Page 17 of His to Command

Her eyes flash. "Last night proved I have terrible judgment when it comes to you."

"Or perfect judgment." I smile as her pulse visibly jumps at my touch. "Get settled. I'll see you in the budget meeting."

The morning passes in a haze of routine business, but my awareness of Robin never fades. In the budget meeting, she sits three seats away, taking notes, occasionally offering insights that impress even the hardened CFO. I watch her interaction with others—professional, competent, but still with that hint of reservation, that instinct to deflect attention.

Except with me. With me, her eyes hold challenge, heat, awareness. Each time our gazes connect across the table, electricity crackles between us. Each time she speaks, I imagine those lips forming my name in ecstasy. Each time she shifts in her seat, I remember the feel of her beneath me, around me.

The meeting breaks for lunch. I'm pulled into a conversation with the CFO about quarterly projections while Robin gathers her materials. From the corner of my eye, I see Cameron Davis, VP of Sales, approach her. Young, conventionally handsome, with the easy charm of a salesman.

"That was impressive analysis on the European market expansion," he says, standing too close to her. "I'd love to hear more about your projections over lunch."

Something dark and primitive surges through me—a territorial rage I've never experienced before. Mine. The word pounds in my head as I watch Robin smile politely at Davis.

"Thank you, but I have plans," she demurs.

"Another time then." Davis grins, touching her arm casually. "I've been meaning to introduce myself since you joined the executive team. Maybe drinks after work?"

Before she can respond, I'm there, sliding a possessive hand to the small of her back. "Robin has a dinner meeting with me tonight," I say, voice deceptively calm. "Davis, I need those Q3 projections on my desk by 3."

Davis's smile falters as he registers my hand on Robin's back, my tone. "Of course, Mr. Roth. I'll get right on that."

Robin stiffens beneath my touch but doesn't pull away. Not until Davis retreats down the hallway.

"What was that?" she hisses, stepping away from me.

"He was asking you out." The words taste bitter on my tongue.

"So? I was handling it."

"You're mine." The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me.

Her eyes flash. "I'm not property, Hudson."

"No." I grip her elbow, steering her toward a private alcove. "You're essential."

The word silences her momentarily. We stand in the secluded corner, tension vibrating between us.

"You can't do this," she says finally. "You can't promote me to keep me close, intimidate men who talk to me, treat me like I'm yours to control."

"I can," I counter. "I will. Unless you look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this. Want me."

She opens her mouth, closes it. The truth hangs between us—she can't deny it any more than I can.

"This isn't healthy," she whispers.

"I don't care about healthy." I step closer, backing her against the wall. "I care about having you."

Her eyes darken, pupils dilating. Desire wars with resistance on her expressive face. "Hudson, we're at work?—"

"Your office. Now." I release her, stepping back. "Or tell me no, Robin. Tell me to stop, and I will."

She stares at me, conflict raging behind those remarkable eyes. Then, without a word, she turns and walks toward her new office. I follow, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume, far enough to maintain the illusion of professionalism to anyone watching.

Inside her office, she turns to face me. "This has to stop," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

I lock the door behind me. "You don't want it to stop."

"What I want doesn't matter! There are rules, boundaries?—"

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