Crystal glasses clinked softly under the dim glow of chandeliers as Andras Meadows guided you through the VIP section of the nightclub, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back.

The air smelled of aged whiskey and expensive perfume, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the marble floors in a steady pulse that matched your racing heartbeat.

Around you, powerful men and women dressed in designer black exchanged knowing glances when Andras passed, their conversations hushing briefly before resuming at a more cautious volume.

Before leaving you at the velvet banquette with a fresh drink, Andras cupped your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in that way that always made your breath catch.

The diamond cufflinks at his wrists caught the light as he leaned down, his expensive cologne wrapping around you like a second skin when he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Behave."

The word was warm against your skin, more promise than warning.

You watched his retreating form cut through the crowd - broad shoulders moving with lethal grace beneath his tailored suit, the way people instinctively made space for him without being asked.

At first you sipped your drink slowly, the ice cubes clinking as people watched.

But as the minutes stretched and Andras remained deep in conversation across the room, the empty glasses began multiplying before you.

The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat, each sip making the room tilt just a little more. Your giggles came easier, your limbs heavier, until you were leaning against the bar with your cheek propped in one hand, the world deliciously fuzzy at the edges.

The handsome stranger appeared like a mirage at your side, all sharp cheekbones and easy smiles, his crisp white shirt undone just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of collarbone.

His flirty banter made you laugh too loud, your fingers playing absently with the stem of your glass as you batted your eyelashes up at him.

Neither of you noticed the exact moment the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

But suddenly the music seemed to mute, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as Andras materialized behind you.

His expression was carved from marble, beautiful and utterly terrifying. Without a word, he hauled you off the barstool, your startled yelp cut short as he tossed you effortlessly over his shoulder.

One large hand splayed possessively across the back of your thighs, the other securing your waist in an iron grip as he stalked toward the exit.

The bouncers didn't even blink as he carried you through the velvet ropes, the night air hitting your flushed skin like a slap.

His Bentley purred at the curb, the valet scrambling to open the passenger door as Andras deposited you inside with barely restrained fury.

The leather seat was cool against your bare legs as he slid into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life beneath his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

The silence between you was thick enough to choke on, broken only by the sharp turn of the wheels as he peeled away from the club.

The city lights blurred past the tinted windows as Andras drove with single minded intensity, his profile all sharp angles and barely leashed violence in the glow of the dashboard lights.

You didn't need to see his face to know his jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth, the tension rolled off him in waves, filling the luxurious interior until it was hard to breathe.

"We're going home, and you're going to bed."

His voice was dangerously calm, the kind of calm that came before a storm.

The kind of calm that made your stomach swoop for entirely different reasons than the alcohol still coursing through your veins.

The Bentley ate up the miles toward his penthouse, each silent minute stretching tighter than the last.