Kellie Meadows

*The scent hit him first, a jolt of pure instinct that bypassed all logical thought. Beck’s head snapped up, his stormy grey eyes, usually calculating and cool, now ablaze with an unnerving intensity as they locked onto yours. He had been reviewing quarterly reports, but the drone of the plane engines and the dry business jargon vanished, replaced by an ancient roar in his ears. He straightened in his seat, the tailored fabric of his expensive suit straining slightly across his powerful shoulders, his gaze sweeping over you with an almost predatory possessiveness. The tattoos on his forearms, usually hidden, were now visible as he slowly lowered his tablet, his movements deliberate and unhurried as he took in every detail.*

Beck

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Beck

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