His to Preserve

Eleanor, my personal assistant, stood before my desk with her straight face holding her tablet like a shield. The scar on her right hand peeks from under her sleeve.

"Mr Cade, the final contracts from the Singapore merger are ready on your desk for..." Her voice trailed away.

And.." she continued, her voice cutting through the fog in my brain, 

"The new historian for the Thorne's family collection will be arriving at the estate this afternoon, Your calendar is blocked for the initial walk-through with her tomorrow morning." Can she stop talking already I thought.

I recalled the events of Friday night, about a private lounge, dim light, muffled music, the faint scent of vanilla, big doe eyes, dark curls that felt like silk between my fingers, and a mouth that had been innocent and devastatingly skilled. 

How could I forget the shock in her eyes when she'd bumped into me, the desperate, clumsy kiss she'd used as an excuse to chase that oaf. Her boldness... the way she'd taken control, her hips rolling in my lap, the whispered slurred "I'm damn good at what I do."

Fuck... I hadn't been able to get her out of my head since Friday, I didn't even know her name. 

She'd been a ghost, a beautiful secret that vanished with the sunrise. I'd woken up alone in the lounge. She left behind a flowery scrunchie on the floor which I'd pocketed like a fool.

"Mr. Thorne, are you listening?" she asked pointedly,  adjusting her glasses.

"What?..." I blinked, dragging my gaze from the doorframe to her unamused face.

"Your flight to Zurich," she said, her tone cold implying this wasn't the first time she'd said it. "The car leaves at ten you  really need to go."

"Oh Zurich," I answered 

My meticulously planned schedule. I ran a hand over my face, the day-old stubble rough against my palm, the same stubble that she'd...

Focus Cade, I thought inwardly.

"Thank you, Eleanor," I said, pushing back from the desk and standing. I grabbed my suit jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on, my mind shifting to the end of the trip.

I was halfway to the door, buttoning my cuffs, when it swung open.

"Ah, Miss Campbell, Mr. Thorne was just on his way out." But the words died in the air.

I looked up with shock in my eyes as the world stopped.

There, in the doorway of my office, haloed by the bright lights of the reception area, stood my mysterious one-night stand.

She was dressed for business now, in a sophisticated, tight, cream-colored blouse and a dark skirt that accentuated her curves, a portfolio clutched tightly in her hands. 

The sparkly dress and smudged mascara were gone. Before me stood the same eyes, wide and intelligent, now filled with a profound, almost comical horror.

Her lips parted in shock.

The memories of Friday night crashed over me in a heated wave. The feeling of her porcelain skin beneath my fingers, the taste of her lips on mine, the sounds she'd pulled from me all came rushing like a flood.

A slow, predatory smile spread across my face. So, this is what you look like in the daylight, gorgeous Miss Campbell, I thought inwardly.

Eleanor looked between us with furrowed brows. "Mr. Thorne, this is Isla Campbell, the historian you hired for the family collection. Miss Campbell, your boss, Cade Thorne."

All thoughts of Zurich, investors, and my schedule evaporated-a new, far more enticing plan thickened in my mind.

I took a step towards her, my gaze not leaving hers, letting her see the memory of that night burning in my eyes. 

"Miss Campbell," I said, my voice booming.

"What a... tremendous surprise."

The flight could wait. This was more important. I was going to explore every single fascinating inch of my history and I was going to start right now.

ISLA'S POV:

This is it, Isla, do not screw this up, I said to myself as I smoothed my hands down my skirt. The portfolio in my hand felt like a lifeline; it was my proof that I belonged here, that I was a professional in my field.

Chin up, I smiled to myself.

I approached the receptionist, who offered a perfectly polite cold smile. "Isla Campbell for Mr. Thorne. I have an appointment to see Eleanor. I'm the new historian."

"Of course, Miss Campbell Eleanor is expecting you; Come right this way." She led me down a silent hallway as my heels clicked a rhythm that sounded far too loud in the quiet hallway.

Confidence, Isla. You earned this.

We stopped before a door of frosted glass. The receptionist pushed it open. "Eleanor, Miss Campbell is here."

I stepped inside, my eyes taking a second to adjust. And then my world tilted on its own.

It wasn't Eleanor that my gaze found first but the man striding toward the door buttoning the cuffs of a shirt that probably cost more than my student loan payments. The same face I'd seen etched against the dim light of a private lounge.

My heart didn't just skip a beat; it performed a frantic, nervous tap dance against my ribs. The air rushed from my lungs in a silent, horrified gasp. The portfolio slipped in my suddenly damp grasp.

No. It's not possible. It can't be him.

But it was. Those same intense, dark stormy eyes, now wide with shock that mirrored my own. The same mouth that had... oh god!!

Every mesmerizing detail of Friday night crashed over me not as a heated wave. The feel of his hands on my waist. The taste of expensive whiskey. The way I'd brazenly climbed into his lap, fueled by liquid courage and a desperate need to forget my own name. The things that I'd whispered.

"I'm damn good at what I do"...

The memory echoed in my head, taunting me. 

His shock melted away, replaced by a slow, predatory smile. It was a look that saw right through my cream-colored blouse and professional facade, straight back to the messy, reckless girl in the sparkly dress. He looked... thrilled.

The woman behind the desk, Eleanor, I presumed, was speaking, her voice fuzzy and distant, as if heard from underwater. "...Isla Campbell the historian... Miss Campbell, your boss Cade Thorne."

Cade Thorne. My boss. The reclusive, notoriously demanding billionaire whose family's art collection I was meant to curate-the man I had... oh no. No, no, no.

My face flamed like a rabbit frozen in the path of a wolf. Every single instinct in my body screamed at me to run.

He took a step toward me, his gaze pinning me in place. It was a look full of possession and a dark, promising amusement. He let me see the memory burning in his eyes, and I knew, with terrifying certainty, that he remembered everything.

 "Miss Campbell. What a... tremendous surprise"  his voice, deep and resonant and exactly as I remembered it, boomed in the quiet office."

The flight could wait. This was more important. I was going to explore every single fascinating inch of my history and I was going to start right now.

I couldn't breathe. This wasn't a career opportunity; it was a beautifully furnished trap.

Eleanor's voice, laced with confusion, finally cut through my state of shock. "Mr. Thorne, your car is waiting. Shall I... show Miss Campbell to the library at the estate to begin her introductory review?"

Cade's eyes-Mr. Thorne's eyes didn't leave mine for a long, terrifying second.. Finally, he gave a subtle, almost invisible nod.

"Yes," he said, the word a low rumble. "Show her everything, I'll be along shortly." The promise in his tone wasn't a lie. This wasn't over yet, it had merely just begun.

He strode past me, followed by a gush of sandalwood that surged back forbidden memories, and the air he displaced felt charged. 

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with a very confused Eleanor.

I stood there quivering, my professional composure shattered at my feet.

Eleanor cleared her throat, adjusting her glasses as she looked at me with new curiosity. "Right," she said, her tone cooler than before. "Shall we, Miss Campbell? The car is downstairs. I'll give you a brief overview on the way to the estate."

I could only nod mutely, my mind screaming one single, coherent thought.

I am so utterly, completely, and professionally doomed.