Page 15 of His Possession

Rory’s gaze darkened, the storm inside him threatening to break loose. “And you’re sure?”

Cormac nodded. “We have surveillance. Photos, audio. It’s him.”

Rory didn’t need to see the evidence. Cormac wouldn’t have brought this to him unless it was airtight. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think rationally. David Foster had made his choice, and now he’d have to face the consequences.

“Handle it,” Rory said, his voice cold. “Quietly.”

Cormac gave a curt nod, draining the rest of his whiskey before standing. “What about Maeve? If Michael’s getting closer, we need to decide how to proceed.”

Rory leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he laced his fingers together. “Maeve doesn’t need to know. Not yet. But double the security surrounding her. I don’t want her going anywhere without someone watching her back.”

“And if she pushes back?” Cormac asked.

Rory allowed a faint, humorless smile. “She will. But I’ll handle it.”

Cormac studied him for a moment before nodding and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Rory stared at the empty glass on the desk, his thoughts drifting back to Maeve.

She was fire and steel, a woman who refused to be tamed. And that was what terrified him most. Because as much as he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the dangers closing in around her, he knew she’d never allow herself to be caged. Not by him, not by anyone.

His panther growled, restless and unsatisfied. It wanted Maeve in every way possible—to claim her, mark her, make her his. But Rory knew better than to let the beast take over. He had to tread carefully, or he’d risk losing her before he ever truly had her.

As the city lights flickered outside his window, Rory made a silent promise. He would protect Maeve, no matter the cost. Even if it meant confronting the darkness within himself.

And if Michael O’Connell or the Kellehers wanted to challenge him?

He would make sure they learned what it meant to cross the O’Neill Syndicate in general and Rory McMahon in particular.

He stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the city lights below, but his mind was miles away. Thoughts of Maeve consumed him—her sharp wit, her defiance, the way she looked at him as though she could see through every layer of armor he wore.

He wasn’t used to feeling exposed. Vulnerability had no place in his world, and yet with her, it wasn’t something he could avoid. Maeve had broken through his defenses, not with force but with something far more dangerous: truth. She was like a magnet to his steel, and she made him feel alive in a way that scared him as much as it thrilled him.

The soft sound of her footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, and there she was, standing just inside the doorway of his office. Her dark curls framed her face, her blue eyes steady despite the tension humming between them. She hadn’t bothered to announce herself, but Rory didn’t mind. Her presence filled the room, pushing back the shadows.

“Come for your shoe Cinderella?”

She smiled, though he couldn’t say if she was amused. “I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing when you’re quietly skulking around,” Maeve said, her voice low. “I have to wonder what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Rory exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. She seemed to know when something was brewing, pushing him in ways no one else dared. It was maddening, but it was also why he couldn’t stay away from her.

“Thinking,” he said, his voice rough. “About you.”

Her brow arched, but there was no humor in the expression. She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. “You rarely let people in, do you?”

Rory didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could. Instead, he crossed the room, closing the space between them with measured steps. When he stopped just inches from her, he could see the pulse in her throat, the way her breath hitched as she held his gaze.

“I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you’re not just anyone.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her hands fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. Rory reached out, his fingers brushing against her chin, tilting her face back to his. The softness of her skin under his touch sent a surge of heat through him, but he held himself in check.

“You see things in me no one else does,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “Things I don’t want to admit even to myself.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, the fire in her gaze dimmed, replaced by something gentler. “Maybe because you’re more than what you pretend to be.”

The words struck deeper than he expected, and Rory felt the tight knot in his chest loosen, just slightly. He leaned closer, the scent of her filling his senses, and for the first time in a long time, he let the walls around him crumble.

“Maeve,” he murmured, her name heavy with emotion.

She looked up at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, his mouth captured hers in a kiss that was as much a confession as it was a surrender. It wasn’t gentle—he didn’t know how to be gentle when it came to her. It was fierce, raw, and consuming, a clash of desires that had been building from the moment they’d met.

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