The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

He sighed with relief and dropped his head into the crook of my neck. “You are amazing. You know that? Ever since you made the deal, I’ve fucking tried to get us out of this. Every day, I tried. I even went to the board, but they wouldn’t vote against my father.”

I was verging on overload and tears stung my eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I should have said no. At the very least, I should have told you.”

That was true. However, Macalister had said I was an equal and my opinion mattered, but only if I expressed it. And I couldn’t deal with anything right now. The shock was still in my system, numbing me from processing it. I only knew what I needed right this second.

“Would you just shut up?” I pleaded. “And fucking kiss me?”

Surprise rippled through him and was gone in a flash. He crushed his lips to mine, and his kiss was all-consuming. I was grateful not to be standing when he gave it to me because I went softer than the melted wax puddling on the drip catchers of the candelabras.

He pulled his coat away, not wanting anything between us. His bare chest was tacky with sweat like mine, and I enjoyed how our skin clung to each other. Like every part of me wanted to be connected to him. He planted kisses against my lips and dipped his tongue into my mouth, coaxing me to slide mine against his. It was exactly the kind of kiss I’d craved when he’d first pushed inside my body.

Better late than never.

The kiss ended slowly and reluctantly. We both wanted more, but knew time was running out.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said softly, pulling me up in his arms until I was sitting. “Are you okay?”

I honestly didn’t know. My emotions were on lockdown, so nothing was getting in or out. “I think so.” I climbed to stand on my unsteady legs. “What about you?”

“Me?” He considered it with a dubious expression. “I’m sure it’s nothing a few decades of very expensive therapy can’t fix.”

I wanted to laugh, except I didn’t find it particularly funny.

He grabbed his coat and dug around in the interior pocket, producing a stack of tissues. My breath clung, sticky in my throat, as he gently wiped one between my legs, cleaning up the mess. It was oddly caring, yet sexual at the same time.

He disposed of the tissues as I stood naked next to the table, one hand on it to support myself. When he came back to me, he picked up my underwear and attempted to help me put it on, but I shooed his hands away. It’d be faster if I did it. We dressed ourselves quickly and quietly, him buttoning and redoing his bowtie and me pulling the heavy dress back on.

“I need your help,” I said softly, turning to show him the unlaced dress.

“Of course.”

The act of him lacing the corset? It was infinitely more sensual and intimate than when he’d helped me take it off. His knuckles brushed over my back, and I suspected most of the time it was intentional. Which was silly.

“I’m yours, Royce,” I whispered. “You can touch me whenever you’d like.”

He set his hands on me, halfway between my shoulders and my neck, and eased me back against him. His solid chest at my back was comforting, and he used his hands to angle my head to the side. It made room for him to drop his head and nuzzle a kiss into the side of my neck.

It must have given him a reminder. He stepped away and went to the black box on the buffet table, retrieving my great-grandmother’s necklace. Or, my necklace now.

I shook my head. “Your father said it was too much.”

“I say it’s not.” He gave me a knowing look. “Which one of us would you like to disappoint?”

Oh. I smiled in understanding. Like the cat his father hated, this necklace was a small act of defiance, and I wholeheartedly approved.

Rather than go out into the entryway like the board had done, Royce unlocked the door leading to the enormous kitchen and ushered me through. It was bustling with the catering crew who ignored us. Alice had been lying in wait. She ambushed us, grabbed my wrist, and tugged me toward her while firing a glare at Royce.

“Leave us,” she said to him without a hint of warmth.

Her curt tone surprised us both, but he nodded. “I’ll be in the hall when you’re ready,” he said.

We watched him go, and then she focused in on me. “I needed to see if you’re all right,” she said softly. “I mean, to make sure everything is okay,” she drew the words out, “with your hair and makeup.”

My gaze dropped down to her hand still clinging to my wrist, and I understood the subtext. She was concerned about me. Her clipped tone to Royce was her being protective.