The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

He folded the newspaper and grumbled under his breath. “My nutritionist advised me to watch my sodium intake.”

I smiled in commiseration with him. A big reason he looked so good at his age was because he took such great care of himself. My appreciative gaze slid down over his shirtless form as we sat at his kitchen table, and he did not miss the way I traced his biceps and sexy forearms.

It was a question he already knew the answer to. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” I said. “Looking all sexy while you read your . . .” I pointed at the business section.. “What’s this thing called again?” I pretended I didn’t know how to pronounce it. “Newspaper?”

The muscle along his jaw flexed, making him even sexier. His eyes sharpened. “Yes. I’m sure it’s an unfamiliar media to your generation because it contains things like capital letters and punctuation.”

I laughed and made a mental note that the next text I sent him needed to be one run-on sentence, all lower-case, and contain as many abbreviations as possible.

“Would you like my chef to prepare something else?”

I waved a hand. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry, and I’d have to get dressed.”

Since I was once again wearing nothing but Macalister’s white dress shirt from last night. I’d brought over a change of clothes so I wouldn’t have to wear my cocktail dress home, but he preferred me naked, and I preferred not to freeze my ass off, so this had been our compromise.

The shirt smelled like him, and I loved having it wrapped around my body.

He finished his coffee and set his mug down. “I need a shower. Will you be joining me?”

I glanced at my screen. I had a bridal shower for Carrie Patterson at lunchtime, and the restaurant was in Boston. “I don’t have a lot of time.” I gave him an amused look. “Can you be quick?”

“I can be efficient,” he revised for me. “And the vibrator is waterproof.”

A laugh rose in my chest, but it gurgled to a stop when someone standing in the back of the kitchen cleared their throat. The man had his arms folded across his body and leaned against the doorframe with a disapproving look splashed across his face.

Macalister’s tone was dark. “Royce.”

TWENTY-FOUR

SOPHIA

THE ROOM BECAME A VACUUM without an ounce of breathable air. Macalister rose deliberately from his chair, probably wanting to reclaim a position of power, if only in stature, as he stared down at his son.

“I raised you better than this,” he said coolly. “It’s courtesy to call before showing up at someone’s house.”

Royce was impervious. “Just because I moved out doesn’t mean this place stopped being my home.” He sighed loudly. “I only came by to get something for the apartment. What you do is your own business, but if I’d known I was going to be interrupting an important discussion about shower sex and vibrators, I would have sent a text.”

Oh, my God. I stared at the plate in front of me while trying not to melt off the chair and disappear beneath the table. But, thankfully, my immediate discomfort was short-lived. Royce straightened, turned, and walked out the door.

“Damn it,” Macalister groaned. “Royce, wait.”

But his son was already gone, forcing him to follow. His heavy, quick footsteps carried him out into the dining room, and as soon as I was sure they’d cleared the hallway, I bolted out of my seat, sprinting for the stairs.

I dashed up them, into Macalister’s room, and dressed as quickly as possible while nerves rattled my stomach. It was unlikely Royce would tell anyone what he’d seen, other than his wife and maybe Vance, but dread made my hands shake. Macalister was downstairs right now, having to explain to his son what we were doing . . . and I was sure once he was forced to say it out loud, he’d see how ridiculous and dangerous being with me was to his reputation.

He was going to end it, right after I’d collected enough moments to fall for him. God, it was so unfair. Tears stung in my eyes, but I blinked them back. I’d lived for so long with a broken heart, the sensation should hold a familiar comfort.

I jerked my hair up into a loopy ponytail and bent down, putting my knees on the carpet as I collected up all the lingerie he’d peeled me out of last night, shoving fistfuls of silk and lace into my overnight bag.

My movements froze as his door creaked open, and when I took in the full, dark expression cast over Macalister’s face, my heart sank to the floor.

Don’t, I wanted to plead with him. I’m not ready for this to be over.

His voice was tight, like he had a fingertip’s grasp on his control. “Did you collude with him?”