The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

“I don’t feel the same,” I said. “It’s one-sided and—”

“He wouldn’t be interested if it wasn’t.” A bitter smile widened on her face. “He lives for the chase, and he grows bored once he has you.”

She was speaking from experience.

Alice finished her task and straightened. “Did Luc give you the lip color?” She didn’t wait for my answer, just assumed it was a yes. “Don’t bother putting more on right now, unless you think Royce can control himself.”

Overload made my mind blank when I removed my robe, stood before her in only my undergarments, and allowed her to help me into the green dress. She zipped up the back, her cold fingers hooked the clasp at the top, and then she grabbed my heels and set them on the floor for me to step into.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. Although it was obvious she wasn’t doing this to be nice. She was more concerned about the schedule.

When it was done and I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I tried to become the fierce monster I was portraying, the one who turned men to stone with a single glance. I wouldn’t crack under the enormous pressure, nor would I flinch when I saw the rest of the board members again this evening. They’d undoubtably be in tuxedos like they had been during the initiation, but at least they’d be wearing masks.

When there was a knock at my bedroom door, Alice pulled it open. Royce gave her a once-over and then a friendly smile. “You look beautiful.”

She was so impatient it was like she didn’t even have time for his compliment. “Thank you.”

His gaze swept past her, landed on me, and Atlas set down the sky and heavens.

I’d forgotten the effect he held over me when he was like this. A tuxedo was just a style of suit, and I’d seen him in plenty of those over the last few months, but this was decidedly different. More refined and elegant. The clean lines and stark contrast of black on white emphasized the breathtaking man beneath.

Alice had been concerned about Royce controlling himself, but she’d been worried about the wrong person. I stormed toward him, the train of my green dress dragging behind me, and flew into his arms. I wasn’t sure if he’d put his hands on my waist to embrace me or to slow my attack, but I hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down into my needy kiss.

He issued a soft sound of pleasant surprise.

I’d started the kiss, but he took command. His mouth roved against mine, matching my intensity and then exceeding it, like he craved it even more than I did. It couldn’t be possible. I needed to reaffirm my connection to him after what had happened in the library.

Alice’s voice interrupted with a joking tone, although it sounded forced. “Okay, save some of that for the gala, please. We need to get going.”

We separated reluctantly. I grabbed my clutch while he retrieved his mask, and then we strolled to the staircase, my hand clutched in his.

Macalister stood at the bottom of the steps with his back turned so he was merely a figure in black. We couldn’t see his mask, only the black curved horns of the Minotaur protruding upward. Royce felt my steps falter, but he squeezed my hand, wordlessly trying to convey it was all right. He was at my side.

It was harder to descend the staircase in this dress than it had been in the red one, made worse because of the man waiting for us. He turned when we’d reached the entryway and cast his judgmental gaze down upon us.

His mask only covered the top half of his face, so it was clear he’d scrubbed the rest of my lipstick from his lips. The horns were a glossy black while the mask itself was feathers layered upon feathers—black on the outer edge, bronze around his eyes.

It was frighteningly beautiful.

And it made it that much more difficult to read what he was thinking. His gaze scoured over me and Royce, and our hands intertwined, and something like a sneer lurked on his lips. It vanished as footstep rang out.

Alice strolled down the stairs with her mask in place, and we stared up at her like we were receiving a queen. Which made sense, for she was Hera, queen of the gods. Her mask was a dark gold, and each point along the top was decorated with a glittering star, creating her decadent crown.

I was struck by how she looked. Not just gorgeous, but powerful. Beyond desirable. Men would kill other men for a chance with her. Why on Earth was her husband not brought to his knees by her? Why was he fixated on me when I didn’t compare to what he already had?