Page 15 of His to Command

Hudson catches my hands. "Stay."

"I can't."

"Can't? Or won't?" he echoes our earlier exchange.

I look up at him, at this man who's turned my carefully constructed life upside down in the span of days. "Both," I admit. "I need...time. To think. To process."

Something flickers in his eyes—frustration, possessiveness, determination. But he nods. "I'll have a car take you home."

"Thank you." I step back, creating physical distance I desperately need. "For understanding."

His smile holds no humor. "I don't understand. I don't want you walking away. But I'll let you. For tonight."

The implicit promise in his words—that this is temporary, that he's not done with me—sends a shiver down my spine. Fear? Anticipation? Both?

I gather my things in silence, hyperaware of his eyes tracking my every movement. At the door, I pause, turning back to find him exactly where I left him, powerful and disheveled and watching me with that singular focus.

"Hudson, I—" What can I say? That I regret this? I don't. That it can't happen again? I'm not sure I believe that.

"Go home, Robin," he says softly. "Rest. Tomorrow we'll talk."

I nod, grateful for the reprieve, and slip out the door. In the empty elevator descending to the lobby, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair tousled by his hands. I look like a woman who's been thoroughly claimed.

And despite all my reservations, all my professional boundaries, all my carefully constructed rules—I don't hate it.

God help me, I want more.

six

. . .

Hudson

I haven't slept.How could I, with the scent of her still on my skin, the taste of her still on my tongue? I've had countless women—beautiful, willing, skilled. None of them lingered in my mind past sunrise. But Robin Hastings has colonized my thoughts, taken over territories I never allowed anyone to touch. I pace my penthouse as dawn breaks, remembering the sounds she made when I was inside her, the way she gasped my name, the flutter of her body around mine when she came. Mine. The word beats in time with my pulse. Mine. It's no longer a desire but a fact—as immutable as gravity, as essential as breathing.

I shower, dress, arrive at the office before 6 AM. There's work to do before she arrives. Changes to implement. Robin thinks last night was a mistake, a moment of weakness. She's wrong. It was inevitable—the first step on a path I've already mapped out for us.

Gregory is at his desk, preparing my day. The sight irritates me. He's not Robin.

"Cancel my morning appointments," I instruct. "And call HR. I need paperwork prepared."

His eyebrows lift slightly but he knows better than to question me. "Yes, sir. What kind of paperwork?"

"A promotion. Robin Hastings is being moved to Special Projects Director, reporting directly to me."

"Sir, that position doesn't?—"

"It does now." I enter my office, leaving no room for discussion.

By 9 AM, everything is arranged. The office adjacent to mine—previously a small conference room—has been transformed. A new desk, new computer, new nameplate: Robin Hastings, Special Projects Director. The connecting door between our offices has a lock. On my side.

Her salary has been tripled. Her employee access upgraded to executive level. The personnel changes have been announced company-wide in a memo emphasizing her "exceptional contributions" that caught my attention.

All that remains is to tell Robin herself.

She arrives at 9:08, perfectly on time for her usual schedule. I watch through the glass as she approaches her desk, hesitating when she sees Gregory still there. They exchange words I can't hear. She glances toward my office, and even through the glass, I feel the impact of those hazel eyes. Her cheeks flush. She remembers everything about last night. Good.

I press the intercom. "Robin. My office."

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