The Deception

by Nikki Sloane

  When the loud pop of the cork rang out, I flinched.

  “You seem nervous.” He folded the towel, set it and the cork on the table, and picked up the glass.

  “I am nervous.”

  As he poured, his gaze was on the bubbles, but his focus was on me. “Why? We’ve played many times before.”

  “I’m not nervous about the game. It’s what happens after.”

  He handed the glass to me but paused and didn’t release it. Even the god Zeus was a slave to his male desires, and lust coiled in his eyes. “Is something going to happen after I defeat you?”

  “You’ve already defeated me.”

  I’m here, aren’t I? I hoped I said with a look.

  He let go of the glass, and I held his stare for a beat too long, letting my double meaning settle on him before casting a hand toward the board. “You’ll take my queen in two moves, and then I’m just running after that.”

  His pleased expression was insidious. As he set the bottle down, I turned toward the mirror and watched his reflection as he unbuttoned his suit coat and sat in the chair opposite mine.

  “I’d like to know,” he said, “why you wanted to play here tonight rather than the library.” Macalister was smart. He didn’t trust me and knew I had an agenda.

  My chest was uncomfortably tight. I had to be careful and loaded my statement with as much truth as possible. “Royce wouldn’t like it if he saw us playing together.”

  The smile on his lips was faint, but an evil grin threatened the edges of his mouth. “I see,” he said. “In that case, it’s your move.”

  I took a sip of the chilled champagne. It was manipulative on every level. Not just the obvious, where the alcohol would lower my inhibitions, but it was seductive. This felt distinctly different from any other time we’d played. His gaze zeroed in on my lips as they were pressed to the glass, and my throat when it dipped in a swallow.

  Had the staff found it strange when Macalister asked for champagne? He only drank once a year, and preferred scotch.

  For the first time ever, I didn’t care if I won or lost the match. The outcome was irrelevant. We were playing a more intricate game with higher stakes, and that was where my focus lay. As we moved our dwindling pieces around the board, anticipation drifted in the air as an invisible fog.

  “Your tattoo is Medusa,” he said when we entered the endgame, “but I see you more as Nyx.”

  That gave me pause. Nyx was the goddess of night and wasn’t mentioned much in mythology, which I found interesting given how she was one of the most powerful gods. She had spawned the dark things in life—strife, pain, sleep, and death.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  His eyes teemed with carnal desire. “She’s the only one Zeus feared.”

  The best myth featuring Nyx was the one where Hera convinced Hypnos to put Zeus to sleep so she could scheme behind his back. When her husband woke, he was furious and chased after Hypnos. But the sleep god darted into his mother Nyx’s cave, and Zeus wouldn’t dare step inside. He was terrified of her wrath.

  Was Macalister saying he feared me? I didn’t believe him for a second. I finished my glass of champagne and moved my knight, knowing this farce of a game was about to be over and we’d move into the middlegame of the one that mattered.

  His gaze lingered on my right hand. “You’re wearing the ring I gave you. It looks nice.” Finally, he moved his bishop. “Checkmate.” He leaned back in his seat, rested his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers together. “Do you want to play again?”

  “No. I’m interested in something else.”

  He looked at me with cautious eyes, like what I was saying was too good to be true. “Which is?”

  “I’d like to negotiate.” Hopefully, the last negotiations I’d ever have to do with him. “I want you to be honest with me.”

  He was offended. “I’ve always been honest with you.”

  My hands craved to tighten into fists, but I settled for tightening my smile. “Forthcoming is a better word. I’ll ask you questions, and you’ll give me the truth. The full truth.”

  The offended look evaporated. “In exchange for?”

  “That’s what we’ll negotiate.” I sat back in my chair, crossed my legs, and settled in, trying to match his body language. “Make me an offer.”

  He considered it thoughtfully. “Spend the night with me.”

  I’d expected his opening bid to be high. At least he’d found a somewhat classy way to ask for the sleezy, amoral thing he most wanted. I steeled my reaction, hoping not to anger him and blow the negotiations.

  “No. I love my husband and I’m a married woman.” When he looked like he was going to push that line, I added, “With a clause about cheating in her prenup.”

  “We will be discreet.”

  I blinked slowly to signal I wasn’t impressed with his proposal. “No. Make me a reasonable offer.”

  He exhaled lightly and stared at the chessboard as if it were the drawing board.

  For Royce’s sake, I needed to know what his father knew, but my blood pressure spiked as excitement worked across Macalister’s expression. Whatever idea he’d latched on to, he liked it a lot.

  “You let me give you an orgasm.”

  This was one of the variables I’d plugged into my forecast, and my voice was strained as I admitted it. “I charged the vibrator this afternoon.”

  He let out a half of a laugh, and it was downright evil. “You misunderstand. You won’t just give me control—you’ll allow me to give it to you physically.”

  Microscopic threads tugged at my skin in a thousand different directions. “No.”

  “How about this?” The soft, moody lighting in his elegant bedroom exaggerated his Cheshire Cat smile. “I won’t even touch you.” He had an afterthought. “Your hands. You’ll allow me to touch those.”

  For a split second, I wondered if he’d laced the champagne with something, because the idea of him bringing me to orgasm by holding my hands made me want to giggle. But my drink hadn’t been poisoned—I’d watched him open the bottle and pour my glass—and besides that, I was smart enough to know better.

  He had a plan to win.

  “That’s it?” I asked pointedly. “You’ll only touch my hands?”

  He said it plainly as if he were talking about the minutiae of a financial disclosure. “You’ll be naked, and I’ll be allowed to kiss you.”

  I pictured me on my back on his bed, his hands pinning mine at my sides, while his kiss wandered down across my naked flesh. He wanted his two minutes, and the word came out in a rush. “No.”

  “I don’t see why this is an issue. You’ve let me kiss you before.”

  “No.” It came out more honestly and aggressively than I wanted it to. I had to make him believe there was a chance I was starting to fall for his seduction. “Not tonight.”

  Liquid heat pooled in his eyes at my implied opportunity. Not tonight, but maybe some other time . . .

  “If I’m naked,” I squeezed the armrests, digging my nails into the upholstery, “every stitch of your clothing stays on.”

  When I took that and kissing off the table, I expected him to have to rethink his plan, but he didn’t. He gave a nod, picked up the bottle of champagne, and poured me another glass as he spoke.

  “Here is my offer. You will do what I say and allow me to bring you to orgasm. I can touch your hands but nowhere else, and I cannot kiss you. During this time, I’ll answer any questions you ask truthfully and to the best of my ability.” His gaze sharpened like a knife right before it plunged in. “You also agree to accompany me to the office on a day of my choosing.”

  Wait, what?

  My confusion played out on my face.

  He lifted the champagne glass, extending it toward me like it was part of his offer. “I enjoy your company, Marist. It’s as simple as that.”

  Nothing with him was simple. I peered at the flute
in his hand, watching the tiny bubbles break free of their hold at the bottom of the glass and float upward to their escape. I was jealous of their short trip. The gauntlet I had to run to break free was going to be much longer and harder.

  I accepted both the champagne and his offer, sealing the deal when I pressed my lips to the glass and drank. Dark satisfaction twisted through his eyes like a sea of ice blue snakes coiling together.

  My blood rushed in my body as he stood from his chair, grabbed the back of it, and lifted. The heavy green armchair was set down facing the decorative mirror that leaned against the wall. Once that was done, he focused on dragging the table out of the way, and the chess pieces rattled as the legs chattered across the hardwood floor. It meant there was nothing to obstruct the mirror’s view of the chair.

  “Stand,” he said.

  I was rooted in place, the half-empty glass of champagne cold in my hand. All he’d done was rearrange some furniture, but there was something terribly sinister about it, and second thoughts kept me immobile.

  He sensed my hesitation. “What’s your first question?”

  When he reminded me of my goal, focus released my body. I stood, took a final gulp of the champagne, and sauntered over to set it on the table, my heels clicking quietly on the floor. “The image of the check to Dr. Galliat. How’d you get it?”

  He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of the chair. “Here. Face the mirror.”

  My breath came and went in shallow pulls, but I did as ordered. When I faced the mirror and lifted my gaze to the reflection, I saw the two of us. Me in my black cocktail dress, my dark hair spilling around my flushed face, and him in his finest suit standing behind my shoulder, looking down at me. He was Zeus, eager to make the mortal he’d captured submit to his desires.

  I silently repeated the Hale family motto in my head, which kept me in place.

  “I have several people in my employ,” he said, “whose sole job is to keep me informed. It’s a necessary part of my business. I’ve invested hundreds of thousands of dollars cultivating the best management team. I deserve to know if other companies are intending to poach them.”

  “You mean you have spies.” I fixed my gaze on his through the mirror.

  “They do more than just spy. For example, they may persuade someone to pass along documents I’ll find interesting or useful.” His attention went to my back. “Pull your hair to the side so it’s not in my way.”

  There was the slightest tremor in my hands as I scooped up my hair, pulled it to the front and draped it over my shoulder, revealing the back of my dress. He liked his effect on me. Power curved his lips into a wicked smile.

  My hands may have wavered, but my voice didn’t. “Do you have access to everything Royce does?”

  “Access? No. Hold still. I’m not responsible for inadvertently touching you if you move.” His fingers found the zipper pull at the top of my dress, and he took care not to let them brush against any part of me. “I don’t know every detail. I only hear about the more interesting moves he makes.”

  “Such as?”

  The zipper was quiet, but there was the tug of the dress on my shoulders, and the cool air seeping in announced he’d unzipped me all the way to the small of my back. The sides of the open zipper peeled apart, and one pull from him sent the top of the dress falling to my waist, trapping my elbows at my sides.

  “How he’d amassed a considerable stake in Ascension.” His gaze trailed over the cups of the black bra I wore. He leaned over, and although he wasn’t using his hands, his desire to do so was so fierce, I felt them anyway. They traced my shoulders, caressed my spine. They wandered and explored and relished, causing my mouth to go dry.

  “What do you think he intended to do,” I swallowed hard, “with that stake?”

  “He planned to buy them, but I beat him to it.” His gaze landed on the black line of elastic on my shoulder. “Lift that strap up.”

  I didn’t understand his intent until I picked it up and he plucked it from my fingers. He’d had me lift the strap away from my skin so he would avoid violating our agreement. My heart pumped furiously in my body. I wasn’t just going to be naked—he was going to undress me first.

  Royce had done terrible things to bring us together. Hopefully he’d understand when I did the same to keep us together.

  Down Macalister pulled the strap as he walked around me, causing the bra cup to peel away and expose my breast to him, like seeing it through the reflection wasn’t good enough. He wanted his gaze to touch me with nothing in the way.

  His voice was thick with lust. “Now the other side.”

  I repeated my action, as did he, and the bra joined the dress that hung around my waist. He was distracted, so I used it to my advantage. Even though he’d promised not to lie, he’d changed the rules on me enough times that there was no trust between us.

  “You bought Ascension just to stop Royce.” I refused to give an inch and let him see the nerves swirling inside me. “Are you happy with it as a business decision?”

  “I was at first.” His shoulders lifted on a deep breath as he stared at the topless girl before him. His high cheekbones were razor sharp when he licked his lips.

  Goosebumps flooded down my arms as he leaned over me, bringing the tip of his nose so close to my skin it nearly grazed me. His parted lips hovered, and he moved from one breast to the other, caressing me with only his warm breath. I didn’t want it to, but my skin sensitized at his almost-touch.

  Even though I wasn’t trapped, the clothes halfway off my body felt like restraints, holding me under his magnetic power.

  “I’m a man who finds it difficult to admit when I’ve taken a misstep.” He bent onto a knee before me, bringing his gaze level with the hard points of my nipples, and my pulse climbed higher still. “Royce knew if he made a play for Ascension, I’d go after it, and I’m embarrassed at how easily I fell for his ploy.” His words hadn’t sunk in before he hooked a finger at the front of my pulled-down bra and jerked it toward him, making me stumble forward and almost into his hands. “This and your dress come off.”

  My muscles were rigid, but somehow, I found a way to undo the clasp of my bra and push the dress over my hips. They both cascaded down to a pile at my feet, leaving me clad only in a scrap of black lace and the heels I wore.

  It was strange how my power grew as I shed my clothes. It helped that Macalister was on his knees, and the wanton desire dripping off his face made me feel like I was the one better in control of myself.

  I didn’t want to tip Royce’s hand, but I had to know if his father had figured out the plan, which I feared he had. “Why aren’t you happy with Ascension now?”

  It took Macalister’s slow-moving gaze eons to travel the length of my body before it reached my eyes. There’d been a lingering pause on Medusa. Had he been counting her snakes, or admiring the beautiful artwork?

  “I despise your tattoo,” he said, “and how you marred such a beautiful body. If I had my way, you’d start the removal process tomorrow.”

  A sinful grin burned across my lips as I stared down into his frosty eyes, wordlessly reminding him he didn’t have that kind of control over me anymore. Of course, he hated my tattoo. It wasn’t the design that offended him, it was the visual reminder of what he’d lost.

  The power I felt flagged, though, when he motioned toward one side of my panties. “Lift.”

  I slipped my fingers beneath the edge and stretched the fabric away from my hip, only for him to fist it, holding it away from me like a rubber band he wanted to release and snap against my skin.

  His expression broke, turning dark and resentful as he spoke. “The level of fraud happening at that company is staggering.”

  He drew the panties down my legs at an angle, which made the lace dig in and scrape over my skin as it went. As if that company’s actions were somehow my fault and he was punishing me.

  Maybe he was. I’d denied him so many tim
es, his enormous ego couldn’t handle it.

  My hands hung awkwardly at my sides. “When did you find out?”

  “May.”

  May? How could that be?

  I stared down the slope of my body. I watched him as he studied my nakedness, and I tried to disconnect from what was happening. It was infinitely harder when he bent and leaned into the cradle of my lap, his lips only a breath away from the delta of my thighs.

  “Look in the mirror,” he ordered.

  I didn’t want to, dreading what I’d see, but I obeyed.

  As my gaze struck the glass, he inhaled and exhaled deeply, causing an unstoppable shudder in me. In some other life, I might have found the image erotic. I would have thought it was sexy to see a man in an expensive suit on his knees in front of a naked woman and how it looked like he was going down on her. It would have turned me on to watch her chest rise and fall dramatically as she struggled not to pant, or how her eyes were wild, and her pupils dilated to black holes.

  I hated what he did to me.

  “That is what we could be,” he said.

  No.

  This wasn’t some other life. I was Marist Hale, and he was my father-in-law, not to mention I was in love with someone else. Plus, there were no myths of Medusa and Zeus being lovers, only Zeus’s son who’d slain her. And that was what Royce had done, wasn’t it? Slayed me?

  I ignored what Macalister had said and refocused. The tremble crept into my voice, but only a little. “I don’t understand. The takeover didn’t happen until June. You had time to—”

  Macalister abruptly came to his feet, towering over me. “No. I would have looked weak.”

  I was stunned. “You put yourself over your company.”

  He abandoned me, not agreeing or denying. His feet fell heavily on the wood floor as he strode to the chair he’d placed in front of the mirror and sat down in it. I turned, stepping out of the heap of clothes at my ankles, and faced him.

  What was supposed to happen next? With him in the wide chair, his legs spread, and his hands curled over the upholstered armrests, he looked like a king on his throne. Was he going to ask me to entertain him?