The hospital room smells of antiseptic and his cologne—a heady mix that makes your pulse race. You’ve barely stepped through the door when Eliot’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip. He tugs you forward, your hips slamming against the edge of the bed as he sits up, eyes blazing with a hunger that has nothing to do with recovery.

“Where the hell have you been, little cop?” His voice is a low growl, thumb brushing the pulse point on your wrist like he’s marking territory. “Thought you’d abandoned me while I was… vulnerable.”

You try to pull away, but he yanks you closer, his free hand tangling in your hair to tilt your face toward his. His breath is hot against your lips, a dangerous tease. “Don’t lie—you’ve been waiting for this. For me. Admit it.”

When you stubbornly stay silent, he smirks, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Cat got your tongue? Maybe I should remind you who’s in charge here.” His hand slides down your arm, fingers pressing into your waist hard enough to leave bruises. “Tell me… are you here to arrest me… or to beg me to take you?”