Emmy had just finished her nighttime routine and was about to crawl into bed when—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Someone pounded on her door so hard it sounded like the hinges would snap off any second.
“Emmy! Open up! Help—please!”
Startled, she rushed to the door and flung it open. Steve practically shoved a burning-hot body into her arms.
A wave of heat hit her and she stumbled back, only then realizing it was James—cheeks flushed, his gaze wild and unfocused.
“What happened to him?” she blurted out.
“Evelina, that lunatic, drugged him! The strongest stuff, too. Doctor said with how tough he is, if he doesn’t—uh—find a woman fast, it could literally kill him!”
“Steve, he’s married! I can’t just dump him on someone else!”
“That’s why, Emmy, he’s your problem now!” Steve shoved James at her, his face practically shouting I can’t do anything else for you, bro.
Then he bolted down the hallway, even making sure to slam the door shut behind him.
Emmy just stood there, completely stunned.
James, all six feet plus of him, slumped onto the couch, pinning her beneath him. She could barely move.
“James? Are you with me?” Emmy pushed at his blazing chest, trying to wriggle free. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom, okay? Hang in there!”
He seemed to hear her, but the heat rolling off his body only got worse with her so close.
He let out a low, tortured sound, but managed to brace himself just enough for her to half-drag, half-carry him into the bathroom.
As soon as they made it inside, his legs gave out. He slid down to the floor, leaning against the cold tile, gasping for air.
Emmy stared at him, totally lost. Should she try to get his clothes off or just hit him with cold water?
The memory of being drugged herself—the helpless, burning desperation—flashed through her mind. She knew exactly how awful he must feel right now.
And even like this, he was still trying to control himself, not letting his desire take over.
Emmy took a shaky breath, grabbed the showerhead, and turned the dial all the way to cold, spraying him down.
“Is that helping? Are you feeling any better?” she asked, her voice barely steady.
James’ eyes snapped open. Desire burned in them, barely contained—a wild animal about to break loose.
“Enough with the cold water. Let me help you.”
James’ head snapped up. His eyes, bloodshot from holding back, locked on her.
He was panting, every word pulled from somewhere deep inside. “Emmy, do you realize what you’re saying?”
“If you help me,” his voice was low and rough, “you’ll be breaking the agreement.”
Tears pricked at Emmy’s eyes. “Does that really matter right now? Do you want to die just to keep some stupid promise?”
He grabbed her wrist, his grip so hot it burned.
He stared at her, and for a second, the intensity in his eyes almost drowned out the fire threatening to take over. “If you help me, you’re mine. Do you get that, Emmy? Mine. Think carefully.”
She froze, caught completely off guard by the possessiveness in his gaze.
A beat later, James let her go, giving a short, bitter laugh.
“Just go. Even if this kills me, I won’t force you.”
But Emmy suddenly bent down, cupped his burning face in her hands, and kissed him.

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