Possession (The Plus One Chronicles) (5 page)

He moved his thumb over the screen of his cellphone and made another call. “Liza, some reporter’s snooping around Olivia. Find out who it is, and kill the story.”

Kat stood there like a moron, unsure how to process what was happening.

Sloane strode by her, past the bed and kept going to the sitting area by the fireplace. He stopped at a bank of screens mounted on the wall, touched a keypad, and the monitors snapped to life.

It took her a second to grasp what she was seeing on the screens—a half-dozen different views of the front of Sloane’s house, including outside the gates. Twenty four/seven camera surveillance must be part of his security system.

“Fuck.” He dragged his phone back to his ear. “Ethan, reporters out front. Dissuade them.” He hung up.

She had no idea what to do. Was this business? Personal? Hugging the robe closer, she looked around for her clothes.

“Coffee?” Sloane went to the granite bar in the corner of the room. It was equipped with a small fridge, coffeemaker and who knew what else.

“What’s going on? Do you need to leave?” Kat crossed between the dark four-poster bed and marble fireplace to the sitting area.

After setting the machine to work, Sloane pulled out cream and sugar and doctored the first cup of coffee the way she liked. “Better to wait and see if Ethan can chase off the reporters. I don’t want them to spot you.”

Nope, not going there. Sloane had been in public with her, he wasn’t hiding Kat like an illicit secret. She was pretty sure Sloane meant that as protecting her privacy or something along those lines. She took the cup. “What’s this about?” Curiosity bubbled. She gathered that Liza worked for him from the way he’d spoken to her on the phone. “Who’s Olivia?” She knew so little about Sloane’s life.

He slid another cup under the drip and started that brewing. His shoulders bunched with tension.

Was he going to answer or just ignore her? He was closed off, a different man from the one she’d been with last night. Unnerved, she sipped the hot coffee.

“Olivia is my mother.” He gripped the edge of the counter.

Kat lowered the mug. “That was your mother you were talking to on the balcony? You call her by her given name?”

“Yes.”

“The money stops,” Kat repeated what she’d heard him say. “You pay her not to talk? About what? You? Did you do something…?”

“Reporters. If they paid Olivia, she might tell them anything. I don’t trust her. So I pay her more than anyone else to keep her quiet.”

That made Kat’s issues with her parents seem damn near silly. Paying his mom not to talk? “You weren’t kidding when you said the two of you weren’t close.” But then, Sloane had told her he’d spent time in foster homes. There could be a good reason why that had happened; maybe his mom had been sick. But to a kid, that had to feel like the ultimate betrayal.

His large hand circled the remaining mug, making it appear child sized. Sloane faced her. “Not even physically. She’s in Florida, the one state I avoid.”

Kat didn’t know how to help him. Sloane was coldly upset. “I’m sorry. Do you ever see her?”

“Once a year. On Sara’s birthday.”

His dead sister, the one whose initial he had inked on his right biceps. “To remember Sara?”

He stared out the opened French doors, his profile jagged and unforgiving. “To punish each other.”

“But you don’t see her on your birthday?” It just wasn’t making sense. His mother had lost a child. Wouldn’t she hang on to Sloane more?

“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” He set the coffee down. “I’m going to take a shower.” He vanished behind the bathroom door.

Locking her out.

Oh God, what had happened to his sister?

Chapter Three

Moving quietly, Kat came down the curving stairs into a massive room. The west side of Sloane’s house was floor-to-ceiling glass panels overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Walking through the foyer that flowed into a formal sitting area, she passed by a stunning double-sided fireplace that separated the formal space from the kitchen and family room.

Oh man that kitchen made her drool. A huge center island big enough for two adults to sleep on. Even better, it had a deep double sink, making it a dream workspace. Four high barstools with padded seats and backs lined up on the outside edge. The kitchen also had top-of-the-line appliances and excellent lighting—the room made her itch to bake.

Kat glanced over at the living space. A flat-screen TV was mounted over the fireplace. A leather couch and a few chairs—all large enough for a room full of Sloane-sized men to be comfortable—were placed around an exquisite rug that probably rivaled the cost of her condo. The entire room had a sense of relaxed wealth.

Unsure what to do, wait for Sloane or figure out a way to get home, Kat explored the kitchen and discovered a walk-in pantry. As long as she was stuck in a kitchen made of awesomeness, she was so going to use it. She located flour, white sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and vegetable oil. If she could scrounge up milk, butter and—

“Hello there, pretty lady.”

She whipped around. Her right knee buckled, and Kat grabbed the nearest shelf, catching herself before she fell on her ass. “Oh!” Dragging in air, she took in the tall, thin man leaning tiredly against the doorjamb of the spacious walk-in pantry.

“I’m Drake. And you are?”

Her heart hammered, but she recalled that Sloane had a friend staying with him. “Kat. I’m, uh, Sloane’s…” Hell, what did she call herself? “Friend.”

“Well, Kat, right now you look a little cornered. Come out, so you don’t feel trapped in the pantry.” He shuffled slowly back.

Kat frowned. Sloane had said Drake wasn’t well. “You just startled me,” she assured him. Had Sloane told Drake about her panic attacks?

“You were concentrating on something.”

“Blueberry muffins. Do you know if Sloane has fresh or frozen berries?” How old was Drake? He was nearly as tall as Sloane, but older and much thinner. His sallow coloring suggested that he wasn’t just unwell, he was very sick.

“In the freezer.” His eyes lit up. “You’re going to make blueberry muffins? Right now?”

“You like muffins?”

“Hell yes.” Drake opened the massive stainless-steel freezer and pulled out a bag of blueberries. “Tell me what to do. I’ll help if I can have some muffins.”

“Sure thing.” For the first time this morning, energy filled her. “Do you like to bake?”

“I like to eat. Or I did until the damned chemo and radiation. And then Sloane hired this team of nurses and nutritionists, and I swear they strip all the joy out of food.” He shook his head in disgust.

Chemo. Radiation. Cancer.
The words resonated through her cells. Sloane was close enough to this man to take him into his home. He’d hired specialists to help Drake. Once she had worried that Sloane had no one to rely on, now she suspected he did—this man.

And he was very sick.

Was Kat doing something wrong? Some people adhered to special diets, believing that would help the body fight off illness. People should do whatever gave them a sense of power over their condition. Was she overstepping here? “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

He sank onto a barstool, looking like Kat had kicked his dog. “No muffins? Not even one?”

Damn it. She was a total sucker. “I’ll try, but Sloane might, uh, I might have to leave.” It wasn’t her place to reveal Sloane’s personal information. She searched the cupboards, finding the rest of what she needed. After setting the flour and sugar in front of Drake, she had him measure it out for her.

“He can wait. I want muffins.”

Kat grinned. “How long have you known Sloane?”

“Long time. Fifteen years probably. What I can’t figure out is why you’re down here by yourself. Did he run off to the gym or work and leave you?”

Kat shook her head and gave him the muffin pan to line with paper cups. “He’s taking a shower. I thought I’d scrounge up breakfast.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. She’d felt restless and out of place. That drove her to the kitchen. “I don’t know if he even eats breakfast.” She carefully folded the blueberries into the batter. “Especially carbs and fat…Sloane’s, well he keeps in shape.”

“Shape? Humph. The boy trains like a demon. Usually he’s at the gym early in the morning and often after work.”

After sliding the muffins into the preheated oven, she looked at Drake. “Trains? He doesn’t fight—”

“Kat?”

She spun at Sloane’s voice, catching herself on the counter.

He strode into the kitchen, wearing a killer suit and a grim expression. “You’re still here.”

It took everything she had not to snap at him. Keeping it light, she said, “I don’t have a ride, remember?”

He crossed to her and lifted her face. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I came out of the shower and you were gone. I thought maybe you’d left.”

“By stealing your car? Think it out, Sloane. You’ve seen my success rate with getting into a cab.” That had been humiliating, but Sloane had taken it in stride.

“I’d have given you the keys to my car, sugar,” Drake offered. “After the muffins are done.”

“Shut up, Drake. She doesn’t need your car.”

“Yeah? Then why was this gorgeous girl down here while you’re in the shower? What a dumbass.” He snorted. “Good for me, though. I scored blueberry muffins.”

Kat choked on laughter. She liked Drake, she really did.

“Are the muffins done yet?” Sloane drew his thumb across her cheek. “He won’t be able to talk with his mouth full.”

She glanced over at the timer. “Almost.”

“He’s right though.”

“That you’re a dumbass?”

Sloane grinned. “That you’re gorgeous. And yeah, I’m a dumbass.” He swept Kat up, set her on the counter and kissed her.

His warm mouth brushed over hers, driving out everything else, including the fact that they were in his kitchen and giving Drake a front-row view.

Sloane twisted her hair around his hand, tugging her head back and invading her mouth. His taste flooded her, minty toothpaste, coffee and the richer, more addictive flavor of him. She sank her fingers into his hair, tangling her tongue with his.

The sound of the buzzer penetrated her sexual fog. Kat pulled back. “Muffins. Breakfast.”

“I’ll get them,” Drake said. “You two just carry on.”

Sloane’s attention followed Drake as he slowly made his way around the bar.

Kat’s heart hurt at the shadows lurking in Sloane’s eyes, at the heaviness pressing on him. The worry was so evident, she put her hand on his face. “Calories are good,” she said softly. “Any calories he can hold down.”

Sloane’s gaze hit hers, his expression so raw and exposed she could feel his pain. He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” For once, she was taking care of Sloane.

“I didn’t want you to leave. And I sure as hell don’t want you to catch the attention of the reporters. They’ll hound you.”

“I won’t talk to them.” He didn’t have to pay her to keep her mouth shut. “No matter what happens, even when you piss me off, I don’t operate that way. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Shit, Kat. That’s not it.” He slipped his hand beneath her shirt, pressing his palm flat to her back. “If they just came into your bakery, you could handle them. But they’ll follow you and corner you when you’re not prepared.”

That would suck, she had to admit. “Okay.”

He pulled his head back from hers, surprise softening his features. “You’re not mad?”

“No.” It was the truth. If a reporter cornered her outside of her bakery, she could have a panic attack. In spite of Sloane’s rough morning, he was thinking of her. “You really don’t have to worry about me. Go to work. When the reporters leave, I’ll get a ride. I don’t have to be at the bakery until eleven.”

Drake cleared his throat. “You can take my car, Kat. I don’t need it.” He tossed some keys on the counter. “Thanks for the muffins. I’m taking a second one to my room with me.” Glancing at Sloane, Drake added, “Try not to be a dumbass.” He shuffled to the hallway.

Sloane sighed and lifted her gently to the floor. “You don’t need his car. I’ll take you home.” He stacked some muffins on a plate and poured juice. “Let’s take this out on the deck.”