His to Belong To

by jm blake

  “Love? Are you alright?” I walk back into the bedroom and tap on the bathroom door.

  “Love?” I twist the door handle, and it opens easily to a dark room. The light comes on as I enter and see the sterile space is undisturbed. I stand there confused and walk back into the bedroom, slipping my pants on. I look around the whole area and see that all traces of her are gone— I’m having a hard time computing what I am seeing. Because I know that what I am thinking is impossible, surely she didn’t …leave?

  The phone rings again, and I snatch it up. “Yes?”

  “My lord, you asked for an eight am wake-up. It’s eight oh two.” The polite and deferential voice grates on my growing nerves, but I contain it. “Thank you. Could you send up a pot of coffee and then someone from Security?” I will send out the entire army if that’s what it takes.

  “At once, my lord. Is something amiss?” The voice is now politely worried.

  “You could say that.” I hang up and prop my hands on my hips.

  I can’t believe she’s gone.

  And I can’t fucking believe I didn’t get her name.

  Ayden

  “Phyl, what do I have this morning?”

  My lovely assistant hurries into my office, with a steaming cup of coffee, black as my mood. I’ve spent the last three days between denial and using my considerable resources in finding the little fairy who disappeared on me. I say fairy because there is no way that a human being can vanish the way that she did. No one inside the hotel, outside the hotel, or any of the surrounding shops had a single clue about her. The Steward was in a complete snit, as he only recalled “a tall nattily dressed chap” leading her into Campus—the gentleman’s attire and decorum earning him entrance.

  It took everything in me not to fucking throttle him where he stood—so much for his legendary discretion. He probably knew he was looking at his demise as my fists were tightly curled, and my teeth were bared in a growl. He took several steps back and stammered out a promise to try and find out who he was. Unfortunately, he had paid cash for their drinks, so there were no card slips or signatures. Ridiculous. None of the black cabs, Ubers, or private cars usually parked near the Surrey-Mark recall picking up an American woman in all black. The Tube attendants couldn’t recall her—even when tempted with a healthy stack of notes. The only person who even remotely remembered her was an elderly member of the cleaning crew- and even his memory was a faulty (“I memba a wee lass scurrying out to the right”) witness.

  I was ready to burn the entire building down.

  The security office was unhelpful, as the hotel’s stringent promise of discretion prevented them from reviewing tapes and reporting back any findings. Not even pulling my considerable influence would budge them unless a crime had been committed. I briefly toyed with accusing her of some half-baked theft, but I’m not that much of a prat. And truthfully the only thing she stole was half of my manhood and pride. I’m still in shock that she ran out on me—after the night we had, after the pleasure I gave her? For fuck’s sake, she came so many times that her gritty voice went hoarse from begging me to stop. To wake up and find her gone was…

  I just don’t fucking like it, alright?

  I’ve slept for shit, and I’m almost positive that my staff thinks I have lost the plot. I’ve done nothing but snap at everyone, and there’s not enough alcohol in London to numb my mind. I gulp down half of the boiling hot coffee, relishing in the burn. I look up at Phyl, who has been staring at the top of my head, and frown. “Alright?”

  She startles and smiles nervously. “Yes, sir. I was wondering— are you feeling well? You seem a bit… peaked?” She ends the last on a question, and her eyes flit back to my hair. My frown deepens, and I realize that I forgot to style my hair this morning. It’s probably sticking up and a mess. I grit my teeth- this damn woman is ruining my life. I have got to get over this. It happens to every chap once in a while, doesn’t it? Men get stood up, run out on, left behind, daily. Right?

  Except it doesn’t happen to me, dammit.

  “I’m fine, lovely. Bit of a hectic weekend. Now, what have I got today?” I lean back in my chair and half-listen to her list. The average amount of interview requests, meetings, and teleconferences, plus a few dozen calls from women looking for a return ticket. I dismiss those internally and try to focus on prioritizing the day. What if something happened to her? Knightsbridge is a fantastic neighborhood, but she is just a tourist- a beautiful one at that. What if she got lost and the wrong sort got ahold of her? I should have hidden her shoes the night before, tied her to the bed, something. My best friend has a bloke on retainer- a shadowy ex-government type who specializes in missing persons— maybe I should reach out to him? Purely to make sure she’s safe, of course.

  It probably would have helped if I’d gotten her fucking name.

  I bang my head a few times on the back of my chair before I realize that Phyl has left my office, and my brother, Sebastian is standing in the doorway, a stupid smirk on his face.

  “Phyl says that you are out of sorts this morning. Anything to do with the bird that flew the coop on you?” His smirk widens, and he chuckles before settling in the chair in front of my desk. I made the mistake of calling him the morning of and ranting in his ear while dispatching half of the hotel on a wild goose chase. His howls of laughter could have wakened the dead.

  “No. I’m just tired,” I growl, but neither one of us believes me.

  “Tired, hmm? I suppose that’s why your hair is on a snarl, and you have toothpaste stuck to the side of your mouth?” He tries to keep a concerned look on his face but fails miserably. His face cracks into a wide smile- a replica of my own- and laughter is right on the brink. I’m famous for my fastidious appearance and impeccable grooming—so I’m sure that this somewhat haggard look is a source of great amusement to him. My scowl is so deep I can feel my forehead about to split.

  “Cain killed Abel, you know? Now what do you want, I have work to do.” I point a finger in Bash’s direction and pretend to shuffle some papers on my desk. His smile stays in place, and the insolent sod laces his hands behind his head and whistles something that sounds suspiciously like the American national anthem. I throw a pen at him, and his laughter bursts forward.

  “Come now Ayden, let me relish in this moment. Mr. Europe’s-Most- Eligible, heir to the throne, snap-my-fingers-and-they-come-running, Sir Hit It And Quit It, Lord Love Them And Leave Them—has suffered his very first knock-back. I never thought I would see the day. It makes you human just like the rest of us, brother.” He goes back to his whistling, and I begin to wonder how our mum will feel with only one living son.

  “First off, I don’t know what half of what you just said means. Secondly, if you were any sort of loving sibling, you wouldn’t be rubbing this in-you’d be helping me get past it. Lastly, if I recall, the rags have you as Most Eligible, since I have openly refused to settle down. Now for the last time, what do you want?”

  His smile doesn’t move, but at least he stops that infernal noise. “I wanted to remind you that we have the expert from America, Dr. Masters coming in today, the one that Nick recommended? He will be here around noon.”

  My annoyance at my younger brother fades, and I finally begin to feel some interest in work. As one of the world’s leading companies on clean energy, we are in a constant race to stay ahead of our competitors and also against climate change. Our current project- a game changer- has been stalled for months. I groused about it to Nick, my best friend and an investor in the project and he came back with a chap from Berkley University that has been tearing up the scientific community. Bash has spent weeks trying to coordinate with him to almost no avail. Not even my brother’s considerable charm could penetrate the thick wall that Dr. Michael Masters’ assistant put up, but he finally agreed to come and consult for us. I’m cautiously optimistic, but given how hard it was even to get him on email leaves me less than enthused.

  “Hopefully, he lives up to his resume. I�
��m starting to worry about this project, Bash. We’ve poured millions of pounds into it, and this lack of progress is scaring our investors. Even Nick is getting antsy and he knows more than anyone. When I started DevCo ten years ago, I promised that we would change the world and I aim to keep that promise. Who else is coming in for the meeting?” He begins listing a few people from the lab as well as another VP besides Bash.

  “I have a good feeling about this, Ayden, try not to hold the chap’s nationality against him, hmm?” He checks his watch and stands up, his own perfectly tailored suit wrinkle-free, and pats his dark blonde hair smugly. “Clean up a bit, before our guest arrives, will you?” He saunters out of my office and hums his way past Phyl’s desk.

  I should have smothered him when he was a baby.

  “Phyl bring me more coffee, please!” I yell out the door. I’m going to need a gallon of the stuff to make it through today. “And hold my calls and close my door.”

  * * *

  I manage to somewhat focus on a bit of work, though images and memories of silky skin and throaty moans penetrate my thoughts. A few times, I’ve had to mash my cock down as he keeps trying to rise up, looking around for his playmate. I mentally apologize to him and keep trying to plug away on emails and tasks. The morning speeds by, and I’m trying to compose a note to an investor when Bash opens the door, followed by two of our project managers and Pat Wilton, our VP of Operations. Phly calls out that Dr. Masters is on his way up, and I stand up to shake hands with my employees.

  “Perhaps you should change shirts?” Bash suggests low while pointing discreetly at a coffee stain that I had no memory of happening. “And maybe a face wash?” He taps the corner of my mouth where I presume the toothpaste residue is still living. I swat his hand away and stalk around the corner to my private bath. I have a small collection of clean shirts as well as a few ties (which I also forgot this morning) and I grumpily snatch one off of a hanger. Shrugging off the heavily wrinkled and stained shirt, I lean over the sink and splash cold water over my face. I didn’t shave this morning, but I don’t have time to remove the scruff on my jaw. What a mess I am. Once this meeting is over, I’m going to head to the neared pub, pick up the first woman that breathes in my direction and fuck her until I forget everything. This isn’t who I am—a disheveled slob pining over some woman who left me without a backward glance. I can hear Bash greeting the American and then an odd silence. I frown at my reflection and hurriedly button my shirt and knot the tie in some sort of Windsor.

  “…it’s fine. I’m anxious to hear what you have been working on and how I can help.” I didn’t hear the question, but the voice attached to that sentence stops me cold.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  I hear Bash murmur something back, and a light laugh slips around the corner and slaps me in the face.

  NO. FUCKING. WAY.

  I’m not a religious man, but surely this is divine interference. My heart slams in my chest and a sense of savage satisfaction runs through me, hardening my body like stone. I take a deep breath and then tuck my hands in my pockets. I round the corner and see Bash’s expression first- fascination mixed with something else. Recognition? He looks up and gestures to the woman standing in front of him, a grin quirking the edges of his mouth. Bastard.

  “Ah, here’s my brother now. Ayden, this is Dr. Cassidy Michael Masters.” I hear the emphasis he places on her name, and she is smiling as she turns around. I watch as the color drains out of her cheeks as we meet eyes, her hand still stretched out in front of her. A look of horror crosses her face, and I smile like the devil.

  Found you, girl.

  Cassidy

  I knew I shouldn’t have worn this fucking skirt.

  My sister, Gemma, convinced me that I needed to look more “professional” for this meeting, and like the dope that I am, I listened. When I unpacked all of the clothes in my suitcase, I spied a few pieces that I know I didn’t buy. I don’t own anything that isn’t black and baggy- comfort is essential for me, and I need everything to match without thinking about it. I sometimes spend all day in a lab, so silk blouses and pencil skirts are not high on my list of necessities. Gemma has always been the most fashionable out of all of us, and now that she works for a designer label, she is continually slipping things into my closet with the hopes that one day I will magically give a shit about this crap.

  Fat chance.

  When we were younger, she was gobbling up Vogue and Elle magazines, earmarking pages, and memorizing color palettes. At the same time, I was self-quizzing on the Periodic Table and experimenting with stuff I found in the pantry. Every once in a while, I let her play dress-up with me, and though her absolute giddiness makes me smile, I loathe everything about it.

  “Okay, now tuck the blouse in and slip on the black heels.” I peer at my reflection while my sister watches from an iPad I have propped up on the chair next to the mirror. While I was getting dressed this morning, I FaceTimed her, and though it was late in San Francisco, she was awake and only too happy to help me pick an outfit.

  “Isn’t this too tight?” I ask unhappily. The slate-grey pencil skirt fits me like a glove, and every curve I have is on display. The matching fitted blouse seems modest, but paired with this tourniquet around my legs; it’s indecent.

  “No, Cass, it isn’t too tight. It’s perfectly professional. Lord, if I had your body, I’d probably go naked everywhere.” She pantomimes an hourglass with her hands and I roll my eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

  She grins and hugs her pillow to her chest. My sister is drop-dead gorgeous, even in just her pajamas and a messy top knot. “Try on the blue dress next. It will look perfect with your eyes.” I grumble loudly, while carefully stripping off skirt and blouse. Gem is going on about our other sister Brin and her new job at a law firm downtown when I hear her gasp out loud. “Girl, what are those bruises?”

  I whip around quickly and hold the dress up to my chest.

  So yeah, I didn’t tell my sisters about my night with…whatshisname.

  First off, let me just say that I never have one night stands. Ever. I have seen too many police procedural shows where some girl goes off with a guy she just met, and she either a) winds up missing her liver or b) dead.

  No thanks. I need my organs.

  Gemma has no problem meeting up with guys from an app on her phone, and even Brin has at least had a few one-nighters. I’m the only chicken shit who just stares at guys when they try to talk to me, and I have a habit of blurting out weird factoids like a human Trivial Pursuit wedge (does anyone play that anymore? Hmm, I need to check on that.) Nine times out of ten, they slither away, and on the off chance that they stick around, I make it well known that they ain’t “getting the drawers,” and they bounce. So yeah, that’s not my thing.

  Anyway, there I was at some snooty-butt bar, minding my own business (crunching some information about said meeting) when I felt a shadow lean over me. I thought it was James, the fellow scientist I had a drink with earlier, but when I looked up—well it wasn’t James.

  I don’t think I have seen such a perfect man in my life.

  My mouth opened, and before I could say anything, he slid into the booth, whispering in my ear about some jerks that were about to approach my table. His voice was warm honey being poured over broken glass—his accent crisp. A rich clove smell rose off of his skin and his large frame loomed protectively over me. Instinctively I curled into his embrace, and sure enough, some drunk ass fellow Americans came over blabbering about me looking like some supermodel.

  As if.

  Sexy-British-Man-Who-Smelled-Amazing pretty much ran them off with a few words and then proceeded to charm the granny panties right off of me. Not only was he gorgeous (those lips and that smile -God help me), but he was confident and determined. He was unlike any man I had ever met. And even when that hoochie in the red dress came over trying to claim him, he calmly sent her on her way, while not letting me out of his sight. I went completely brain dead and just follow
ed him to some private elevator and into a screamingly luxurious apartment. This is the part where he would club me over the head and then dump me into a bathtub full of ice, but instead, he smoothly seduced me.