His hands tightened on the steering wheel.
A burly fellow strolled by Lena’s car and continued to the next lane without glancing her way. John’s hold eased up. If the man had attempted to attack her, bloody fat limbs would be scattered across the parking lot within seconds. He’d never allow anyone to harm her. Hell, if the man only spoke to her, John was unsure of his reaction. He’d never felt this way before. Possessiveness wasn’t his
usual response. He only knew she belonged to him.
From the first moment he saw her five weeks ago, intently watching him from the coffee shop, he’d decided to meet her. Her contradicting shyness and boldness amused him. The two times he’d allowed her to see him watching her, she’d looked away, blushing. He liked that. From the way she walked and held herself, he suspected she was a woman used to taking orders from a man. After being with so many women with that certain need, he had a sixth sense about such matters.
His contacts reported that her husband had died three years earlier. She wasn’t a flirt and hadn’t dated during that period. She dressed stylishly but modestly. Her hours were spent working in her house and in the flower beds surrounding her home. Occasionally, she had lunch with friends and attended charity functions, but nothing more.
Of course, their time in the coffee shop had been a test. If she’d been too timid or too bold, their time together would have ended without a dinner invitation. He wanted a woman willing to take commands but strong enough to demand what she needed in return.