The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

Every other time we’d played, it’d still been light outside and it streamed in through the large arched window. It was a moonless sky tonight, making the library dark and intimate. The light from the single desk lamp wasn’t powerful enough to reach the edges of the room, and the sharp edges of Macalister’s cheekbones were carved with extra shadows.

He sat opposite me and considered his opening.

I didn’t let out the tight breath I was holding as he placed his pawn exactly where I’d hoped he would. I leaned forward eagerly on my knees and slid another pawn forward two places.

When he was caught off-balance and his guard was down, he was a beautiful man. He looked wise and distinguished, practiced and skilled with age. But his eyes were deceptively young and treacherous.

They widened as he stared at the board, then narrowed to slits when he realized what I’d done.

He picked up his queen, set her beside my pawn, and the air whooshed from my lungs like a hole burst in a balloon.

Checkmate.

I’d lost in two moves.

Anger ringed his eyes. “We’ll play again.”

I was so drained it was a struggle to push myself out of my chair. “It’s been a long day.”

“No.” His tone was pure authority as he reset the board. “Fool’s Mate is not acceptable.”

“I held up my end of the—”

His fist banged on the desktop, rattling the chess pieces. “Sit. Down.”

My stomach turned over as I dropped back into my chair. I blindly snatched up a pawn and moved it forward, desperate to appease him. I understood what this really was. He craved control in everything, but he couldn’t control me from losing.

Right now, he couldn’t even control his own emotions.

Macalister closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a calming sigh. “Forgive my tone. As you said, it’s been a long day, and I’ve been looking forward to our game all evening.”

My breath caught with his admission.

His eyes opened and captured me. “I enjoy the time we spend together.” He picked up a pawn and moved it, and I felt his fingers wrapped around me, squeezing tight. “I hope it’s the same for you.”

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that?

“Mm-hmm.” I peered at the board, acting like I was too deep in thought to really process what he’d said. I took my turn and sat back in my seat, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

His tone was casual and conversational. “How is Emily? And the baby?”

“They’re okay, but the doctor wants to keep her a few days.”

We moved our pieces in turn as he volleyed more questions at me. “What about the father? Is he in the picture?”

I grimaced. The asshole hadn’t spoken to Emily since she’d told him she was pregnant with his child. “No.”

“And who is he?” Macalister captured my rook and deposited it off the board.

I swallowed thickly. “I think she’d prefer I didn’t say.”

Was that a smile hidden in his eyes? “No, that’s probably wise. It’s a bit of a scandal, after all. I’m told her professor’s married.”

My mouth fell open, but I promptly shut it. “Of course, you already knew.”

It was a smile. He looked so fucking pleased with himself. “Yes. Royce was supposed to marry your sister. I had to know who was responsible for disrupting those plans.” He relaxed in his seat, watching me as I positioned myself to defend my queen. “He’s a terrible man.”

I paused. “Because he cheated on his wife?”

“Because he made the wrong decision at every turn. He chose to sleep with a student, to get her pregnant, and to abandon her and their child.”

“You’re right.” It was strange to agree with Macalister on anything. “He is a terrible man. I wish I could say it’s surprising, but Emily’s always had terrible taste in men.”

The second it was out, I wanted to take it back. I hadn’t meant to be mean or talk behind my sister’s back, but the day was bleeding into the next, and I was stretched thin. I went to move my knight—

“No, that piece is pinned.”

Meaning I couldn’t move it because it’d expose my king to check. “What? Where?” I scoured the board and found his bishop in position. “Shit.”

Macalister’s eyebrow arched. “You should find better language to express yourself.”

My brain was no longer functioning at full capacity. It had to be the reason I was dumb enough to challenge him right now. “Well, I read that cursing is actually a sign of intelligence.”

“Yes,” he said. “Fluency in swearing can demonstrate a mastery of the English language, but just because you have a skill, doesn’t mean you always have to fucking use it.”

Stunned wasn’t a strong enough word. I was glued to my chair. “I’ve never heard you swear before.” My voice fell to a hush. “I . . . didn’t think you knew how.”