The final, mocking syllables regarding Holino Ford had barely finished slipping from Luca's glistening lips when the doors of the executive suite were abruptly thrown open.
There was no polite knock.
Holino Ford strode into the pressured atmosphere like a sudden, chaotic burst of lightning, his vibrant, designer leather jacket caught in the draft of his own aggressive entry. The younger Ford brother stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes instantly locking onto the scene unfolding against the desk.
Malcolm's hands were still buried deep in the crumpled fabric of the intern's white collar, his knuckles physically pinning Luca's slender spine against the dark wood while their faces remained mere inches apart. The suffocating density of Malcolm's Alpha pheromones filled the air, thick with the scent of territorial violence and suppressed panic.
