by Nikki Sloane
She snorted. “Like that matters here.” The smile froze on her face. She’d realized she might blow the opportunity I’d given her and needed to correct course. “At least you know Royce is only going to get hotter as he gets older.”
She had a point. “True.”
“So, when did you guys really start dating? I usually hear things, but you two weren’t on my radar until recently. Someone said you hooked up with him at his graduation party last year, but then I also heard he went on a date with Emily, so I thought maybe they got you and your sister mixed up.”
Surprise jolted through me. “Who said I hooked up with him? Because we just fooled around a little, we didn’t—” Stop talking, Marist. I slammed my mouth shut.
She laughed lightly. “Oh, my God, you’re embarrassed. That’s so cute. I think it was Ally who told me. She saw Royce come out of some room and then you were right behind him. She said you both looked like something had gone down in there.”
My cheeks warmed at the memory of Royce’s fingers between my legs, my hands gripping the bookshelf.
Wait for me, he’d ordered.
The server appeared, set our lunches down in front of us, and flitted away. Sophia readied her fork but paused before digging into her salad.
“Good for you,” she said. “After Emily, I knew he wasn’t dating, but I didn’t have a clue why. I should have, though. A guy like Royce doesn’t just give up women for a year. You guys hid your relationship so well.” She grinned widely. “You had all of us fooled.”
My insides solidified. What had she just said? My brain wouldn’t accept it.
No, she had to be mistaken. Royce had ordered me to wait, but I refused to believe he’d done the same.
She took a bite of her food, but her chewing slowed when she noticed I wasn’t eating. I hadn’t even moved.
“You okay? Is your order wrong?”
I forced myself to act natural, jamming my fork into a pile of linguine. “No, it’s fine.” I pulled my lips back into what I hoped looked like a bliss-soaked smile. I wanted her to take my comment at face value and not hear the subtext hidden beneath. “Sometimes it’s still hard to believe I’m going to marry him.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You’re both young, but at the same time, it’s kinda undeniable you’re in love. It’s a fairytale the way you look at each other—it made everyone jealous at Royce’s promotion thing, you know. We all want what you have.”
I shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth so she wouldn’t hear the huge gulp of air I’d just swallowed. What she thought was a fairytale romance was only a carefully crafted lie.
For the next twenty minutes, I ate silently while Sophia prattled on about work and her parents’ remodel of their second home in Barcelona. I waited until she’d spent enough time talking about herself that she was relaxed and comfortable before I made my first move.
I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the table, tilting my chin down to my chest. My voice was quiet and secretive. “Can I tell you something?” Then I uttered the phrase she wouldn’t be able to resist. “And it needs to stay just between us.”
There was a spark in her eyes. “Of course. What is it?”
I hesitated for effect. “I don’t know if Royce is going to take over for Macalister when he retires.”
It was as if I’d just said her credit card was declined. “What?”
I pushed my hair back behind my ear and leaned even closer, like I was worried someone might overhear. “I’ve been working as Royce’s assistant, just until school starts back, and I’m beginning to see how he is at the company. I thought Macalister was grooming him to step up as CEO one day, but instead of giving him more responsibilities—Macalister seems to be taking them away.”
Confusion continued across her face. “Why?”
I lifted my shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he can’t cut it? Maybe Macalister thinks he won’t be any good as CEO. That’s kind of the feeling I get from the executive suite. No one’s comfortable with Royce being anything more than a figurehead.”
It was a total and complete lie.
My time at HBHC had been brief, but so far, Royce had seemed dedicated, competent, and valuable. And everyone, except for his father, loved him. There’d been meetings that ran long where I’d had to fake fires for Royce to put out, only so he could use it as an excuse to get on to the next meeting.
Perhaps I should have felt bad, but I didn’t.
This was only fair.
Five years ago, Royce had told a simple lie, and the effect had been catastrophic. It was poetic I was doing the same, right down to using Sophia Alby to do it. At least, if my plan worked.
“But,” she asked, “if Royce doesn’t succeed Macalister, then who? Vance?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t want it. I don’t know what Macalister, or the board, is planning to do.”
“Wow.” She collapsed back in the booth, the information overpowering her. “That’s crazy.”
“I know, right? But promise me you won’t repeat it.”
I hoped what I was asking was impossible for her. She’d always been such a gossip. With any luck, she’d go home and tell her father, who’d spread the rumors of instability at HBHC far and wide.
Sophia had been Aphrodite, but today I needed her to be my Hermes—messenger to the gods.
“I promise,” she said. The corner of her mouth lifted into a sardonic smile. “Who would I tell?”
Everyone.
She’d tell everyone.
While I waited for the black Mercedes to pull up, Sophia and I Instagrammed our lunch date. We projected the image of two new best friends, pressed tight together with huge smiles, but it was fake and hollow. She had to feel that way too, at least a little. We were just using each other to get what we wanted.
Business contacts in a shared space.
It was irritating to sit in the back seat of the car as the driver took me back to Boston, when all I wanted to do was drive and think about what Sophia had revealed. She had to be wrong. She wasn’t the all-seeing Oracle, and just because Royce hadn’t dated anyone last year didn’t mean he’d stayed celibate like me.
When I got back to HBHC headquarters, he’d just finished up his lunch meeting, and I followed him into his office, shutting the door behind me.
“What’s up?” he asked as he thumbed through emails on his phone. “I’ve got to leave for another meeting in ten minutes.”
What was he talking about? His schedule on Tuesdays after lunch was one of the only times he actually got to spend more than twenty minutes at his desk. “With who?” I asked lightly. “I don’t have it on the calendar.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it. I’ll be back before the budget meeting at three.”
He didn’t look at me when he spoke, and I couldn’t help but think he was pretending to act distracted and purposefully being vague.
“You’re going out for it?”
“It’s coffee with a friend.”
I narrowed my eyes as he rounded his desk and sat down behind the computer. “I thought you said it was a meeting.”
He finally set his gaze on me with a hard, direct look. He wanted me to drop it. “It’s both.”
My suspicion increased ten-fold, but I did my best to hide the excitement from my voice. “Which friend? Tate Isaacs?”
Royce’s blue eyes widened with surprise and then emptied completely, like he’d forced any emotion out from them. He asked it like he didn’t really care, although I was sure he did. “Where’d that name come from?”
I strolled to his desk, and the air in his office thickened. He watched me cautiously, the same way I usually watched him. He was smart enough to know to be wary of my intentions right now.
“I had lunch with Sophia Alby today.”
He settled back in his chair, and even though I was standing, he still thought he was the one in control. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“We’re not.”
I sat on the side of his desk, crossed my legs, and didn’t miss how it caught his attention. Good. His gaze skated across my bare legs and disappeared up my skirt, and desire cracked into his expression. Warmth spread through my body, but I had to push it aside.
“I asked her to be a bridesmaid.”
He considered this information for a long moment, and then his tone was guarded and cool. “That was dangerous.”
Royce understood how Sophia worked. Macalister Hale was the wealthiest person in Cape Hill, but secrets and gossip were their own form of currency, and that made her the second richest person in town. She wielded a kind of power that was harder for the Hales to buy and control.
“She told me something interesting,” I said. “About you.”
Tension flooded through his chest and shoulders. He was trying very hard to look indifferent. “Yeah? What?”
“She said you weren’t with anyone at all last year. She thinks it’s because we were dating in secret.”
He made a show out of checking his watch. “I don’t really have time for this. Can we talk about it later?”
“Why? Is your coffee meeting important?” I batted my lashes at him, pretending to be hurt. “More important than your fiancée?”
He didn’t match my playful attitude. Instead, he was deadly serious. “I don’t lie when we’re alone, so no, it’s not more important than you. But, Marist? It’s a close second.”
It was so convincing that for a half-second I believed him, but then I wised up. He was avoiding confirming or denying what Sophia had told me, and instead he was trying to distract.
Two could play that game. I was eager to see how much he liked being manipulated.
I stood, leaned over him, and put my hands on the armrests of his chair, bringing our faces level with each other.
His mouth curled into a sexy smile, and his voice was sexier still. “What are you doing?”
I walked his chair back, rolling it away from the desk to make room. Since I was leaning over him, his focus zeroed in on my bra and cleavage that was exposed by the hanging neckline of my top. It kept him hypnotized enough, he didn’t say anything when I folded my legs under me and knelt in front of him.
A smile seared across my lips.
He’d probably think me on my knees meant I was submitting to him, but he was about to learn who was in control.
NINE
THIS TIME WHEN ROYCE ASKED IT, he wasn’t amused—he was angry. “What are you doing?”
I’d run my palms up his spread thighs until I found what I wanted. He made a half-hearted attempt to push my hands away, but I was persistent, and he began to grow hard under my touch.
He both did and didn’t want me to keep going. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.”
I stroked the bulge thickening down one leg of his suit pants. “Technically, I only agreed not to while we’re at the house.”
When I reached for his belt, his grip on my wrist was more serious. “My door’s not locked.”
“But it’s closed.” There was office etiquette—a closed door was treated as a locked one. Plus, Royce was a Hale and sat on the board of directors. “Only someone with career suicide would walk in here.”
I undid his belt buckle with one hand while cupping him with the other, and a nearly inaudible groan came from him. God, it was hot. He stared at me with his beautifully conflicted eyes, silently pleading for me to stop but also to hurry up already and get his zipper down. My unpracticed hands shook, but it was mostly with excitement.
Outside the office window, sunlight bounced off the brownish-blue bay far below. He had Boston and his fiancée at his feet, and his fingers curled tight around his throne as I pulled him free from his pants.
A big part of me was thrilled with this plan, no matter how risky it was. Macalister’s constant supervision and inappropriate offer had left me feeling weak and powerless. I needed to take some control back. I’d push the rules just as I pushed Royce now.
“There you go, Medusa,” he muttered. He tipped his head toward his lap and his rock-hard erection. “Turning me into stone again.”
A half-laugh bubbled from my chest, but then I closed my hands around him and stroked downward. Last time I’d done this, he’d told me to do it like I meant it, and so I did now. I slid my firm grip up and down, wringing another moan from him.
This was his purest self. The only time I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was being true. His body wouldn’t let him lie.
He was breathing hard, and his maroon tie rode his heaving chest like it weighed fifty pounds. It was undeniable how we looked. The prince being serviced by one of his subjects. His heavy cock throbbed in my hands, and I relished the way it felt. So soft and yet hard.
“Oh, fuck,” he said appreciatively, but then he glanced at his watch and torment twisted his face. “Fuck.”
Rather than pick up the pace, I slowed my tempo.
“You’re making me late.”
An evil smile bloomed on my face. “Then go. I’m not making you stay.”
“Oh, you aren’t, huh?” He gripped my hands and urged me to pump on him faster, both with his action and his furious eyes. “Harder,” he barked, “and faster. Finish what you started.”
“I’ll do it how I want, thank you very much.”
Between his spread legs, I shifted on my knees so I had better leverage. The carpet was stubby against my skin and probably going to give me rugburn, but it was a small price to pay to watch the pleasure work its way through him. He slumped, banging his head back against the chair while the muscles along his jaw flexed, and he let out a deep sigh. It was the perfect mixture of satisfaction and misery.
“Jesus, you gotta . . .” he choked out. “I need . . .”
My voice was dark and patronizing. “To come? Or to not be late for your very important meeting?”
He said it through clenched teeth. “Yes.”
My hands ground to a halt, leaving him pulsing in my tight fists. “You poor thing. It’s so hard when you can’t have every little thing you want.”
I thought I was in charge, but no.
He launched forward in the chair and latched a hand around my throat. Not to strangle or hurt me, just to seize my undivided attention. Even after all he’d done, didn’t he know he always had it? His eyes were only an inch from mine, but I could see everything in them. How badly he wanted me. How frustrated he was.
And how desperate he was to hide it.
“I might not have everything I want right now,” his expression roared with absolute power, “but you better fucking believe I’m going to get it.”
When I let go of him, he didn’t release me. His free hand went to his cock and began to pump. I stared down at it with fascination.
“Are you going to help?” he asked. “Or was your plan to leave me like this?”
“You love to walk away from me.” I wanted to sound strong, but every glide of his fist over himself was undoing me, stroke by sexy stroke. “I’m just following your signature move.”
Except I couldn’t walk away. His hand on my throat and his other hand twisting and sliding on his cock had me locked in place. I didn’t want to go, anyway. There was nowhere else the lustful part of me wanted to be. It demanded I enjoy the show.
“All right,” he said. Desire drenched his expression. “I’ll just do it like I do every night, when I lie in my bed and wonder what the hell you’re doing in the next room, and why you’re not naked in my bed right that fucking second.”
My heart skipped and tumbled. How many times had I had the same thought?
Just every night.
“I’m thinking about,” he said, “the sound you make when I slide my fingers inside you.” The tendons in his hand strained from how hard he clenched his fist. “The way you taste.” He jacked himself faster, pushing skin through rough skin. “I’m thinking about how hot and wet you were when you rode my dick in the wine cellar.”
My chest tightened as his words wrapped me
in an immobilizing vise.
As he continued to stroke, we studied each other’s reaction with intensity. His pupils were dilated. His pulse throbbed in his neck. He began to violently jerk his hand along his length, and the force shook the chair.
He wasn’t touching me to give me enjoyment, but it didn’t matter. I felt the same physical pleasure he was experiencing just from his words and the memories he gave me.
“You want to know what always sends me over the edge?” His hand on my throat tightened, although he probably didn’t realize he’d done it. He was right on the cusp of losing control. “I think about how it’d look if you went down on me. I’d wrap your green hair around my fist and fuck your pretty red mouth. My dick going in so deep . . . your eyes water . . . and then you make me . . .”
We shuddered together as he clamped his fist over his tip and came with a heavy groan. He kept his gaze locked on me the whole time, delivering his patented stare while satisfaction crawled along his expression.
And then it slowly drained away.
All his dirty talk had heated me to the core, but it was the tiny detail that had made me threaten to combust. He fantasized about me with green hair, not the way I was now. He pictured the color I would have chosen if I had any say. If I were allowed to express myself, rather than be the brand-approved Stepford wife his family demanded.
Royce crushed his lips to mine, but the kiss was over almost as soon as it had begun, and the ache for more lingered in my mouth. He finally released me and yanked a tissue from the box on his desk, hurrying to clean up the mess in his hands.
I sat back on my heels, surveying him as he shoved himself back in his pants and zipped up.
“I’m going to have to run,” he grumbled.
“You mentioned that.”
“No, I mean literally. I should have left five minutes ago.”
He shot to his feet, largely ignoring the evil look on my face, but he wouldn’t miss my patronizing tone. “Oh, did I fuck up something you had planned? Because if so . . . I’m not sorry. I warned you.”
He finished buckling his belt and straightened his suit jacket. “Am I looking forward to showing up sweaty and late to a meeting and then ask for an obscene amount of money? No, not really.” His expression hardened. “But it’s not going to change anything. I’m still going to get what I want.”