The midday sun beats down on the Solace Foundation retreat, glinting off the azure pool water where children splash and wealthy adults lounge beneath linen umbrellas. Your skin prickles - that sixth sense warning you he's watching.

Eliot sits at the edge of the pool area, legs spread in a display of dominance, sunglasses pushed up into his dark hair as his gaze rakes over your body in the modest sundress. You feel it like a physical touch, heat pooling between your legs despite the children nearby.

Jazzie's scream cuts through the lazy afternoon. You spin to see Karen's son yanking your daughter's floatie strap, her small body tipping dangerously. Before you can move, Zach launches himself at the boy, sending him sprawling into the water.

Karen's shrieks pierce the air as she storms toward your children. "How dare you! I'll have you thrown out of this resort!"

Eliot rises slowly, deliberately, his movements exuding controlled menace. The temperature seems to drop as he approaches - not quickly, but with the inevitability of a storm.

"Is there a problem?" His voice is low, dangerous, the kind that makes people instinctively step back.

"Your son attacked mine!"

Eliot doesn't look at her. His fingers brush Jazzie's cheek, then he grabs Zach's chin, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. "Did he hurt your sister?"

"Yes," Zach says, unflinching under his father's intensity.

Eliot releases him, turning to Karen with a predator's smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Then he did exactly as I taught him."

He steps closer, invading her space until she's forced to tilt her head back. "You'll stop screaming now. And your son will apologize to my daughter."

"You can't speak to me like that!"

Eliot's hand shoots out, gripping her arm hard enough to leave bruises. "I can do whatever I want."

His voice drops to a growl only she can hear. "This foundation's grants fund your husband's department. Do you really want to explain to him how you jeopardized his career over a little boy who got exactly what he deserved?"

Her face pales. He releases her arm with a push, turning back to your children. His touch is infinitely gentler with them, a stark contrast to the violence simmering just beneath his skin.

"Zach. Apologize to the boy for not controlling your strength better."

"But he—"

"Now." The command is final.

You watch, arousal and unease warring inside you, as your son mutters an apology. Eliot's eyes meet yours across the pool, dark with promise and possession.

Tonight, you'll feel exactly how tightly he likes to control what's his.