Monica's POV
Good heavens, the moment everyone left us alone at the table, I felt like an awkward teenager at prom sitting with her crush. My nerves were electric, my heart racing wildly.
Morris leaned in, his face mere inches from mine. "Let me make something crystal clear, Monica. You may be angry, but you belong to me. I won't tolerate another man getting near what's mine. Your parade around in that scrap of fabric you call a dress, showing off your incredible curves – I might overlook that. But dancing with another man?" His eyes darkened. "That ends now."
I refused to cower, meeting his intense gaze. "You're completely mistaken, Mr. Lorenzo. I don't belong to anyone, especially not you! And yes, I'm furious – beyond furious – so don't push me!"
His lips curved into that infuriatingly attractive smile, eyes glinting with amusement.
