by Nikki Sloane
He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his eyebrow lifted in displeasure. “There’s nothing inappropriate inside, and you’re being rude.”
I held in a tight breath and plodded to the desk, my suspicion-meter all the way in the red as I cautiously undid the clasp and lifted the lid.
Black and white alternating squares were bordered with scenes from the ancient myths I adored. The chessboard was seated in deep blue velvet, a darker shade than the eyes staring at me as I curled my fingers around the edges of the heavy board and lifted it to get a closer look.
“Oh,” I sighed.
Beneath the board, the thirty-two chess pieces were displayed. Zeus and Hera as the black king and queen, Athena and Poseidon as the white pair. For both colors, Ares was the bishops, Pegasus the knights, and two Greek columns served as the rooks. Below, eight satyrs were pawns, half-goat and half-man with tiny horns on their heads. I put down the board and picked one of the pawns up, marveling at the weight and detail.
“This is beautiful,” I said. “They’re so intricate.”
When I looked up from the piece, I found Macalister viewing me with fascination. Like a starving man watching someone else eat. It made my heart beat faster and my nerves rise. He’d given me a gift. What was he going to want in return?
“I thought we could play a quick round.”
There it is. “Thank you, but I don’t think we have time. We don’t want to be late for—”
“They won’t start the party without me.”
I’d left the door open. He strode to it and pushed it closed, and the action made alarm spike through me. As much as I wanted to see this gorgeous chess set arranged on the board, it felt dangerous. I wasn’t mentally prepared to spar with him right now, when I was barely dressed.
But he didn’t care. He sat in his seat and began to pull the black pieces from the case, arranging them on their squares. My options were limited. I could play the game and get it over with or argue and waste time and have to play the game anyway. He’d get his way, regardless.
I plunked down into my seat, gingerly extracted my white pieces to set them up, and when we were both ready, I made my first move.
“Your mask is stunning,” he said as he moved his pawn. “Medusa?”
“Thank you. Yeah, it was a gift from Royce.” I moved another piece. “What’s yours? Zeus?”
He took his turn and gave a faint, enigmatic smile. “No, not Zeus.”
A stone turned over in my stomach. I had the terrible realization of who he was going as and couldn’t bring myself to say it. I tried to steer the conversation away from the subject.
While we played, he talked about how proud he was of his company and that HBHC had reached such a milestone. They’d survived the Great Depression and the global financial crisis in 2008, and under his leadership, stock had soared.
Well, up until last month.
“Shareholders love to panic at every minor detail,” he mused. “We’ll be fine.” He confidently slid Ares three spaces diagonally and took my satyr pawn, placing it on the desk with the other pieces he’d captured.
Hairs on the back of my neck tingled. Something was wrong. I stared at the board in confusion, trying to figure out where I’d made a wrong move—
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I hadn’t.
But Macalister had.
He realized it at the same moment because he launched forward in his seat and tried to put my pawn back in play.
My breath was hurried. “No, you took your hand off. Your turn is over.”
He looked furious, but also like he was about to be ill.
His chest lifted in an enormous breath when I moved my knight. “Check.”
I’d never seen him take so long to make a move. He stared at the board with hostility, as if it had somehow caused his situation. No doubt he was running different scenarios in his head, trying to compute a way out that didn’t end with his defeat.
He slid his rook forward like every square it crossed was painful. It probably was to him. I’d spent the last few months suffering in his endgame, and he didn’t like the roles being reversed.
I took his rook with Hera. “Check.”
My heart beat like a war drum, and it was fitting, because my Ares was going to deliver the fatal blow. Macalister only had one move left, and yet he didn’t make it. Had my Medusa mask turned him to stone? Or was he simply sitting there, contemplating his defeat?
I’d done it.
Finally beaten him and released myself from our arrangement. All he needed to do was move, and then I could utter the word I’d wanted to for so fucking long.
But I didn’t get to tell Macalister checkmate.
He gave me a look of pure malice before he violently swung a hand across the desk and sent the pieces flying off the board. Some slammed into the bookcases and others crashed loudly to the floor, and I was up out of my chair before I could take a breath, stumbling back away from him.
“We’ll play again,” he exploded. His expression was cold fury as he slapped his hands on the desk and used them to help push to his feet.
“But I won.”
“No, it doesn’t count.”
When he lost the game, he seemed to lose everything, including his control. He charged at me, and by the time I realized what was happening it was too late to run. His arms closed around my arms and waist, and we stumbled backward, all the way until my back slammed into a bookcase.
His mouth crushed down on mine, stopping my panicked noise from escaping. As he pressed his lips against me, he used his body to drive me back into the shelves, the wood digging in. It was uncomfortable in every sense of the word. He smothered me. I felt each button of his shirt, my breasts flattened by his wide chest, and the swell at the center of his legs that pushed greedily at my belly.
I tore my mouth away from his, smearing my red lipstick across his lips, and tried futilely to catch my breath. “Macalister, stop.”
He left our lower bodies connected but drew back and looked at me like prey he’d trapped and wanted to toy with before finishing off. He was wild as he stared down at me with his messy lips and savage eyes. “I don’t want to.”
What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? When I tried to squirm away, his grip tightened and locked me down. Blood roared and banged frantically in my head. Should I scream? My hands were trapped at my sides, and I reached behind me, my fingers catching on the edge of a book. Maybe if he let me go, I could pull it from the shelf and swing it at his head.
Abruptly, his face twisted with torture, then it melted and he sobered. He didn’t release me, but tension faded from his arms. “I’m sorry. I was upset and . . . handled it poorly.”
The image of Royce’s destroyed bedroom flitted through my mind, but I had more urgent things to think about. Like how Macalister was still holding me captive. “Let me go.”
“I will in a moment.” He regained his composure, his cold veneer snapping back into place. “I tried to rid you from my system, Marist. I told myself I couldn’t want you because you don’t exist. That once I was clear of the fog of you, this desire”—he said it like it was distasteful—“would cease.”
He let go of me, only to put his hands on the bookshelf beside my waist, squeezing until the wood groaned in protest. His eyes were devastating, and I wanted to stop looking, but couldn’t. He was a violent crash on the side of a highway, a siren’s song for attention.
“But in your absence,” he continued, “the desire worsened, and I’m willing to acknowledge I cannot master it. So tonight, after the anniversary gala is over, you will come to my room, wearing only this mask.” His voice was full of dominance and power. “And then you will give me anything I ask for.”
My knees buckled, but he caught me by my hips, pinning me to the bookcase so hard the shelf rattled. “No,” I spat at him. “I won’t.”
He sounded genuinely offended. “Why not? I’m attractive and powerful. I can please you sexually, and there’s so much more
I can—”
“I’m in love with Royce.” It came from me with no hesitation, the raw truth.
He flinched as if I’d slapped him, and then a nasty expression painted his face. “I don’t believe you. You’re too smart to do something as stupid as fall in love. If you did, then you wouldn’t have done what we did in the maze.”
His words cut deep, flaying me alive. “You left me no choice. I had to save him.”
Macalister lifted his chin but peered down at me, judging me critically. “Then do it again. Come to my room tonight and submit to me. He can keep his seat, and I’ll show you how I’m a better version of him in every way.”
I glared at him with the darkest look in my arsenal. “Fucking no.”
He sighed loudly and with reluctance, about to play a card he didn’t want to. “I had Nigel schedule an appointment with a dermatologist for you. I’m told the process of removing a tattoo is far more painful than receiving one, and it will take several treatments.”
I froze in place, barely able to breathe. “No.”
“Don’t look at me like that.” His voice was so stern, I struggled not to cower. “I do not approve of the choice you made. If you want to keep it, you’ll have to earn it.”
My eyes filled with hot, angry tears as I looked around the room frantically for escape. “I’ll leave,” I blurted.
“Where would you go?” He wasn’t cruel when he asked it, but it stung, nonetheless. “Do you think he would give up everything he has for you? As you’ve done for him?”
One lone tear spilled out from under my mask.
No, Royce wouldn’t. He’d told me so the night of our first date.
Macalister softened into something slightly more human. “You know better. He’s not worth tears.” He took a hand off the shelf and cupped the side of my face. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Say yes, and I will satisfy you in all the ways he can’t.”
The word no bowed on my lips. Not just to his offer, but to the way he was closing the space between us, his kiss threatening like low storm clouds coming in from the ocean.
But before I could issue the word, the library door creaked open.
In my struggle, the sides of my robe had come open under the sash, and I stood beneath Macalister with my bra and panties exposed. His hand was on my jaw and my lipstick smeared over his lips. I could claim it wasn’t what it looked like, but what person in their right mind would believe?
He took his time straightening away from me, not even a little bit embarrassed to have been caught.
Not even when it was by his own wife.
NINETEEN
ALICE STOOD IN HER BEAUTIFUL PEACOCK BLUE DRESS, frozen with one hand still on the doorknob. For an agonizing moment she didn’t move, as if a mechanism inside her had broken and all her systems ceased functioning.
But Macalister had said she couldn’t be broken, and she proved it when she snapped back to life. Her gaze turned to her husband, and her face went sour. “We don’t have time for this. Look what you did to her makeup.”
He swiped a palm over his mouth in an attempt to remove the red stain from his face. At the same time, I grabbed the sides of my robe with trembling hands and pulled it closed, overlapping the fabric as much as possible like it made any fucking difference now.
When Alice charged at me, I wanted to run, but she grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the exit. “Come on. I can fix it, but we need to get you dressed if we’re going to stay on schedule.”
Her grip was unbearable as she led me toward my room. Not just emotionally, but physically too—her thumb dug deep into the pressure point just above my wrist. I didn’t complain. I was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to say to her.
Thankfully, we didn’t see Royce in the hallway. She got me into my room and sat me on the bed, acting like I was the victim and not her. I couldn’t stand it. The guilt, the wrong assumption, the hurt it must have caused her.
She was unbreakable, but I wasn’t, and my voice cracked on her name. “Alice.”
She emerged from my bathroom with a makeup removing wipe and dabbed at the edges of my lips. “This stuff was supposed to be color stay.”
I grabbed her wrists, getting her to stop. “Alice.”
She finally looked and really saw me, not just the problem of my makeup. Her tone was sad but plain. “It’s all right, and not that surprising, if I’m being honest. You talk to him the same way I do, and he’s always liked it when he’s challenged.” Her focus went back to the makeup, and she traced the edge of my lip with the wipe, creating a sharp, defined line. “And I’ve seen the way he watches you.”
“I don’t feel the same,” I said. “It’s one-sided and—”
“He wouldn’t be interested if it wasn’t.” A bitter smile widened on her face. “He lives for the chase, and he grows bored once he has you.”
She was speaking from experience.
Alice finished her task and straightened. “Did Luc give you the lip color?” She didn’t wait for my answer, just assumed it was a yes. “Don’t bother putting more on right now, unless you think Royce can control himself.”
Overload made my mind blank when I removed my robe, stood before her in only my undergarments, and allowed her to help me into the green dress. She zipped up the back, her cold fingers hooked the clasp at the top, and then she grabbed my heels and set them on the floor for me to step into.
“Thank you,” I mumbled. Although it was obvious she wasn’t doing this to be nice. She was more concerned about the schedule.
When it was done and I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I tried to become the fierce monster I was portraying, the one who turned men to stone with a single glance. I wouldn’t crack under the enormous pressure, nor would I flinch when I saw the rest of the board members again this evening. They’d undoubtably be in tuxedos like they had been during the initiation, but at least they’d be wearing masks.
When there was a knock at my bedroom door, Alice pulled it open. Royce gave her a once-over and then a friendly smile. “You look beautiful.”
She was so impatient it was like she didn’t even have time for his compliment. “Thank you.”
His gaze swept past her, landed on me, and Atlas set down the sky and heavens.
I’d forgotten the effect he held over me when he was like this. A tuxedo was just a style of suit, and I’d seen him in plenty of those over the last few months, but this was decidedly different. More refined and elegant. The clean lines and stark contrast of black on white emphasized the breathtaking man beneath.
Alice had been concerned about Royce controlling himself, but she’d been worried about the wrong person. I stormed toward him, the train of my green dress dragging behind me, and flew into his arms. I wasn’t sure if he’d put his hands on my waist to embrace me or to slow my attack, but I hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down into my needy kiss.
He issued a soft sound of pleasant surprise.
I’d started the kiss, but he took command. His mouth roved against mine, matching my intensity and then exceeding it, like he craved it even more than I did. It couldn’t be possible. I needed to reaffirm my connection to him after what had happened in the library.
Alice’s voice interrupted with a joking tone, although it sounded forced. “Okay, save some of that for the gala, please. We need to get going.”
We separated reluctantly. I grabbed my clutch while he retrieved his mask, and then we strolled to the staircase, my hand clutched in his.
Macalister stood at the bottom of the steps with his back turned so he was merely a figure in black. We couldn’t see his mask, only the black curved horns of the Minotaur protruding upward. Royce felt my steps falter, but he squeezed my hand, wordlessly trying to convey it was all right. He was at my side.
It was harder to descend the staircase in this dress than it had been in the red one, made worse because of the man waiting for us. He turned when we’d reached the entryway and cast hi
s judgmental gaze down upon us.
His mask only covered the top half of his face, so it was clear he’d scrubbed the rest of my lipstick from his lips. The horns were a glossy black while the mask itself was feathers layered upon feathers—black on the outer edge, bronze around his eyes.
It was frighteningly beautiful.
And it made it that much more difficult to read what he was thinking. His gaze scoured over me and Royce, and our hands intertwined, and something like a sneer lurked on his lips. It vanished as footstep rang out.
Alice strolled down the stairs with her mask in place, and we stared up at her like we were receiving a queen. Which made sense, for she was Hera, queen of the gods. Her mask was a dark gold, and each point along the top was decorated with a glittering star, creating her decadent crown.
I was struck by how she looked. Not just gorgeous, but powerful. Beyond desirable. Men would kill other men for a chance with her. Why on Earth was her husband not brought to his knees by her? Why was he fixated on me when I didn’t compare to what he already had?
He didn’t compliment her. He offered nothing, not even a smile as she joined us. Instead, he glanced down at his watch impatiently. “We need to leave. I told Vance’s driver to meet us at five-forty.”
Royce let go of my hand only so he could pull on his mask.
When it had been decided we’d use the mythology theme, he’d asked me who he should go as. My original answer had been Hades, the king of the underworld, but I’d been wrong. I saw him as Ares now.
The black leather mask was molded to his face and then flared out like sharp pointed wings. Red notched upward at the corner of his eyebrows and down from the center of his eyes, exaggerating a menacing scowl. The mask was full of aggression and dominance. He looked ruthless. It was undeniably sexy as he pulled it into place.
So much tension filled the back of the limo, it was difficult to breathe. Royce and I sat on the side bench while Alice sat next to her husband on the back seat, and for a long time no one said anything. Macalister’s dark gaze kept returning to me every few minutes, as if checking to see I hadn’t vanished from the car.