His gaze drifted down my body, and I’d swear he could see through my clothes to the lingerie he’d bought me, but then his attention turned back to Penelope. “Sophia tells me you’re a photographer. Do you do portraits?”
My friend nearly collapsed in her surprise. She hadn’t expected me to mention her to him. “Uh . . . yes, sir.” She stumbled to get her words out. “I have before.”
He looked pleased. “I need a new family portrait taken.”
Penelope was dubious. “You want me to do it?”
He had, until that moment. Macalister didn’t like repeating himself, and my friend was about to lose this opportunity, which she couldn’t afford to. She had struggled to launch her business on the side this past year, and like me, still lived at home with her parents. Photographing the Hales would be huge for her.
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Penelope’s work is fantastic. When were you thinking?”
He turned his head toward me. “You’ll have to coordinate schedules. A weekend would be easiest.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Excellent.” He held my gaze for a fraction of a second too long, just enough time to create a moment, and then he walked away, the conversation over.
She watched him as he went, her stare unblinking. “Did that, like, happen? Did I just book a job with Macalister Hale?”
I smiled. I’d sort of done that for her, but I didn’t say it. She was frozen, a nervous look plastered on her face, and it was . . . strange. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “I’m going to fuck it up.”
“What?”
Self-doubt seeped into her expression. “What if he doesn’t like what I come up with?”
She was being silly. “You’re awesome, and—hello? Have you seen the Hales? They’re the most photogenic people on the planet.”
I eased her doubt somewhat, but she shook her head, making her long brown hair sway. “I don’t know how you do it. I couldn’t spend every day with him.” She lowered her voice. “He scares the crap out of me.”
My voice was matter-of-fact, but my pulse quickened. “He’s not so bad. He grows on you after a while.”
She didn’t believe me, but it was the truth. He’d grown on me so much, I was pretty concerned I was falling for him.
During the limo ride to Macalister’s house, he retrieved a bottle of water from the side bar, opened it, and passed it to me. Arrogance glittered in his eyes. “You mentioned to your friend you were becoming dehydrated.”
“Oh, my God,” I muttered, wanting to sink into the seat and disappear. “How much did you hear?”
He ignored my question. “Drink.” I did, and when I lowered the bottle from my lips, a confident smile crept onto his face. “You said I’m a million times better than Tate, but you’re actually fourteen billion short.”
I snickered at how he flaunted his wealth. “You’re so extra.”
He paused. “Extra . . . what?”
Of course he wasn’t familiar with the phrase. “It’s a thing people say. It means you’re too much. Like you’re trying too hard.”
“I don’t try too hard.” He hesitated, considering something, and his voice went quiet. “But I will admit I do try, Sophia.”
Since the partition was up and the driver couldn’t see us, Macalister was free to touch me however he wanted. His hand went to my knee, slipped beneath the hem of my dress, and moved up until it rested on the band of lace decorating the top of my thigh-high stocking I’d worn for him.
“You flattered me tonight.” His fingertips traced the curves of the scalloped edge against my bare skin. “You flatter me every night when you’re in my bed, and you should be aware I will do everything in my power to keep you there. I know this arrangement we have isn’t ideal, but it’s unfortunately one of the few things I cannot control.”
I was short of breath from both his touch and his words. “I know.”
It was the most we’d ever said about our relationship. I thought we worried if we tried to define it, the other would back away, so we continued in our precarious situation as secret lovers and friends, unsure if it would develop into more. I didn’t want to think about the future, because doing so was too fucking scary.
Macalister’s legacy was everything to him. If he had to choose between me and his reputation, well . . . that would be one of the easiest decisions he’d ever have to make. The way I felt about him now, though, meant he’d have to make it eventually, and I wanted to put that off as long as possible.
Macalister lowered the corner of the business section of the Globe and eyed the half-eaten breakfast on my plate. “Did you not care for it?”
I took the final sip of my orange juice and picked up my phone. The egg-white and spinach omelet wasn’t really my thing. “I’m more of a bacon and pancakes kind of girl.”