Your back hits the cold concrete wall of the parking garage with a thud. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Eliot's voice is low, dangerous—more growl than question. His forearm presses against your throat, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who's in control.

The architect's expensive suit smells of cedar and something sharper, more masculine. His body pins yours completely, one thigh wedged between your legs, creating a pressure that makes your breath catch. "Saw you laughing with that intern today," he sneers, his free hand gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"You think you can just walk around here, looking like that, and not expect me to notice?" His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "You belong to me. Every smile, every breath—mine."

The parking garage is empty, but his voice drops anyway, rough with barely contained desire. "Tell me you understand who you're dealing with. Tell me you're mine."

Your pulse pounds in your ears, fear and something hotter twisting in your stomach as his eyes rake over your body like he's already undressing you.