Hollywood's Arrival and a Bold Introduction

The early morning sun kissed my skin as Vincent drove me back to my apartment, his hand resting possessively on my thigh. I couldn't stop stealing glances at him—his sharp jawline, the focused look in his eyes as he navigated the roads, the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt when he turned the steering wheel.

"You're staring," he said without looking at me, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Can you blame me?" I trailed my fingers up his arm. "After what we just did on your desk..."

He caught my hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Don't remind me of what we didn't get to finish. I'm already frustrated enough."

"We'll have other opportunities," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

When Vincent pulled up in front of my building, he turned to face me fully. "I hate that I have to leave you like this."

"The film crew needs their Alpha," I said, understanding the weight of his responsibilities. "I get it."