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“Let’s get one thing clear right now, Layla Hawthorne. You are fucking gorgeous.”

The words are blunt.

Certain.

No pity.

No careful reassurance.

Just fact.

His thumbs sweep over my hips.

“I want these.”

Another touch at my waist.

“This.”

His gaze drops and comes back hotter.

“All of you.”

My butterflies lose their fucking minds. Then that wicked mouth curves.

“And for the record?”

“What?”

His voice drops.

“I plan to pin you to this wall and make you forget every ridiculous thought currently running through that beautiful head of yours. The only question is, are you ready?.”

Challenge.

Oh, the arrogant bastard is challenging me.

Apparently, anxiety isn't the only thing Mitchell Knight knows how to trigger.

My chin rises.

“That's a lot of talk, Mr. Knight.”

His eyes flare.

Oh, I know that look.

And I know Mitchell Knight's reputation.

I've done my research.

This is a man who walks into boardrooms and makes seasoned executives nervous. A man who built billions on an uncanny ability to remember everything, anticipate outcomes, and stay three moves ahead of everyone else.

People don't challenge Mitchell Knight.

They definitely don't dare him.

But I'm about to.