Quiet Obsession (Possessive Porters #2)

Prologue

JONAS PORTER

My knee bounced with impatience I didn’t normally display.

Out of my foster brothers, whom I shared a connection with that ran deeper than blood, I was the one they considered the quiet one. The calm one. I kept my composure in the worst of situations, no matter what. Or I used to. Until her.

Kitty Ortega.

But here I was—knee bouncing, a light sheen of sweat prickling to life at the back of my neck while the collar of my button-up dress shirt felt too tight to breathe in a full breath.

My heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest. That was if the butterflies flapping their wings in my gut didn’t get out first.

Just minutes ago, I’d been fine. Okay, not fine, but I’d had my crap together while she danced.

I hadn’t blinked while she was on the stage.

Didn’t look around to see the men gawking and coveting what was mine.

If I had, I would have been tempted to take over my brother Lucas’ place in our family as the muscle who took care of things with his fists and any other weapons he had at his disposal.

But why would I look anywhere else when those captivating wide brown eyes locked with mine as if she couldn’t get herself to look anywhere else? Because regardless of the silence that had laid between us in the hours we spent together, she knew she belonged to me.

Just at the reminder of how she’d looked while she was dancing to “Too Sweet” by Hozier made me adjust myself. My cock, long and thick, was throbbing beneath the material of my dress slacks, begging for relief.

I rolled my neck, trying to calm my pulse down, but it was useless when the private room I’d heard the other dancers and bouncers call the Kitty Room when they thought I wasn’t paying attention smelled like her.

I should have named the room that from the moment we reopened the doors to the Velvet Leopard.

They called it that because only Kitty Ortega had been in there with me. No one else but the cleaning crew was allowed past the threshold. I called it that now because I had the space designed and decorated and stocked with solely her in mind.

The woman unknowingly shook up my entire goddamn life before we’d even exchanged a word.

Four months ago, an old acquaintance of mine had reached out to me and unknowingly set my life on a completely different course. Hank was a loan shark and a man you most definitely didn’t want to owe shit to.

But someone did owe him, and they owed Hank BIG.

The problem was, Hank could only get his money if this dipshit sold off the one thing he had to his name: a strip club at the edge of town.

A strip club he liked to talk about until he was blue in the fucking face to anyone who would listen because he thought it made him a big man around town to have so many women under his thumb.

My eye twitched at the reminder of the motherfucker and how fucking arrogant he’d been that first time I’d walked into the club.

A strip club.

Hank had thought of me, because like my brothers liked to say, I had the Midas touch with businesses and investments. Turning shitshows into exciting ventures was my thing.

But the first thought I’d had when I’d stepped foot into the Velvet Leopard was that even I wasn’t capable of that kind of miracle.

Not when it had probably been more than two decades since anything had been updated in the place.

The carpets were old and dingy. The place smelled like stale beer, sweat, and years of cheap cologne mixed with bad decisions that clung to every surface throughout the years.

Lucas had shot me a look after the dipshit sat us at his best table. The motherfucker had been desperate to pay Hank back. But then again, Hank wasn’t someone you ever wanted to owe anything to.

I’d been about to call Hank and tell him he was going to need someone else to help his colleague unload the club off on, when she’d stepped up onto the stage.

I’d been like a goddamn moth to a flame when Kitty hit the stage.

Kitty Ortega.

I’d assumed that was her stage name, but when the dickhead who owned the place returned and I started talking to him, prying all the information out of him as subtly as I could, I’d realized something else.

His intentions with all his female staff were less than pure.

He bragged about things no man should ever do to women.

Quickly, like pieces of a puzzle coming together, I watched the way the girls watched Lucas and me.

The fear in the eyes of some. And it didn’t settle well in my stomach.

The thought of Kitty in his clutches killed me.

So, I did the only thing I was capable of after being raised and brought up the way I had been.

I bought the place, and the moment the ink was dry on the contracts and Hank got his money, Lucas taught that miserable piece of shit a lesson.

Funny how easily assholes could go missing without anyone blinking an eye when no one heard from them.

I’d shut the place down for two weeks, paid each girl for her time, and when we reopened, the Velvet Leopard was a different place.

Nicer.

Cleaner.

Renovated.

Classy.

Not to mention a hell of a lot safer for the girls.

Whether they danced or served drinks or stood behind the bar as eye candy, I’d changed the place for the better.

Not for my own sake or to make my older brother Hollis, the future mayor of our town, look better in the eyes of our community, since we were connected, but for her.

Only for her.

Kitty Ortega.

She’d twisted me up on the inside. Changed the way my brain worked.

Living rent free in my head, bringing a thing worse than a feral animal to life inside of me.

A savage, ruthless beast. All without uttering a single word.

Watching her on stage, knowing other men watched her, coveted what I knew deep down inside was mine, had killed me at first.

But what could I do? Fire her? If I did, it would only force her work at a different, shittier club. At least when she worked for me, I could control the atmosphere for her. Make it better. Classier. Easier.

But as time went by, night after night, watching men get turned on by what was mine, knowing no other fucker could ever touch her but me, turned me on. I got off on knowing these assholes tossed their money away and would never know so much as what it was like to sit next to her.

She was mine.

All mine.

Only mine.

From the moment her feet hit the floor after her time on stage, I summoned her into the nicest, most luxurious private room in the back.

That first night I had her join me, she’d started to dance, but I didn’t want her to.

I mean, I did, but not like that. I wanted her to want to dance for me and only me.

Instead, I pulled out a book and read.

It was weird, and I’d known that.

I was different.

Always had been.

A quiet kind of man who didn’t use a lot of words and used even less when the woman I wanted was an absolute goddess. Around her, I felt tongue tied. My heart raced, my palms were constantly clammy, and fuck if it took me forever to know which way was up when I was around her.

I’d pulled out a book that night, since I always carried one or my e-reader with me, and tugged on the one thing I knew we had in common. I’d noticed that her locker always had a minimum of three or four books in it from that very first day.

Hell, I’d seen her reading in her car whenever she arrived at the club early. Shit, she was perpetually late because her nose was always stuck in a book, so captivated by the romances she loved she lost track of time on a daily basis.

That first week, I could tell she didn’t know what to do with me.

She’d step in, and the soft lighting would turn on, illuminating her.

She’d stare at me as soft music played. After a couple minutes of silence, Kitty would find her way to a chair and sit, sometimes looking down at her perfectly done nails or taking in the space.

But my favorite moments were when despite me reading, acting like I didn’t care what she did, I felt her gaze on me. Those pretty, dark eyes sending their heat and curiosity in my direction were as dangerous as a really good scotch.

It was addicting.

I still didn’t know how the hell I managed to keep my hands on the book as I forced myself to read while she watched me. Studied me. I could tell she didn’t know what to make of me.

A week of that had been my own heaven and hell.

Sitting with her. Spending time together. Kitty would ask if all she was going to do was watch me read, and I’d grunt my response. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her; I just wasn’t sure where to start.

Then she surprised me. My bold, brave girl took the seat right next to me. Every night after, she moved closer and closer. Little by little, she scooted closer and closer until she was snuggled up against me, reading over my shoulder, our bodies touching.

It had been the sweetest torture. My kitten wrapped in all sorts of colorful scraps of fabric all designed to show off her sexy body while I was dressed in suits nearly killed me and drove me insane.

I’d fucked up.

Having Kitty sit that close to me, smelling her scent, feeling the heat of her almost naked body against mine, had been bad enough. But every goddamn day, I found myself distracted from the words on the pages and drowning in those beautiful bedroom eyes of hers.

Little by little, she started to ask me questions.

Mostly about the books I read or ones I’d read in the past. She’d smile, her dark eyes sparkling when it was a book she was familiar with.

Gradually, though, she started to ask more personal things.

Nothing intrusive. Favorite color. What I liked to play on the radio when I drove.

I would answer quickly and tersely because that was just my way.

But I couldn’t make myself not say anything. I liked the sweet way her face would brighten when I gave her more than a one-word answer. Or when something she liked happened on the pages we read.

She was intoxicating.

By the third week, I should have forced myself to stay home when she was on shift. And fuck me, I’d tried. And failed. I couldn’t give up our time together. I was like a junkie, and just sitting with her was my hit. Who was I kidding? It was everything about her.

The way she smelled.

The way she felt.

Everything that made Kitty Ortega the goddess she was.

I had to pivot and try something else, or I was going to sully her with my dirty hands.

On the fourth week, I had a Kindle waiting for her, thinking that would get her to back off and not snuggle into me.

I wished I had a camera installed in that private room so I could have captured the smile on her face.

But it was okay. I had it embossed in my soul and knew I would never forget the way those usually sultry eyes softened and something I’d never seen shone through.

Not only did I pay for her to read and relax next to me, I paid for the books on her e-reader, always having the account loaded with a hefty gift card.

And just like that, it became our routine.

She danced on the stage, far away from any man’s hands. Then, before a man could even look at her when she hit the floor, she’d come to the private room for the rest of her shift, escorted personally by me or two of my biggest bouncers at her sides.

We didn’t miss a night.

And I loved every quietly twisted moment of it.

I paid for her to sit and read.

Together.

And when last call was announced through the speakers of the club, my heart ached knowing our time was coming to an end.

I was quietly and manically obsessed with Kitty Ortega.

I was bleeding money every night she was on the schedule, and fuck me, but if it were up to me, I’d have her there seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.

Not that I cared about the money. I was more than happy to hand her access to every single one of my accounts and add her name next to mine on every deed of property I owned if it made her smile in my direction.

She would have it one day anyhow. What was mine would always be hers.

Hank had called me for a reason.

I was great with investments.

And I knew at the end of everything, Kitty would be the greatest investment and adventure of my goddamn life.

The nights she wasn’t at work, I wasn’t either.

Not that she knew that.

I was a depraved motherfucker.

The kind of money I had helped me access things not everyone could. The people I had grown up with and did business with didn’t judge when their hands were as dirty as mine. There wasn’t a step she took without me knowing.

I was certifiably insanely in love with a dancer who didn’t know what to make out of me.

Shit, most of the time, I wasn’t sure she liked me. But that was okay. I’d get her to fall for me. To love me. Her time was coming. Kitty might not know it yet, but she was about to purr for me. Not for a night or a fling, but for a lifetime.

And I was twisted enough to do anything to make that happen.