense then."

"You know what's in it?"

Whitaker looked away. "No, of course I don't. Tipton gave it to me sealed."

Suspicions rose.

Clearing his throat, the lawyer met his gaze. "I know...knew Tipton. He had a strong mind right up to the end. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted."

And he wanted something from Cannon.