The Redemption

by Nikki Sloane

  The caption she’d used was innocent. Look who I caught kissing in the rain. She hadn’t tagged Macalister in the post, but the hashtags she had used would help put it on the right people’s radar, and I amplified the signal by reposting it.

  Penelope’s side hustle was photography, and she’d gotten a seat at the window in the coffee place next door to Marquee. She’d patiently waited two hours to grab that picture, and she hadn’t disappointed.

  But I didn’t know how to feel about the image. Wasn’t I supposed to be happy? This was my plan, and he’d executed it just as I’d asked him to. But a spike of jealousy stabbed into my chest while my gaze traced his fingers on Evangeline’s waist, his mouth pressed against her skin.

  Penelope’s timing must have been a fraction off. She’d missed the actual moment of their kiss, but the image was close enough. People discussing business did not say their goodbye this way.

  As the notifications began to roll in, I could feel the buzz down in Cape Hill like a current. Look at that Macalister Hale, they were saying. Already out prowling for another wife to kill off.

  Headlights glanced through the front windows, and a car rumbled up the circle drive, making me shoot to my feet and leave my heart behind on the stairs. A figure in black moved up the steps outside, the security system chirped its response, and the front door burst open.

  My lungs constricted until I couldn’t breathe.

  If the rain had touched Macalister, I couldn’t tell. It was more likely the raindrops were too frightened to dare fall on him, because the only gleam in his hair were the faint strands of silver. He was still dressed how I’d styled him this afternoon in the gorgeous black suit and fitted white shirt. The undone buttons at his neck relaxed the look, giving him just enough ease to not seem stuffy.

  He shut the door behind him with a bang that made me flinch, but my gaze didn’t break from his. His dark, furious eyes were like gravity. He was sexiest when he was displeased with me, but the outraged expression he wore now was so hot, my knees softened.

  And then he lifted a hand and pointed one long, sharp finger at the couch in the front room, shouting his order without saying a word. I wasn’t sure he would have been able to. The muscles across his jaw looked strained to their breaking point.

  My heart raced along at a faster clip than my feet could match, but I reached the couch and sat obediently on the edge of it, trying not to think about how he’d kissed me in this exact spot last night. A sane person would have been terrified in this situation, but I was obviously broken because I went giddy with excitement.

  It made me reckless. “How was your date?”

  Macalister’s heavy footsteps slapped against the hardwood floor as he strode into the room and stood over me. “You committed me to that auction without my approval.”

  I swallowed a breath. “Yeah, because if I had asked you, you would have said no. But this is good for you. It got me to close the deal with her, and—”

  Color rose in his neck. “I understand your reasons. My issue is the lack of communication, which will end right now, Sophia.”

  He brushed back the sides of his suit coat and put his hands on his hips. It was an assertive, confrontational posture, but all it did for me was flaunt his trim waist and powerful frame. It hinted at the curves of muscle packed beneath his expensive clothes.

  “I will not be kept in the dark,” he said, “and made out to be a fool. Do you understand me?” His tone was absolute. “Tell me what you’re planning.”

  I knew what he meant, but I sidestepped answering it. “You’re going to throw a party for Damon Lynch.”

  It somewhat derailed Macalister’s anger. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ll say it’s for his sixtieth birthday, but it’ll really be a fundraiser for his campaign.” I put my hands together in my lap, trying not to worry loose a hangnail. “Then you’ll sponsor a new show so it can open at the Boston Opera Theatre.”

  He stared at me like I was speaking utter nonsense. “An opera?”

  “Yes, because Mr. Scoffield’s daughter, Erika, was an opera major and still needs her big break.”

  His gaze jerked away from mine and fell to my hands in my lap, disdain painting his expression. “Stop fidgeting.” When I froze at his command, his voice turned patronizing. “But please, continue. I’d like to hear more of these incredible ideas of yours to waste my money.”

  I let his accusation roll right off me. “Vance won the Cape Hill regatta the past three years because your family has one of the fastest ships in the marina. There’s nothing Elijah Powell wants more in life than that stupid trophy.”

  Fire flashed in Macalister’s cold eyes. “Vance wins because he’s an outstanding sailor.”

  “Great,” I said. “Then it won’t make a difference to him if you lend your boat to Powell for the race.” We both knew it was bullshit and that boat was a clear advantage. Even if Powell raced with it and lost, the gesture should still count. “That one doesn’t cost you anything,” I added.

  “It will cost me,” he abruptly sounded unsure, “with Vance.”

  My chest lifted when I pulled in a heavy breath. I didn’t know where any of the Hale men stood with each other. Vance had an affair with Macalister’s wife, and Macalister had tried to steal Royce’s. They were the richest family in New England, and certainly the most fucked up.

  “You could try explaining it to him,” I said cautiously.

  Judging by the look on Macalister’s face, that wasn’t fucking likely. “Anything else?”

  “I want you to get Mitch Vanderburgh’s son Jason a job at HBHC. He came out last year, and his dad kicked him out of the house. Totally cut him off, all because he’s gay.”

  His gaze narrowed, although I wasn’t sure if it was with confusion or dislike about what I’d said. “You explained the idea is for me to make friends, but this sounds counterproductive. Mitch won’t want his son working for us.”

  “No, he won’t, but that guy’s a fucking asshole.”

  Jason was a good guy, and I’d watched him wrestle with the decision to announce who he was. It took a lot of courage, yet the reward he’d been given was to be shunned by his family.

  “You’re not doing it,” I said, “to make friends with Mitch. There are a ton of closeted people here, and you have a chance to make a statement. You show them how a decent human being should be about this, and maybe Cape Hill will follow your lead.”

  Because at the end of the day, money was power, and Macalister had more of it than anyone else. Tragic history and sordid past aside, he was still the de facto king.

  Macalister considered it.

  “He is an asshole,” he said in quiet agreement, like that settled it and Jason was as good as hired. His eyes hardened and pierced deep inside me. “There’s a rather important name that appears to be missing from this charm offensive you’ve drafted.”

  My pulse quickened. Our primary focus was the HBHC board of directors, and I hadn’t mentioned Liam Shaunessy yet. “I’m still working on that one.”

  “I see.” He let out a tight breath, perhaps relieved I wasn’t going to make him play nice with a man he utterly despised. His broad shoulders rolled back. “Now you’ll tell me the rest of it.”

  My blood froze in my veins. “No.”

  His eyebrow arrowed up into a perfect upside-down V. He was a man who’d grown up never hearing that word, and something like eagerness ringed his blue eyes. We were quite the pair. I enjoyed seeing him displeased, and he thrilled in how I denied him.

  “No?” he repeated. “You’re not in a position to tell me no.”

  Did he have any idea how hot his stern voice made me? I licked my lips but stayed quiet, and the tension between us contracted until the large room felt microscopic.

  His order wasn’t playful or cute; it was as harsh and cold as a Nor’easter. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you anything . . . except for that,” I whispered.<
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  Frustration teemed in his eyes, and for a moment, he looked like he was considering either throwing a tantrum, or me out into the rain. But instead he lifted his chin with a smugness that was arrogant and sexy, and delivered the evilest smile I’d ever witnessed. “You’ll tell me anything? All right. What happened between you and Tate?”

  I reacted on instinct, bolting to my feet and my gaze flying toward the door. I wanted to run. But if I did, my bluff would be called, and Macalister would fire me. He’d put up with a lot from me already—more than I had expected him to. And I’d come into this knowing that in order to achieve my goals, I’d likely have to sacrifice something.

  Pride wasn’t that valuable to me, anyway.

  A sigh seeped from my chest. “We slept together last year. It didn’t,” I struggled with how to put it, “really go that great.”

  He sobered and seemed surprised. “The sex was bad?”

  “Like, everything was bad.” My face had to be a million shades of red because it was on fire. “Tate’s girlfriend had just broken up with him, and we ran into each other at some stupid party. He was kind of drunk, and maybe I was too.” I wasn’t, but I wanted to save what little face I could. “He was single and lonely, so when I saw the opportunity, I took it.”

  It was strange how he looked at me. There wasn’t judgment, only curiosity. “You seduced him.”

  “Yeah,” I answered, my voice clipped. “I mean, it didn’t take much. He was horny, and he didn’t really care who he was with that night.”

  “But you cared.” There was a gravel in Macalister’s voice that made goosebumps pebble on my forearms.

  I tugged the corner of my mouth into a sad smile. “Yeah, I cared a lot.” I used nervous fingers to brush my hair back behind an ear. “So, anyway, the sex was awful. Like I said, he’d been drinking, and I’d wanted that moment for so long, I had all these expectations that were totally unrealistic. But it was just so awkward.” I winced as I remembered our fumbling frustration, followed by Tate falling asleep on me. “In the morning, he was hungover and miserable, which meant he wasn’t exactly subtle about how much of a mistake he thought he’d made with me.”

  I fiddled with the pleating on the side of my dress while my gaze drifted down to Macalister’s black dress shoes.

  “That was really hard,” I said, “and I didn’t handle it well. I gave him this big speech, like a fucking idiot, about how much I loved him. I’d thought if I just laid it all out there, he’d—”

  “Fall in love with you.” Macalister turned to stone.

  I nodded. He understood somehow.

  There was a long hesitation before he finally broke the painful silence stretched between us.

  “Perhaps,” uncertainty hazed his eyes, “you can take some comfort in the fact you did not give him this speech on his wedding day.”

  Confusion nearly made a laugh climb out of me, but it died when the meaning of his statement slammed into me.

  Holy shit.

  He’d done the same thing? Confessed everything to Marist out of hopes she’d fall for him?

  One of my hands went to my mouth, covering the worst of my gasp. “You didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did.” He grimaced. “It was . . . poorly received.”

  That had to be an enormous understatement, and I couldn’t stop the short sound—too joyless to be a laugh—that it punched from my lungs. I remembered the morning of her wedding when he’d blown into her room like a storm and demanded a moment alone with the bride. After he’d left her, Marist had been as white as her dress.

  “Does it help,” I asked, “to know that she’s happy?” Because knowing that Tate would rather be alone than with me had been crushing.

  “Yes,” he answered simply. “It makes it easier.”

  Either he’d crept closer during our conversation or I’d drifted mindlessly toward him, because only a foot separated me from Macalister now, and I peered up at him with unasked questions crowding my eyes.

  Was he over her?

  Did he want to move on?

  Had he spent every available minute today thinking about what I tasted like, as I’d done with him?

  His gaze traced over my face so slowly, he had to be studying and cataloguing every inch with his icy eyes. It was hypnotic, and I sighed softly as he pushed closer. This time I didn’t try to run from him. The room was stifling, filled completely by him, but I didn’t mind.

  His voice was velvet as he tipped his head down, his lips drawing near. “You don’t have to tell me your secret tonight. Just give me the name.”

  It was like being ripped from a cozy hot tub in the dead of winter, the way he took me from my dreamy spell to the harsh reality. He’d tried to use his power to manipulate the secret from me, and Christ, it’d nearly worked. I stumbled backward, eager to put distance between myself and the heat he could generate in a single look.

  “No,” I snapped.

  Gone was the seduction from a moment ago, replaced by the cold, irritated demeanor he’d had when he first arrived home. “I suggest you save us both the time and stop fighting what’s inevitable. This isn’t a battle you’re going to win.”

  I groaned my frustration, balled my hands into fists, and lifted my gaze to the ceiling.

  He said it as a dark warning. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

  Excuse me. Young lady?

  His eyes went enormously wide, having surprised himself. This wasn’t something he’d meant to say.

  I gaped at him and loaded my voice with as much sarcasm as I possessed. “Oh, I’m so sorry . . . Daddy.”

  The word echoed in the room like a gunshot.

  It charged the air with a violent, sexual energy that strangled us both to a stop. My ‘daddy’ response had been without thought, but now that word was out there, never able to be unsaid. It clung to our skin like a stain that’d never wash off.

  My heart tottered and crashed clumsily against the walls inside my chest like a baby just learning how to walk, but he seemed to be faring better. Macalister smoothed a hand over his hair, grabbed the sides of his coat to adjust how it sat on his shoulders, and gave me a firm look.

  “You are behaving like a child, so I will punish you as one.” He lowered himself to sit on the couch, his posture straight and his hard stare burning a hole through me. “Down in my lap,” he demanded. “Across my knee.”

  NINE

  SOPHIA

  Macalister created static in my brain and steam everywhere else in my body. I was boneless and had to stay absolutely still. If I moved, I’d collapse into a puddle at his feet. This concept of me bending over his knee was ridiculous. Insane, really.

  It was so fucking inappropriate, I wanted to throw myself immediately into his lap. But it was a bluff; it had to be.

  “You’re not serious,” I scoffed.

  Yet he looked deadly serious as he growled, “Get over here and find out.”

  He had command over my body, and it was disorienting when my feet moved, bringing me to the couch where he waited impatiently. I didn’t have to think about how to get into the position. He wrapped a hand around my forearm and jerked me down. My palms flew out, catching myself on the cushion beside his legs.

  He touched me like he had every right, positioning my body over him so my stomach was pressed against his thighs, which were like granite. The man was as addicted to his treadmill as I was to my phone.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  Shivers rolled in waves down my bare legs as I stared at the damask pattern of the upholstery. My mind was disconnected, like he’d pulled it out and plugged in a new operating system that was controlled by him. That would explain why I followed his order, laying my cheek against the couch cushion and twisting my arms behind me.

  His hand was ice as it clamped down on my wrists, and although his grip wasn’t rough, I felt the squeeze of him all over. It forced the air from my lungs, made my heart beat
frantically and my stomach rattle.

  Like last night, the lights weren’t on in this room, so the only source of lighting came from the chandelier in the entryway. It was better this way with the moody shadows heightening the experience. What was happening didn’t belong in a brightly lit room.

  I didn’t know what he was going to do, exactly, but the waiting? Each second dragged along my skin, creating tension in my center until it began to ache. I snagged my bottom lip between my teeth to keep quiet. If I spoke, he might come to his senses, realize how I was provocatively draped over him, and put a stop to this nonsense.

  My breathing was shallow, but his was deep, and although I couldn’t see him, I pictured his gaze sliding over me. It evaluated every place on my body he had access to, and which spot would be best to dole out his punishment.

  “Are you scared?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice.

  I swallowed thickly and shook my head, unable to answer.

  “This trembling is, what? Excitement?” He sounded disappointed, and dear God, it tripled the ache inside me. I imagined how hard his jaw was set and the muscles there I wanted to run my tongue along the length of. Down his neck and back up the other side.

  Macalister shifted slightly beneath me, his legs spreading and adjusting his position, as if readying himself. My breasts flattened against the top of his thigh.

  “Your actions yesterday were unacceptable, Sophia. To reinforce that point, you require a firm hand.”

  His grip on my wrists tightened a degree, but this wasn’t what he meant.

  It was preemptive, because his actions were going to cause me to jolt, and he wanted me to stay in place. He didn’t spank me, though. The bottom of my dress was lifted, exposing the swell of my bottom and my black lace underwear that was covering it. I flinched as cool air wafted over the backs of my newly bare thighs, the sensation causing me to pinch my knees together.

  He inhaled sharply. Had the sight of me sparked unexpected pleasure? It may have been the sexiest thing I’d ever heard.