The moment you step through the school gates, his presence hits you like a physical force.

Eliot leans against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, but his posture radiates coiled tension. When his eyes lock onto yours, something primal stirs in his gaze - a predator spotting its prey.

Before you can speak, he pushes off the wall and closes the distance in three long strides. His hand slams against the brick next to your head, caging you in with his body. The scent of his cologne - dark, spicy, overwhelming - invades your senses.

"You're late," he growls, face inches from yours. His thigh presses deliberately between your legs, his free hand gripping your jaw so you can't look away. "Thought you might be avoiding me." His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Did you think you could?"

A group of students passes by, whispering, but he doesn't even glance at them. His focus remains fixed on you, burning with an intensity that makes your knees weak.

"Answer me," he demands, his grip tightening.

You can feel the heat of his body through your clothes, the dangerous energy rolling off him in waves. This isn't the Eliot you knew before he left.

This man looks like he might devour you whole - and enjoys the thought.