The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

“When we land,” he said, “I’m going to get someone to find a place for us in Boston.”

“It’ll be midnight Eastern time when we land.”

Determination pushed his mouth into a frown. “In the morning, then, but we’re moving out.”

Of course, I wanted to leave. The patriarch of the Hales was in love with me, and another wanted to kill me. But my practical side gave a humorless laugh. “He won’t let us. You know he’ll find a way to force us to stay, either with your job or your inheritance—”

“He’ll throw us out as soon as I take his seat.”

“But that could be months away.” Ascension had fought tooth and nail while they looked for a white knight company to save them. It’d forced up HBHC’s offer.

Royce shook his head. “No, they caved. Their board is voting by the end of the week.” He adjusted the unfamiliar wedding band on his finger. “I bet the news breaks while we’re still on our honeymoon.”

“How long will you wait before you—”

“I won’t do anything. I left the ‘when’ up to Tate, but I think he’ll wait a few weeks before he blows the whistle.” Arrogance threaded through his expression. “Just long enough for my dad to congratulate himself on his big win.”

“And after, what happens to Ascension? To Tate?”

He shrugged like he wasn’t talking about a company worth billions of dollars. “Obviously, we’ll need to clean house, and Tate knows where the dirtiest people are.”

Meaning he’d take care of his friend and put him in a high-level position to manage the restructure.

“Your father said something else.” I watched him closely to gauge his reaction. “Had you ever met Dr. Galliat before that day in Emily’s hospital room?”

There was only confusion in his face. “No.”

“So, you’d never spoken to him before.” I used the same word Macalister had. “You don’t have any kind of relationship with him.”

“Relationship?” he repeated. He paused to draw in a breath. “No, of course not.”

My heart ground to a halt, and the rest of me went on autopilot. “Then why would your father say you did?”

Royce lifted a hand casually. “Because he wants to get between us.”

And he’d been successful, because I was certain my husband had just lied to me.

FOURTEEN

SUN BOUNCED OFF THE RIPPLES OF BLUE WATER, and even though I had on sunglasses, the glare was so bright, I still had to shield my eyes. I lay next to Royce on the lounging bed beside the small in-deck pool and tried to focus on the novel I was reading. It was a modern retelling of the story of Ares and Aphrodite, and the book was so hot, it would have made me sweat if I wasn’t already.

But I couldn’t focus on my book, because as he’d done that first night in the library, he was staring at me. More specifically, he was staring at the white string bikini with gold accents I was wearing, and each pass of his lust filled gaze forced me to re-read the last line.

“I’m trying to read,” I said, adjusting the way I was propped up by the pillows.

“Then read.” I wasn’t looking at him, but I could hear the devilish smile in his words. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He was distracting in every way. First, he was the poster child for a billionaire playboy right now, lying on the deck of his private yacht in only his aviator sunglasses and black swim trunks, three days’ worth of suntanning making his skin golden brown. Second, I felt his relentless eyes all over me, touching every crevice, stroking each sensitive spot.

And third, when I didn’t give him the attention he desired, he used his fingertips to trace the Medusa tattooed over my ribs. It was pleasurable lightning across my skin, and even more exciting when he leaned over and kissed the ink. It was enough of a distraction for him to grab one of the gold ends of my bikini top and start tugging at the string.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I tried to fake a scowl, but it came out as a lopsided grin.

His kiss moved over the fabric cups of my top while he continued to slowly pull at the string, giving me ample time to stop him.

“We’re in France.”

I threaded my hands through his hair, holding his head to my chest as his mouth traced the edges of my suit. “Technically, we’re in the Principality of Monaco.”

We’d sailed down from Cannes yesterday afternoon and dropped anchor outside the port. The coast of the ultra-rich city-state loomed in the distance.

“Technically, we’re in the territorial waters of the Principality of Monaco.”

“Someone might see,” I whispered, pretending to be reluctant.

His lips fluttered against the skin in the valley between my breasts as he spoke. “Then they’d be really fucking lucky because your tits are amazing. Come on, Marist. Go European for your husband.”