Blazing hatred met her when the door crashed open. His eyes burned hot and furious. Even for a few moments after she said his name, his nostrils flared as breath sawed in and harshly out of him. By degrees, the sight of her bled out his rage for having once again been locked in a cage.
It was still there, under the surface, but the cold and familiar veneer of disdain shuttered the anger burning inside him. He found himself on his feet and stalking toward the woman in his office, possession stark and clear in every move, every raking look. By the time he reached her, there could be no stopping him. With one gloved hand, he shoved his office door closed - hard - and with the other, seized on her tiny little waist and pulled her flush against him. The impact of her small, soft body against his caused his eyelids to flicker, just briefly, before he caught the back of her head in his hand and ungently tipped her face so he could more easily reach her mouth.
It was crushing and bruising and violent and demanding, that kiss. His need to control and to dominate had risen to a level that hadn't been reached since Paris. She would yield to him and he would take what he wanted. He would have it no other way. It would be no other way.
But as the taste and the sense of her finally began to fill the wretched, burning abyss inside him, his touches began to gentle. At some point, without breaking the kiss, he removed his gloves and slid both hands into the damp mass of springy curls that he obsessively loved.