The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

When I returned and presented the book to him, he examined it with disdain. “This is your favorite?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“And, being that it’s your favorite, I assume you’ve read it multiple times.” He thumbed through the book, showing off its pristine pages and unmarred spine.

“Uh . . .” I was so busted. I’d only read it once. “I thought this was the one you’d like best.”

He shut it with a loud slam and thrust the book toward me. “That’s not what I asked for, though, is it?”

“No, I’m sorry.” His disappointment was so heavy it was crushing, and I needed relief. “I’ll be right back.” I grabbed it from him and took off for my bedroom.

When I returned with the black book and its well-worn gold embossed cover, Macalister’s displeasure faded. He took the hardcover book from me, his gaze scanning the printing on the front before opening it and reading the inside flap of the dust jacket.

He asked it without looking at me, as if he were only mildly curious. “Are you looking forward to tonight?”

His question opened me up and filled my interior with concrete.

“It’s all I could think about today,” he added.

It became impossible to breathe. Everything in me was too tight, too strained. “Macalister,” I pleaded.

I couldn’t have picked a worse thing to say. His eyes lidded with desire, and he licked his full lips, like I looked delicious and was about to be devoured.

“I enjoy the way you say my name.” His expression teemed with dangerous lust. “Like it’s nearly unspeakable—a word too filthy to say out loud.”

I pressed my hand to my chest and took a blind step backward, but he matched it with a step forward of his own, keeping me only an arm’s length away.

“You’ll say it tonight,” he said.

What? I shook my head. “No. I won’t.”

He hardened at my refusal. “You will. You’ll think about me, and when the pleasure is too much, you’ll say my name.”

“No.” I found my footing and my spine. He’d gotten me to do a lot of things, but . . . “You can try to control me all you want, but you can’t tell me what to think. You can’t make me think about you.”

Excitement danced in his vibrant eyes. “You gave me complete control over your experience. That was the deal we agreed on. You say I can’t make you think about me, but I’m already two moves ahead, Marist.” His voice swelled with power. “I can, and I will.”

ELEVEN

ROYCE LURKED OUTSIDE THE LIBRARY, leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway, his thumbs hooked inside his pants pockets. He took one look at my flushed face, straightened from the wall, and his gaze flew to the library door in accusation.

“What did he do?” he demanded.

Nothing I didn’t agree to.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “We were just talking.” I was still terrible at lying, but at least this was merely a bend of the truth. Macalister hadn’t actually done anything to me.

Not yet. But worry spread through my veins like a virus replicating itself. He was a relentless man who was never satisfied, which meant he wouldn’t stop. Not even when he got what he wanted.

“Did you need something?” I asked.

My breath caught as Royce moved in, taking up all the space in the hallway so he was the only thing I could see. He was high cheekbones, dark hair, and gorgeous eyes that penetrated all the way down to my bones.

“Yeah.” His voice was low and thick. “Let’s go out. I don’t care where, just someplace that’s not here.”

To make sure there was no misinterpretation of his intentions, he put his hand on the wall beside my head and his knee between my legs, leaning in. The contact of his thigh against the cleft of my body looked tame, but I shuddered. He shifted his leg, rubbing against me and creating tension and fire.

It drove me to put my hand on his chest, and I marveled at how steady his heartbeat was. Mine was rapid and uneven.

“Or do you want to stay in and break some rules?” he murmured. His seductive voice wasn’t playing fair. I wanted that very much.

“I can’t.” As I eased him back, my body mourned the loss.

“No?”

“No,” I whispered. Because of what I’d done with his father last night, and what I had to do again tonight. My betrayal seemed slightly less awful if I wasn’t intimate with Royce at the same time. I just needed one more day with my freedom to get what I needed.

Plus, I couldn’t go anywhere with him, anyway. I had less than two hours before I had to play Macalister’s fucked up game.

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “What were you talking about in there?”

“Nothing.”

He frowned. “Tell me. Maybe I can help you.”