by Nikki Sloane
“Yeah,” Royce said finally. “You’d better watch out or he’ll make himself captain.” His teasing tone released the tension and let the air back into the room, and I was so grateful. I flashed him an appreciative look.
“Vance doesn’t want that,” Macalister said. “I’m sure your father is an excellent captain.” His voice was cool and pointed. A warning to Vance to stay in line.
A tight smile pressed on Alice’s lips. “May I shift topics for a moment?”
Her husband nodded. “Yes.”
“The masquerade masks for the gala,” she said. “I keep thinking it would be better if we had a consistent look for the family. It’s the Hale Banking and Holding Company, and we’ll want a picture of all the Hales represented.”
Disinterest colored his expression. “What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking black and white? Or everyone in gold?” She pursed her lips, unhappy with the answers she was giving. “I’m still working up ideas.”
“How about the Greek myths?” Royce said.
“What?” Alice and I asked at the same time.
He tossed up a hand like he was literally throwing the idea out onto the table. “Marist has all these books about the myths, and some of them are—”
“We’re not Greek,” Macalister said.
My fiancé wasn’t fazed. “I think it could be something different and unique. That’s what Alice said we needed, right?” He shrugged as if he didn’t care either way. “I don’t know, I kind of like the idea of being a god.”
Alice tilted her head as she considered his statement, before her gaze latched onto me. “This was the stuff you used to post on social media.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Macalister peered at his wife. “I worry the whole evening lacks sophistication, but the masquerade is your concept. I leave the smaller decisions to you.”
In Macalister-speak, that meant he was giving up control because he thought it wasn’t worth his time. Costumes were beneath him.
Alice wasn’t sold, but not ready to dismiss Royce’s idea either. “Maybe Marist and I could pull some pictures together.”
Outwardly, I nodded and looked enthusiastic to help. On the inside, I wanted to slump my shoulders and scowl. Was this another part of me the Hales would modify and skew to fit their brand?
“You’re going to a masquerade party?” Jillian asked. “That sounds fun.”
Macalister’s glare carried the heat of a thousand suns, and it was shocking that Vance didn’t burst into flames. He obviously hadn’t asked her to be his date yet, but he rolled right into an easy smile. “It will be fun, and you can come.” His eyes sparkled with charm. “I’ll even let you be my date.”
“Oh.” She laughed nervously. “That’s okay. We’re just friends.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Well, friend, I need a date.”
Jillian’s hesitant gaze darted around the table, searching for help, but she didn’t find any. Her shoulders tightened as her chin dropped toward her chest. “I just got out of something serious.”
Vance’s expression darkened. “Yeah, with a serious douchebag. Screw that guy. Show up on my arm, and he’ll see how much you’ve traded up.”
She looked torn. The idea had appeal, but her gaze flicked over to Royce for a second. Was she thinking about how awkward it’d be since she’d slept with Vance’s older brother?
I couldn’t picture them together. Jillian was pretty, and she’d been popular enough in school, but they had nothing in common. It had probably been a one-night stand, and he’d been his fake persona with her. Playing his role as the cocky bastard who made all the girls swoon. She hadn’t seen the other side of himself that he’d shown only to me.
I knew it, because I couldn’t stand anything else to be true.
It was clear Vance wasn’t going to be able to close the deal, and Macalister wasn’t going to let that happen. “I invited your father personally,” he said. “Please, I insist.”
That settled it. She couldn’t refuse the king.
Her voice was timid. “Okay.”
“Excellent,” Macalister said.
Jillian’s gaze fell to her plate, and she looked like a trapped animal, resigned to the cage closed around her. Was that how I’d looked the day I’d made the deal to marry Royce? It felt like a lifetime ago.
I stared at her across the table, feeling nothing but dread. This family was going to eat her alive.
All through dinner, Macalister hadn’t so much as glanced my direction. His indifference toward me made me question if what had happened last night had been real. I was terrified to be alone with him and answer the questions I knew he was going to ask.
But a deal was a deal, and I had no choice.
At seven-thirty, the door to the library was open and Macalister was already waiting inside. But unlike the other nights, he wasn’t seated behind the desk. He stood beside the leather reading chair, his attention on the black cat knotted in a ball on the top of the high chair back. I expected Macalister to shoo Lucifer away.
He lifted a hand, set it on the cat’s head, and stroked all the way down its back.
Lucifer’s apple green eyes popped open and peered up at the man petting him and, after a moment’s consideration, he decided he would allow it. As Macalister stroked the cat again, Lucifer stretched and gave a rumbling, content purr.
Macalister was in side-profile to me, unaware I was watching him. As his face softened into a smile, I fractured. Maybe all the Hales had two sides, but I didn’t want to see this other version of him. I could only deal with him as Zeus—uncaring god of the mortals. He was complex enough like that.
“Royce told me you hated the cat,” I said quietly.
Macalister straightened and dropped his hand like Lucifer had burned him. He wasn’t pleased I’d caught him being affectionate and tried to hide his embarrassment with a dark glare. “And I told you that you shouldn’t trust anything he says.”
He strode to the chessboard and sat, which meant I had to shut the door and join him.
“What is it about mythology that appeals to you?” he asked as we began playing.
I didn’t want to have this discussion. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”
He found my lack of answer unacceptable and let me know with his sharp tone. “Try.”
I sighed. “So, you have these gods, who have power and immortality and are supposed to be superior . . . and yet, they’re so much worse than the mortals. They’re spiteful and jealous, full of lust and wrath. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.” I tried not to get distracted by talking. I had to focus on the board and defend my queen. “They’re people’s terrible, basic instincts, but amplified.”
“You’re saying you enjoy reading about horrible things happening to horrible people.”
Was he teasing me? His sense of humor was so dry, I could rarely tell when he wasn’t being serious. He was in such a good mood tonight. Getting Jillian to agree to be Vance’s date must have been the reason. All his ducks were lining up for him to get everything he wanted.
“When you’re a god,” I said, “there are no consequences, so power corrupts absolutely. It makes for some pretty fascinating and messed up stories.”
There was a long moment of quiet. I couldn’t tell if he was thinking about what I’d said, or his next move.
“Then,” his gaze lifted from the chessboard to meet mine, “after I’ve won this game, you’ll pick out one of your books for me to read. I’ll start with your favorite.”
My heart clunked in my chest. Him reading my favorite book was almost as intimate as him giving me a vibrator. I swallowed thickly, searching for a way to distract. “Who says you’re going to win?”
He blinked slowly. “My knight, most likely. I’m taking your queen in two moves, and then it will all be over.”
Confounded, I stared at the board. How the hell was he going to—
I deflated as I saw what he anticipated.
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“You’re a clever girl,” Macalister said, “but you get lost in the game. You’re thinking about each move you make, while I’m at least two moves ahead.”
Just as predicted, in two moves he carried out his plan. My queen was captured, and without my most valuable piece, it was only a matter of time before he had me locked in checkmate.
A victorious smile burned across his lips. “I’ll wait here for you to bring me my book.”
I sighed and climbed out of my chair. I used the short walk to my bedroom to try to figure out which title to give him. Would he want the most literary and sophisticated one from my collection? Or the one I thought he’d tolerate the best?
When I returned and presented the book to him, he examined it with disdain. “This is your favorite?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“And, being that it’s your favorite, I assume you’ve read it multiple times.” He thumbed through the book, showing off its pristine pages and unmarred spine.
“Uh . . .” I was so busted. I’d only read it once. “I thought this was the one you’d like best.”
He shut it with a loud slam and thrust the book toward me. “That’s not what I asked for, though, is it?”
“No, I’m sorry.” His disappointment was so heavy it was crushing, and I needed relief. “I’ll be right back.” I grabbed it from him and took off for my bedroom.
When I returned with the black book and its well-worn gold embossed cover, Macalister’s displeasure faded. He took the hardcover book from me, his gaze scanning the printing on the front before opening it and reading the inside flap of the dust jacket.
He asked it without looking at me, as if he were only mildly curious. “Are you looking forward to tonight?”
His question opened me up and filled my interior with concrete.
“It’s all I could think about today,” he added.
It became impossible to breathe. Everything in me was too tight, too strained. “Macalister,” I pleaded.
I couldn’t have picked a worse thing to say. His eyes lidded with desire, and he licked his full lips, like I looked delicious and was about to be devoured.
“I enjoy the way you say my name.” His expression teemed with dangerous lust. “Like it’s nearly unspeakable—a word too filthy to say out loud.”
I pressed my hand to my chest and took a blind step backward, but he matched it with a step forward of his own, keeping me only an arm’s length away.
“You’ll say it tonight,” he said.
What? I shook my head. “No. I won’t.”
He hardened at my refusal. “You will. You’ll think about me, and when the pleasure is too much, you’ll say my name.”
“No.” I found my footing and my spine. He’d gotten me to do a lot of things, but . . . “You can try to control me all you want, but you can’t tell me what to think. You can’t make me think about you.”
Excitement danced in his vibrant eyes. “You gave me complete control over your experience. That was the deal we agreed on. You say I can’t make you think about me, but I’m already two moves ahead, Marist.” His voice swelled with power. “I can, and I will.”
ELEVEN
ROYCE LURKED OUTSIDE THE LIBRARY, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway, his thumbs hooked inside his pants pockets. He took one look at my flushed face, straightened from the wall, and his gaze flew to the library door in accusation.
“What did he do?” he demanded.
Nothing I didn’t agree to.
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “We were just talking.” I was still terrible at lying, but at least this was merely a bend of the truth. Macalister hadn’t actually done anything to me.
Not yet. But worry spread through my veins like a virus replicating itself. He was a relentless man who was never satisfied, which meant he wouldn’t stop. Not even when he got what he wanted.
“Did you need something?” I asked.
My breath caught as Royce moved in, taking up all the space in the hallway so he was the only thing I could see. He was high cheekbones, dark hair, and gorgeous eyes that penetrated all the way down to my bones.
“Yeah.” His voice was low and thick. “Let’s go out. I don’t care where, just someplace that’s not here.”
To make sure there was no misinterpretation of his intentions, he put his hand on the wall beside my head and his knee between my legs, leaning in. The contact of his thigh against the cleft of my body looked tame, but I shuddered. He shifted his leg, rubbing against me and creating tension and fire.
It drove me to put my hand on his chest, and I marveled at how steady his heartbeat was. Mine was rapid and uneven.
“Or do you want to stay in and break some rules?” he murmured. His seductive voice wasn’t playing fair. I wanted that very much.
“I can’t.” As I eased him back, my body mourned the loss.
“No?”
“No,” I whispered. Because of what I’d done with his father last night, and what I had to do again tonight. My betrayal seemed slightly less awful if I wasn’t intimate with Royce at the same time. I just needed one more day with my freedom to get what I needed.
Plus, I couldn’t go anywhere with him, anyway. I had less than two hours before I had to play Macalister’s fucked up game.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “What were you talking about in there?”
“Nothing.”
He frowned. “Tell me. Maybe I can help you.”
Help me? How was I supposed to say what my issue was? And asking me to tell him was awfully rich. I pushed away from the wall and gave him a hard look. “We all have our secrets, Royce. I’m tired and going to bed. Good night.”
My body was taut with anticipation. It gripped me so hard, everything ached from its nervous clench. I actively tried not to think about Macalister as I prepared, but that backfired. Trying not to think about him made it impossible not to. He’d turned my brain against me.
At ten-thirty sharp, the vibrations kicked in, and I welcomed the sensation. My mind emptied of thought, other than how good the toy lodged inside my body felt. And once my mind was cleared, then I imagined it was Royce at the helm, controlling my pleasure.
I pictured him now, wearing one of his best suits, kneeling on the bed between my spread legs. He had his phone in his hand and a dastardly smile on his lips. His gaze would focus on the toy pulsing and watch how my hips moved in little circles, desperate for release.
The vibration pattern changed into a sharp staccato rhythm, and I stifled a moan. Heat blasted down my spine, but goosebumps lifted on my skin. In my head, Royce’s expression dripped with desire, and the sight of me writhing under his command was too much. He smoothed a hand down the fly of his pants and gripped the heavy bulge swelling there. I’d never seen the sight in real life, but my imagination was so vivid. The picture I painted was carnal. His expensive watch peeking out from under his shirt sleeve and cuff of his jacket, his sexy hand squeezing back his pleasure.
I wanted him.
I’d had him.
And I wanted him still, worse than I had a year ago.
Grinding against the motorized silicone and empty sheets wasn’t enough. At this moment, I didn’t care if he’d told me nothing but lies, I would settle for what we had. I’d let him use me, and I’d use him, and after enough time pretending, maybe the feelings would become real between us, matching the way our bodies longed to be together.
“Fuck,” I groaned to myself.
In my fantasy, Royce couldn’t get his pants undone fast enough. His hands were clumsy with eagerness, ripping down his zipper. He tossed the tail of his tie over his shoulder and out of our way before he lowered down to meet me. I wanted to feel his weight against my body. The pressure of him. I needed to tangle my hands in his thick hair and bite his lip as he tried to kiss me.
I lost control the moment I imagined him shoving himself inside me with one deep, unapologetic thrust.
My orgasm was fire. I c
ried out as ecstasy swept through me, burning along my nerves in pinpricks of heat and bliss. Instinct took over, and I reached down, turning off the overwhelming vibrator because the pleasure was so acute, it hurt. The buzzing ceased, plunging the darkened room into near silence, punctuated only by my uneven gulps of breath.
The orgasm was so mind-numbingly powerful, I lay on the bed for a long while, unable to move or think, only recover.
Slowly, reality came back to me, and I picked up my phone.
Me: One.
The message delivered, then said it had been read, but no dots appeared to indicate Macalister was typing. Instead, my screen turned to black, his name flashed across it, and my ringtone punched through the quiet.
Holy. Shit.
Panic made my stomach bottom out. What was I going to do? I couldn’t not answer his call, but how the fuck was I supposed to talk to him now? I closed my eyes and held my breath, praying the phone would miraculously stop ringing. Was there any chance he’d called me by mistake?
Don’t be so fucking stupid, Marist.
I tapped the screen, and my voice was a ghost. “Hello?”
There was no greeting, only his angry question. “Why is it off?”
“Because it was too intense,” I blurted. “And I already came, so I thought—”
“Turn it back on, now. I’m not finished with you.”
My heart halted painfully, but in the aftermath of my orgasm I was weak. I fumbled with the phone as I followed his order. “Okay,” I said on a shaky breath. “It’s on.”
“And it’s inside you?”
I bunched a handful of the silky duvet in my fist. It was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you. You’ll take a picture and send me the proof.”
My brain went black as it short-circuited. He was insane. There was absolutely no way I was going to take a picture of me wearing the vibrator and text it to him. “No.”
“No?” I could picture the arrogance on his face on the other side of the conversation.
The vibrator leapt to life, and as I jolted in surprise, a shameful moan burst from my lips. I was still sensitive, but after the first few seconds, it lessened and I could think over it.
