The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

He sounded innocent, but his smile was sinful. “Did you have something else in mind?”

I crossed my arms and leaned on the table, not allowing myself to slide into his trap. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I thought we didn’t want to give your father the wrong impression.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. He knows I’m not going to fuck you.”

The wine in my glass sloshed as I jerked. “What?”

It was amazing how I wasn’t interested in that . . . until it was suddenly off the table. “Do you need board approval for that too?”

Darkness seeped into his eyes and turned them stormy, but he slowly blinked it away. “No. I don’t fuck on the first date.”

It was a lie. I knew it not because rumors were legendary about how fast he could get in a girl’s pants, but from his stiff posture and the fist he’d unknowingly clenched on the tabletop. Interesting. Whatever the truth was, he didn’t want to say, or perhaps he couldn’t. Maybe I’d get more out of him when we were away from the invasive eyes of Cape Hill.

“All right.” And then I said the words I never expected to utter in my lifetime. “I’ll go home with you, Royce.”

EIGHT

I FOLLOWED THE BLACK TOWN CAR down the long driveway, circled the fountain, and parked in the empty space beside the garage that had once been the Hale carriage house. I’d offered to give Royce a ride in my Porsche Cayenne and let his driver leave early, but his phone had chimed as we were leaving the restaurant. He’d said he had to make a work call to straighten someone out and he’d meet me at the house.

I was a little relieved he’d declined. It gave me time on the drive over to rerun the evening, regroup, and prepare. Once I’d agreed to come home with him, our conversation had turned to lighter topics. We knew the heavier stuff was to come later.

He didn’t ask about my family, so I didn’t ask about his.

We talked about his job and mine. I volunteered as a tutor at the community college over the summer, mostly to look good on my resume, but I enjoyed it. We chatted about my classes at Etonsons and other safe things like music and movies. It wasn’t . . . unpleasant. For me, conversation came easier with him than it did with others.

He walked toward my car as I climbed out. He’d taken off his sport coat and folded it over an arm, but rather than look relaxed, he seemed anxious. His hair was mussed, like he’d run a hand through it in frustration.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine.” His tone said otherwise, and I gave him an expectant look. He let out a breath. “There’s some stock I bought recently, and it’s underperforming. My broker wasn’t paying attention, so we had to have a conversation about it.” Like this was a normal problem for a twenty-five-year-old to have. He tipped his head toward the front door. “Come on.”

I walked beside him up the stone staircase and tried not to think that this might someday be my home. Our home. Unease churned in my stomach. As we got close to the front door, there was a metal click as the lock disengaged with his keycard.

The entryway was quiet and dark as we stepped inside. “What, no one is going to announce me?”

Royce quirked an eyebrow in a silent question.

“Last time I was here—your graduation party? There was a man at the door, announcing everyone when they came in.”

He gave a short, amused laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like some pretentious shit my family would do.”

He was halfway up the grand staircase before he realized I hadn’t followed. He stopped and turned, one foot on the step above the other, casting his intense look down on me. He was framed perfectly on the stairs, and if my heart weren’t already racing, this would have made it. He was a beautiful man, surrounded by danger.

“Where are you going?” My voice came out sounding unsure, and I hated it. What if Macalister was up there? No amount of work could mentally prepare me for it.

“My room,” he said. When I didn’t move, he took in a deep breath. “Just to talk, Marist. We can go to the kitchen if you want, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s home.”

Meaning he wouldn’t be able to say everything he wanted.

I nodded, placed a hand on the smooth banister, and made my way up to join him on the landing. I followed him as he led us deep into the heart of the house, not knowing which room was his. Was last year the first time I’d been upstairs? Most of the times I’d come here, it’d been for some event, and they were usually held in the gardens out back. His graduation party would have been too, except it had rained.