“How was yours?” he asked.
“It was . . . fine. I went to see him.”
Royce’s movements slowed. “Yeah? How is he?”
There wasn’t an easy answer to my husband’s simplistic question, but Macalister was tough. He was surviving.
There couldn’t be a trial. He wouldn’t allow any scandals to be aired in public, and no one needed to know how twisted and fucked up the Hales were. He took a plea deal to involuntary manslaughter and, given the circumstances of his emotional state following the contentious board meeting, the judge had been lenient in sentencing.
Two years.
It likely felt like a lifetime to Macalister. He was a man who craved control over all things, and he’d been forced to give it away. The state of Massachusetts now told him what to eat, what to wear, when to sleep. The first time I’d seen him in the shapeless khaki-colored uniform, I could barely speak.
He’d looked mortal, but even then, unbreakable. He was a man on the road to redemption, and he was determined to win.
I lifted a shoulder before answering Royce. “He’s looking forward to coming home.”
My husband nodded slowly. “What did you do?”
“We played chess and talked.”
It was the same thing we’d done every time I’d gone to visit him over the last few months. He’d carried the prison’s grimy chessboard over to our table, and we’d moved the pieces around the board, and I pretended like his life was all fine and normal.
I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. It made Royce uncomfortable, although he’d never said it outright. But Macalister had saved my life. He’d lost everything, and by giving him an hour with the illusion he had control, he told me I was saving his.
Royce picked the cat out of my lap and dropped him onto the window seat, encouraging Lucifer to find a new place to settle. “What’d you tell him?”
“I told him you were preparing for the annual shareholder meeting.” A smile curled on my lips. “He had some thoughts on that.”
Royce gave a dry chuckle. “I’m sure he did.”
“And we talked about my job a little.” I’d recently been promoted within HBHC and was on the fast track to become a benefits and compensation manager.
He leaned back against the edge of the desk. His tone was casual, as if he didn’t really care, but I heard the interest beneath it. “Who won the chess match?”
“He did.” I took in a breath as I remembered the moment Macalister had uttered checkmate and followed it up by telling me he suspected I’d let him win.
“I didn’t,” I’d lied. “I’ll just have to come back next month and try again.”
Macalister’s blue eyes had flooded with relief.
I snapped out of the memory. “Oh, and my ‘ridiculous’ hair. He had some thoughts about that too.”
Royce grinned as he straightened. He grabbed my hand, drew me to my feet, and twined his fingers in my hair, pulling firmly on the strands. “This hair isn’t ridiculous. It’s fucking perfect.”
His mouth moved in, latching on to the side of my neck, and my eyes hooded at the sensation. I wanted to melt into him, and I tilted my head to give him better access, in direct opposition to the fake protest I gave. “We’re already late.”
“Whatever. I don’t like parties.” He echoed what he’d said to me the first time we’d been together in this room. “I’d rather stay here in the library with you.”
He carved a path to my lips, and although his mouth was soft, his kiss wasn’t. It was demanding and controlling. It didn’t stay in one spot for long, though. His other hand curled into a ball on the skirt of my dress, ever-so-slowly dragging it up.
“If I put my hand up your skirt right now,” he uttered against the shell of my ear, “would my fingers come away wet?”
Excitement coursed through me as we played the game, acting out the scene from years ago. “Find out,” I challenged.
“Oh, don’t worry.” His gaze was arrogant and seductive. “I plan to.”
I was nearly crushed to death under the weight of my anticipation, but he drew it out. Once his hand was under the layers of my dress, he dragged his palm from one thigh to the other, sliding them over my legs but not touching me where I wanted him most.
A gasp punched from me as I was turned roughly and pushed against the nearby bookcase, so hard it rattled, and I had to brace my hands on a shelf. He sank his teeth into my bare back, not biting hard enough to leave a mark, only hard enough to make me weak with desire. This time he used both hands on my skirt, and it came up much faster.
“I’m going to fuck you under this dress.”
I moaned my approval and pushed back against him, rubbing my ass over the erection building inside his pants. He reached around my body and slid his hand over the damp crotch of my panties.