The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

Oh, my God.

His icy eyes wandered down over my frame. “Marriage is a partnership, and we need to know what kind of woman you are, Marist. If you would be willing to step in and do what needs to be done to protect the Hale name, no matter how hard it was.” His inescapable gaze connected with mine. “Would you?”

I dragged air into my body. I wasn’t touching Royce, but I could feel him near, lingering behind me. “Yes,” I whispered.

This faint smile from Macalister was the most sinister of them all. “Then we ask that you prove it.” He nodded to Royce. “You’ll bind yourself not just to him, but to this board.”

There was a tug at my back, and my eyes widened. He was undoing the knots on my corset.

Holy. Fuck.

Macalister pulled the untouched glass of champagne from my grasp. I’d forgotten it existed, and as soon as my hands were empty, I pressed them to the front of my dress. My chest heaved, but the dress was a skeleton of boning and fabric, caging me in. I fluttered nakedly inside my prison, not ready to be released.

I held the dress as the laces at my back were loosened, my gaze fixed on Macalister, although I sensed the other men as well. I felt their heavy eyes scouring me, waiting with bated breath.

The back of my dress was undone by Royce’s sure hands, and with my flesh bared to only him, he took advantage. It was his favorite part of a woman, after all. His palms crept inside and slid over my skin just like he’d done in the library upstairs last year.

That night had been a century ago.

Neither of us should be those people right now. I was supposed to be the girl who could handle anything. But I came undone when Royce’s lips ghosted a kiss against my back.

“Be Medusa,” he whispered.

I sucked in a final breath, let go of my dress, and as it cascaded down my body, I unleashed my power, turning all the men into stone.

FIFTEEN

THE RED DRESS COASTED DOWN MY LEGS until it was a heap of satin and tulle at my ankles. I wasn’t wearing a bra since the dress molded to my body and offered support. I stood before the board in nothing more that a pair of lace panties.

My mind was as motionless as the men looking at me.

Of course, it was Macalister who recovered first. His gaze washed down and hovered on my breasts. Invisible fingers slipped over me, tracing the curves of my exposed, sensitive flesh. His attention lingered on my nipples, teasing the distended tips with a featherlight touch.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. His hand extended to me in an offer. Or a demand. I was bashful and wanted to cover myself, but what was the point? I wasn’t done until they’d seen it all.

I stared at his hand, unsure.

“I can’t make him my proxy,” Macalister said, “until we’ve begun.”

Meaning the initiation hadn’t officially started.

I didn’t know how I had the strength, but I reached out and took Macalister’s cold hand. He used his hold to urge me to step free of the dress, but once I had, he didn’t release me. He squeezed my fingers and guided me to walk with him.

My breasts swayed with each inelegant step I took in the red bottomed heels Alice had dressed me in, and I held my body tight and careful. It was a sexual promenade to the far end of the enormous dining table with a court of hungry men in tuxedos trailing behind us. There was something darkly powerful about it. I was the queen, and their desire made them my subjects.

When we reached the head of the table, Macalister let go of me and pulled the large, ornate chair out of the way. More chairs scraped over the rug and hardwood as they were dragged away, making room for the board. Royce moved in, turning me so my back was to the men and he became all I could see. He smoothed his warm palms over my stomach, sliding them around my body until they came to rest on the small of my back. His eyes searched my face, desperate to make sure I was okay.

It was so much easier like this when he was all that existed. I pressed my body against his, flattening my breasts to his dress shirt. We couldn’t stay like this forever, though. He’d come to me with a purpose, and his fingers hesitantly inched toward the lace. It was the last scrap of fabric hiding me from everyone else.

It had to be quite the image. I was nearly naked in his arms, while the men gathered around the table. Once again, four on one side and three on the other, the Hales and I at the end. It tasted like pennies in my mouth, which I found ironic until I realized I’d bitten the inside of my cheek so hard I’d drawn blood.