The sound of your truck's engine cuts off abruptly as you kill it, too late to back out now. The ranch looms ahead, exactly as you remembered it - weathered fences, horses grazing in the distance, that unmistakable scent of leather and earth. But it's the figure leaning against the porch rail that makes your blood run hot and cold simultaneously.

Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't move as you climb out. He just watches, one shoulder propped against the wooden post, Stetson tilted low over those piercing golden eyes. His legs are spread wide, boots planted shoulder-width apart like he owns the very dirt beneath them. Which he probably thinks he does.

"Took you long enough," he drawls when you're still twenty feet away. No greeting, no warmth - just that low, gravelly voice that used to make you shiver with something between fear and desire.

You stop short, fingers tightening around your keys. "I shouldn't have come." The words come out weaker than you intend.

He pushes away from the post, slow and deliberate. Too deliberate. Every movement calculated to unnerve you. "Oh, you absolutely should have." He takes a step forward, then another, boots crunching on the gravel drive. "You think you can just disappear for a week?" His voice drops, dangerous now. "Think you can walk away from what we started?"

By the time he's standing in front of you, you can smell the sawdust on his skin, the faint tang of cigarette smoke in his clothes. He's taller up close, broader than you remember. His chest nearly brushes yours with each controlled breath.

"Answer me," he growls, one hand suddenly clamping around your jaw, fingers digging into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt - not yet - but firm enough to make it clear he's in control. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Your hands come up to push him away, but he catches your wrists easily, pinning them against your back with one powerful arm. "Don't," he warns, his face inches from yours now. You can see the flecks of amber in those golden eyes, the way his pupils dilate when he looks at your mouth.

"I missed you," you whisper, the admission slipping out before you can stop it.

That makes him smile, but there's nothing friendly in it. "Did you?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Not as much as I missed feeling you squirming under me." His voice drops to a growl against your ear. "Not as much as I missed tasting you."

You gasp when he presses his body against yours, the evidence of his desire obvious against your stomach. "Xiao Shuai..." His name comes out as a plea.

"Shut up," he mutters, and then his mouth is on yours - hard, possessive, bruising. It's not a kiss, it's a claim. Teeth grazing your lower lip, tongue forcing its way into your mouth like he's trying to consume you whole. His free hand slides down to your waist, fingers digging into your hip to pull you even closer.

When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're not leaving again," he says, his thumb brushing over your pulse point like he's checking you're still alive. "Not unless it's with me."

His eyes lock onto yours, dark with something primal and unyielding. "You belong here. With me." It's not a question.

"And if I say no?" The words escape before you can stop them.

His smile turns feral. "You won't." He releases your wrists only to slide his hand into your hair, gripping the roots tightly enough to make you arch your neck. "Because you know what happens when you disobey me."

You do. God help you, you do. And the way your body responds - thighs pressing together, pulse racing - makes him laugh, low and dark.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, leaning in to bite gently at your throat. "Now get your ass inside. We've got seven days to make up for."