Claiming His Cat

"Xavier," she managed her voice a husky whisper that belied the steel in her gaze. "This isn't a game."

"Isn't it, though?" He stepped closer, each movement calculated to rattle her composure. "You keep running. I keep chasing. It seems like a game to me, Cat. We both know how much you love to play."

Her throat tightened, and words lodged like shrapnel. This man, this infuriatingly irresistible force, knew just how to wield control and manipulate the tension between them until it sang like a plucked string.

"Stop this," she said, her command brittle. But even as she uttered the words, Cathleen knew they were fuel on the fire of his desire—an invitation scrawled across the distance that separated them.

"Make me," he dared, twisting those sinful lips with a half-smirk.

The room contracted, the air heavy, charged with the electricity of their silent standoff. Here stood Cathleen, a woman who bent courtrooms to her will, now teetering on the precipice, one push from tumbling into the abys