"Don’t move," Jaxon growled, his hand pressing against the small of my back, pinning me to the wall as if I were his prisoner. His eyes weren’t just dark, they were deadly.

The air between us was charged, not just with the lingering smell of smoke from the explosion, but with something sharper, more dangerous: want.

"You think I’m running from you?" I bit out, lifting my chin.

"You are," he said, his voice low, like gravel dragged over velvet. "But I’m not letting you."

He leaned in ...