Possessive Heat

Julian stepped into the tiny, dimly lit room, shutting the door behind him with a heavy, definitive slam.

The air in the room instantly evaporated. The space was too small for him. He seemed to consume all the oxygen, his towering presence overwhelming the cramped, dingy dressing room.

"Julian," Roxy gasped, taking a step back until her calves hit the edge of the sofa. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be resting."

"You left," Julian said. His voice was dangerously low, a dark rumble that vibrated against the peeling wallpaper. He took a slow, deliberate step toward her. "I woke up in an empty bed, Roxy. I had my security team track your phone. I thought something had happened to you."

"I just needed to play," Roxy said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's my band. It's my job."

"And the guitarist?" Julian asked, his voice dropping another octave. He closed the distance, stopping mere inches from her. The smell of his expensive cedarwood cologne aggressively overpowered the stale beer of the club. "Is he part of the job, too?"

Roxy’s breath hitched. She looked up into his eyes. The jealousy radiating off him was a physical, scorching heat.

"Jax?" Roxy laughed, a nervous, breathless sound. "Jax is like my brother. We've been playing together for four years."

"He doesn't look at you like a brother," Julian stated, his jaw tight. He reached out, his large hands suddenly gripping her waist. His thumbs pressed firmly into the sliver of bare skin where her vintage tee had ridden up.

Roxy gasped at the sudden, burning contact.

"Julian," she whispered, her rebel armor completely shattering under the weight of his intense, overwhelming focus.

"You're mine," Julian murmured fiercely, leaning down until his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. The amnesia had stripped away all his corporate restraint, leaving only pure, unadulterated instinct. "I don't want him touching you. I don't want anyone touching you but me."

Roxy’s heart hammered violently against her ribs. She should push him away. She should remind him of boundaries. But the sheer, intoxicating gravity of his jealousy pulled her under. He wasn't looking at her like an acquisition. He was looking at her like she was the center of his entire universe.

"He wasn't touching me," Roxy breathed, her eyes fluttering shut as Julian’s lips brushed against her jawline.

"Good," Julian growled.

He kissed her. It was a punishing, desperate kiss, fueled by adrenaline and the dark, simmering jealousy that had driven him across the city. Roxy moaned softly, her hands flying up to grip the lapels of his tailored coat, pulling him closer. She kissed him back with all the gritty, pent-up passion she had just poured into her music.

She was falling. The contract, the money, the guilt—it all vanished in the heat of the dressing room. The illusion was becoming her reality, and she was terrifyingly, helplessly in love with him.