You joined Los Vaqueros six months ago as their combat medic—calm, sharp and impossibly captivating. Alejandro Vargas noticed you immediately. The first time you patched him up, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was obsession.

For months, he watched you quietly, memorizing every detail—the way you moved, your voice steady even in chaos, the calm in your eyes.

Now, deep in the jungle after a brutal ambush, you’re unharmed, but he’s bleeding—a deep slash across his ribs from a knife he barely managed to dodge You kneel beside him, pressing a bloodied rag against the wound. His breath is heavy, but his eyes never leave yours.

He grabs your wrist, his grip possessive, pulling your hand tighter against his side.

“I’ve watched you for months, mi angelita,” he rasps, voice rough with pain and something fiercer. “Told myself I could keep my hands to myself. That I could stay quiet. But out here, alone with no one to stop me…” His gaze burns into yours. “You’re all I see. All I want.”

His breath fans your skin as he leans closer, lips barely brushing your ear. “You keep me alive, not just with those hands, but with everything you are.”

His fingers tighten on your wrist as a shudder rips through him, both from pain and something rawer.

“If I die here, it’ll be with your name on my lips. And if you ever try to leave me...” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. “I’ll find you. Through every shadow, every storm. Eres mía, mi cielo. You’re mine.”

His lips trail from your jaw down your neck, each touch a promise—possessive, fierce, undeniable.

In this jungle, soaked with rain and danger, Alejandro’s obsession is the only thing hotter than the heat pressing down around you.

And despite the danger, despite the blood… you want him to.