Cannon (Carolina Reapers 5)

“Why did you make rule number five?” I whispered into the dark.

“You’re a virgin,” he whispered back.

“You didn’t know that,” I countered. “You came to my house with a list of rules you’d already made. Why that one?”

“Persephone,” he groaned, and the use of my name instead of Princess had my toes curling.

“Because you’ve never…wanted me?”

“I’m pretty sure I answered that in your father’s study.”

Another breath, another stuttered beat of my heart. “Because I’m not your type?”

“No.”

His answers were so sharp, but I liked the sting.

“Because you think you’d break me?”

He loosed a breath and dared to breach that distance between us, just enough to graze a fingertip along the line of my jaw. I arched into that feather-light touch, aching for more.

Cannon drew his hand back and tucked it under his pillow. He closed his eyes then, his breathing evening out so much I was sure he’d fallen asleep. I turned over to my back, unable to gather enough courage to touch him in return.

“Because I’d ruin you,” he whispered just as the heavy blanket of sleep fell over me, his words settling between us like an anchor in a stormy sea.

7

Cannon

How the fuck did I wind up here?

“Hmmm. Okay, I think that should do it,” the tailor said as he removed his tape measure from the area of my junk, and got off the little dais he had me standing on. “We’re definitely going to have to let out an inch here at the inseam.”

“Sounds good.” No one liked having their cock strangled by their obnoxious dress clothes.

“If you’ll wait here, Mr. Price, we have the vest in the back.” The man took his flirty little assistant and headed for the back of the shop.

I wasn’t against custom-tailored suits. I owned a shit ton of them. My objection stemmed from the fact that my mother-in-law, as fake as that title was, currently occupied the fancy-ass couch behind me.

“Cannon, dear, do you have a preference between the notched lapel or the peak?” Mrs. VanDoren asked as she flipped through the tailor’s book of options.

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” I replied.

“Hmmm…” Her brow crinkled as she flipped between two pages. She reminded me so much of Persephone. She had the same willowy, petite frame and blue eyes, but she kept her silver-streaked blonde hair up in a French twist. The woman was classic, but even better, she was kind. “I think the notched will look better with those broad shoulders of yours.” She held the book up as if she could picture me in it.

“What are we discussing?” Andromeda flounced into the fitting area, flipping her gold-blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, hello, darling. Why don’t you sit next to me?” Mrs. VanDoren patted the seat next to her.

“Hi there, Cannon. Don’t you look dashing in a tux.” She gave me an appraising look that made my skin crawl. I’d seen that look far too many times on the faces of women who saw me as a challenge. They wanted to climb Mt. Everest once in their lifetime, but it wasn’t like they wanted to set up a home at altitude or anything.

“Thanks, Anne.” She’d demanded I use the nickname on her second day in my home. We were going on day eight, and she had both Persephone and me on edge with her constant whining and demands.

How the hell had such a graceful, dignified woman like Mrs. VanDoren raised such different daughters? Then again, how could a woman with such life in her eyes be terminally ill?

Anne plopped down next to her mother and looked over at the book. “Such good options. You know, from what Sephie has told me, you’re not really a fan of tuxes.”

“I’m not a fan of anything tight around my neck,” I answered, glad that the tailor had given me an extra half inch at my collar when I’d asked for it.

“And you’re still willing to wear a tux for the wedding?” Mrs. VanDoren asked with concern in her eyes.

“It’s what Persephone wants,” I answered simply. If the woman asked me to show up wearing a G-string and pasties, I’d probably do it just to see her smile. She was so sad lately. Frustrated with her sister’s overwhelming presence and the doctor’s inability to find her mother a donor. I found myself joining her in that department.

“You two are going to have such a beautiful life together,” Mrs. VanDoren remarked with a little sigh. “I’m so glad you’re letting me do this—plan this little affair. It means so much to me to see my little Sephie walk down the aisle.” She smiled up at me with a slight tremble. “Now if she’d just make time to get to the tux fitting,” she teased.

“She said she’d make it if she could. Persephone is an incredibly busy woman,” I replied with a nod as the tailor came back in. “She loves her career and does a lot of good around Charleston with the foundation.”