The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

“The lock’s protection is an illusion.” The deep, stern timbre of his voice made him impossible to ignore. “It’s not to keep things out, but hold them in.”

I strove for confidence when I felt absolutely none. “Such as?”

“Before he suggested it, were you concerned about not having one?”

I frowned. “No, but—”

“And now I suspect you lock it every night and worry what would happen if you don’t.”

I glanced away, unable to look at him as he proved his point. Was it true? Had Royce’s demand for the lock on my bedroom really been manipulation? A way to ensure my distrust of his father?

“A cage may open from the inside,” Macalister said, “but it’s still a cage.”

My eyelids were heavy from the false eyelashes the makeup artist had applied, and as I stood in the shade of one of the trees on the Hale grounds, I stared at the branches above and silently prayed for one of them to break off and crush me to death.

“Marist,” the photographer said, “let’s have you put your back against the tree. Royce, lean into her. Hand on her waist and the other on the tree by her head.”

I took her directions and leaned against the tree trunk, its rough bark against my back, and steeled myself as Royce stepped into my space. He clasped my waist with a confident hand, and the heat of his palm seared through the thin silk of the dress I wore. But it didn’t compare to the fire in his crystal blue eyes.

He was so fucking good at pretending. Was this just a production for our engagement photos? Or was any of it real?

The crew buzzed about us. Two men held white screens to bounce the light, and whenever the photographer was busy adjusting settings on her camera, the makeup artist dabbed at me with powder. It was a thousand degrees outside, but I was sure there wouldn’t be a speck of shine or bead of sweat on my body. The pictures would be flawless.

They had to be. Alice said several high-end magazines had requested engagement photos of the happy couple. Brides had offered to do a full spread.

They wanted pretty pictures to go with the pretty lie.

The photographer adjusted her stance and angled her camera at us. “Kiss her.”

A smug smile curled on Royce’s lips the moment before he leaned down and pressed them to mine. In his office, I told him this wasn’t allowed, but now that he’d been given free rein, he was happy to take advantage.

It was impossible not to fall into his kiss, not with the way he moved against me. It was a seductive dance. His tongue delicately slipped into my mouth and stroked so softly, I felt it deep between my legs. He made me melt so badly, there was no way the makeup artist had enough powder to cover it all.

“Very nice,” the photographer said, subtly nudging Royce that she’d gotten the shot she wanted, and it was time to move on. But Royce didn’t take orders from the servants. The prince of Cape Hill got whatever he wanted, and right now, he wanted this kiss to continue.

His hand curved around my waist until it was wedged between my back and the tree, and he used it to urge me deeper into his demanding kiss. He drew the fingertips of his other hand along my jaw so he could cup my face and prevent me from ending it.

Wars raged—one in my head, and one between our mouths. What was happening was a cruel tease. I couldn’t lie like he did, so when I kissed him back, the meaning was real. As hurtful as his kiss was, it didn’t mean I wanted him to stop. Oh, God, how I wanted him to keep going. I wanted the entourage of people to fade into the trees and disappear so this moment wouldn’t end.

Royce adjusted the angle so our mouths could better meet, and when he pressed the rest of our bodies together, I felt fully possessed by him. The connection was so powerful, it was nearly as intimate as sex.

Someone let out a nervous, uncomfortable laugh, breaking the spell between us. As Royce lifted his head, malice flashed through his eyes. He didn’t like being interrupted.

The photographer had a wide smile and gave us a wink. “Save some of that for the next setup.”

My face burned hot, and it had nothing to do with the heat outside. It was caused by the man who twined his fingers with mine and pulled me away from the tree, out into the harsh sunlight. And once we were linked, he refused to let me go.

We were posed in a half-dozen different locations on the Hale grounds, but my heart climbed into my throat when Royce suggested the site where he’d asked me to marry him. The photographer looked delighted and had him lead the way. We were a parade, marching through the maze until the bubbling fountain came into view.