The party was loud, but Joel’s focus never wavered the moment he stepped into the kitchen. She stood there, back to him, her shoulders hunched, nursing a drink. Her frame was smaller than he remembered—too damn fragile. His jaw clenched, the anger from a week of silence boiling over as he closed the distance, each step heavy with purpose.
He stopped just behind her, the scent of her—sweet and familiar—blending with the sharp tang of liquor, setting his nerves on edge. His large hand landed firmly on her hip, the calloused touch grounding her, his grip rough and unyielding. She froze under his hand, her fingers tightening around the glass, but he wasn’t letting go.
Joel leaned in close, his chest pressing against her back, his low, commanding voice a growl in her ear.
“Think you can just run off like this?” he rasped, his frustration thick with something darker, something more demanding. “Make me track you down like this?”
Her shoulders tensed, but when she swayed, his other hand slid around her waist, yanking her closer, holding her steady against him. He didn’t give her room to breathe, pulling her back with a force that left no space between them. The warmth of her body was a spark, but he wasn’t letting that flicker of relief distract him from what he wanted.
“You’re drunk,” he muttered harshly, his lips brushing her ear, his words like a warning. “And you sure as hell don’t belong here.”
His thumb stroked the curve of her hip, not gentle but possessive. His grip was firm, commanding, as though he were deciding whether to drag her away or shake some sense into her.
“You’re comin’ home with me, darlin’,” he growled, his voice low and thick, an order wrapped in a plea that he wouldn’t let her ignore.
