The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

“What?”

He walked toward me, and since I was kneeling on the ground, it forced me to arch my neck to keep my gaze on him.

“I do not like repeating myself. Did you and Royce plan this?”

Plan what? “I . . . I don’t understand.”

“He all but admitted this was the outcome he hoped for. It’s why he pushed for you to be my assistant. He believed I’d try to seduce you, and once I was successful, I’d forget all about her.”

My mouth dropped open. Royce had invited me to shoot skeet, knowing I’d beat his father, and hoped it’d be enough to put me on Macalister’s radar. And if I became his new obsession, he might let go of the torch he carried for Marist.

I swallowed painfully, both wanting and not wanting to know the answer. “Have you?”

Anger colored his face, perhaps masking his hurt. “How can you ask me that?”

That’s not an answer, my brain cried. And no denial was answer enough. I frowned and stared at his feet, desperate to compartmentalize like I did when I’d missed a target. Set it aside and focus. There was plenty of time to be disappointed about it later.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I lifted my gaze over his black lounge pants, which were slung deliciously low over his hips, working up across his broad chest, until I finally reached his pale eyes, finding them unguarded for once.

“I told you when I’m with you, everything else ceases to exist,” he said. “So put your doubts about that away.”

It felt like everything was coming apart. Emotion swirled inside me like a hurricane, powerful and destructive. This was it. If I didn’t say it, I’d never get a chance to. “I have to tell you a secret.”

Did he sense what was coming? He stopped breathing. “What is it?”

“I think I might be in love with you.”

He blinked once, staring at me with a pained expression hung on his face.

Then he blinked a second time, coming back to life.

“No,” he said finally, like it was just that simple.

What the fuck did he mean, no? “Macalister—”

“No,” he repeated. At least he didn’t run, nor did he get angry. He crouched down, meeting me at eye-level, and his face was—of all things—practical. “I won’t allow it.”

I was so stunned, it sucked all the power from my voice. “Are you serious?” When he didn’t answer, a cruel laugh erupted from me. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

“Don’t I?” He set a hand on my cheek, not to dominate, but to soothe. “I own you.”

The balls on this guy. I shot him a dirty look. “I gave you control over my body, not my heart.”

He seemed amused. “Last time I checked, the heart is located inside the body.”

I pushed his hand away as my frustration boiled over. “Don’t be an asshole. You know what I meant.”

He hardened. “I understand you’re upset, but you’re not in love with me, Sophia. This is an infatuation, and it will pass.”

“An infatuation,” I seethed.

He ignored the volcano of anger threatening in my voice and stood, looming over me. “And even if I were capable, I care enough about you not to fall in love.”

“Because you’re cursed,” I spat out.

“Yes.” He was so somber, it broke my heart. “And because I destroy everything I love.”

My heart stumbled at his quiet admission. When he hesitantly offered his hand, I took it and let him haul me up to my feet and into his warm arms.

His eyes had a gravity I couldn’t escape. “I enjoy our time together.” He visibly struggled to get his words out. “You . . . make me happy, and I haven’t been happy in a very long time.”

You make me happy. It reverberated through me, heating the marrow of my bones.

Reluctance deepened his expression. “But I don’t want to be the selfish man I was before, so I will be honest. I can give you many things, but it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to offer you what you truly want or need.” He swallowed an uncertain breath. “I need you to tell me that I am enough. That what we have right now is enough . . . for you.”

I studied him critically, the way I would watch targets launch and how the wind would impact their trajectory, determining their likely arc. Macalister was convinced he wasn’t capable of loving, but I could see our path, and I could prove him wrong. When I put my mind to it, I usually got my way, and I was determined to have him.

“It’s enough,” I agreed, “for now.”

I’d had to sit quietly with the information bubbling under my skin during Macalister’s marathon meeting with the IT department. It was the third one this month to discuss the software upgrade rollout, and it usually put him in a foul mood.