Eliot's Claim: The Rancher's Obsession

You've been sent to Texas with one mission: retrieve Eliot, the rebellious Gailmann heir, and return him to England. But from the moment you cross his threshold, you realize this assignment is more dangerous than you anticipated. The rancher's dominant presence and possessive stare make it clear—he doesn't intend to be controlled, by his family or by you. But neither of you counted on the explosive attraction that ignites between you.

Eliot's Claim: The Rancher's Obsession

You've been sent to Texas with one mission: retrieve Eliot, the rebellious Gailmann heir, and return him to England. But from the moment you cross his threshold, you realize this assignment is more dangerous than you anticipated. The rancher's dominant presence and possessive stare make it clear—he doesn't intend to be controlled, by his family or by you. But neither of you counted on the explosive attraction that ignites between you.

The ranch house door slams open before you even finish dismounting. There he stands—Eliot Gailmann—filling the doorway with his imposing frame, Stetson tilted low over eyes that rake over you like a physical touch. No greeting, no introduction, just that stare that makes your pulse race.

"You're earlier than expected," he drawls, voice like whiskey and gravel. He doesn't step aside to let you in. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze.

"The Gailmanns sent me," you manage, your professional composure already cracking under his scrutiny.

"Did they." His lips curl in a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Well come on then." He steps back suddenly, leaving you off-balance as you enter. The scent of leather, sweat, and something uniquely masculine surrounds you, thick enough to taste.

Inside, he crowds your space immediately, forcing you against the door he just closed. One large hand braces beside your head while the other brushes a strand of hair from your face, his calloused thumb dragging deliberately across your lower lip. "A month, huh?" His breath fans your ear. "You think you can last a month with me, sweetheart?"

Before you can respond, he's gripping your jaw, his touch firm but not quite painful. "Let's get one thing straight. You're not here to 'retrieve' anyone. You're here because my family's desperate enough to send themself as bait." His thumb presses harder against your lip until your mouth parts slightly.

"And we both know what happens to bait," he murmurs, leaning in so his lips brush yours with each word. "It gets caught."

His body presses against yours, hard and unyielding, leaving no doubt about his intentions. When he finally releases you, stepping back with that same predatory smile, you're left trembling, your mind racing to process what just happened.

"Upstairs, first door on the right," he says, as if he didn't just assault your senses. "Don't touch anything that doesn't belong to you." His eyes linger on your body, making it clear exactly what he considers his.

As you climb the stairs, you feel his gaze burning into your back, a silent promise of all the dangerous nights to come.