Page 51 of Possessive Mr. Pen

Even as my eyes close, I ask, “Where are we going?”

“To tell Hannah the good news.”

I nod even though I shouldn’t.There’s a mountain of work at the office and several meetings on his schedule for the afternoon, but I drift into a doze between breaths.

Long fingers skim down my forearm, cover the back of my hand, and slip between my digits with erotic slowness.I shift in my seat.Leather and smoke fill my nostrils.A deep masculine voice rumbles my name.

I don’t want to wake.This dream is yummy.

Connor calls me again.I sigh and lift my hand to my face to check for drool and eye crust before opening my eyes.

His gaze holds a soft wonder I chalk up to my imagination.

“We’re here.Do you need a minute before we go in?”

Who is this, and what has he done to the ruthless bosshole who lorded over my life for eight years?

“No, I—” I stop my knee jerk refusal and squeeze his fingers.

“Yes, I do.I also need to warn you.”

He rubs his thumb over the side of my hand.

“This looks nothing like a hospital, so I’ll be fine,” he says.

I shake my head and shift in my seat to angle my body toward his to relay my seriousness.

“That’s not what I meant.Hannah suffers from a traumatic brain injury.Her memory comes and goes, and sometimes she can’t handle the simplest of things, so she might not even recognize me or understand what we’re telling her.We need to—”

“I’ll follow your lead, my warrior queen,” I vow.

I take a deep breath and give his fingers a final squeeze before dumping his hand off mine.I reach for my door handle but whip around and jab a finger into his chest as unbidden words ramble from my mouth.

“This isn’t a room full of strangers where you can flaunt your money and fix everything.It’s my,” I turn my finger toward myself and jab my sternum, “sister.My half sister, but blood doesn’t matter.I watched her being born.I fed her bottles and changed her diapers.I raised her since my mom couldn’t get out of bed most days.I took the hits when my stepdad wasn’t satisfied with hurting my mom.I—” Something deep inside me simultaneously shatters and mends as Connor closes his fist around my hand and yanks it toward his chest.

“Don’t hurt yourself, my warrior queen.Hurt me.Give me all your pain.I can handle it,” he demands.

His words suck the violent fury out of me and fill me with horror despite, or maybe because of, the arousal pulsing in my core.

I shake my head.

“I’m not like my piece of shit stepdad.I still feel guilty for slapping you even though you deserved it,” I admit.

His chuckle vibrates into my knuckles.

“He killed my mom.He almost killed Hannah, too.I wasn’t fast enough, and he flung her into the wall.”

Long fingers frame my face.The concern in his normally cold, ruthless green eyes is too confusing, so I swat his hands away.

“Look, I’ve worked through most of it and gotten professional help, thanks to working for you.”For a moment my mind replays my therapy journey from starting in a small group to finding my own therapist, which was all covered under my employee benefits.“That’s not what this is about,” I huff.

He allows me a moment to collect myself.

“It’s about our performance in front of my sister.There’s no way to know how she’ll respond to the news, if she even recognizes me.Sometimes she knows who I am, sometimes she plays along, and other times she can’t handle the fact that I’m much older than the sister she remembers.So you must listen to Martha, her caregiver, first.She sees her every day.Then you follow me.No hesitation.No questions.Just do it.Got it?”

He takes my forearm and pulls my hand over the center console.

“Yes, I understand.Are you wearing this monstrosity or not?”