“Let’s talk about you sleeping in my bed tonight. Will you be naked? Thinking of me? Better yet…” his voice deepened, “…touch yourself and think of me?” He dragged in a breath. “I’m going to fantasize about that tonight.”
Her pulse jumped. Heat bloomed in her chest and spread through her. “That’s your fantasy?”
“Oh yeah. One of them. Coming home after a trip, walking in my room and finding you on my bed, nude and masturbating. I’d make you finish while I watched. Would you do it for me?”
Blood thrummed in her head. That scenario turned her on, surprising her. “Yes.” What would it feel like to have his eyes on her, watching? But she knew—he always made her feel sexy and safe.
Ready to let go.
All you have to do is ask. You do that, and I’ll assume control and take care of you. But only when you’re ready. Sloane’s words from the limo released a flutter of tiny wings in her belly. All she had to do was ask. “Sloane?”
“Yeah?”
Excitement, nerves and fear tangled and quivered in her. Part of her wanted to chicken out. But a bigger portion was tired of living careful, worried about who she should be instead of who she could be. Her mouth was so dry, she went to the fridge and grabbed a water.
The phone hummed with patience in her ear.
“I want to let go with you.” After taking a drink of her water, she set the bottle down. “Will you spank me? I mean sex spanking.” She stared at the dark veins running through the granite countertop. Wished he was there now to touch her, to make it okay to want this.
He sucked in a harsh breath. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me you want it. I’m going to show you how fucking hot it’ll be when you’re naked and at my mercy. You’re going to put yourself in my hands and submit, letting me take care of you.” He made a noise that traveled across the line and sank into her chest. “I will take care of you. All you’ll have to do is let go. Trust me,” he said softly.
“I do.”
Chapter Ten
As soon as Sloane opened the door to his house on Friday evening, he recognized the sounds coming from the big-screen TV in his family room. Sloane’s last championship fight.
After dropping his suitcase, he went to the fridge and snagged a cold beer. Downing a quarter of the bottle, he glanced at the screen.
It was the younger, rougher version of him. Wearing only shorts, his muscles rippling as the ref held his hand high in the air, Sloane “Vengeance” Michaels won his third and final heavyweight championship.
When the cameras zoomed in for a close-up, Sloane’s eyes burned a golden fire of retribution.
A sense of tired nostalgia twisted through him. At a time when he should have embraced the moment, celebrated, all he’d been thinking was that he was one step closer to his ultimate goal.
Revenge.
The screen froze.
Sloane shifted his attention to Drake sitting in the recliner flanking his sofa. What was his game? Showing Sloane that he’d been a fighter not a killer? “Don’t start.”
“Sometimes it’s not about you.”
Drake looked like hell. His eyes were sunken, and his shoulder blades stood out as an obscene reminder that cancer was winning this fight. Sloane rotated his head, trying to ease the stress in his neck and the agony eating his spine at the thought of losing Drake. He walked to the coffee table, dropped his ass down and rested his elbows on his thighs. His knees brushed Drake’s. “Tell me.”
Vulnerability like he’d never seen before swam in Drake’s blue eyes. “Had some stomach trouble.”
Sloane had held Drake as he’d puked up his guts a few times. Hauled his too-skinny ass into the shower a few more times. He knew it happened. “Where the hell is your nurse?”
A smile teased his lips. “Your girl and Sherry didn’t like the way she was doing her job, fired her and the agency that sent her. They’ve been taking turns along with Kellen, helping me out.”
Sloane damn near dropped his beer. “My girl?”
A soft expression chased out the shadows. “Kat. She’s been altering some of her muffin recipes, trying to find something I can hold down. Her friend Kellen has been making shakes and doing massages to ease some pain.”
Sloane opened his mouth. Then shut it. Christ, all this happened while he was gone?
“Speechless?”
He tried to gather his wits. “Why’d they fire the nurse?”
His eyes cut to the left. “I got sick after dinner Wednesday night and didn’t make it to the bathroom. The nurse said handling that wasn’t her job. I thought Sherry was the one with the temper? Holy shitballs, Sloane, Kat’s fierce when she’s angry.”
His thoughts boiled violently. His chest burned with the reality that Drake was getting sicker and with fury that the nurse had treated him that way. Added to that was frustration that he’d wanted Kat to come over, hang out and have fun, not end up taking care of Drake. Sherry had told him that she and Kat were really hitting it off, and she thought they could be friends.
But the worst part? Sloane should have been here. Ethan was strong enough to lift Drake, and the kid would shower the man off without flinching. But it should have been Sloane. Laying his hand on Drake’s bony leg, he said, “I’m done traveling for now. I’ll be here.” No matter how fucked up it was to have to watch the man who was like a father to him dying by inches.
Drake turned off the TV and leveled his gaze on Sloane. “What happened in Brazil? You trained with Marcus?”
Sloane drained his beer. “Yes.” Marcus was one of the best Brazilian jujitsu martial artists in the world.
“Your rear naked chokehold?”
“Lion ready.” Sloane was that good—he could kill a lion with the hold. He knew it, his trainers new it, but the public did not. Sloane had carefully crafted his image as staying in shape to be more camera ready than cage ready. Cradling the empty beer bottle between his thighs, he said, “Got a little close to the edge with one sparring partner.”
“You put him to sleep?”
“So fast, he didn’t tap.” He paid a hell of a lot of money to train with a partner competent enough to recognize when they were in danger. “He was supposed to be trained. He should have tapped.” The memory of his opponent going limp in Sloane’s hold still ate at his guts. That was one of the reasons he’d trained to react so fast to tapping—seconds mattered in a chokehold.
Realizing he’d been staring at the floor, he looked up and got hit with Drake’s knowing expression. Sloane could read the man like a book. “It’s not the same thing.” Killing his sparring partner would have been an accident that would have sickened Sloane.
Drake raised his brows. “What’s that?”
Setting the beer bottle aside, he forced ice into his veins. “Lee Foster deserves to die.”
“He does. What he did to Sara…I should have killed him myself. But I didn’t.” Drake leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I tried to do the right thing that day. It was bad enough Sara was killed. I didn’t want your life destroyed too.”
“You wanted to kill Foster?” In all these years, Drake had never said that.
Drake opened his eyes, the old steely fire burning in their depths. “On the spot. But I’d been down that road, son, and it’s a hellish one. Instead, I tried to give you another path.” His fingers tightened around the remote. “But if I couldn’t keep you from your plan, then I was going to kill Foster first before you could.”
That smashed into him like a train. Sloane jackknifed to his feet and stared down at the man, trying to process the words. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.”
No, that was insane. “Sara was my sister. I wasn’t there when I should have been, I owe her this.” He’d held her body to him, swearing he would get vengeance for her. He couldn’t break that promise to her. If he did, then he was just like his mother. Worse than his mother.
Drake nodded slowly. “I know that’s what you believe.”
Sloane looked out the wall of windows into the dark barren night. If he could see his own soul, that’s what it would look like—dark and empty.
Enough of this. “I’m taking a shower, then I’ll get you something to eat.” He started toward the stairs.
“Want to know why I was watching your fight when you came in?”
He paused. “Why?”
“You’re like a son to me. I was never going to let you kill Foster. I was always going to get in that cage and do it for you. Always. But now I don’t even know if I’ll still be breathing when you face Foster and make your choice.”
Brutal reality gripped Sloane by the throat. The once huge and winning fighter was losing the biggest battle of his life. The man didn’t deserve to suffer a vicious disease that took away everything he had, his dreams, his hope, his dignity—took everything from him, even his breath. Drake had made one mistake, yeah, but he’d spent decades since then caring for kids no one else did. Ugly grief and helpless rage twisted Sloane’s guts.
“I watched your old fights, looking at the man I came to love as a son, the man I’m going to fail when he needs me the most.”
He had no words. Nothing. It just fucking hurt. He’d never known Drake felt that way.
A son.
Him?
Drake picked up the remote and turned the TV on. The roar of the crowd surged from the surround-sound speakers as Sloane was declared a three-time champion.
So why was it that Sloane felt like anything but?
* * *
After his shower, Sloane was striding barefoot through his living room when he heard his front door open. He swung left and stopped. “Kat.”
She stepped in, laden with two grocery bags and froze. “Sloane, oh. Sorry.” Color darkened the delicate skin across her cheekbones. “I thought you weren’t getting home until later tonight.”
He took the bags from her. “What’s in here?” He glanced in one bag and saw a couple rotisserie chickens, deli containers and a bottle of ginger ale. “You bought all this?”
“I thought I’d see if Drake could hold down a little rice with some white meat chicken in it.” She was so tense, her lips were almost white.
“What’s wrong? Is your leg hurting?”
“No more than usual. I just… God, I walked right into your house. I swear I thought you weren’t coming home until around midnight, and I didn’t want Drake to get up if he was comfortable. Sherry, with Diego’s help, has hired some new nurses that are starting tomorrow. I was just going to sit with Drake since Ethan would be busy getting you. But you’re here so I can leave. Uh, how was your trip?”
She was babbling, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. Her hair flowed down around her shoulders, those delicate pink streaks standing out against the brown, and her face was scrubbed clean. She smelled of soap and that luscious scent of Kat, his baker girl. Hell, just the sound of her voice soothed his ravaged guts. Sloane set the bags on the side table in his foyer, then pulled Kat into his arms.
She fit. Her softness sank into him. Christ he’d missed her. Tugging her head back, he got lost in her eyes. “You walking into my house? Best damn thing that’s happened to me all week. Don’t leave.” He needed her. Needed this.
“I’ll stay.” Her voice softened into the sweet and sexy kitten he was coming to know so well.
Unable to resist, he lifted her to his mouth, hungry to taste her, to fill the bitter despair with Kat.
She folded her arms around him, her fingers burying in his damp hair as she pulled his mouth closer. In seconds, the kiss heated and flamed. Sloane wanted nothing more than to carry her up to his room and shut out the world.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Breaking their kiss, he smiled at her. “Let’s go put this dinner together.” He grabbed the bags and followed Kat into his kitchen. She had on some ass-hugging jeans.
Which made him remember their conversation a couple days ago. He fought down a groan. She had asked him to spank her.
Jesus, don’t think about it. Or he was going to have a massive boner. Damn, how could he not think about it? Kat trusted him, and her trust didn’t come easy.
Setting the bags on the counter, he glanced over to see Kat perched on the arm of Drake’s chair. She put her hand on the older man’s arm. “How do you feel about cherry popsicles?”
His eyes lit up. “You bought some?”
“Yep. If you try a few bites of some rice with chicken in it, they’re all yours.”
Drake leaned slightly to make a face at Sloane. “Hear her? The popsicles are mine.”
“What are you, five?” Sloane stuck the promised treats in the freezer.
“I’m the man who can kick your ass if you touch my popsicles.”
“Bring it, Vaughn.” Hell, what all did Kat buy? Crackers, bananas, some dried noodles that just needed hot water, all kinds of stuff.
“I would, but I don’t want to embarrass you by making you cry in front of your girl.”
Kat shook her head. “Keep calling me his girl and you will make him cry.” She came into the kitchen and pulled yet another item from the grocery bag. “You okay with paper plates?”
He frowned at the package of plates in her hand. “You bought out the whole damn store.”
Kat paused mid-step. “What are you cranky about all of a sudden? That your-girl comment was a joke.”
Yeah, that’s it. She did something nice, something so damned Kat-like, and you’re sniping at her. He closed the distance between them, cupping her head with his hands. “Sorry, what I meant was thank you, Kitten.” He kissed her. “Go sit down. I’ll put the food out on the coffee table. Do you want wine? Soda? A beer?”
“Water. I’ll get—”
“Go sit and get off that leg. I’ve got this.” She’d worked all day, her leg had to hurt.
“Come on, Kat,” Drake called out. “Tell me how your taping went today.”
Settling onto the couch, Kat twisted to face the older man. “We finished with the footage. Just need some voice-overs, and I have to decide on the pictures.”
Sloane set out chicken, rice, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, fruit and rolls. “The pictures on the flash drive Dickhead brought to you?” He handed her a bottle of water.
Her mouth thinned. “Yeah.”
Sloane sank down next to her with his plate of food. “Have you looked at them?”
Poking at a piece of melon with her fork, she shook her head.
Sloane covered her hand. “Forget the pictures. Did you know John offered Kellen the job?”
She lifted her head, her eyes shining. “He’s so excited, so proud. And Diego is beaming. And oh my God, his folks! They took him and Diego out to dinner tonight to celebrate.”
Had they invited Kat and she’d felt she had to come stay with Drake? Or had they excluded her when she and Kellen were so close? He almost asked, but let it go. She was happy for Kellen. Sloane’s chest swelled knowing he had a small part in that. He hadn’t done it for that reason, but making her happy was a hell of a bonus.
Kat kicked off her shoes and dug into her food. Between bites, she asked him, “How was your trip? You never really said when we talked on the phone.”
“Fine. Working on the paperwork to bring a Brazilian fighter to the U.S. We’re thinking of expanding SLAM gyms into South America.” Hungrier than he thought, he grabbed more chicken.
“Opening a business in another country, that’s complicated.”
“So the lawyers and accountants tell me. The red tape alone keeps them up nights.”
An hour later, Sloane was surprised to see it was past nine. He had Kat’s legs over his lap, massaging both of them but concentrating on her right one. She actually groaned when he worked the tense muscles. His cock twitched hard at that sound. It was too close to the noises she made in bed right before she came apart for him. Forcing his gaze to the dumbass dance show on TV, he said, “Only good thing about this show are the women’s costumes.”
Kat flashed him
a grin. “Poor sport. You were outvoted, accept it.”
“You bribed Drake with cherry popsicles to get his vote. That’s cheating.” Sloane glanced over to the recliner. “He’s asleep.”
“That’s good.” Kat laid her hand over his where it rested on her leg. “He ate a little rice and chicken. And half a popsicle. It seems to be staying down.”
She had coaxed, teased and blackmailed Drake into eating small bites over an hour or so. Watching that had made Sloane’s chest ache with bittersweet warmth. His girl, as Drake had called her, had a kindness backed up with steel that took his breath away. “You’ve done so much for him. I’d never have asked this of you.”
“I like him. This wasn’t a hardship, he’s an interesting man.” Fury colored her face. “Besides, the nurse you hired was a bitch. She tried to make him clean up when he got sick. Accused him of getting too excited with two pretty girls around and not listening to her. Made it sound like he was some kind of degenerate scumbag.” Kat’s voice was whisper soft, but her legs tensed with clear rage.
“I didn’t hire her—the agency Sherry hired sent her. However, I’m going to make sure she never works again as a private nurse.” First thing tomorrow morning.
“Good.”
Surprised, he leaned back a little, studying her face. “Hmm. I thought you’d object to me destroying her career.”
“She deserves it. Drake was having a little bit of fun. Enjoying himself. For a few minutes, he was able to forget he was sick, forget the pain that is his constant companion, and she had the nerve to berate him? She needs a new career, preferably in a cubicle pushing paper all day.”
Her empathy wasn’t that surprising given what she’d endured. “Is that what it was like for you when you were hurt?”
She shook her head. “No. I knew I was going to recover, so that’s very different. And no one was mean to me. Not like that.”
“What Dickhead did to you was worse, Kat.” Sloane glanced at Drake slumped over in the chair, his mouth open, snoring softly. He lifted Kat and pulled her onto his lap. “He lied to you when you were the most vulnerable.” He’d done research on Kat’s injury. For at least six weeks, she’d have been unable to touch her foot to the ground for fear of collapsing the bone. She’d been dependent on others for everything.
Possession (The Plus One Chronicles) Page 10
