by Nikki Sloane
Doubtful.
“Thanks for dinner,” I said.
He only acknowledged my gratitude with a simple nod of his head.
It felt like our evening was coming to a close, and I shifted awkwardly on my feet, waiting for him to dismiss me. But he just stood there with one hand on the edge of the sink and his piercing blue eyes trapping mine, and my pulse climbed with each passing second.
If I didn’t break this spell, I was going to do something foolish. I’d find a reason to move closer to him and try to smell if he wore cologne. Or an excuse to stroke the fine silk of his tie. Or to learn what the rough ends of the whiskers edging his face would feel like against my fingertips.
God, I was obsessed with his jaw.
It was strong and sharp like his cheekbones, and I loved the way it tightened when I said something he found unsatisfactory. I longed to put my hands on it, use my fingers to trace the angle of it. And I’d had fantasies about how his perfect jaw would move when he kissed me.
A little voice in the back of my head whispered I was forgetting something, but when he took a step closer, it drowned everything else out.
“I should go,” I said and tried to back away instinctively. Only I was already against the counter, so when I banged into it and the cabinet beneath with a loud thump, Macalister went stiff.
Was that hurt that flashed through his eyes? No, it couldn’t be, and it was gone too fast for me to examine it. I had flinched like he scared me, and although he did, it wasn’t for the reasons he’d think. It wasn’t because he’d accidentally killed his wife or gone to prison or tried to steal a woman away from his own son. And it wasn’t because he was intimidating and ruthless and could ruin me.
It was that, despite all of it, I foolishly wanted him anyway.
His deep voice was empty. “I’ll walk you out.”
I wished desperately I could have stayed put. What would have happened if I had? Was it crazy to think he was having similar thoughts to mine, and he’d stepped closer because he wanted to be near?
We marched wordlessly through the house toward the entryway, and as Macalister fished my jacket out of the closet, a soft meow drew my attention into the front sitting room. It was dark out, and the wood paneled room was cave-like, but I made out the black coil of fur on one of the couch cushions. My feet carried me toward it.
Lucifer stretched one paw and then the other as I sat beside him and scratched behind his ears. Who was lonelier in this house and more starved for attention . . . the cat, or the backlit man holding my coat in the arched doorway, watching me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t solve?
Macalister tossed my coat onto a side chair and moved swiftly toward the couch, only to shoo away the cat with an irked look. Lucifer hopped down with a protesting meow and scurried away, and I threw an accusing look upward.
“Rude.”
“I agree,” Macalister answered. “This is a priceless antique couch, and he knows he’s not supposed to be on it.”
It had been lingering in the back of my mind, but his bossy gesture finally broke it free. “You have to kiss her at the end of the night.”
He was too controlled to let his entire body jolt with shock. Only the snap of his shoulders gave away his surprise. “Excuse me?”
I swallowed hard, even though my mouth had gone dry. “Your dinner with Evangeline. People might think it’s business or you’re just friends. You need to kiss her so there isn’t any doubt.”
Macalister Hale wasn’t known for public displays of affection. In fact, in all the years they’d been married, had I ever seen him kiss his wife? I couldn’t recall even a picture. Maybe he didn’t know how.
God, please don’t let that be true.
He stared at me now, his eyes glittering in the dark with an unclear emotion. Displeasure? He did not like being told what to do.
My body was tight with apprehension, and I treaded carefully. “I prepared her already, so she knows it’s coming.”
His tone was ice. “Did you?”
“She’s nervous. She hasn’t kissed anyone since her husband, but I told her it would be okay. I mean, I assume it’s been awhile for you, but you probably haven’t forgotten.” The weight of his stare was crushing, and I could barely meet his eyes.
“No.” He said it like he was wielding a scalpel and cutting me slowly piece by piece. “I have not forgotten.”
As he gathered strength, all my power seemed to slide his direction and my voice became a ghost. “How will you do it?”
“Kiss her?” When I nodded, the cold draft of him flipped on its side and turned to heat. The corner of his sexy mouth lifted in a sinister smile. “I’m not sure yet. The way I do it depends on the woman. How I kiss her will be entirely different, for example, than the way I would kiss you.”
I pulled all the air I could find into my lungs in an audible sweep, and my reaction was unmistakable. Victory claimed him and pushed into his expression, but he was controlled as he sat beside me on the couch.
It was the opposite for me as my insides began to fly apart. He was so close, the side of one of his powerful legs pressed against me, and I had to fight the couch to keep from falling into him.
Excited panic gripped me. “What are you doing?”
Shadows played across his face, highlighting his authoritarian look. “Demonstrating.”
I turned into a statue as he dragged his cold fingertips across my cheek and threaded his hand into my hair. Static played in my ears and hummed through my body. I was imagining this. There was no other explanation. Like I did with shooting, I’d visualized this moment so many times I’d made it real.
My lips parted, although I wasn’t sure if it was to gasp, or say something, or maybe I’d done it subconsciously to welcome his kiss. Or perhaps I was under his power now, and he’d silently commanded it. My eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in and the hand at the back of my head prevented my escape.
His fingers had been cold, but his mouth was hot when it pressed to mine.
And that was all the kiss was at first, just the gentle meeting of our mouths.
But my heart pounded, blood roared through my system, and my breathing went so shallow, I grew lightheaded. Macalister’s kiss was like being connected to a power source. The electricity of him raced along my nerve ends and lit me up.
I didn’t realize that was only the first wave until his lips slowly teased mine apart and his tongue slipped inside my mouth.
A noise of satisfaction drifted from the back of my throat, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen his kiss. His tongue was lush and oh-so-soft as it slid across mine, making a muscle between my legs clench against the ache he caused. His lips controlled. They dominated and took, and I gave in willingly.
I struggled for air while enduring his greedy kiss, which grew more overwhelming with each second. The temperature around us skyrocketed, threatening to incinerate me. Even in my hottest dreams, those kisses weren’t half as good as the one he was delivering now. How was I going to come out the other side of it and not be singed?
The desire between us swirled like water circling a drain, pulling me deeper and faster into him with each pass. It was terrifying and fucking thrilling. He wasn’t impervious either. His breath had gone ragged, and his other hand slipped behind me, his palm pressed against my back.
My fingers, which had longed to touch, finally got their wish, and I cupped his jaw, my fingertips sanding over his skin along his cheekbones—
Abruptly, Macalister’s hand came off the nape of my neck and wrapped around my wrist like a shackle, pulling my touch away from his face before I’d had my fill. Whatever restraint he’d had on himself seemed to break down and dissolve. His mouth turned wild and aggressive as he forced me down onto my back, pinning my wrist to the couch cushion beside my head.
He’d moved us so quickly, it wasn’t until I felt the pressure of his knee between my legs that I realized he was on top of me, one leg sandwiched between my thighs. Wh
ite-hot pleasure burst through me, causing goosebumps to dot my skin, despite the growing heat in the room and the way we were both sweating.
It was awkward on the little couch, and he was huge, but he made it work.
And there was something about the way his strong hand held me down that was dangerous. Powerfully seductive and erotic. His thumb pressed against my palm and dug in, and although I still had one hand free, I felt dominated. Locked in beneath him, completely at his mercy.
It was exactly where I wanted to be.
He subtly moved his knee again, rubbing against me and bringing on a new wave of pleasure. His mouth was incessant, alternating between slow and languid kisses to passionate and demanding ones. Thoughts swirled in my mind until they were a bleary mess. All that mattered was that Macalister was now kissing me and that he continued to kiss me forever.
I moaned my satisfaction, and the hand wrapped around my wrist tightened, his thumb pressing into the center of my palm so hard, it bordered on uncomfortable. But I loved it. I set my free hand flat against his chest and enjoyed the hurried beat pounding inside. More proof he was human after all.
But while I was pliant and warm beneath him, the muscles in his frame grew rigid and cold. Something had happened. Maybe he didn’t like how I’d discovered a heart lived inside him. When his mouth slowed and began to retreat from mine, I wanted to whine in protest.
The connection of our kiss wasn’t just broken, it was severed. He turned and stared at my delicate wrist in his hold, gazing at it with pure confusion, like he hadn’t realized he was pinning me down until that very moment.
It made my heart stumble. Had I done that? Made him lose some of the careful control he always placed on himself?
I was flushed and throbbing painfully at the center of my legs as he pulled away and moved to sit as far away from me at the other end of the couch as possible. He stared off, his unfocused eyes seeing nothing and his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he looked . . . drained. As if kissing me had taken everything out of him.
I awkwardly pulled myself up and back to a sitting position. Christ, my legs were shaking. With the heat of him gone, I was instantly freezing and crossed my arms over my chest. This house was a museum with overly enthusiastic air conditioning.
Was he going to say something?
Was I supposed to?
Macalister’s posture improved until his back was straight, and he ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the wayward strands back into their perfect place. By the time he turned his head to look at me, his professional veneer was back in place.
Like our kiss hadn’t affected him at all.
“That was,” I said between still-uneven breaths, “a bit much. I don’t recommend you do that tomorrow.”
“I agree,” he said quietly. “It was far too much.”
He was up on his feet before I could process how he meant it. He strode to my coat that had been cast aside, picked it up, and held it open for me.
It was clear he wanted to help me put it on and hurry me along, but when I didn’t move, he added, “It’s time for you to go.”
I clenched my fists as I shot to my feet. What the fuck was this? He just kissed the hell out of me, and now he was throwing me out? I sneered. “Well, there’s that awesome Hale charm you’re famous for.”
That infuriatingly sexy muscle along his jaw flexed.
I ripped my coat out of his hands and pushed one arm through a sleeve as I marched toward the front door. I heard his footsteps and knew he was following, but I wasn’t naïve. It was gentlemanly habit, not to chase after me and apologize for being an asshole—
“Sophia.”
I hesitated on the landing at the top of the front steps, the chilly spring wind pricking at my heated face. He gazed at me with an unreadable expression.
“You were correct, it had been awhile for me.” A slow, arrogant smile spread across the lips he’d used to turn my world upside down just a minute ago. “Thank you for the practice.”
SIX
MACALISTER
RELIEF AND DREAD WERE FELT IN EQUAL MEASURE over what had transpired on the antique couch in my front parlor. Marist had made me doubt my skills, and now my reputation was tarnished, but my evening with Sophia proved I was still capable of seducing a woman. I was confident if I hadn’t stopped us, soon after she’d have begged me to take her to bed.
My trepidation came from the strong desire I’d had to continue the foolishness, and the worry it may not have been much longer before I’d been the one begging, demanding she join me upstairs and stay the night.
It was where I was now, lying in the dark, staring at the shadows the chandelier cast across my bedroom’s ceiling. The cat had grown bold over the last few nights. Tonight, it attempted to curl up beside my feet, but I moved them beneath the covers, forcing the animal to the far side of my bed. If it were that desperate for companionship, I’d begrudgingly allow it to be near, but up against me was too much.
The kiss I’d given Sophia had only been to satisfy a curiosity. The signals she’d sent me over the last few days were confusing, and I was out of practice with reading women. I was an observant man, though. I’d catalogued all the times she’d glanced my direction at the office when she thought I wasn’t looking. And, of course, there was the way she reacted whenever I touched her.
Like I burned her, and she wanted to burn.
She is too young for you.
I wasn’t convinced I even enjoyed her company. She didn’t know her place, talked to me as if I were a friend, and at times it seemed she’d go to great lengths just to annoy me. I wanted to reprimand. To correct her behavior. Instead, I clenched my jaw and held my tongue.
It’d given me a headache every night this week.
Now, it had become a pattern. I took a pain reliever, lay in my bed, and struggled not to think about her while I waited for the sleep I knew was unlikely to come. Two years of meditation had sustained me through the most challenging time of my life, but it did not induce so much as drowsiness.
Nothing could quiet my mind.
Since I despised wasted time, I threw off the covers, pulled on a pair of athletic shorts, and stepped into my running shoes. I needed to get at least four hours of sleep to be able to function tomorrow, and the treadmill was the only surefire way to make that happen.
While I ran, I used the time to comb through social media feeds on my phone. I’d been out of the loop but was determined to make it seem like I’d never left, that I’d been at every party and fundraiser. I filled myself in with the backstories of the important players in Cape Hill, studying captions and snapshots of the events others had deemed noteworthy over the last two years.
It was distressing how often I drifted back to Sophia’s Instagram page.
She had a feed that would have impressed Alice and pleased the brand managers at HBHC. All the images had the same tonal quality and consistency, making an eye-catching grid. Sophia’s brand was clear and executed with precision. She was the refined socialite, invited to everything and friends with everyone.
She glowed in each picture, even the ones that were candid and she wasn’t smiling. She’d posted one this afternoon of her sitting in a restaurant booth, a thoughtful look on her face and a half-eaten bowl of pasta on the table in front of her. Had she asked Evangeline to take this for her, or the waiter afterward?
For some unknown reason, my thumb moved to touch her face, and a white heart blinked on the screen. A frustrated sigh punched from my lungs. She had over a million followers, so it was unlikely she’d notice I’d liked her picture. It was just twelve hours old and had already amassed fourteen hundred comments.
Most were heart emojis or single words like beautiful, but one of them caught my attention.
Maybe lay off the carbs.
“Fuck you,” I said into the silence of my empty gym.
That person didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. I dumped my phone into the holder, ramped up the speed on
the treadmill, and stared across the way to the mirror, finding my expression furious. I was covered in sweat and had a sneer on my lips, my feet pounding against the belt and my arms swinging to keep up with the ambitious speed I’d set.
I looked very much like the monster I could be.
The comment became a splinter buried beneath my skin and continued to bother me. I appreciated the way Sophia looked. She had high, full breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that flared. Everything was proportional in her perfectly feminine hourglass, and I found her more appealing than the emaciated look some retailers pushed with their advertising.
The remainder of my run was spent considering how much money it would take to track down the commenter, inform them they were wrong, and extract their apology. Whatever the figure, I could easily afford it. I had to let that knowledge satisfy me instead of acting on it.
Once I was physically exhausted, I shut down the machine, toweled off, and retrieved my phone. I continued to scroll through Sophia’s older posts as I made my way up the two flights of stairs and turned in to my bedroom.
My feet slowed to a stop at the picture of her in a pink dress, her arm linked with a black man wearing a tuxedo. There was no need to look at the date to confirm when it was taken. I recognized the sunny background as the gardens on the south lawn of my estate, and furthermore—I was there the day the image had been captured.
It was Royce and Marist’s wedding.
I’d either forgotten or never cared enough to remember that Sophia had been the bridesmaid paired with Tate. The photo had been taken as they’d paraded up the aisle at the ceremony’s conclusion, and both were beaming a wide smile—although hers outshone his.
I’d been so blinded by my obsession that day, it was hard to recall anything outside of it. This picture was proof I had missed how stunning Sophia had looked. Together with Tate, they made a handsome couple.
Curiosity needled at me once more about why they hadn’t dated. She came from a good family, was well-educated, attractive, not to mention she was a former Olympian, meaning she had excellent drive and focus. Perhaps that was his issue. He found her intimidating.
