She gasped as her body slammed against the wall, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Staggering, Jacqueline took a step back, steadying herself. Her gaze lifted slowly, traveling up the broad plane of his chest until it finally collided with his olive-colored eyes.
God, he looked infuriatingly good.
He wore a crisp white button-up that clung to every powerful flex of muscle beneath it, paired with tailored black dress pants and polished black shoes that gleamed under the lights. His hair had been slicked back neatly, though one rebellious strand had fallen forward to brush his forehead. Thick brows were drawn into a harsh scowl, and those sinful lips were pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.
Hot. Hot. Hot.
His jaw was locked tight, rage simmering in every rigid line of his body. Yet when he released her wrist, he did so carefully almost deliberately making sure not to hurt her the way he had before.
