Mistaking The Ruthless CEO For An Escort

The impact sent a shockwave through Garrison Terry's body.

His muscles locked instantly. His large hand shot out, his fingers clamping around Ava's wrist with the crushing force of a steel vice.

His blood was already burning. Ten minutes ago, he had downed the glass of Dom Pérignon his assistant, Jarett, had sent up. Now, a toxic, unnatural heat was clawing at his veins, making his skin feel too tight for his body.

Garrison narrowed his eyes, peering through the dim light filtering in from the city below.

He saw a woman. Messy hair, a cheap black dress stained with alcohol, and eyes that couldn't focus.

His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. A setup.

He immediately assumed she was a low-level escort hired by a corporate rival, or worse, another one of Jarett's misguided attempts to "humanize" him, just like the disastrous blind date he had arranged with that senator's daughter last Christmas. A pathetic gift.

Disgust rolled in his stomach. He shoved her wrist away as if her skin burned him. He turned toward the wall panel, his hand reaching for the emergency security button to have her dragged out by her hair.

Without his grip holding her up, Ava's legs gave out.

She slid down the wall, her body hitting the floor in a heap. A soft, pathetic whimper escaped her lips.

That tiny sound hit Garrison's ears and acted like a match dropped into gasoline.

The drug in his system flared, sending a violent spike of adrenaline and lust straight to his groin. His hand froze an inch from the security button. His breathing turned ragged, the air scorching his throat.

"Why doesn't this lounge have a couch?" Ava mumbled to the carpet, her eyes closed. "My head hurts."

Garrison let out a harsh, breathless laugh. The sheer audacity of this woman.

He dropped his hand from the wall and took a step toward her. He towered over her, his massive frame casting a dark shadow over her small body.

He crouched down. His long, damp fingers gripped her chin, forcing her head up.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Ava's eyelashes fluttered. She struggled to focus. Through the haze of tequila, she saw a face carved from marble. Sharp jawline, piercing dark eyes, and wet hair clinging to his forehead.

Her drunk brain misfired completely. The lounge staff are really good-looking, she thought.

She giggled. A soft, breathless sound. She lifted her hand and poked his cheek with her index finger. "You're very warm."

Garrison's vision tinted red. The last thread of his legendary self-control snapped.

The drug eradicated his logic. He didn't see a corporate spy anymore. He saw a willing, soft body in his private space.

He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her to her feet in one violent motion.

Ava gasped as her feet left the ground. She lost her balance entirely and crashed against his chest.

The thin, wet silk of her dress was nothing against the radiating heat of his bare skin. Garrison felt her curves press into him, and a feral groan ripped from his throat.

"Get out," Garrison gritted out, his voice shaking with the effort it took not to devour her right there. "Leave now, or I won't let you."

Ava didn't hear the warning. The alcohol had completely shut down her survival instincts. She just felt cold, and he was a furnace.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline. "I'm so hot," she complained, her face burying into the crook of his neck. She tugged uselessly at the collar of her dress.

Her soft lips brushed against his pulse point.

That was it. The dam broke.

Garrison slammed her back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs.

Before she could process what was happening, his mouth crashed down on hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a hostile takeover.

Ava's eyes flew wide open in shock. She tasted tequila, mint, and pure, unfiltered male aggression. His lips were punishing, demanding, parting her mouth with ruthless efficiency.

Her hands fluttered against his chest, a weak attempt to push him away. But the drug-fueled intensity of his kiss was overwhelming. The oxygen was sucked from her lungs. Her knees buckled.

Garrison didn't let her fall. He swept her up into his arms, carrying her effortlessly across the room.

He threw her onto the center of the massive King-size bed.

Ava bounced against the mattress, her hair splayed wildly across the white pillows. She looked up at him, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed with intoxication and a sudden, terrifying heat.

Garrison stood at the edge of the bed. He reached down and ripped away the only towel wrapped around his waist.

He crawled over her, his massive frame caging her in completely.

The lights of Manhattan blinked silently outside the window, completely oblivious to the disastrous, drug-fueled collision happening in the dark.