SIX

I should have anticipated this, but I was so focused on Macalister, I hadn’t thought about her. Of course, she was required to make an appearance Thanksgiving weekend. The rest of the world believed everything was right with the Hale family and it wasn’t splintered into a million pieces.

Seeing her forced her name to crash through my head like a wrecking ball.

Alice.

She stood statuesque on her high heels, wrapped in a perfectly cut dress coat of blue wool that looked made for her, and it probably had been. Her pale hair was down and sleek, the ends curling faintly under to give her lift. As usual, her makeup was flawless, but gone was any warmth. Like her husband, she mirrored his iciness.

When we locked eyes, there was no reaction from her. She didn’t drop my gaze in shame or flash an evil smile. She was indifferent. Unapologetic. And it was exactly as I expected. Hera never felt guilt about the terrible things she did to Zeus’s mistresses, even the ones who’d been unwilling or tried to run from him.

For a split second, I felt fear, but it dissolved in the acid in my stomach, leaving only anger. I wasn’t going to give her that kind of power over me. She’d tried to kill me . . . and she’d failed. Maybe she should look at me with shame. I was one of her failures, and Macalister craved perfection.

Royce stopped at the same moment I did, and tension tightened his shoulders. He said it in a loud voice, projecting across the tarmac. “We agreed you’d be on the plane already when we got here.”

Likely so Royce and I wouldn’t have to see Alice.

Macalister didn’t care for his son’s tone. “Yes, but unfortunately, my business doesn’t run on your timetable.”

And with that exchange done, every pair of eyes swung toward me, gauging my reaction. I ground my teeth and sucked in a deep breath, then strode defiantly toward the steps. Beneath the layers of my coat and clothes, I thought about the Medusa tattoo buried in my skin.

Like her, I wasn’t easy to defeat.

The interior of the plane was decorated in the same gold and cream color scheme as the helicopter had been. Plush, oversized chairs were arranged in pairs around a table on either side of the aisle, with more seating in the rear of the plane beyond an open partition that sectioned off the space. I made a beeline to it. At least this way, I could either keep my eyes on Alice and know where she was at all times, or Royce would close the door, and we wouldn’t have to see her at all.

I ducked into the window seat in the back corner and busied myself with getting settled while impatiently waiting for Royce to join me. But he stood in the aisle, his hand resting on the back of his chair and his gaze fixed on the other passengers boarding the plane. I couldn’t see them beyond the glossy wood panel, but I sensed their presence.

And Macalister’s irritation. “You appear to be waiting for someone else.”

Royce’s expression was impossible to read when he was in profile. “We are.”

It sounded as if Macalister had taken his seat. “Vance is flying with the Lamberts.”

“I know. It’s not Vance.”

Out the window, a steel gray Aston Martin prowled into one of the spaces beside the airport hangar, parked, and the lights turned off. The man stepped out, wearing a navy suit, a camel colored coat, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know how confident he felt as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk and marched toward the jet.

His arrogance rivaled Royce’s, and it made sense. He’d become the king of Cape Hill Prep the year after Royce had graduated.

“Tate,” Macalister said. “I wasn’t aware you were joining us.”

“Hope that’s not a problem, sir. My family isn’t flying out until tomorrow, and Royce said you had space.”

“It’s fine.”

As Tate moved down the aisle toward Royce, he came into view. The sunglasses had been tucked away in a pocket, and he pulled off his overcoat.

“I say it every time we see each other,” Macalister said abruptly, causing Tate to freeze, “but when are you going to get serious and come join us at HBHC?”

As Tate finished pulling off his coat, a slow smile widened on his lips. “Ascension is good to me.”

“Is that so? I would be better.” Macalister had said I, and not we, as if he were the entirety of his massive company. His tone was barely disguised disgust. “Where do they have you now, loans?”

Tate turned back to face him directly. “Wealth management.”

“We both know you’re better than that.”

“Thanks, but I like New York.”

If he was nervous saying no to Macalister, it didn’t read in his body language. Perhaps it was why Macalister seemed to respect him. Alice had told me Macalister was only interested in something when he had to chase it.

“You’re putting off the inevitable.” Macalister’s voice sounded as close to friendly as he could manage, but the threat was laced inside. “Sooner or later, you’ll be working for me.”

Tate laughed it off. “If you say so, sir.”

I exchanged a look with Royce. Did Tate know what was in the works? Had Royce shared any of his plan with his best friend? The shake of Royce’s head was so subtle, I wasn’t even sure if it was there, but a thrill coasted through me.

I was the only one he’d confided in.

Tate joined us in the back section of the plane and dropped down in the seat across from me. His dark-eyed gaze swept over me in appraisal. “Marist. Long time, no see.”

It made me feel like an intruder, when it shouldn’t have. He’d known Royce better than I had for years. Although, was that true? Royce had shared the real part of himself with me, and likely no one else. Time didn’t automatically make you closer.

A dark voice in my head reminded me the same was true with Emily. We’d been best friends our whole lives, and yet she’d kept things from me.

“Hi, Tate. It’s nice to see you again.”

He smoothed his palm down his tie in a gesture that was meant to seem innocent, but I suspected he’d done it to draw attention to the way his fitted shirt emphasized his broad chest and hinted at toned abs.

Playfulness warmed his eyes as he caught me watching. “I bet it is.”

I blinked and shot both him and my fiancé an unamused look. Royce had said nearly the same thing to me when we’d met in the library last year. “Did they teach you that line in school? Like, being cocky is the same thing as being charming? Because it isn’t.”

Tate grinned, his gaze darting between me and his best friend seated at my side, whose hand was laced with mine. “Sure seemed to work on you, though.”

Heat warmed my face and probably tinged my cheeks pink. Oh, it had. I’d told myself I’d hated Royce’s cockiness, but if I were honest, I found it undeniably appealing. I turned my gaze out the window as I heard the attendant retract the steps and close the cabin door.

It didn’t take long before we were rolling down the runway and the engines carried us up into the sky. Royce and Tate chatted about politics and business, discussing the latest mergers and shake-ups in New York, and who had been poached from one house to another. It was the closest to gossiping I’d heard my fiancé do.

There was an ease and confidence to them both as the private jet sped toward the luxury vacation homes awaiting us in Aspen, and I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of irony for the man sitting across from me.

As the only black student in a sea of white at Cape Hill Prep, Tate could have been classified as an ‘other.’ But the only color that seemed to matter at our school was green, and the Isaacs had a lot of it. His parents were ultra-successful attorneys, and their son had been universally loved by all. He may have looked different than his friends, but he wasn’t.

It was the weird, outspoken Marist Northcott who was the ‘other’ at Cape Hill Prep.

But today on this plane, I didn’t feel like an ‘other.’ I’d seen behind the curtain of the Hales, whereas Tate was blissfully ignorant. What were Royce’s motivations for inviting him along? Surely, he wasn’t going to talk Ascension with his father in earshot. Maybe he’d done it to prevent Macalister from doing so. His father wouldn’t discuss a takeover when one of the target company’s employees was in the same room.

After the plane had leveled off, Macalister appeared at the doorway, and his cold gaze zeroed in on Royce’s hand tangled with mine.

“Marist,” he said, “after we’ve arrived, Alice and I would like a word”—his eyes flicked to Tate—“in private.”

My mouth dropped open, but before I could say anything, Royce’s hand squeezed mine. “Sorry, the three of us have plans.”

Tate was in a rear-facing seat, which meant Macalister couldn’t see the confusion drift through his expression. If we had plans with him, it was news to Tate, but he said nothing.

The information unraveled in my brain. This was why Royce had invited Tate. He’d anticipated an ambush by his father and brought his friend along to foil Macalister’s plans. Alice couldn’t deliver a personal apology while someone outside the family was around.

Royce had done it to save me, and I was grateful.

But Macalister wasn’t going to give up easily. He turned his attention from his son to me and issued it like it was nonnegotiable. “It will only take a few minutes.”

I gave him a flat smile that didn’t touch my eyes, hoping he would understand my meaning. “Of course. When I’m ready.”

Satisfied, he turned and went back to his seat.

There was already a fire going in the fireplace when I followed Royce into the bedroom, and it wasn’t the altitude that took my breath away—it was the view. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed off the Rocky Mountains in glorious splendor. We were surrounded by white peaks, which gave way to dense evergreens, some with ski runs channeling through them, and below the orange-yellow glow of Aspen in early evening.

“We’re the highest house on this mountain,” Royce said. “No one is allowed to build above us.”

Even the balcony off the bedroom was surrounded with glass railings so as not to obstruct the view. “It’s stunning.” I turned to face him and found him staring at the king-sized bed. “What’s wrong?”

He lifted his blue eyes to meet mine, and determination crystalized in them. “I’m not going to tell you where the guest bedrooms are. This is our room.”

My heartbeat quickened. I strived for a teasing tone, but now he was the thing leaving me breathless. “I’m smart. I’ll probably find them.”

“No, you won’t. I’ve decided we’re not leaving Aspen until we have our sleeping arrangements sorted out.”

I swallowed thickly as he made his steady approach. “Are you saying I’m not allowed to escape anymore?”

He slipped his arms around me, picked me up, and dumped me on my back on the soft bed. He loomed over me, his handsome face full of desire and something that looked dangerously like love. “No, you’re not.” His hands went to his belt and worked to undo it. “And right now, I’m going to give you a good reason to stay.”

“Oh?” I purred.

“Yeah.” He looked quite amused with himself. “A big one.”

I laughed but made a production out of rolling my eyes, pretending his cocky statement had fallen flat. I didn’t want him to see how much he affected me, even though he probably already knew. His deep eyes slipped right past any shields I tried to put up.

He smoothed his hands up my leggings, reaching beneath the sweater dress I wore to start pulling them off. “But, seriously, I have an offer.”

I feigned a serious face as I lifted my hips, making it easier for him to drag the leggings and my underwear off. “I’m listening.”

He dropped the fabric to the floor and stepped between my parted legs, his hand working himself over. Just a few quick strokes, and he was impossibly hard. “You asked me to make love to you. I think I’m ready to try it.”

The muscles low in my belly clenched. “Now?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in an impish grin. “No. Right now, I just want to get inside you. I’m so fucking horny I can barely see straight. You make me crazy.”

“Same, Royce,” I fake scolded. So, fucking, same.

He licked the pad of his thumb, which looked so indecent it should have been illegal, and pressed it to my clit, brushing tiny, slow circles. My toes curled into points behind his back.

“So, the deal is this. We make love? You have to stay in our bed.”

My heart jerked to a stop then lurched forward with excitement. I liked his offer very much, and there was no need to counter.

“Deal?” he asked.

“Deal,” I whispered.

His smile was a mixture of happiness and sin as he pushed himself inside me.

We went out to dinner, avoiding the rest of the Hale family we were sharing the enormous house with, and afterward, we met up with Tate and the rest of the people who floated in Royce’s social circle at an outdoor bar. There was snow on the ground, but heaters attached to open patio umbrellas rained down warmth, along with the stone firepits blazing in the center of the groupings of chairs and couches. It was warm enough, most people had their coats off or at least unbuttoned.

String lights draped from umbrella to umbrella, a connected web that gave the space a magical feel.

Vance sat on one of the couches, Jillian Lambert curled up under his arm. I could tell her affection for him was genuine, but I had no idea if it were true for him. Like his older brother, Vance was a great liar. His father had proclaimed he date Lambert’s daughter, and it was unclear if he had any feelings and was simply following orders.

And his thoughts on Alice were even murkier.

Had he cared for her as a lover? Or was she just a way for him to stick it to his father? Perhaps he was like Royce and believed he was incapable of caring about anything, unless he wanted to risk Macalister taking it away.

“How’s law school?” I asked him as I sat down in the chair closest to the fire.

His gaze darted away from mine. I hadn’t seen him in at least two weeks. Was it possible he’d been avoiding me?

He said it so quietly I almost didn’t hear it over the conversations and laughter happening around us at the bar. “It’s . . . hard.” He drained the beer he was drinking and pasted on a smile, nudging Jillian. “Hey, mind getting us another round?”

She sat up and gave him the evil eye, probably about to tell him she wasn’t his servant—

“It took us fucking forever to get drinks when I ordered them. Royce and Tate are still waiting. The bartenders are only serving the hot girls tonight. It’ll take you, like, two seconds.”

Mollified, Jillian stood and collected their empty drinks.

She was barely gone before he straightened, leaning in to speak in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry.”

I froze. “For?”

“I dunno. A lot of things. I wasn’t thinking about anyone else that night.” His eyebrows pulled together and his forehead wrinkled. “I didn’t think Alice would care if I hooked up with Jillian. I mean, she didn’t just sign off on it with my dad, she’d practically told me to do it.” He sighed and ran a hand through his already unruly brown hair. “I would’ve sworn she didn’t give two shits about me, and, well—I decided that night I was going to find out.”

Meaning he’d wanted to get caught, just to see her reaction. My voice was dead. “What a terrific plan you came up with.”

“Yeah, I know.” He scrubbed the hand down the side of his face. “So, I’m sorry. I had no idea she was going to lose it like that.”

“You and me both.”

The sincere guilt he felt made me uncomfortable. Had he been callous with Alice’s feelings? Absolutely. But they were both adults, one of them married, and I didn’t blame him.

“Hey,” I said softly, “you didn’t make her do what she did.” I glanced around to confirm no one was listening. “She made that choice on her own.”

“I didn’t help the situation.”

“No,” I agreed. “But afterward you did. Royce told me you went to my parents’ house. You’ve been so busy I never got a chance to thank you.”

“Well, don’t.” He gave a tight smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I got to see your sister, who—by the way—is still hot, even when she’s pregnant as fuck.”

“Aw,” I said, overly sweet, “you’re gross.”

“What are we talking about?” Tate asked, lowering into a chair across from me. Royce appeared beside him, carrying both of our drinks.

“How hot Marist’s sister is,” Vance announced.

Tate’s head bobbed in agreement then swiveled to glance around. “Where is she?”

I took the glass of wine from Royce as he sat beside me. “Emily couldn’t make the trip. She’s on bed rest.”

Macalister had invited my family to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night, which meant they had to come, but my sister’s doctor didn’t want her to travel. Royce had installed staff at the house over the weekend, so she’d have round-the-clock care while my parents were away. I was worried she’d be lonely, but she assured me she was fine.

Tate looked confused. “Bed rest?”

He lived in New York these days, so he wasn’t up to speed on his Cape Hill gossip. “She’s eight months pregnant.”

“No shit. Really?” When I nodded, he asked, “Who’s the dad?”

Before I could give him the canned response, Royce leaned forward and his voice was grave. “It’s you, Tate.”

For a fraction of a second, Tate went still, and then an enormous smile burst onto his face. “Fuck you, man. I was never with her. Not all of us can land a Northcott girl, you know.”

A million thoughts streamed through my mind in an instant. First, I didn’t want it to be, but it was bizarrely flattering to be thought of as a status symbol. And second, we were seated in a room full of people we’d gone to high school with. None of them had ever made an attempt to ‘land me.’

“Royce was the only one with the guts to try,” I said plainly.

Tate’s mouth hung open in surprise before curling back into a smile. “Well, now I’m pissed I missed my chance.”

“I’m not,” Royce said, giving me a glance out of the corner of his eye.

Tate viewed me like stock. I wasn’t worth much until Royce wanted me, and then my value quadrupled overnight.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, slouching down. “I didn’t know Sophia Alby was going to be here.” Tate and Sophia hadn’t been very nice to me in the past, but they hadn’t run in the same circles. School was over, but he still understood the power she wielded. “Why are you waving her over here?” he demanded of me.

When Sophia’s gaze landed on the man seated in my group, her eyes lit up like a target had been acquired and she was prepared to strike.

It was petty, but kind of fun to watch him squirm. “Oh, I invited her.”

It was late when Royce’s driver brought us back up the mountain to the house. The headlights cut through the dark, lighting up the winding road and the frozen forest beyond.

On the inside, I was vibrating with chaotic, excited energy. Royce wanted me in his bed tonight.

He wanted to make love to me, and by his own admission, he’d never done that.

We’d cross into this new territory together, and I was ready to jump out of my skin. How would he start? What was going to happen? I wouldn’t have called him a hopeless romantic by any means, but he was plenty capable of seduction. He understood romance. Would there be candles and flowers like there’d been when he’d proposed?

The answer was no.

Just the warm, flickering fire trapped behind glass in the fireplace and the soft lighting in the elegant bedroom. I liked this. It was cozy and intimate. He opened a bottle of white wine and poured us each a glass, then brought me over to the couch opposite the bed and against the enormous windows. Before I sat, I took in the view one more time. Moonlight turned the snow on the mountains silver, and Aspen continued to glow brightly below, nestled in the valley.

We settled beside each other on the couch and sipped our wine in silence. Desire curled in the air, twisting with anticipation, making it hard to find words.

“You look nervous,” I said.

His blue eyes were electric. “You’ve always made me nervous.”

He was the prince of Cape Hill, and at just twenty-five years old, he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. I couldn’t make anyone nervous, and certainly not him. I laughed softly. “Ridiculous.”

He raised a perturbed eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?” He leaned over, set his glass of wine down on the side table with a thud, and fixed the full intensity of his stare on me. “You, Marist, are the only thing in this world I’ve ever wanted—that I wasn’t sure I was going to get.”

My lungs refused to work.

When we were alone, he wasn’t supposed to lie. He’d told me he wanted it more than anything. “What about your father’s company?”

“Oh, I know I’m going to get that.”

He moved, sliding off the couch and onto his knees, working his way until he was kneeling between my legs. It was like the night of our first date, where I’d ordered him to put his hands on me and he’d obliged. Only it was possible I was more nervous and desperate for him tonight than I had been all those months ago.

Royce took my wine glass from me and set it aside then drew me away from the back of the couch, so he could kiss me slowly and deeply and thoroughly, until every inch of me clamored to melt into him.

Nearly every night over the last month, we’d had sex. There’d been a few times where he’d been away on business, or we’d come home from a social thing and been too exhausted to do more than kiss goodnight. But typically, our evenings were spent crawling and scratching, writhing and biting and tangling in the sheets until we both found our release.

He fucked like Ares and I like Medusa.

We’d learned most of the secret places on each other’s bodies to drive the other wild. Where to kiss to draw a moan, where to touch to create shudders and gasps. So, it was silly to be nervous. We should have felt comfortable. What we were doing wasn’t physically different than any other time.

And yet, as his lips brushed down the curve of my neck, trembles worked along my legs. This felt different. Every sensation was heightened, each sound was new, and gravity deepened. Like what we were about to do was going to change everything.

He was lovesick Hades, and I was Persephone, his once unwilling bride who now was all in.

His kiss and touch were sedate and deliberate as he peeled us out of our clothes. He was taking his time, and his unhurried hands were strange and exciting. Completely different from our desperate encounter when we’d struck our deal earlier tonight.

When there wasn’t a stitch of clothing left on our bodies, he fitted me tight to his waist and let me feel the hard, heavy weight of his cock against my center. Our warm, bare skin pressed to each other, my breasts flattened to his chest, and I swallowed a deep breath. His eyes locked onto mine, and the power of his stare leveled me. How was it possible I’d existed the first twenty-one years of my life and not seen the person he truly was? He’d hidden it so well.

And he’d seen me exactly as I was—better than anyone else.

He looked so beautiful like this. The outer edges of his irises were ringed in a darker color, like they’d been drawn first, outlined in navy and then filled in with a steely blue watercolor. His high cheekbones had only a faint shadow of darkness because he’d shaved before we left for dinner. As his gaze slipped down over my face, his lush lips parted, and he took in a slow, deep breath.

Watching him stare at me while longing painted his face was erotic.

I cupped his head in my hands and pulled him into a feverish kiss, eager to be connected to him in all ways. He was too but had better patience than I did. His hands, which were resting on my knees, smoothed up my thighs and over my hips, around my waist and up my back. His lips were sealed to mine, and his kiss advanced, easing me back against the couch cushions.

Royce’s warm mouth carved a trail down through the valley of my breasts, leaving cool, damp skin behind. The fire raging in the fireplace was hot, but it didn’t compare to my naked fiancé on his knees in front of me, steadily working his way toward the center of my legs. His kisses marched across my fluttering belly, and as he moved lower, he settled back on his legs, making himself more comfortable.

Like he planned to use his tongue to tease and pleasure me for a long while.

Goosebumps lifted and pebbled on my skin in the wake of his roaming hands, and my breath went ragged as he peered up at me from between my thighs, his mouth hovering only an inch away. Was he waiting for permission?

Or for me to start begging?

I was a heartbeat away from pleading with him to put his mouth on me before he set his hands on the spots where my legs met my body and used his thumbs to peel me open. All the air went out of the room when he leaned in.

One painfully slow lick made bliss crackle through my body.

I was a live wire beneath him. Every careful flick of his tongue caused me to jolt and jerk, but his hands held me steady. And his eyes—his fucking eyes—never let me go either, even when I closed mine because the image was too much to bear.

It was incendiary.

Tiny whimpers fell from my lips, and the tremble in my legs grew more intense. Royce knew how to make me come when he had his mouth on me. He could do it quickly if he wanted, faster still if he eased a finger deep inside me, but tonight he wasn’t going for speed or efficiency. He wanted to draw it out and build my orgasm up layer by lush layer.

I was restless, though. The sensations were more acute tonight, which meant the tingling anticipation was sharp and demanding. I craved release mindlessly, squirming against the cushions, and tried to get him to increase the stroke of his tongue. Speed or pressure or whatever the fuck he wanted to do—just as long as he gave me more.

The need inside me drove my hands into his dark brown hair. It forced labored breath in and out of my lungs. Could he feel how badly he made me quake? Each pass of his tongue injected pleasure and heat in me, gathering strength as I rolled toward my climax.

I bucked and moaned, but he didn’t let up. One of his hands slid to the inside of my thigh and pressed my leg back, opening me further to his indecent kiss and making my lower leg drape over his back. It pulled a loud, satisfied groan from my chest, and I reached behind me to grip the edge of the couch. If he kept this up much longer, it was possible I was going to scream. Maybe that was what he was waiting for.

My eyes fluttered open, and I looked down at him over my heaving chest, my nipples hardened into points. He gazed at me through hooded eyes, and I—

In spite of the fire and what Royce was doing to me, a cold draft washed down my spine. Something wasn’t right, but my mind was soaked in lust, and the fog made it difficult to pinpoint what had set me off.

Wait. The door.

Had Royce left it like that, or perhaps ajar, and the hinges had let it slowly swing away from the frame? Because the ornate door with its brass handle was currently open, revealing the empty hallway beyond.

Not empty, a warning voice in my mind whispered.

I peered through the doorway into the darkness, letting my eyes adjust to the form lurking there. As my gaze met his, Macalister stepped out of the shadows.