The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

I knew it, because I couldn’t stand anything else to be true.

It was clear Vance wasn’t going to be able to close the deal, and Macalister wasn’t going to let that happen. “I invited your father personally,” he said. “Please, I insist.”

That settled it. She couldn’t refuse the king.

Her voice was timid. “Okay.”

“Excellent,” Macalister said.

Jillian’s gaze fell to her plate, and she looked like a trapped animal, resigned to the cage closed around her. Was that how I’d looked the day I’d made the deal to marry Royce? It felt like a lifetime ago.

I stared at her across the table, feeling nothing but dread. This family was going to eat her alive.

All through dinner, Macalister hadn’t so much as glanced my direction. His indifference toward me made me question if what had happened last night had been real. I was terrified to be alone with him and answer the questions I knew he was going to ask.

But a deal was a deal, and I had no choice.

At seven-thirty, the door to the library was open and Macalister was already waiting inside. But unlike the other nights, he wasn’t seated behind the desk. He stood beside the leather reading chair, his attention on the black cat knotted in a ball on the top of the high chair back. I expected Macalister to shoo Lucifer away.

He lifted a hand, set it on the cat’s head, and stroked all the way down its back.

Lucifer’s apple green eyes popped open and peered up at the man petting him and, after a moment’s consideration, he decided he would allow it. As Macalister stroked the cat again, Lucifer stretched and gave a rumbling, content purr.

Macalister was in side-profile to me, unaware I was watching him. As his face softened into a smile, I fractured. Maybe all the Hales had two sides, but I didn’t want to see this other version of him. I could only deal with him as Zeus—uncaring god of the mortals. He was complex enough like that.

“Royce told me you hated the cat,” I said quietly.

Macalister straightened and dropped his hand like Lucifer had burned him. He wasn’t pleased I’d caught him being affectionate and tried to hide his embarrassment with a dark glare. “And I told you that you shouldn’t trust anything he says.”

He strode to the chessboard and sat, which meant I had to shut the door and join him.

“What is it about mythology that appeals to you?” he asked as we began playing.

I didn’t want to have this discussion. “I’m not sure I can explain it.”

He found my lack of answer unacceptable and let me know with his sharp tone. “Try.”

I sighed. “So, you have these gods, who have power and immortality and are supposed to be superior . . . and yet, they’re so much worse than the mortals. They’re spiteful and jealous, full of lust and wrath. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.” I tried not to get distracted by talking. I had to focus on the board and defend my queen. “They’re people’s terrible, basic instincts, but amplified.”

“You’re saying you enjoy reading about horrible things happening to horrible people.”

Was he teasing me? His sense of humor was so dry, I could rarely tell when he wasn’t being serious. He was in such a good mood tonight. Getting Jillian to agree to be Vance’s date must have been the reason. All his ducks were lining up for him to get everything he wanted.

“When you’re a god,” I said, “there are no consequences, so power corrupts absolutely. It makes for some pretty fascinating and messed up stories.”

There was a long moment of quiet. I couldn’t tell if he was thinking about what I’d said, or his next move.

“Then,” his gaze lifted from the chessboard to meet mine, “after I’ve won this game, you’ll pick out one of your books for me to read. I’ll start with your favorite.”

My heart clunked in my chest. Him reading my favorite book was almost as intimate as him giving me a vibrator. I swallowed thickly, searching for a way to distract. “Who says you’re going to win?”

He blinked slowly. “My knight, most likely. I’m taking your queen in two moves, and then it will all be over.”

Confounded, I stared at the board. How the hell was he going to—

I deflated as I saw what he anticipated.

“You’re a clever girl,” Macalister said, “but you get lost in the game. You’re thinking about each move you make, while I’m at least two moves ahead.”

Just as predicted, in two moves he carried out his plan. My queen was captured, and without my most valuable piece, it was only a matter of time before he had me locked in checkmate.

A victorious smile burned across his lips. “I’ll wait here for you to bring me my book.”

I sighed and climbed out of my chair. I used the short walk to my bedroom to try to figure out which title to give him. Would he want the most literary and sophisticated one from my collection? Or the one I thought he’d tolerate the best?