AURORA
Thirty minutes later, there I was, stepping out of the elevator like I was heading to my own trial. My planner pressed against my chest—my secret weapon against looking stupid, lost, or too much like an intern. The high bun on my head pulled half my thoughts upward, while the two loose strands in front framed my face exactly the way I liked: half casual charm, half I’m-not-trying-to-seduce-anyone, I swear.
I was only nineteen, and I had the distinct impression that everyone at the company was at least twice my age—and twice as composed. And, look, I really did try to look at least minimally decent—shoulders covered, posture straight, voice steady. But apparently showing a little neck was practically a mortal sin to some of the veteran secretaries.
If they knew the CEO had licked that area yesterday, they’d have a collective heart attack.
I take a deep breath in front of the enormous, heavy wooden door, so beautiful it looks like it came straight out of an expensive movie. I knock twice, lightly, elegantly—the way people who know what they’re doing knock.
“Come in,” his voice answers almost immediately, as if he’s standing just on the other side of the door.
And maybe he is.
I turn the handle and step inside, mentally preparing myself to find four or five suit-and-tie men with CFO, CMO, CIO, CIA faces—or however many Cs there are. Older, serious people who could crush me with a single business question I wouldn’t know how to answer.
But the room is empty.
Completely, absolutely, bewilderingly empty.
Except for him.
Adrian Thorne is leaning against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, his tall, powerful body far too relaxed for someone who’s supposed to be about to lead an important meeting. And his eyes…
Oh, his eyes are already on me before I even finish closing the door.
I hold my breath.
Because that look isn’t professional.
It isn’t neutral.
It isn’t the look of a CEO at an intern.
It’s silent hunger.
It’s longing for my body, as if he could still taste my skin on his tongue.
It’s dangerous. Intense.
“Where’s… the meeting?” I ask, trying not to let my voice shake.
“Here,” he replies simply.
I furrow my brow.
“Here where?”
“Here. Just the two of us.”
My heart trips over itself in that way I hate because it gives me away completely.
“Mr. Thorne,” I begin, already slipping into defensive mode. “This… this is crazy. I came prepared for a real meeting. With other people. An agenda. With… work.”
He uncrosses his arms and takes a step toward me.
One single step.
Enough to make my spine crack.
“This is a real meeting,” he says in a low, measured tone. “I need to speak with you.”
Oh, great.
Because if there was one thing I needed today, it was a deep conversation with the man who turned me inside out at the best motel in town.
I straighten my posture, clutch my planner against my chest like a shield, and continue in a firm voice—slightly cracked on the inside, but firm on the outside.
“Mr. Thorne, this can’t happen again. None of it. No motel, no touching, no… anything. I work here. You’re my boss. I need this internship, and I’m not going to risk everything because of… because of—”
He lifts his face slightly, as if trying to hold back a smile.
“Because of?” he presses, his voice far too soft, as if he were undressing me with nothing but the sound of it.
“Because of an… impulse. A mistake. A completely out-of-character moment,” I answer quickly, because if I think too hard, I’ll turn to jelly.
He laughs.
Not loudly.
Not mockingly.
Just a breath of laughter, carrying something warm that makes my stomach twist.
“Aurora Bennett,” he murmurs, my name leaving his mouth like dark silk. “Nothing that happened yesterday was a mistake. And it was certainly not an impulsive moment.”
“Of course it was!” I shoot back, louder than I should. “You… you were giving me a ride and… and—”
He takes another step closer.
Unhurried.
Like an elegant predator walking toward prey it has already chosen.
“You looked at me,” he says simply, as if that were the whole explanation in the world. “And I knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask, my throat dry.
He stops so close that I can feel the heat of his body—or the cold. Honestly, I don’t know anymore. There’s always something about him that seems out of place in the real world.
“That you wanted me,” he whispers. “The same thing I wanted.”
I take a step back, my heart beating so fast it feels like it wants to escape through my mouth.
“Even if there was something there… this is insane. I can’t take that kind of risk.”
“Not even with your boss.”
He repeats my words with that razor-sharp precision of his, almost as if he were drawing each syllable in the air.
“I’m not asking you to take a risk,” he says, his tone so controlled it sends a shiver through me. “I’m asking you to stop pretending you don’t feel it.”
“I don’t feel anything.”
A blatant lie.
He knows.
And he steps even closer.
“Aurora,” he says, my ruin disguised as a voice. “You’re throbbing. I can almost hear your blood rushing. Just like yesterday.”
My breath catches.
He tilts his head, studying every detail of me.
“Tell me you don’t want me,” he says. “Looking into my eyes.”
The air leaves my lungs.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Because I can’t.
I can’t lie to him while looking at him from this close.
I can’t deny what my entire body is screaming.
He notices.
And a slow smile—very slow—appears at the corner of his mouth.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Exactly that.”
I feel my hands trembling against my planner.
I feel my soul twisting.
And I know, with a clarity that hurts:
I’m lost.
Completely trapped.
And the worst part?
He didn’t even need teeth to do it.