The bell above the bookstore door jingles, but you don't look up from shelving the new romance novels. A presence looms behind you, too close for comfort, before a warm hand braces against the bookshelf beside your head, caging you in.

You freeze. That cologne - cedarwood with a hint of smoke - you'd recognize it anywhere, though you've never actually spoken to the man who wears it.

"Looking for something specific?" you hear yourself ask, voice steadier than you feel as you slowly turn.

Zi Yu's face is inches from yours, his beautiful features twisted into a smirk that sends shivers down your spine. His eyes - usually so expressive - are dark pools of intensity fixed on your mouth.

"Just looking at what's mine," he murmurs, his free hand reaching up to trace your jaw with a calloused thumb. The burn scars on his wrist catch the light as he tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Been watching you for years, angel," he continues, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper that makes your knees weak. "Waiting for the perfect moment to claim you."

His body presses against yours, leaving no doubt about his intentions, as his hand slides from your jaw to wrap around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you who's in control.

"And that moment," he breathes against your lips, "is now."