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 cried 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.

“That was rather convincing, Marist.” His deep voice was much smoother than the scotch he’d poured for me weeks ago. “How did your orgasm compare to last night’s?”

Oh, my God. I couldn’t catch my breath. “I can’t . . . talk, while you’re—”

“If you don’t want to talk, then you’ll send the picture. Otherwise, I need to listen to ensure you’re still following my rules.”

The speed revved up, like he’d turned the dial from low to medium, and it forced a whimper from me.

“Good. Was your orgasm tonight better?”

I blinked rapidly, unable to focus on anything around me in the dark bedroom. There was only his inescapable voice. That was the moment it settled on me, what he’d meant about being able to force me to think about him. I couldn’t drown him out. Even if I pictured Royce, he’d have Macalister’s voice.

“I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can.” Irritation tinted his words. “It’s a simple question.”

“No, I’m hanging up.”

His voice seethed with cold fury. “Then you’ll give your keys to Royce, and I will explain to him why you lost your privilege.”

I put my hand over my mouth, covering the cry just before it pealed from my lips. I’d walked voluntarily into Macalister’s trap. He hadn’t even needed to disguise it; I’d been that stupid.

“What will it be?” he demanded.

I couldn’t tell Royce what I’d done. Even after he’d hurt me so deeply, I was reluctant to do the same to him. But I’d foolishly thought I could keep this all a secret. I wasn’t a god. There were going to be consequences for what I’d done.

The silver lining to the disaster I’d allowed was the freedom in giving up. With no options left, at least that meant there were no more decisions to be made. I had no power left as I spoke. “It was . . . better tonight.”

“Why?”

I lashed out, wanting to knock him down a peg. “Because I was thinking,” I gulped down air, “about him.”

He laughed, but it was devoid of warmth. “I still have more work to do, then. I’ll break you of this ridiculous infatuation. You deserve a man who knows your value, Marist. Not some boy who threw you away.”

It put me in the strange position of wanting to defend Royce to the very man he’d sold me to. But I didn’t get a chance. The pattern on the vibrator slowed to a crawl, and the vibrations shifted.

“Oh,” I gasped. It was a completely different sensation, and it took a long moment to realize that both sides, inside and out, were now pulsating.

“I’ll tell you what I think about.” I pictured him sitting on the leather couch in his bedroom, wearing his suit with his tie still knotted perfectly at his throat because he never relaxed. He didn’t do casual. “I think about how you denied me. I am still owed my two minutes.”

My pulse roared from the pleasure, but the rest of me was frozen in place.

“And you will give them to me.”

The phone was crystal clear, so it sounded like he was right beside me. He wasn’t in the room, and yet he filled every inch of it.

“I won’t,” I whispered.

“I’m going to tell you how I imagine it. You’ll allow me to peel you out of your dress and everything else until I can see every beautiful inch of you. This time, no one will be in my way. It’ll only be us.”

The way he said the word us gave me a chill.

“I’ll run my hands over your skin. Perhaps you’ll shiver, but I’ll make sure I’m the cause. There’s no place I’ll leave untouched because I’m a thorough man. Dedicated and relentless.”

I felt his imagined hands on me, sinking me further into the bed.

“Your knees will give out from the way my fingers feel sliding over you, so I’ll have to lay you down. Now it will be my mouth’s turn. I’ll explore and taste, starting with your lips, taking note of every sigh you make and how your body responds as I move lower.”

My ragged breathing was so fast my heart couldn’t keep up. Blood roared in my ears.

“I’ll have to hold your breasts steady in my hands while I give them the attention they deserve. You’ll be breathing as hard as you are right now. Once I’ve had my fill, I’ll venture lower. You’ll squirm. You tell yourself you don’t want it, but—oh, Marist. You do.”

The vibrations increased, bringing terrible pleasure with them.

“You’re desperate by this point. There’s a need that I created and only I can satisfy, and I’m going to, because once I start something, I don’t give up. I don’t walk away.”

The unwanted heat building in me was too strong to ignore, too powerful to stop. I grabbed a fistful of the thick duvet and shoved it over my mouth, my teeth clenching down on the fabric.

“I score my fingers down the insides of your spread thighs, hard enough to leave marks. The pain is temporary and necessary. It wakes up your nerve endings and will make your orgasm stronger.”

Macalister reigned on Mount Olympus, hurling down his devastating words like lightning bolts, each one making me jolt and flinch.

“If I’ve done everything right, by this point you’re shaking. You want my mouth on you, but you can’t bring yourself to ask. You won’t need to.” His voice was seductive and commanding at the same time. “I understand what you need, and I’m going to give it to you.”

Once more, the vibrator picked up speed, and I groaned into the bunched duvet covering my mouth.

He was abruptly angry. “I can’t hear you.”

Oh, God. I pulled the bedding away just long enough to gasp it. “I’m here.”

Just those two words in my tight, breathless voice was enough to give away how much he’d affected me. It was impossible not to visualize what he was describing, no matter how much I didn’t want to.

For once, I could relate to all those stupid mortal girls seduced by the gods, but I hated it. I despised how my body was reacting to him. How the fucked up side of myself wanted to hear the rest of Macalister’s terrible fantasy.

“Is your cunt wet?” he asked.

I flinched like he’d slapped me. It wasn’t just the question that was so shocking, but the language. His carefully selected vulgar word for maximum effect.

“It will be. You’ll cry out when I run my tongue through it. If your hips buck, I’ll hold you still and keep my mouth exactly where I want it. I’ll trace my tongue over every inch because, as I mentioned, I am a thorough man.”

I was breaking apart. I needed him to stop . . . I needed release . . . I needed—

“I want you to picture what that looks like. My head buried between your legs, my mouth fucking you as I watch.”

I saw it. His icy blue eyes evaluating me as his tongue fluttered over my clit. The sensation wasn’t that different from the vibrations teasing me now.

“I’ll find the place that makes all the words disappear from your mind.” His voice picked up in urgency, like he knew I was right on the edge. “Every word except for one, and you know which word that is, don’t you?”

I didn’t want to say it, but a dam burst and spilled out in a tidal wave of pleasure. “Macalister.”

As I came, a shuddering moan seeped out like he’d wrestled it from my body. Hot flashes coursed down my limbs, spiraling out from my core.

The buzzing ceased, giving me a reprieve and prolonging the pleasure. There was nothing else to do but enjoy it, and I rode each wave until I felt like I was finally back in my own body again.

Realization as frigid as the polar vortex moved in and took hold.

“I don’t know if I’ve heard anything better than the way you say my name,” he said. “Especially when you’re coming while you do it.” He paused, drawing in an uneven breath. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. Good night, Marist.”

I was a frozen statue, unable to say anything, even after the line went dead.

The clear bandage pulled at my skin, and my form-fitting dress rubbed on it uncomfortably whenever I moved my arms, but it was worth it. Since I had an unpaid internship, and most days Royce didn’t even need me, I’d taken the morning off and driven to the tattoo shop in Port Cove. I’d told everyone I had a dentist appointment, and they seemed to believe me, but I still checked my rearview mirror periodically as I came and went from the shop.

Macalister had security on staff—spies, as Royce liked to call them. But no one had followed me.

I sat at my desk and stared across the hallway at Royce’s closed door. He’d been in a meeting since I’d arrived hours ago, and I was starving. I’d ordered us lunch from the Chinese café that had recently opened one block over and put our food in the kitchen while waiting for him to finish.

There were only three days left of my “job,” and it had been a total failure. I wasn’t any closer to figuring out his master plan, or if the man he was with me behind closed doors was the real version of himself.

Twenty minutes later, his door swung open and he emerged with the heads from the finance department. The team dispersed with quick goodbyes. The meeting had run long, and everyone was late for their next appointment. Tension was still high at HBHC. The stock prices hadn’t bounced back like the rest of the market—it continued to tick downward.

Was it possible this was Sophia Alby’s doing?

I hoped so. I was a student of economics, and information was a commodity, so it was fascinating to me the impact a simple rumor could have on this huge, global company.

Royce’s gaze landed on me. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I answered. “Do you mind if we have lunch together?”

He liked the idea until he checked his watch. “I wish I could, but that meeting blew up my schedule, so I don’t—”

“I had it delivered and put it in the kitchen. I thought we could eat in your office.”

We didn’t eat at his desk. Instead, he sat beside me on the couch in the small sitting area of his office, his open takeout container balanced on his lap. “Did you get that meeting with Frank Davos on my calendar?”

I made a face similar to the one I’d made yesterday when he’d forwarded me the email. He didn’t usually ask me to schedule stuff, and it likely took him longer to forward the message than for him to do it himself and enter it on his phone.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep the irritation from my voice. I could handle a simple task. “It’s done.”

“Okay.” He looked relieved. “It’s, uh, important. I wanted a second set of eyes on it.”

He considered a meeting with his personal broker, a man who worked for Royce, important?

“You don’t like your lunch?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked down at the hand-pulled noodle dish. “No, it’s good. I’m . . . nervous.”

His chopsticks paused. “About what?”

I set my container down on the low table in front of us and put my sweaty palms on my knees. “I need to show you something.”

His expression clouded, but it dissipated when I stood and turned to face him, my hands moving behind my back. I found the top of the zipper on the back of my dress and pulled it down slowly, going tooth by tooth.

Royce’s eyes hooded as I shrugged out of the straps of my top, pulling the dress down and exposing the lacy bra I wore. He abandoned his lunch, tossing it down on the table with a messy thud, and then settled back on the couch, casting one arm along the back of it. His posture was confident and relaxed, and his wide smile was inviting. He thought I was stripping and wanted me to continue the show.

But I grabbed my left bicep with my right hand and pulled it toward my chest, showing off the newly inked skin along my ribcage.

He sat forward to get a better look, then stood and set one hand on my waist, the fingers of his other hand tracing the edge of the bandage. His delicate touch lit up my skin.

“Medusa,” he said simply. “It’s beautiful.”

A sliver of relief worked its way through my system. “You like it?”

“Yeah, I do. When did you get it?”

“This morning.”

It hadn’t taken long for the artist to do the design. Arturo had sketched it out last night and texted me the sample, and this morning he’d inked Medusa painfully into the skin just below the band of my bra. It was one of the only places on my body that I’d see and likely no one else. Well, except for my future husband.

Who stared at the small, single-colored tattoo like it was a work of art.

And it was. She had a classically beautiful face, surrounded by locks of coiling snakes. He’d captured her as young and confident—more of a sexy temptress than an evil monster.

Royce’s fingers continued to outline the edges, carefully avoiding my irritated skin, and his touch sent goosebumps rippling along my arms. “Did it hurt?”

“Yeah,” I said. Shame colored my voice. “And I deserved it.”

He hesitated, his fingers stopping in their tracks. “What?”

“I did something awful.” I stepped away and struggled to push my arms back into the straps of my dress. “Your father controls everything, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t recognize that girl in the mirror. Not the way I look, or the clothes I wear, or what I post to stupid fucking Instagram. I know this sounds insane, but I feel like I’m . . . disappearing.”

My voice broke as the emotions swelled in me, and the worry in his expression skyrocketed, but I had to keep going.

“I needed this tattoo. Something he couldn’t take away from me.”

Royce’s arms circled around me. “Marist, it’s okay. Believe me when I say I fucking understand, and—”

But he wouldn’t, not when I told him everything. “To get this done without him knowing about it, I needed my car. You remember when you told me he doesn’t just give people what they want?”

His arms around me hardened into stone. “What’d you do?”

“He wanted to play another game.” My pulse quickened. “It was really fucked up.”

“What happened?” When I didn’t say anything, his mind must have gone to the worst possible scenario because all the color drained from his face and horror filled his voice. “Did you fuck him?”

“No! God, no.” I swallowed a breath. “But . . .”

I couldn’t get my words out, and it was clearly killing him. “Jesus, just say it.”

“He gave me a vibrator.”

Royce’s face contorted, not understanding. “Uh, okay.” I could read his thoughts through his expression. He didn’t like it, but it also didn’t seem that bad. “I don’t—”

“He has control over it.”

His arms went slack, releasing me, and his demeanor went cold. “I’m not following. You’re saying he used it on you?”

“Yes. Wait—no. Not like you’re thinking.” I pressed my lips into a flat line. “He wasn’t in the room. He can control it with his phone.”

The distance grew between us, and not just physically, and I didn’t like that he was slipping away.

“It was twice,” I said, “and that’s it. I was stupid, and didn’t realize how far he’d push, but I promise you it’s over now. I’m not going to play his game again. I’m so sorry I did.” I stepped forward, closing the space between us. “I’m sorry I did that to us.”

A wide range of emotions played out on his face. Anger. Distrust. Sadness.

And finally, resignation. “Why are you telling me this?”

“He wants to tear us apart.” I took a deep breath. “Please don’t let him.” Maybe if I laid myself bare, he’d open up to me. “I don’t want to keep secrets. I screwed up, but I’m still yours, Royce.”

I placed my left hand on his jaw, and he covered it with his own, his thumb brushing over the engagement ring sparkling there. The symbol of my commitment to him, even when I had nothing to show for his.

“Are we okay?” I asked hopefully.

He didn’t use words to answer me, instead he leaned in. His kiss was restrained, but I accepted it greedily. It was certainly a better reaction than I’d hoped to receive. When the kiss ended, he drew back, and his gaze shifted away from me.

Darkness lurked in his eyes.

It was like I didn’t exist. He was too busy contemplating his next move.

My heart sank. He wasn’t going to tell me anything. No matter what I did or how honest I was, he still didn’t trust me.

Was I foolish to have expected anything else from him?

I picked up my half-eaten lunch and tossed it into his garbage can with a bit too much force. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Marist,” he called when I was halfway out the door. His voice was heavy with meaning. “Thank you.”

I didn’t know if he meant for lunch or for admitting what I’d done. So, I nodded and pushed my way out through his office, my new tattoo throbbing the whole way.

Later that afternoon, Alice forwarded me an email from Vanity Fair, announcing they planned to do an article about me, like I was somehow special and interesting now because of the family I was marrying into. They were requesting an interview with Royce as well, and when I pulled up his calendar, the meeting with Frank Davos caught my eye.

Royce had said he wanted a second set of eyes on it, so the least I could do was confirm I’d put the time and date in correctly. I scrolled through my inbox until I found the email and double-checked. Everything was right.

I’d been too focused on the scheduling last time to notice the email was part of a longer conversation. The back and forth replies spanned several weeks. Curious, I scrolled to the beginning and began to read.

The original email had been a check-in on Royce’s portfolio, but the conversation meandered through other topics. Frank considering selling his Red Sox season tickets. Royce’s frustration with an iOS update that made his devices temporarily stop syncing. It was mostly friendly things with some light business sprinkled in.

But as I read on, excitement ignited in my chest.

Royce had been gobbling up stock in one specific company, and Frank told him they’d reached the threshold. Any more would put him at a five-percent stake in ownership, and he’d be required to declare his intentions to the Securities and Exchange Commission. Meaning he’d have to tell the government whether he intended to buy the company, or simply maintain a controlling interest.

Royce referred to the company in one of the most recent emails as CRNE, but I wasn’t familiar with whatever business that was an acronym for. Google wasn’t any help either. All the results were either the Canadian nurses’ exam or a privately-owned sanitation company in Chicago that didn’t trade.

I sat back in my chair and frowned. None of it made sense.

A notification popped up in the corner of my screen telling me that the final bell had rung on the markets, and HALE had closed at the price of $102.82. Down another sixty-two cents from yesterday. My gaze flicked to Royce’s office. The one hundred thousand shares he’d sold me for had lost $62,000 in value since yesterday.

My focus settled back on the computer screen, and I stared at the ticker symbol. Rather than use their acronym, HBHC had chosen the name Hale as their identifier on the New York Stock Exchange. I sat up straight and punched the keys on the keyboard, looking up to see if CRNE was a stock ticker symbol.

It was.

Ascension Bank and Trust wasn’t as big as HBHC, but the rival bank wasn’t small either. They were still a Fortune 100 company, and they’d been around almost as long, although a merger had changed their name a few years ago.

Before then, they’d been Crane Bank Corp and they’d kept the CRNE ticker symbol after the name change.

My mind raced with a new question. Why would Royce invest so much in another company, and a competitor at that, if his life’s goal was to run HBHC? I couldn’t see any other reason to buy such a large stake in a rival company, except ownership. He was going to buy Ascension—it was what he needed more money for.

With that puzzle piece in place, the others fell in, and I finally saw the whole thing. He couldn’t buy his family’s company out from under his father, he’d need another company to do it. And Ascension was perfect.

Holy. Shit.

Royce was plotting a hostile takeover of HBHC.