OLEANDER
The moment I stepped into the room, I felt it, a presence that wasn't mine.
My breath hitched. I turned quickly to leave, but a hand caught mine in the dark, tugging hard.
Then, slam.
My back hit the wall beside the door, and I gasped, arching from the impact.
"Dante?" I stammered, my stomach twisting into knots.
He said nothing. But I could smell him. His cologne filters through the stale air. Rich, clean, expensive. It was nothing like anything or anyone else around here.
And then there was him. His aura. Masculine. Overpowering. It weakened my knees.
But the real question was, what was he doing in my room?
"In case you forgot," he rasped, "this is my place. I can go wherever I want."
He leaned in close.
Instinctively, I raised my hand to keep some space between us, but he caught it. Then the other, pinning both above my head in one firm grip.
I shivered.
His breath ghosted across my neck—hot, minty, maddening.
No. It shouldn't be.
