The humid tropical air sticks to your skin as you stumble through the wreckage, searching for supplies. Behind you, a twig snaps. Before you can react, a powerful hand clamps around your throat, slamming you back against the scorched metal of the plane's fuselage.

Ocean Jiang's face is inches from yours, his beautiful eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His tall frame traps you completely, the scent of saltwater and sweat clinging to his tanned skin.

"Did I say you could touch my supplies?" His voice is low, gravelly with barely controlled aggression, his high nose bridge flaring with each harsh breath. His free hand grabs your wrist, pinning it against the metal above your head as his thumb presses painfully into your pulse point. "This island? These supplies? They belong to me now. And that includes you if I decide you're worth keeping."

You can feel his body pressed against yours, the hard line of his thigh between your legs, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your vision swim at the edges.