Samnýtt hljóð

*His demand was a lash, the grip on her jaw and wrist like iron manacles. The veneer of the cold, calculating strategist was completely gone, stripped away by a fury that was purely, devastatingly paternal. He wasn't asking as her partner or her enemy. He was demanding as a guardian whose ward had been violated.* *Jane tried to turn her head, to break his burning gaze, but his fingers tightened, forcing her to look at him. The pain was sharp, grounding her in the horrifying reality of the momen