The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans Book 3)

by Nikki Sloane

  The past few weeks, I’d been staying up even later, studying or reading or just lying in bed unable to quiet the thoughts in my head. The wedding was in less than two months.

  My wedding.

  The one where I’d marry the man currently snoring softly beside me, who still hadn’t told me he loved me. He showed it, though. He was caring and attentive and devoted, and he couldn’t keep his hands off me either. But Alice’s words haunted me. Once I was Royce’s wife, the chase was over. Would he lose interest in me? Be on to the next thing?

  I threw off the covers. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I’d go downstairs and grab something to drink, then retreat to my own room with a book and read until Hypnos, the god of sleep, came for a visit.

  Lucifer meowed softly when I walked past the library. He was curled up in his favorite spot on the back of the chair and tried to entice me to come pet him, but his single meow wasn’t a strong effort, and a half second later he put his head back down.

  It had snowed this afternoon, hopefully the last of the season since it would be April next week. There was just enough to be a dusting of white blanketing the ground, and since it was a full moon and cloudless night, it was unnaturally bright outside.

  I didn’t bother turning on the lights in the kitchen. Instead, I used the light coming from the screen of my phone to help illuminate my path. I always carried it with me now as I moved from room to room in the Hale house, paranoid to be without the ability to call for help, even when Alice continued to live in the converted stables.

  I poured myself a glass of water and padded over to the back window, looking out at the grounds while I drank. The evergreens of the hedge maze looked beautiful and deceptively enticing. It was bitterly cold outside, and I could feel it seeping through the glass pane, trying to get at me.

  I shivered and turned away.

  After I refilled my glass, I started for the door and was halfway out of the room when footsteps pounded loudly, approaching the kitchen from the back staircase. I turned in place and was silent as the door was thrown open and Macalister burst in.

  He was shirtless and drenched in sweat, and he stormed over to the fridge like a guided missile. The door was yanked open, a bottle of the fancy sports drink he preferred was snatched up, and he didn’t bother closing the door before he started drinking. The interior light of the fridge lit him up and made his sweaty chest gleam.

  How many miles had he run tonight? It had to have been a lot because he drained the entire bottle and then reached for another.

  It was interesting to learn Macalister Hale was not his meticulous self when he was tired. He haphazardly tossed the black cap onto the counter and gulped his drink straight from the bottle, rather than pour it in a glass and sip it calmly like the refined gentleman he pretended to be.

  For the first time since Aspen, I saw him as something other than the Minotaur. He was just a man, running himself to the point of exhaustion so he could find sleep. His grace and elegance were missing, and I had to take advantage of his weakened state. It was exactly what he would have done to me.

  “Any word from Ascension?” I asked, puncturing the silence.

  I’d meant to startle him, and it worked. He jolted, the red liquid inside his bottle sloshed around, and his head snapped toward me, his eyes narrowed like he’d been ambushed. But the defenses came down when he spied me across the way. The fridge was shut, and he turned to fully face me, resting one hand on the counter and the other on the island on the other side. It gave me a view of the rapid rise and fall of his chest, faintly darkened with hair.

  “Royce hasn’t told you?”

  “No. We don’t talk about it,” I lied.

  His face was in shadow and the smile didn’t materialize, but he knew I wasn’t telling the truth. “Ascension’s board voted to enact a shareholder rights plan.”

  Meaning anyone who already owned shares in the company would be allowed to buy new shares at half price. It was meant to dilute HBHC’s ownership and prevent the takeover, and it even came with its own term. “A poison pill.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, they’ve decided to fight.”

  This time, his cold smile did materialize, and excitement lit his eyes. “Yes.” He tilted his head. “But you already knew that.”

  I tossed a hand out, giving up the charade. “You’re right. Royce tells me everything.”

  The excitement in him died. “No, Marist. I don’t believe he has.”

  Alarm went through me like a spike, but I tried to recover quickly. This was another attempt to come between us, and his manipulation wasn’t going to work this time. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

  The trap he’d laid for me was so deep, I had time to feel the fall and watch the doors closed around me.

  “Ah,” Macalister said. “You’ve told him about the morning of Alice’s apology, then. How did he take it?”

  My voice was a ghost, not wanting to confront the memory. “That’s . . . different.”

  He asked it simply, like it didn’t carry enormous weight. “Why?”

  “Because it’d hurt him.” I swallowed a breath. “And because I’m ashamed.”

  There was a fleeting emotion that flickered through his expression, but it was gone too fast to put a label on it. Concern? Remorse?

  “No,” he said. “You’ll give that to me, Marist. I was the one who forced that upon you, so it’s my shame now, you understand me?”

  His hands came down off the counters, and he took a cautious step toward me, like he was worried I might dart away if he got too close. A fawn in the woods, not aware of the wolf’s approach.

  “You may have learned I’m a decisive man.” He sounded firm and powerful. “Once a decision has been made, it’s final.” As he drew in his next breath, his voice faltered. “But I have questioned myself every day since that morning, worrying the damage I did to us will be too much to overcome.”

  “There is no us,” I said.

  “Which is why I’ve stayed away all these months.”

  So, he had been avoiding me. “Except when you showed up as a guest professor in my class.”

  He blinked slowly. “I’ll admit I wanted to see you. I decided that was the safest way. What could I possibly do to you in a room full of people?”

  “Embarrass me?”

  He lifted a sharp eyebrow. “You did that to yourself. You behaved like a child, so I treated you as such.”

  He had a point, but I didn’t want to concede to it. I shifted on my feet and put my hands on my hips, assuming a confident posture. “What I meant is, Royce and I love each other. We don’t lie to—”

  “Has he said that?”

  “That he loves me?” I narrowed my gaze. “Better. He shows me.”

  Macalister wasn’t fooled, and he used the opportunity to take another step my direction. “He hasn’t, then. How exactly does he show he loves you?”

  “I don’t have to explain it to you.”

  “With his fancy gifts?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  It was a demand. “Then indulge me.”

  He asked for it. “For starters, we fuck all the time.”

  His expression shuttered. “Everyone in this house is aware. It’s yet another reason I’ve made myself scarce.” He sighed almost dramatically and leaned in like he wanted to impart his wisdom. “I know you’re young and inexperienced, but surely you’re intelligent enough to know that sex does not equate love. I imagine for Royce, sex is meaningless.”

  I wanted to laugh. “It’s not.”

  “For you, I’m sure it isn’t. But he will tire of it and eventually lose interest.”

  My ears burned hot. “He won’t, and I know it.”

  His blue eyes sharpened on me. “Oh?”

  “If sex was meaningless to him, he would have slept with other people the year before we got engaged.”

  He had the same reaction when I moved a chess piece he wasn’t expecting. “What?”

/>   “I waited for him, Macalister. And for a year, he waited for me.”

  It was like he couldn’t reconcile the idea in his head. “He told you this?”

  “Yes.” My lips turned up in a smug smile.

  There was a level of dread in his voice that made my blood run cold. It sounded as if he was outraged for me. “And you . . . you believed him?”

  Macalister was a splinter trapped in my skin, working deeper and more painfully each time I tried to get him out. He infected my mind and planted seeds of distrust.

  When I didn’t dignify his question with a response, he stepped back, maybe worried my delusions would rub off on him.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he lectured. “Lying is the only thing my son truly excels at.”

  I didn’t sound as convinced as I would have liked. “We don’t lie to each other.”

  He shot me an incredulous look. “No? You already confessed to me that you do.” It felt like he’d struck me in the center of my chest, and my heart slowed. “How easy do you think it is for him to do the same?”

  That was the thought Macalister left me with as he exited the kitchen, abandoning me in the darkness.

  TWELVE

  THE MORNING OF MY COLLEGE GRADUATION CEREMONY, I had a nightmare. It was the worst possible kind, where nothing seemed wrong during the dream—not until I woke up, and horror descended on me.

  I’d dreamt about Macalister.

  My subconscious had placed us in the candlelit dining room the night of the initiation, where I was naked, and he was in his tuxedo . . . only it was just the two of us. I was flat on my back at the end of the long, elegant table. His cold hands were splayed on my spread thighs, and his tongue slipped inside me. My hands threaded into his hair, holding on while he tasted and feasted, dragging a moan from my lips.

  When I woke, I was hot and uncomfortable all over, but the ache between my legs throbbed the worst.

  Wrong.

  Not that I had any control over my dreams, but I felt the shame regardless, and anger toward Macalister, like he’d put the thoughts in my brain.

  I brushed my hair back off my heated face, rolled over in the bed, and my sleepy gaze found my fiancé who was already awake. Royce stared at the screen of his iPad, his blue eyes following intently whatever it was he was watching.

  How did he always look so good? His brown hair was wild and his jaw dark with stubble, and it made the shadows of his high cheekbones more pronounced. The covers were mushed down around his waist, exposing the curves and ridges of his defined, bare chest. I licked my lips like he was a meal I wanted to devour.

  It was then I noticed the rhythmic movement of his right hand under the sheets, centered between his legs. Oh, my God. Was he masturbating? My focus flew to his iPad and confirmed it. The couple on screen was seated on a gray couch, her tight black dress pulled up to her waist, showing off the gorgeous black thigh-high stockings she wore. The man had two fingers inside her, pulsing in and out as she squirmed.

  My breath hitched.

  Part of me was fascinated and enjoyed being a voyeur to this intimate act. But a much larger part of me, the insecure and inexperienced side, filled with worry. Had it begun to happen? Alice’s warning that he’d lose interest persisted in my mind.

  Was Royce already bored with me?

  It was like he could hear my thoughts because he turned his head and caught me watching him, but rather than stop or look embarrassed, he simply smiled. His eyes were warm, matching his word. “Hey.”

  My mouth went dry. “Are you jerking off?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to be ready to go when you woke up.” He gave himself another stroke beneath the covers. “You were moaning in your sleep.”

  Oh, my God.

  I swallowed so hard, it had to be audible, and I scrambled to deflect. “What are you watching?”

  He turned on the volume and tilted the screen so I could better see.

  The pretty brunette had pulled her dress up over her breasts and shifted onto her knees on the couch cushions. It was so she could pull open the man’s suit pants and slide his impressive cock into her mouth. There was something about the way she looked at him as she did it, and the way the handsome man gazed back at her . . . it felt authentic. As if they both were enjoying each other, rather than merely performing.

  I clenched at such a sexy image and tried not to sound breathless. “They have good chemistry.”

  “They’re married in real life.”

  “Really?” My pulse pounded in my throat as the man held the girl’s long bangs out of her face and watched her take every inch of him between her rosy lips. Up and down she went in slow strokes, and when his eyes closed, he tipped his head back. Like the pleasure was too great.

  Royce’s hand matched the girl’s steady tempo, and his voice was heavy with enjoyment. “I’ve probably seen every video they’ve shot together, which is a lot. They bring in friends sometimes.”

  It was difficult to know where to focus. The video on screen was hot, but the sheets had shifted, and now I could watch the glide of my fiancé’s hand down his hard length. It was mesmerizing. I meant to tease and not accuse. “Watch a lot of porn, do you?”

  “I’m a guy, so, yeah.” He laughed softly. “Plus, there was a while where this was all I had.”

  I sucked in a breath. “The year you waited for me.”

  “Yeah.” There was no hesitation from him, and the tightness in my chest dissipated.

  Royce had a ‘tell’ when he lied. I’d discovered it after months of fundraising parties and social events where we’d played our roles of prince and soon-to-be princess of Cape Hill. He paused before saying something untrue. It was only a microsecond long—just the length of a single heartbeat, but I’d caught on. If there was a lag, he was going to tell a lie.

  I wanted so badly for Royce to say he loved me, I’d made a point of telling him I loved him when other people were around, forcing him to deliver the same line back to me. That goddamn pause every time before he uttered what I longed to hear was a knife in my heart. But I told myself to keep doing it. If he said it enough, maybe the lie would become real, and one day there’d be no hesitation.

  He wasn’t lying about waiting a year for me, though. Not only were we alone right now, but he hadn’t paused. He’d answered me quickly and convincingly.

  On screen, the couple moved. As the man stood, she stretched out on the couch, lying down on her stomach, and clutched her hands on the cushion beneath her. Her husband sat beside her long, silk-wrapped legs, and let his hands wander appreciatively over her perfect body, before he placed one on her ass and slid two fingers of the other deep inside her pussy.

  I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and reached for Royce. When I clasped my hand over the base of his cock, he sighed with satisfaction and eagerly made room for me to work.

  The girl arched and bowed as the man drove his fingers, and her hips lifted when she rose to meet him, adjusting the angle of his thrusts. My pulse kicked when the man leaned forward and buried his mouth between the cheeks of her ass.

  “Dirty,” I whispered with excitement.

  Royce jerked in my hand. “Yeah? You want me to do that to you?”

  Yes.

  The girl gasped and moaned. One hand flew back to her husband’s head, but not to push him away. It seemed reactive, like she was overwhelmed by the sensation. Her mouth rounded into a silent ‘oh’ of bliss.

  “Maybe,” I said in a hush.

  Royce chuckled sinfully and tossed the iPad aside, scooping a hand into my hair. “That’s a fucking yes if I ever heard one.”

  His kiss was blistering. Addictive. His tongue pressed to the seam of my lips and demanded entry, and I gladly gave it. While he kissed me, he curled his fingers around the waistband of my shorts and began to stretch them down.

  “You should know, this is my favorite part of the day,” he said. “Waking up next to you.” He grabbed my hip and pulled me toward himself, encouraging me to lie on my st
omach. When I did, he got on his knees and pushed a finger inside me from behind. “I get to do it for the rest of my life, don’t I, Marist?”

  “Yes,” I said mindlessly to both his question and his possession.

  His voice was rich, like decadent chocolate. “Because you’re mine.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Because I was so very his.

  My bridal bouquet was a hand-tied collection of white and blush pink roses, set against silvery green sprigs of eucalyptus. It perfectly matched the soft pink bridesmaid dresses Sophia and Emily wore, along with the crystal embellished Manolo Blahnik heels on my feet.

  I’d told the florists I didn’t want to see a single stem of lily of the valley. I would have had the groundskeepers dig up Alice’s plants from the garden too, but Royce had beat me to it last October. It was one of the first things he’d done after I’d come home from the hospital.

  For appearances’ sake, Alice had spent the last two nights in the main house, back in her old room. The staff was discreet, but people were coming and going as the wedding machine geared up. I’d forbidden her from entering my room as I got ready, but her hair and makeup team was here, texting her pictures and making adjustments based off her feedback.

  “I can’t believe Sophia is a bridesmaid,” my sister whispered. “Why is that again?”

  “She’s useful.” I used my thumb to turn the enormous engagement ring on my finger like a screw being tightened to hold down my anxiety. “I mean, look at how good she is with Selene.”

  My sister turned her gaze across the room to Sophia, who sat on the floor with her pink dress flounced around her, cooing endlessly to my niece in her bouncy chair. In Sophia’s defense, six-month-old Selene was the most adorable flower girl ever. She’d charmed everyone, including the pair of photographers in the room who were furiously snapping pictures.

  My parents sat on the couch nearby. My dad looked handsome but uncomfortable in his tuxedo, although I wondered if it were his surroundings that really bothered him. Did he feel like he was losing his little girl to the Hales?