by Angel Payne
“Ho-ly shit.” Claire wrenched at my hand, pulling the syllables apart from each other in apparent shock.
“What?” I queried. “You all right? Did you leave something upstairs?”
She shook her head and stared harder at the car. “That’s not the town car.”
I didn’t restrain the cockiness from my grin. Twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes of nearly every day, the money in my bank account was often more a burden than a celebration. Right now, I selfishly seized every moment from my daily allotment of fun. “Hmmm. You’re right. It’s not.”
“That’s a twenty-twelve Aston Martin Vantage with custom rims.”
I stopped to let her see my wider grin. “You’re exactly right.”
“And you’re surprised.”
“Yeah. But mostly turned on.” I lifted wolfish brows at her. “You can show me your Hot Wheels side anytime, San Diego.”
She flushed and laughed. Goddamn, I loved doing that to her. “Well…she’s beautiful.”
“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You clearly haven’t seen me in the morning.”
“Then maybe I should.” Our gazes met over the door I’d just pulled open for her. In the dancing amber depths of her irises was all the same curious passion that had drawn me in from the day we met—only now that magic was focused on me. “Maybe just for comparison purposes,” I drawled. “So that I can roll over, pull you close, and again tell you that Damrys has nothing on you.”
After I climbed behind the wheel and gunned Damrys from the garage, I expected the requisite eye roll and inquisition as to the sanity of naming my car. As always, Claire stunned me by simply stating, “So…Damrys. That’s an interesting name.”
I focused on the highway as we sped out to Highland Park. “You’re right. It is.”
“Do I get to know who she was?”
My mother.
The woman who couldn’t bear watching me being raised by another, and chose to leave my life, instead.
I clenched my jaw along with the steering wheel to hold back from uttering it.
“She’s dead now, baby. It doesn’t matter.”
Traffic was good to us, so we pulled up to the Italianate gates of Keystone in no time. Fate was in a generous mood; I received a bonus five minutes of fun watching Claire unroll her window to stare at the grounds as we passed the tennis courts, waterfalls, duck pond, jogging trail, pool, amphitheater, and the miniature forest that had been my childhood playground. When I finally drove beneath the lighted archway and parked in the tiled inner courtyard, I ended up having to lean over and push her mouth closed with two fingers. Surprisingly, she didn’t retaliate with a single glare, good-natured or not.
“Are we in Rome?” she finally asked in an awed rasp.
I darted a fast glance around. The only eyes watching
us belonged to Trixie, one of the kitchen cats, who lolled atop a decorative copper pumpkin outside the door to her home, currently cracked open a bit and bursting with the smell of fresh-baked soda bread.
With decisive speed, I pulled on Claire’s nape and planted a hard, thorough kiss on her lips. “Welcome to Keystone. I’m glad you like it so far.”
She gave me a soft smile. “You grew up here, Killian. Of course I like it.”
With a goofball grin on my face now, I fought back the temptation to lead her toward the kitchen instead of the front door. I waved her up the graceful stone steps ahead of me, thankful that chivalry earned me an ideal ass and hips view. If I couldn’t touch, I could sure as hell ogle.
“Mr. Killian. A very good evening to you.”
“Hey there, William.” As usual, I had to grab the butler’s hand from behind his back to shake it. I couldn’t stand the bow-and-scrape shit, even if I wasn’t a resident here anymore. “How are you doing? How’s the tennis elbow?”
“It’s much better this week, Mr. Killian. My thanks for your concern.”
Claire finally tilted a questioning smirk. “‘Mr. Killian’?”
I shrugged. “Counting Grandfather Lawrence, there can be as many as five Mr. Stone’s in this place at one time. It’s a necessity. For a few years, I tried for a simple ‘Killian,’ but no dice.”
“Mr. Stone values tradition.” William’s chiding subtext wasn’t lost on Claire, who let the dimples deepen in her cheeks.
I sent a mock glower at the man. “That works for scotch selection, Will, but not a world where people are known by their hashtags.”
William’s brows rose to give me his silent censure once more. I grinned back, relishing our usual banter. “So what, may I ask, is the ‘hashtag’ for your friend?” he queried, smiling down at Claire. When he angled his gaze back at me, I watched one edge of his mouth lift, already reading the thoughts I had to sequester to silence.
How about hashtag-goddess? Hashtag-fairy-fantasy-queen? Hashtag-my obsession?
“This is Miss Claire Montgomery. She’s a member of the team helping Trey out of his mire, though she stayed a little longer at the office at my request. I needed some data from the day explained.”
Though William’s nod was as urbane as always, his gray eyes studied Claire with all-seeing interest. “It’s truly a pleasure, Miss Montgomery. If only Mr. Josiah and Mrs. Willa were here to make your acquaintance, as well. Alas, they’re in Paris for another ten days, at least. Perhaps another time?” His pointed tone told me the question wasn’t intended for Claire at all.
“Another time, indeed,” I answered, overcome by an odd nervousness. The idea of bringing Claire here for the express purpose of passing my parents’ inspection…it struck me as all wrong and fucking disgusting. I should have known fate would find a way to get even for the bonus feel-good minutes. “Will, I’ve made Cla—Miss Montgomery—late for her duties with the team. Are they in the upstairs or downstairs study?”
“Upstairs, Mr. Killian. I’d be most happy to show her there, since I believe a certain someone in the kitchen has been preparing for your visit.”
“Yesssss.”
After ensuring a plate of dinner would be prepared and taken to Claire, I hurried toward the kitchen. Though my stomach growled, my heart was just as overjoyed to behold the woman at the chopping block, humming her favorite Prince tune while slicing up the fresh soda bread. I slipped up behind her, lifted the gray-tinged mahogany hair off her neck, and snaked a kiss onto her lightly-lined cheek. She squealed and jumped.
“Lord love a duck! Killian Stone, you scared all nine lives out of your Kitty!”
My answering grin actually hurt my face. “Awww, come on. You baked that sin on a slab knowing I’d be slinking in here eventually.”
“Slinking? Pssshhh. I expected you to come in asking for some with some manners to ya, not sneaking in like some pervert down the back stairs.”
“You like perverts on your back stairs.” I leaned over and grabbed a whole slab of the bread, taking a huge bite before she could prevent the swipe.
“I’ve got a knife in my hand, boy.”
“I’ve noticed. Kinda turns me on.”
Her blue eyes spread wide. “My word. You’re in quite a state tonight.”
I took advantage of her shock to sneak another piece of bread. “Nah. Last time I checked, I was still in Illinois.”
The door across the kitchen opened. My chest filled with more happiness when another familiar face filled the opening. The man’s rugged jaw was ruddy from the chilly night, his eyes a little tired. Like Kitty, gray had started to edge his hair, but was more noticeable due to the fact that he simply had more of it. “Well, well,” he murmured with a smile. “Look what the soda bread dragged through the door.” He grunted as I hauled him into a hard hug. Returning the ferocity of the embrace, he added, “Good to see you, Kil.”
“That’s our Banyan.” Kitty added a snort to her deliberate use of the man’s nickname, a direct reference to the man’s lanky limbs and thick ponytail. “King of downplay, as usual.”
Th
e man sighed. “Now, Kit—”
“He’s been concerned, Killian. Not that I blame him. Good lord and all the saints, what you’ve had to deal with since February…”
“I haven’t been battling the dragons alone,” I interjected.
“Hmmpphh,” Kit countered. “You mean that ‘team’ from California? The land of the fruits and nuts?”
“Kit. God’s toes!”
“Don’t be bringing the holy pedicure into this, Ban. How much good are those people really doing if Trey got free long enough to take a bath with a Bengal tiger?”
“And Trey, a thirty-one year-old man, wasn’t one bit responsible for the foolishness?”
I waited, expecting Kit to rattle off another memorable one-liner. When she didn’t, I decided to jump off a damn cliff and fill the air with something really interesting.
“They’re doing more good than you may think, Kit.”
Both of them straightened. They weren’t stupid people, nor were they strangers to me. Hell, they were both the opposite. And since they both knew me better than I knew myself, their ensuing stares didn’t surprise me. I just didn’t count on the experience being so unnerving. I was used to dishing out this kind of scrutiny, not taking it.
“Kil?” asked Ban. “What’re you saying, boy?”
Kit slammed her knife down with a loud whump. “Oh, are you that addled?” She swung her head toward me, a grin suddenly blooming across it. “What he means is, what’s her name, boy? And while you’re at it, just tell us everything else about her.”
Ban shook his head. A contemplative smile twitched at his lips, too. “I don’t think he has that much time, dear.” He tilted his head and intensified his stare. “Do you, Kil?”
I couldn’t help letting my lips lift, as well. Fuck, it felt so good to simply confess this to someone. “No,” I admitted, “I don’t. But I can tell you that her name is Claire.”
Kit’s shoulders perked a little higher. “Ooohhh, that’s a good start. What a beautiful…Irish…name.”
I chuckled before adding, “How about adding Montgomery to it?”
“How about I thank the saints and faint dead away now?”
While I laughed, Ban scooted around the block, solemn intention on his angular face. “I don’t care if she’s half Swahili and half Martian.” He stopped directly in front of me. “Do you care about her truly, Kil? In the depths of your heart?”
For a long moment, I remained immobile. I hadn’t come in here planning to spill my damn guts about all this, especially since “secrecy” could damn near be the theme song for everything I had so far with Claire. Having to tamp down how I felt for her through so much of the day left me stuttering in the face of the question in its barefaced honesty.
What did I really feel for her? And now that I had permission to answer the question for the only two people in my life who didn’t care if the name on my birth certificate read Stone or Smith, was I ready to admit the truth? Could I handle it?
With a twist of my own head, I looked back to Ban. “Right before we left the office to come here, Claire and I had a little tiff,” I told him. “When I asked her to clarify a point for me, she answered me with ‘nothing.’”
The wrinkles at the corners of his mouth twitched. “And what’d you do?”
“The same.” I scowled. “Nothing.”
“Excuse me?” Kit gawked like I’d confessed to having Claire’s name tattooed on my penis.
“And the thing is, it’s still bugging the shit out of me.” I glanced up at Ban, feeling a hundred kinds of stupid and a thousand kinds of clueless. “What the hell does that mean, ‘nothing’?”
The man scooped me into another warm embrace. “Congratulations, boy. That means you’ve got it bad.”
I kept my eyes closed even when he pulled away, holding his scent in my senses just a couple seconds longer. Soda bread. Smoke. Old Spice. Home. “I’m not sure I should thank you for that.”
“Because it scares the hell out of you?”
“Yeah.”
The man’s face creased on a full laugh. “That’s a good sign, Kil. A damn good sign.”
Chapter Sixteen
Claire
As my computer booted up on the conference table, I checked my watch and smirked. If Killian was on his normal morning schedule, he’d be finding what I left on his desk right about now. I’d snuck into his office this morning under the guise of leaving reports needing his immediate attention. What I’d dropped off instead was a shiny red apple, a wooden ruler—and the hope that he’d see the humor in my gesture.
I opened my inbox and struggled to focus. And nearly jumped out of my skin when my cell phone vibrated. Though it was still in the confines of my purse, I snuck a peek at it.
Glad teacher approves. Guess whose ass I’m using this on tonight?
Instantly, my mind swirled with a new fantasy. I saw him with dark intent in his eyes, approaching me with the ruler. Heard my answering gasp as he spun me around then yanked off my panties. Could imagine the taunting strokes he’d give my ass with the ruler while he whispered dirty things about pleasure and pain in my ear…
I squirmed in my seat and made three typos in my first email. I had no one to blame but myself. Awakening new sides of the man was a daily adventure, but so far, Playful Killian was my favorite. Strike that. Second favorite—only to Stunning Sex God Killian.
After the Lincoln Zoo gala, the media seemed to be everywhere. They even started following our team around, knowing we worked closely with Trey and Killian. Creativity became a new game for Killian and I, especially due to the necessity of keeping things “strictly professional” in front of Margaux. To compensate, he opened an email account under an alter ego, Long Duk Dong, who’d grown fond of sending me messages every morning that alternated between filthy and hilarious. By the time lunch break came, I couldn’t wait to have him all to myself. Naturally, we’d discovered every broom and supply closet in the SGC building while we were at it.
During one of those breaks, he’d surprised me by shuttling me off to a private lab, where he let me watch a tech draw his blood and test it for all the common STDs. I’d been so moved that I instantly did the same. Since I was on birth control already for controlling cramps, I’d been begging him to stop scrambling for condoms. We’d celebrated our mutual “clean” reports by attacking each other in the town car, entering the building through the basement when we returned. The secrecy sucked, but keeping our “thing” off the press’s radar was a vital necessity.
We split many of our days between SGC and Keystone, consumed with damage control after Trey’s escapade. During our few free hours during the nights, I was obsessed with control of another kind—my libido—as Killian drove me to higher planes of pleasure while wrapped around him in his penthouse. Though we kept my room at the hotel to thwart suspicion from the media and Margaux, I now came and went from his building with such regularity that the door staff were on standing orders to see me in without calling for Killian’s permission. I was officially on “VIP” status at Lincoln Park 2550.
Self-high five.
Finally, Killian was fed up with what he called our “Post-It notes of time.” He called early on a Tuesday, ordering me to pack a bag and clear most of the upcoming weekend. We’d be in “condo hibernation” mode from Friday night through Monday dawn.
As the next three days dragged by, I admitted to fantasizing about the time more than any other date in my life. I shook my head more than once during the process. Calling Killian Stone a “date” seemed blasphemous. This man was in a league of his own.
Friday night finally came. I rolled my overnight case into the entryway with me, fully prepared for the weekend.
As soon as I stepped into the living room, my stomach somersaulted in all the best ways. The lights in the room were softened. The fireplace crackled. Soft music played through the surround sound speakers. Fantastic smells unfurled from the kitchen, the savory notes hinting at a menu of things savory, che
esy, and French. I vowed to wave the white flag if Killian could cook on top of every other drive-me-crazy element about him.
A quick peek into the kitchen revealed it as empty, though I saw two glasses of wine poured and waiting on the counter. Quickly after that, I noticed the open balcony door. A chilly breeze kicked in, blowing across the zebra wood floor, past my high-heeled boots and beneath my long skirt to my bare legs. It had rained most of the day but the showers were full of springtime balm, so I hadn’t worn anything except panties beneath my work clothes. However, the night had a nip, and I was still a California girl wimp, so I allowed myself a quick shiver.
I grabbed the glasses from the counter and headed toward the slider to find my handsome host. He turned as I approached, making me tremble for completely different reasons. He was more breathtaking than the city skyline view, dressed in a cream-colored sweater that enhanced his swimmer’s torso to perfection, along with soft wool trousers.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, extending a glass.
He smiled as he accepted the wine before stretching to wrap his other hand around my nape, pulling me to where he stood. Simply continuing the motion, he greeted me with a warm, thorough kiss that banished my chill, sizzled through my veins, and had me whimpering by the time he pulled away.
I couldn’t help swaying toward him, prying my eyes half open to glimpse if I affected him half as much as he did me. My vision was filled with his thick lashes, still closed against his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to mine, appearing as if he prayed to some deity with a mixture of penitence and praise. His shoulders were tense around his ears, and I wasn’t sure how to react. The man’s intensity, both daunting and beautiful since the first moment we’d shaken hands, now seemed to climb exponentially with each passing day.
After a long moment, he exhaled and let his shoulders drop. He kissed me again, this time with a different purpose. Desperation? Need? Passion? All three? The latter seemed the most likely as he set his glass on the sheltered ledge then lifted his other hand to my head, twisting fingers through my hair and plundering my mouth anew. I felt anchored to him, accepting the fervid strokes of his tongue with open mewls, letting him suck and bite at my lips and jaw while traveling his mouth to my ear.