God, I was going to burst out of my skin as we arrived at the Hale estate and exited the car. I stared up at the stone house, lit warmly from the outside, but the windows were dark and secretive. My mouth was dry when we wordlessly climbed the steps and went inside.
Would we go straight to his bedroom, or would he start us off in the front room?
Neither.
Macalister gave me an authoritarian look and pointed to the door that led to the dining room. We were in his palace now and disobeying his orders would be treasonous.
Breath halted in my lungs as I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
I’d thought he’d been answering emails during the drive, and perhaps he had been, but at some point, he’d contacted his staff and instructed them to prepare the room.
Two candelabras evenly spaced on the long dining table, and one on a side buffet, were all that lit the enormous room. White tapers flickered in each of their five arms, but the wax had barely begun to drip, so they hadn’t been burning long. They must have been lit as we’d passed the front gate.
The Hale dining room was deadly formal, and even in my fancy pink gown, I felt subconsciously underdressed. The walls were paneled in rich wood, and the elaborate chandelier seemed to have a billion crystals in it, every facet glinting in the flickering candlelight.
The table was only set for one, the seat to the right of the head chair. The white plate contained a slice of a decadent looking dessert. Chocolate torte? The ganache on top was glossy and flawless, decorated with a single raspberry and gold flakes, and between the layers of chocolate cake was a sinfully red jam.
I was instantly hungry looking at the sexy dessert, but there was only one fork and napkin set beside it. I couldn’t imagine he intended to share with me, and when I glanced at him, his expression didn’t reveal whatever he was plotting.
But he was definitely plotting something.
“I’ve decided you’ll be naked for the remainder of the evening.” He announced it the same way he told me he wanted another cup of coffee. “I need to go upstairs for a minute. When I return, you will be sitting,” he motioned toward the dessert, “in that seat.” The candlelight made him look wicked and sinister. “And you will be waiting for me in the nude.”
All the moisture evaporated from my body as he turned and walked out the door.
TWENTY-ONE
SOPHIA
MY DRESS WAS FOLDED AS NEATLY AS POSSIBLE, and I placed it on the cushion of the seat beside me, my shoes tucked beneath the chair. I was stark naked and fucking freezing as I sat in front of the dessert, my arms crossed over my chest to hold in my warmth.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long.
The door behind me creaked open, and I straightened in my seat, turning to glance at Macalister over my shoulder. He was still in his tuxedo, and I wasn’t sure which was more appealing to look at, him or the slice of rich chocolate cake. He looked pleased I’d done as told as he strolled confidently to the ornate chair at the head of the table.
“Eat,” he commanded after he undid the button of his jacket and sat, his intense gaze feasting on all my bare skin.
Instinctively, I picked up the fork and prepared to use it but paused with a thought. “Aren’t you having any?”
His eyes were electric, connected to the sexual current flowing through the intimately lit room. “I would like to watch as you enjoy this.”
I gulped down a breath, speared my fork into the cake, and pushed the first bite into my mouth. The raspberry and chocolate combination was one I loved, with just the right amount of sweetness. It was rich and exquisite.
And—oh—how he stared at me, like I was the sexiest thing ever. His gaze traced the lines of my body, flowing over my breasts and the hardened points of my nipples. It made my heart flutter, and if I weren’t already freezing, it would have caused goosebumps.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Oh, my God, it’s so good.”
It was arousing and sensual, this act of him observing me as I devoured the dessert in slow, savoring bites. It was the mirror image of the sex we’d had, reversed so I was the one receiving the most pleasure, but he got enjoyment out of watching me experience it.
There was only one bite left. “Do you want some?”
He sat in the chair beside me, his elbow on the armrest and his thumb brushing methodically over his knuckles, like he was eager to get to the next part but trying not to show it. “Finish.”
I put the fork in my mouth, closed my lips around it, and pulled it out oh-so-slowly with my hooded gaze holding his. His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched, not with dissatisfaction, but with desire.