Possession by Jennifer Lyon

of rigorous workout.
    Did she even want to know what would get him back in the cage?
    * * *
    Sloane shrugged out of his coat and jerked off his tie as he stood by the limo, working to contain the pent-up energy ripping through his veins. All night, he’d capped his drive for vengeance beneath his game face. After years of training, planning, living for this, the plan was clicking into place. Lee Foster would get into the cage.
    And Sloane would be waiting. Only a few more weeks.
    In an instant, the last dozen years burned away, and Sloane vividly recalled that motherfucker running from the house. And then the scene switched and he saw Sara crumpled on the bedroom floor, naked and lifeless…
    No. Sloane shut down the memory, slid in next to Kat and tossed his coat and tie on the seat across from them. Her bakery-warm scent permeated the space, and that dress inched up her left thigh. His mouth dried and his blood pounded. After telling Ethan they’d be going to Kat’s condo, he raised the privacy screen.
    She sat back against the taupe seat. “You seem edgy all of a sudden.”
    “You have no idea.” He opened the mini fridge and poured a glass of crisp white wine.
    “Want to talk?”
    “No.” He wanted to fuck. Needed to. Get control, asshole. Kat had been pushed around enough in her life, he could control himself enough to seduce her a bit. “You’re what I need.” He set the glass aside and lifted her into his lap.
    She glanced at the privacy screen. “Your driver.”
    “Ethan can’t hear or see us.” Draping her across his thighs, he checked to make sure her right leg rested comfortably. Her blue-green eyes were edged with a touch of stormy gray. Worry? Anxiety? “I told you, baker girl, I don’t share. Especially you.”
    Touching the side of his mouth, she said, “Your scar whitens when you’re on edge. For some reason, tonight was hard for you. I don’t understand why, but it was.”
    The soft stroke rippled right to his cock. But the physical sensation paled compared to the punch of emotion to his chest. She saw him. All night, whenever the cold pit of rage, hatred and guilt tried to suck him in, Kat had been there. She teased him, smiled at him, or just touched him. She had worried that she would fail him with something as trivial as tripping, not realizing that tonight she’d held his personal purgatory at bay.
    Just as she was now.
    Adrenaline surged, carving a ferocious need to claim her in the most primal way. So deep and hard, he’d imprint himself on her forever.
    He couldn’t have her forever, but he’d make damn sure she didn’t forget him. This was all he could give her.
    To distract her from his scar and edginess, he scooped up the wineglass. “Have some wine.”
    Her gaze fell to the glass, and she lifted a hand toward it.
    “No. This way.” He brought the glass to his lips and tilted it. Then he replaced the glass in a holder and lowered his head.
    Kat’s eyes dilated. Her lips parted. When he got close enough, she licked the seam of his lips, a warm wet swipe that shot to his groin in a pleasure shock wave.
    Sloane cradled her to him and fed her the wine, letting her drink from him. Sharing the wine with her ignited his greed to have more of her. His chest ached with it.
    He penetrated her mouth with his tongue, tasting the last drops of the chardonnay and Kat. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
    Need pounded down his spine. Too frayed to be careful, he broke the kiss. “Pull your dress up. I don’t want to rip it.” And he would.
    She reached down, shimmying the dress up, revealing her long, toned legs all the way up to the tops of her thighs.
    He dug his fingers into his palms to keep from touching her. Yet. “Higher. Show me what panties you’re wearing.”
    Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she tugged the dress higher, exposing the delicate scrap of blush-colored fabric snug against her mound with tiny little straps riding in a curve over her hips.
    His blood