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“Listen to me—” His growl cuts off in a grunt as I stomp the heel of my boot hard on his bare foot, following through with a sharp jab at his solar plexus.

His grip loosens from my wrist and I shove at his chest. Both moves are executed perfectly, but with his sheer bulk, they barely seem to faze him. At least the stupid smirk has been wiped off his face.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,Tarzan—”

A large hand wraps around my neck, cutting off my words. It doesn’t squeeze, it’s just . . . there. A silent reminder of how little it would take to shut me up.

I see red. Before I realize what I’m doing, my knee flexes sharp and swift, aiming for his groin. Only, it doesn’t connect—he’s too fucking tall. But my hands are free, and my fingernails can do some damage.

As if he reads my intention to claw his eyes out, he spins me around in one fluid motion. His muscular arm wraps around my waist and he lifts me clear off the floor.

With one single arm.

I thrash in his grip, twisting, trying to break free, my mind cycling through every escape maneuver I’ve practiced. But he’s too strong, his hold too solid, like he’s anticipated every counter. I shove my heel into his shin with all my strength, but his only reaction is a low, infuriating chuckle that vibrates against my back.

After a minute of futile struggle, realization dawns on me. I’m not hurting him.Actually . . . I freeze as the fight leaches out of me.

I’m turning him on. By struggling.

He’s right there against my ass, lodged perfectly between my cheeks as if they were made to cradle his girth. Shit. He’s hardening. And holy mother of fuck. Of all things big and intimidating.

“Let me go.” I hate how breathy I sound, how my core tightens and the low throb starts where he’s still pressed to me.

“Are you done?”

“Yes, jackass,” I snap, “You’ve made your point.”

Rocky sets me on my feet then spins me around, caging me to the door. My breath catches as I realize I’m back in the position I was before I tried to fight him, only now there’s something different in the air between us—something electric and dangerous.

He towers over me, his palms braced on either side of my temples, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. Despite my heels, the top of my head barely reaches his shoulders. The primitive, traitorous slut inside me responds to our size difference, to being thoroughly dominated by this aroused male.

While I don’t dare glance down to see the situation in those sweatpants, my body catalogs every point of contact: the solid wall of his chest barely brushing mine with each breath, the flex of his forearms beside my head, the whisper of his breath against my temple, the faint smell of coffee mingling with his natural scent—citrus and something darker, more masculine.

I tense my thighs and bite the insides of my cheeks, but it does nothing to stop the moisture from slipping between my folds. . .

His chest rises and falls in a carefully controlled rhythm—like he’s fighting for restraint. A bead of sweat trails down his neck, disappearing beneath his tank top, and I get the insane urge to trace its path with my tongue.

“Now listen because I’m only going to say this once,” he grits out, his voice suddenly rougher. His gaze focuses on a point just above my head, his jaw clenched tight—as if looking at me directly might break whatever control he’s clinging to. It’s as if he’s struggling to be near me. Yet he’s the one pinning me in place, his body curved around mine like a cage of heated steel.

“You’re in danger,” he continues, but the warning loses some of its edge when his voice catches as I unconsciously lick my lips. His eyes track the movement before snapping back up. “There are people after you, and—”

“Oh, please,” I scoff, enjoying how my breath fans across his throat, making the muscles there tighten. “The only danger I see right now is you.”

His tone hardens to steel. “Well, princess, you’d better take off the rose-tinted glasses and open your fucking ears. Clemenza Brando closed a deal with Hector Lobo, the dealer you saw me with last night. Guess who the merchandise was?”

The words feel like ice water down my spine. “That’s impossible. Clemenza is my father’sConsigliere.”

I’ve known Clemenza since I was a toddler. He wiped my tears and bound my wounds. He taught me how to drive a car and shoot. He’s more of a father to me than my own.

Rocky’s dark chuckle sends a bolt of heat through me, reminding me of the inch of space that keeps him from being pressed against me. “Princess. You’ve been bought and paid for. In more ways than one.”

I scramble to make sense of his words, but my thoughts scatter again as he leans closer. His lips don’t quite touch the shell of my ear, but they are near enough that his breath sends electricity dancing across my skin.

“Go straight home. Tell your father, and get on your fucking knees and pray he can protect you from the sharks circling you.”

I shake my head, fighting the dual urge to lean into him and push him away. “You’re lying,” I accuse, my voice husky. “I think you’re the one who wanted to close the deal but couldn’t because you . . .” I trail off.

Rocky shifts, and my breath catches as his hips pin me against the door.Fuck. He’s hard.