The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

When he’d proposed, he’d told me that every day I wore the ring, it meant I was still with him. Trusting him no matter what he said or did when other people were around.

“Only because I forgot to take it off,” I snapped, although I wondered if it was true.

“You could take it off now.” He watched me cautiously. He’d issued the challenge at me, but his uneven voice gave him away. He didn’t want me to.

Earlier, the ring had been so heavy when he’d abandoned me in the library, and I had wanted it gone. But he was right, I hadn’t taken it off. The weakest part of myself had talked me out of it, but now I was glad. I could use this to my advantage. I’d lie to him and tell him whatever he wanted to hear, just like he did to me. I’d keep my new enemy close.

I toyed with the ring, threatening to remove it. “What if I didn’t?”

His chest expanded. “Then I’d tell you those hundred thousand shares are worth a hell of a lot more than buying them on the open market.”

I paused. “How so?”

He was a spectacular actor because his pained look was very convincing. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” My frustration with him reached a new height. He’d never been forthcoming and hadn’t told me his master plan, but obviously it involved some kind of power struggle between him and his father. Royce wanted control of HBHC—he’d said that much.

Was he planning a boardroom coup? No, surely he was too smart to attempt it. Macalister would never allow himself to become vulnerable, and even in the unlikely event that happened, he wouldn’t go down without a nasty fight. Plus, board members never voted against their chairman—it was unheard of. They’d always be loyal to the person who’d given them their seat.

So, trying to go against him would be career suicide.

“You can’t tell him,” Royce said, “what you don’t know.” Water dripped from his long lashes. It sluiced down over the curves of his cheekbones. “It’s better this way.”

“Oh, I see.” My tone was pure bitterness. “You don’t trust me, but I’m supposed to trust you.”

“It’s not that, Marist. I don’t trust him.” His merciless gaze made the rain and the cold fade until it wasn’t noticeable. “If he thinks you know something, he won’t stop until he finds out what it is. The only thing he does better than negotiating is extracting secrets.”

When I flinched at the bright flash of lightning, he used the distraction to make his move. Royce set one hand on my shoulder, gently pulled me into his arms, and pressed me to his chest. The wet collar of his shirt stuck to my cheek while he smoothed a hand over the back of my head. It may have seemed like a sweet gesture, but it had a purpose. He dipped his lips down to my ear so he could be heard over the thunder surrounding us.

“I’m sorry. I had to.” His words soaked in faster than the rain and were just as unexpected. “But I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.”

My voice was as cruel as I wanted to sound. “Like you did with the initiation?”

He stiffened, and the arms around me turned to marble. There was nothing he could say, no way to defend what he’d allowed. I didn’t blame him for that night. I’d gone into the dining room knowing what was going to happen. I hadn’t just agreed to it—I’d put my consenting signature down in ink.

But he hadn’t protected me. I’d been the one to save us from the worst of it.

If I hadn’t, would he still have gone through with it? Would he have stood by and endured two minutes with me on the table, under his father’s control?

I’d never ask Royce because I already knew the terrible answer.

He’d sold me to his father, after all, and it was win at all costs.

Layer by layer, Royce softened. His arms were heavy cables around me, not letting go but giving me enough space to draw back and stare up at him. Guilt and shame clouded his eyes. “I promise,” he whispered, “I’ll do everything I can, so nothing else happens to you.”

It was like he believed the words he was saying.

I’d strive to be just as good of a liar as he was now, maybe even better.

He searched my face, scrutinizing my dubious expression. It was a statement from him, not a question. “You don’t believe me.”

“What reason have you given me to?”

He frowned. “When it’s just us, I’ve never lied to you.”

Was he kidding? “Oh, really? Tell my why those one hundred thousand shares are more important than me.”

Irritation flashed through his eyes. “I can’t right now, and they’re not more important than—”