The Redemption

by Nikki Sloane

  “Whether or not she is a fan is irrelevant,” he said. “We only need a reason to push the invitation.” His gaze returned to his computer, like his personal life was sorted and now he’d focus on HBHC. “Cancel our Aspen plans.”

  I shook my head. “You still have to go.” His head snapped my direction so he could level a glare at me, but I did my best to stand tall. “You have plans with Evangeline, and the place will be crawling with celebrity photographers.”

  His icy scowl was epic, and I shivered. I watched the thoughts in his mind play out through his beautiful eyes.

  “You know I’m right,” I added softly. “You have to go and charm everyone.”

  Just not Evangeline, a voice in my mind pleaded.

  He swiped his palm down his tie, turning his gaze out the window, as if he couldn’t look at me as he gave in. “Fine. We’ll go.”

  It hurt to have to say it. “Macalister, I think I need to stay here. I still have so much to do for the event.”

  Anger simmered in his expression. “It sounds as if you are saying I gave you more responsibility than you can handle.”

  “No.” Panic tinted my voice. “I totally can handle it, but it’s, like, incredibly important to me that this event be the best possible. I want people to be floored, for it to be all they talk about for the next month.”

  It wasn’t just to impress Macalister either, although that was part of it. I wanted to be seen and acknowledged by Cape Hill. Show my parents and Tate and the other people who didn’t care about me what they were missing out on.

  The mood in the room had been tense, but the passion in my voice broke through, and Macalister’s lips parted with pleasant surprise. “If that’s the case, then it’s difficult to argue with you. I very much understand the desire to strive for excellence,” his gaze turned intense, “and how it can consume you.”

  How did he do that? He could layer innuendo into nearly any phrase and make my insides melt. I swallowed thickly. “I need to stay, no matter how badly I wanted to go with you.”

  It was terrifying to say the truth with him, but it was a calculated risk, and it paid off when he inhaled a deep breath. “I was looking forward to it as well.”

  Desire cinched around me, making everything tight and locking me in place, but his admission lit me up inside. Warmth bloomed over my skin as I stood and endured the onslaught of his gaze.

  It whispered things to me. Made promises and threats and guarantees that this thing between us would come to a head. Try as he might to resist, we were doomed.

  Macalister and I were inevitable.

  He paused and looked unsure, which was so rare, it was strangely beautiful to see. “Tell me the other name.”

  The connection between us crumbled and disintegrated, and I sighed with hurt. I’d thought we were forging something, but he was just drawing closer to get my guard down. “I’ll tell you . . . soon.”

  “When?” he demanded.

  The words were bitter in my mouth. “When you’re ready to hear it.”

  He said nothing else as I hurried from his office.

  FIFTEEN

  MACALISTER

  Damon Lynch’s birthday was a black-tie affair, and it was good to see the grounds bustling with people. It’d been three years since Royce and Marist’s wedding, the last big event hosted here, and I was anxious to create a new memory of the Hale estate for the people of Cape Hill.

  I stood in my entryway, wearing my tuxedo and a hostile look as I watched the valets outside laugh and joke around with each other. I wasn’t paying them to have a good time and act like unprofessional idiots. Guests would start arriving soon, and first impressions were everything.

  Especially tonight.

  Movement at the top of the stairs caught my attention, and I glanced up, expecting it to be Lucifer—although the cat often hid when there was commotion in the house. Instead, it was a different gorgeous creature in black.

  Sophia had been here at the house all day, although I’d barely seen her. She’d arrived early this morning, wearing minimal makeup and yoga pants, just as the rental furniture trucks were parking down by the stables.

  I wanted to tell her I hated what she was wearing, but it would have been a complete lie. The stretchy fabric clung to her shapely legs and tight backside, and every lustful thought I’d had about her over the past three weeks set upon me with a furious crash.

  She had information I needed, yet she withheld. I needed her in Aspen with me, yet she stayed behind. And the desire to give her a hundred different orgasms in a hundred different ways was threatening to swallow me whole.

  I needed.

  And I was going to take.

  Spending the weekend pretending to care about anything other than what she was doing at any moment solidified my decision. Once she gave me everything she’d been holding back, I’d do the same in return. It was a game, and I always won, no matter the cost.

  When I put my mind to something, I was unstoppable. As she’d told me that day in the penthouse restaurant, she had a way of getting what she wanted—had she realized the same was true for me?

  Late in the afternoon, Sophia had disappeared into one of the guest rooms with two women, likely a hair and makeup team, and twenty minutes ago the duo had departed the house. She’d remained upstairs, changing into her gown, and I relished the idea of her being undressed under my roof for a second time.

  Perhaps I’d make that a rule at some point. If we were alone in my house, I’d require she be naked. I wanted access to her body at all times, nothing hidden from me.

  The black dress she wore was strapless and fit her as if it had been painted on, all the way down below her hips, before flaring out to the floor. The outer layer was sheer lace, and as she moved down the stairs, it trailed behind her like a dark veil. Her blonde hair was twisted back and pinned up off her shoulders, except for the carefully placed strands softly curling to frame her face.

  Her makeup was dramatic and sultry.

  She didn’t look twenty-six. She looked . . . timeless.

  Once again, my ridiculous heart forgot how to function. Sophia descended gracefully to the bottom of the steps, fixing me with her gaze, and I was struck by the idea that the sight of me in my tuxedo was somehow having the same effect on her as she held over me. Her chest rose and fell with her hurried, uneven breath.

  Her voice was hushed. “Does this meet your approval?”

  Since she hadn’t sent me a picture. Perhaps she wanted to show it to me in person and knew she could return to the room upstairs and adjust if something weren’t to my liking.

  “No,” I said. She hadn’t met my approval. “You’ve exceeded it.”

  The dark eye-makeup made her blue eyes deeper, and they melted at my words. It was dangerous the way she made me feel. All-powerful and mighty, as if I didn’t need to control every inch of my world because she gave me hers.

  “You look great, by the way,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  “Of course.” I kept my tone light, so she’d know I wasn’t serious. “You are the one behind schedule. I thought I was going to have to come fetch you.”

  I watched her reaction carefully, enjoying how she blushed at the idea. “It’s your cat’s fault. He’s needy,” she said with a shy smile. “But he’s looking much better.”

  “Yes, he is,” I agreed. When Sophia blinked in surprise, I paused. “What?”

  She grinned. “I thought the ‘animal’ was Royce’s.”

  I gave her a hard look. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  But she just laughed, and the bright sound was music that didn’t play in this house when I had lived in it. I’d forgotten how nice it could be, the sound echoing in the spacious room.

  “It’s the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard,” she teased. “Macalister Hale owns a cat.”

  “Sophia.”

  She was undeterred and pressed her hands to her chest dramat
ically. “I hope no one finds out. It’s just simply scandalous.”

  When she pushed me, my instinct was to shove back. I reached out and seized her hand, not in affection, but in domination. At my touch, her eyes went enormously wide. Her gaze dropped to my fingers wrapped around her wrist then slowly returned to mine with heat pooled in her blue irises.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Correcting your behavior.” I matched her low voice. “I would do more, if I had the time.”

  Her red lips parted, and I focused on them, studying the heart shape as she struggled to find her breath.

  But the sound of a car pulling up in the drive and the valet supervisor’s voice telling his men to line up brought reality back upon us. I tore my hand away, the feel of her warmth still lingering.

  I straightened and turned toward the door, and by the time the first guest had climbed the front steps, Sophia was gone, off to ensure everything was being carried out to our mutual satisfaction.

  Damon and Kristin Lynch were the second guests to arrive. They looked perfectly styled for the event, conservative and safe for mass appeal. They displayed the correct amount of gratitude to me for hosting the party, which I appreciated.

  “Duncan will be along shortly,” Kristin said, as if I cared whether their son attended. It would be important to the Lynches, though. Damon’s campaign touted that his family was the bedrock keeping him strong and supporting him every step of the way. He’d need to reinforce that with family pictures tonight.

  Which reminded me of the issue I’d witnessed at the charity event weeks ago.

  “Damon, a word.” I motioned toward the sitting room.

  He followed me without hesitation, and I waited until we were out of his wife’s earshot.

  “I’d prefer your son not bring any drugs onto my property.”

  He let out a heavy sigh, which confirmed my suspicions. If he didn’t know, he would have balked. Instead, he was resigned. “Who told you?” He gave me a look of disdain. “The Alby girl?”

  “No,” I growled. “I caught him and Liam’s son at the bachelor auction with cocaine. He wasn’t subtle either. Anyone could have walked by.” I lifted my chest and glowered at him. He was the frontrunner by a considerable margin. “This race is yours to lose, and Duncan’s issue is a liability.”

  I needed Damon to win, because it could catapult Vance’s career. Being a part of a congressional staff would open doors and allow him to ascend much faster.

  Also, now that Vance was part of the campaign team, Damon had to win. Losing wasn’t something the Hales did.

  He sat down on the couch, right in the center. I tried not to think about how I’d sat in that same place more than a month ago and guided Sophia to wrap her mouth around my cock. Jesus, I spent enough time thinking about it already.

  I pushed the image from my mind as his head sank into his hands.

  “Do you need help?” I asked, striving for gentle tone. “Or can you handle it?”

  I didn’t mean it as a threat. I wanted it to be another friendly gesture, for him to view me as someone to rely on.

  “No,” he answered quietly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good.”

  He lifted his head and peered up at me, his eyes cloudy. “Can I give you some advice? Your assistant . . . Just be careful. Duncan tells me she’s famous for spreading lies.”

  I raised an eyebrow, irritated. “As I understand it, she’s not too keen on your son either.”

  “No.” He stood and looked away, lost in thought. “They’ve never been friends.”

  There was a note of sadness in his voice that could not be ignored. It whispered of things unsaid, and I went still as the thought struck me.

  Duncan Lynch.

  He was the other name Sophia refused to tell me.

  But . . . why? What had he done that Sophia was desperate to reveal, and yet so reluctant to tell me?

  Voices sounded in the entryway, meaning I had more guests to greet, so I released Damon to go down to the gardens and encourage people to open their pocketbooks and donate to his campaign.

  Evangeline was waiting for me, wearing a sapphire blue strapless dress, paired with an elaborate necklace and earrings, that I found to be too much. If she were Sophia, I’d have asked her to pare back and take the necklace off.

  But, as I was painfully aware, she wasn’t Sophia.

  I enjoyed my conversations with Evangeline. She was an intelligent woman with a pretty face and more compassion than I’d ever have. She took a chance on me, and I was grateful for her partnership. Yet there was no spark between us. She didn’t challenge or irritate me, didn’t declare she hated me as both my wives had once done, before I’d worn them down and convinced them to fall in love with me.

  I’d had a weekend with Evangeline under my roof in Aspen, and not so much as an inkling to seduce her. We played our roles, smiling for cameras while we’d sampled chefs’ signature dishes, and privately vented to each other about the tedium of it. We’d discovered a comfortable ease with one another.

  We’d never be anything more than friends.

  But we were friends. If nothing else came out of my campaign for redemption, at least she was a genuine and honest person, exceptionally rare in Cape Hill, and had become someone I respected.

  And I hoped one day my friend would be able to find a love again like the one she’d had.

  “Your smile is getting better,” she whispered when we embraced in brief hug. “I kind of believe it’s real.”

  “It is real.” This party was necessary, but I despised frivolous small talk. With her, it was easier. She did most of the talking, and I stood at her side, participating only when required. “I’m pleased you could come. You make me look good.”

  She grinned knowingly.

  The door swung open, and three people spilled into the entryway, all sharing the Hale name. Marist was in a deep purple dress, and both of my sons in tuxedos, and rather than go to her, my gaze drifted to Vance.

  He looked more like me than Royce did, although his hair was a lighter shade of brown. He had his mother’s smile, which he used as a weapon. It made women forget to breathe and looked excellent on promotional material, evidenced by the Cape Hill Yacht Club’s website and membership brochure.

  It had been years since I’d seen it in person, leaving me to wonder if I ever would again. Vance could barely hold my gaze, and it could be caused by a variety of reasons. He had guilt about his affair with Alice, but perhaps he felt shame both at what I’d done to her and tried to do with Marist. How I’d spent most of my sons’ lives pushing them to be better, sometimes to their breaking point, and even pitting them against one another.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said to the group. “Thank you for coming.”

  I was treated to awkward nods, but Evangeline unwittingly made it worse when she spoke. “Macalister, I’d forgotten what a beautiful family you have.”

  Perhaps she was thinking I wasn’t alone, that at least I had my sons after my wife’s death. She meant well, not understanding that my desire for control had forced my family to crumble inside my dominating grip.

  Royce was masterful at ignoring tension and delivered an easy smile. “It’s my wife. She makes the rest of us look good.”

  Evangeline chuckled as she glanced at me. “He sounds just like you.”

  Royce didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the comparison.

  “Yes, well,” I lifted my chin and addressed my family, “Damon is already outside, so don’t let us keep you from the party.”

  They understood what I meant, how there was work waiting for them. I’d done an enormous amount of damage to the Hale name, and their help was needed to restore it. The event had to be a success. We would remind Cape Hill which family was American royalty.

  Once they disappeared down the hall toward the back of the house, more guests arrived. Some were still intimidated
by me and some were curious, and a few had the audacity to look down their judgmental noses, but I forced a tight smile and greeted them as friends.

  Tonight, I couldn’t be ruthless. I was to be the benevolent king.

  I’d set a schedule with Sophia that I would only receive guests until seven-thirty, and then I would move outside and join the party. Those who arrived late would be guided by staff, and I’d be updated on arrivals periodically throughout the evening. I checked my watch, and frustration crawled along my back and made my neck hot.

  DuBois hadn’t made his appearance, and it would be much easier to control the conversation if our introduction was made this way. He was set to attend, though. He’d accepted Damon’s invitation and RSVPed to Sophia.

  There were only a few minutes left when I caught a glimpse of him at the back of the receiving line, and the tightness in my chest released.

  He wore a single button tuxedo jacket, white shirt, and a black bow tie, and while it fit him well enough, it wasn’t tailored. A rental. A smile peeled back my lips. He was just a visitor to my world, an observer. I would do everything in my power to make sure he saw what I wanted him to see.

  “Good evening,” I said and offered my hand when he approached. “Macalister Hale.”

  He was my age, with short, sandy brown hair and a tough, rugged face that morphed into a charming one when he smiled. His hometown of New Orleans rang through in his accent. “It’s nice to meet you, sir. James DuBois.”

  He took my handshake, and I respected his firm grip. He was several inches shorter than I was, but his frame was stocky and compact, as if he spent more time pounding weights than a keyboard. The picture of him on his books’ dust jackets didn’t do him justice. They didn’t reveal how cunning his eyes were.

  “DuBois?” I repeated for effect and pretended to consider where I’d heard it before. “The author?”

  He gave a rueful grin. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”

  “This is Evangeline Gabbard,” I said. We’d discussed it and began using the label for each other in Aspen, but the lie felt unnatural. “My girlfriend.”