Page 11 of His Possession

“This isn’t about living your life, it’s about controlling it,” Rory said, his voice low and intimate. “It’s about protecting what’s yours. What you’ve built. And whether or not you want to admit it, you’re stronger with me in your corner than without me.”

Maeve’s breath hitched, her gaze locked on his. For a moment, he thought she might push him away, might tell him to leave and never come back. But then her lips parted, as if she were about to say something—something that never came.

Instead, she stepped back, putting space between them once more. “You don’t know me, McMahon,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

He let her retreat, though every instinct in him wanted to pull her closer. “Then let me get to know you,” he said simply.

The words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. Maeve turned away, her back to him as she gripped the edge of the workbench. Rory watched her for a moment longer before stepping back, the energy still thrumming in his veins.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he said as he headed for the door. “Think about what I’ve said.”

Maeve didn’t answer, and Rory didn’t press her. But as he left the studio, his mind was already racing with what needed to come next. She was stubborn, fierce, and independent to a fault, but he knew she wasn’t invincible. And if Michael O’Connell came looking, Rory would be ready.

That night, alone in his penthouse, the day settled heavily on Rory’s shoulders. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the burn doing little to quiet the restless energy coursing through him. His thoughts returned to Maeve, to the fire in her eyes and the steel in her voice. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met, and that was exactly why she consumed him.

He closed his eyes, the glass still in his hand, as images of her filled his mind. Her defiance, her vulnerability, the way she challenged him at every turn. His panther roared to life, its primal hunger tearing through his control. In the privacy of his own mind, he let himself indulge the fantasies he’d kept at bay.

He imagined her surrender—not broken, but willing, her strength meeting his in perfect balance. The thought of her body against his, her breath mingling with his as they pushed each other to the edge, was enough to make his pulse race. He could almost feel her beneath him, her nails dragging down his back as she gave herself over to him completely.

Rory’s grip tightened on the glass, his breathing uneven as the fantasy spiraled further. But even in his most vivid imaginings, one thing remained constant: Maeve was never histo own. She was a wildfire, untamed and unyielding, and he didn’t want to extinguish her. He wanted to burn the world down with her.

He opened his eyes, the tension in his body refusing to fade. Rory knew he would face her again. He would find a way to convince her she was stronger with him by her side. And if that didn’t work, he’d take what was his.

But tonight, as the city stretched out before him, all Rory could think about was the woman who had already set his world on fire.

CHAPTER 5

MAEVE

The glittering lights of the gala cast a warm glow over the grand ballroom, illuminating the sea of sharp suits and elegant gowns. Laughter and the clink of champagne glasses filled the air, but Maeve could feel the undercurrent of something darker beneath the polished façade. Her cougar instincts bristled, sensing the predators hidden in plain sight.

She adjusted the strap of her midnight-blue dress, the silky fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. Sabella had insisted she wear it, calling it ‘the perfect combination of alluring and untouchable.’ Maeve wasn’t sure she succeeded at the latter. Not tonight. Not here.

The most powerful citizens of Galway filled the room, and, rightly or wrongly, they counted Rory McMahon among them. Power radiated from the crowd—the kind that came from old money, ruthless ambition, and blood spilled in darkened alleys. It wasn’t the first time Maeve had been in a room like this, but tonight, it felt suffocating. The walls seemed to close in on her with every step she took, every polite smile she forced.

Sabella’s gallery had become a sensation practically overnight, and everyone here knew it. Buyers, investors, andcritics alike had flocked to Galway to be here, their attention to her sculptures flattering but laced with ulterior motives. She should have felt triumphant. Instead, a feeling of being trapped overwhelmed her.

Her gaze darted across the room, searching for McMahon. She hadn’t seen him since she arrived, but his presence was everywhere. The way people spoke in hushed tones, their eyes flicking toward the staircase as if expecting him to descend at any moment. He wasn’t just the host of this event—he was its center of gravity, pulling everyone into his orbit.

Maeve’s fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute as she took a steadying breath. She needed to keep her head clear, to remember why she was here. McMahon’s protection had catapulted her career and that of the gallery, but it came at a cost. Her sculptures weren’t entirely hers anymore, and every whispered word about her connection to McMahon and the O’Neill Syndicate felt like another link in the chain wrapping around her—ever tighter.

“Enjoying the party?”

The deep, smooth voice sent a shiver down her spine. Maeve turned, her heart skipping as she found herself face-to-face with McMahon. He stood just inches away, his dark eyes sweeping over her like a touch. His tailored suit was black as midnight, his presence commanding without effort.

“I was,” Maeve replied, her voice steady despite the way her pulse quickened. “Until now.”

McMahon’s lips curved slightly—not a smile, but something quieter, more dangerous. “Careful, Maeve. People might think you don’t appreciate all I’ve done for you and your friend.”

Her jaw tightened, her chin lifting as she met his gaze. “As I recall, I didn’t ask, nor did I want, your patronage. Is that why I’m here? To show my appreciation?”

“You’re here,” McMahon said, his voice low, “because this is your world now. Whether or not you like it.”

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding. Maeve felt the heat of his presence, the pull of his dominance wrapping around her like a velvet rope. It was infuriating, how effortlessly he could unsettle her.

“I never asked for this,” she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

“No,” McMahon replied, his gaze never wavering. “But you earned it.”

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