No More Masquerade

by Angel Payne

  “I mean three weeks. You and me. Your birthday is coming up; I thought we could celebrate with a splash. Italy and France, maybe Spain if we have time. Rome? Venice? Marseilles? Paris? What sounds good?” His gaze narrowed when I could do nothing with mine but gawk. “We leave in ten days, so I can have the travel girls tweak the arrangements. I know you’ve also lusted after Tuscany. It’s harder to get to but we could work in a small side trip if you—” He halted, eyes searching my face and taking on a panicked glint. I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen that look on his face. It stunned me just as much as what he’d said. “Claire?” He tapped a nervous thumb on his thigh. “For God’s sake, say something.”

  I swallowed, forcing myself to comply. “I—it’s—well—whoa. Three weeks. Wow.”

  “Which means what in English?”

  I felt like an ass. Shock had me going for the non-stop stammer, and it all seemed to be the wrong damn thing.

  “I’m sorry. No, wait—I mean, I’m not sorry, not about—oh, hell. Did Andrea really agree to this? How pissed was she when you—”

  “You’re worried about Andrea?” He looked furious as a wildcat stuck in a barrel over Niagara Falls—with my words as the rushing water.

  “I’m ruining this,” I muttered. “Again.” When Killian’s jaw clenched so hard his chin nearly formed a V, I dropped my head and fell into silence, knowing if I said anything else it would emerge on a tearful blubber.

  Killian yanked me close again. “I have Andrea handled, baby. She’s Barney compared to the T-Rex’s I’ve taken on in my life.”

  I giggled at the image of my boss’s elegant face poking out of a purple Barney costume. But what the hell did he mean by “T-Rex’s”? And wasn’t I not supposed to care anymore, anyway?

  That took care of my resistance to the tears. Perfect. Now I was slinging the waterworks at him, too. And oh, how he loved that…not.

  I pushed away, burying my face in my hands. “Please. I need a re-do, okay? I’ll get this right, I promise.”

  Killian growled. Hard. Right before clutching the back of my neck and forcing my face into the command of his mouth-mashing kiss. A whine tore up my throat, thick and needy. I clawed at his arm, making it my anchor during my ride into blissful surrender.

  “You’re getting it right already.” His voice was as coarse as the steel shavings in his stare. “Understood?”

  I started bawling harder.

  Would he ever stop being amazing? Ever?

  “Oh, baby.” He rubbed my cheek with a big thumb. “Don’t cry. I just wanted to make you happy. We don’t have to go. I can just have the girls cancel and—”

  “Don’t. You. Dare.” Though my order spurred him to more laughter, I added, “I’m crying because I’m happy. And…”

  “And what?”

  “And because of my own stupidity.” I returned his caress, pressing a hand to the magnificent, high plane of his cheek. “You are amazing. And perfect. I’m just not used to all of it…to your generosity, to you filling all my dreams like this. I’m not used to trusting it, to trusting any kind of happiness, so I don’t. Instead, I turn on the soundtrack of suspicion, unwilling to believe that this is really happening.”

  He blinked hard. For a moment, the clarity in his gaze was replaced by a dark gray haze, as if only half his thoughts were still here and half had jumped to the moon. “I know.” His words were so full of commiseration, I felt it to the marrow of my bones.

  I pressed my hand a little tighter to his skin. “You do know, don’t you?” When he reacted simply by kissing me softly, I went on, “I love the surprise. I really do. Thank you, Mr. Stone. Now I just need to pinch myself to assure I’m not dreaming.”

  “Hey.” He threw a mock glower. “If there’s any pinching going on around here, I’ll be the one doing it.” After a quick kiss to my nose, he grinned again, obviously pleased with himself for blowing my mind…again. “Now, no more crying, Miss Montgomery. Let’s get you some food.”

  “Okay.” I giggled and sniffed. “That sounds really good. Maybe a big salad—and an even bigger glass of wine.”

  “Fuck.” He rolled his eyes. “No way. You’re getting a burger. And some goddamn fries. And then the wine.” He finished the look by letting his stare darken back to sensual velvet. “And then me.”

  As usual, the man knew exactly what it took to make my world perfect.

  And for once, I chose to believe that it wouldn’t all disappear tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  Killian

  Magic. It wasn’t a word I tossed around in my usual vernacular. My world, professional and personal, had always been about logistics and realisms. Yes, even on vacation. Even in a city like Venice, Italy.

  This time, it was different. Perhaps even magical.

  I’d been here a handful of times already, always for business and never enjoying the city beyond a few cordial dinners with colleagues—if “enjoying” was the right word. It wasn’t easy to see the allure of a city that was literally sinking into its own lagoon. Of course I knew the history of the place, that turning it into a swamp had saved its ass from enemies back in the day, but medieval warfare had been rife with options for its participants. Burning oil, guys? What about catapulting diseased animals?

  But that was the other Killian. The one who hadn’t yet grasped what magic could be.

  Through Claire’s eyes, I rediscovered… everything. Eating lunch on Torcello sparked a conversation about her passion for Guido Daniele and his whimsical “handimal” art. A trip to Murano turned into an afternoon of seeking out Christmas ornaments for everyone in the SGC home office. At the top of the St. Mark’s Campanile, I saw the world from the clouds…literally.

  The best part of each experience? Ah God, her kisses. Yes. There was always one, a little longer than the rest, that was announced by such a stunning fire in her golden eyes, I forgot all the photographers who were determined to document every second of our adventures. Their lenses clicked nearly as often as Claire’s, though her shutterbug tendencies were easier to tolerate. Having a legitimate excuse for ogling her ass certainly didn’t hurt the cause. It was even easy to dismiss the scowls she flashed when I kept insisting we could return as many times as she wanted. Ultimately, we both knew her skepticism was no match for my resolve. Perhaps it was why she took healthy payback in the form of we’re-in-love selfies to commemorate each of our adventures.

  Hell. The woman had me taking fucking selfies.

  All too soon, it was the night before we were to depart Venice for Rome. Special arrangements for the evening were non-negotiable. I’d learned there was going to be a one-night charity gala performance of La Bohème at the Theatre La Fenice, so it seemed fated that we attend. As a nod to her independence, I had the travel team leave the arrangements on the itinerary, knowing she’d want the advanced notice for packing an appropriate gown and shoes. I simply made sure they left other details off the program, such as the fact that the ticket purchase included every seat in the box, and that her gown would probably need some embellishments…like a pair of Tiffany Aria earrings, just in time for her birthday.

  The selection of the jewelry wasn’t just appropriate. It was perfect. I took advantage of a lull in the music to study how the earrings enhanced her beauty, already a mind-blower of regality by how she’d styled her hair into a high twist, and found myself unable to look away. In the dim light of the back row of our box, she was damn near a secret treasure for my eyes alone. The serene lift of her lips. The gorgeous slope of her neck. The perfect angles of her cheeks. Even the curves of her eyelashes and the perfect sweeps of her eyebrows. No matter where I looked, I found my senses clobbered by her fairy queen scepter…while the woman didn’t show a drop of perspiration for it.

  She ruled me. Possessed me. Terrified me.

  And I loved her completely for it.

  The music soared again. I watched her chest rise as she gave in to the emotion of the scene, her eyes closing as the sop
rano hit a high, emotional note. All the moisture left my mouth as hers parted a little, deeply tempting me to lean over and consume her body the same way the music roared through her soul.

  When she opened her eyes, her head turned and her gaze lifted to mine. I don’t know if she sensed my ongoing scrutiny or just wanted to share the force of the music with me. It didn’t matter. I delved my gaze into hers, drowning in the dark amber depths that took my breath away just as they had the first time I ever saw her. Christ, I’d never get tired of seeing her like this, her stare huge and luminous, brimming with all the intensity of her soul, now tangling around the helpless prisoner of mine. Did the woman know how funny she sounded when marking me as the conquering overlord? Did she know how my heart literally lay at her feet? How one well-placed kick from her would send it sliding into the shadows?

  It was why she could never know the truth now. Why my secret would remain that, no matter what measures it took. She was in love with Killian Stone, not Killian Klarke—simplifying my own choice between the two for the first time in my life.

  As of tonight, Killian Klarke was dead.

  The fires of her eyes made it even simpler to burn the remaining shreds of him in my mind.

  She pulled me back—not that I’d gone very far—with a gorgeous little tilt at the ends of her lips. I dipped closer toward her, letting my stare roam every inch of her face. She averted her gaze, all but broadcasting her blush despite the darkness we were in. Still, I needed to test for myself. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to touch her.

  Gently, I cupped her cheek. Sure enough, her skin permeated mine with warmth.

  “It’s all so beautiful,” she whispered to me.

  I threaded my fingers back, using the tips to play with the wisps that had escaped her hairdo. “Yes. It is.”

  She pursed her lips in chastisement. “You’re not even watching.”

  “Of course I am. Very avidly.” I lifted my other hand to her collar bone, running a knuckle along it to the place where the black lace of her sleeve barely hugged her shoulder. The same lace formed a thin, sheer edge to the gown’s barely-legal neckline, drawing my attention exactly where it had dipped the first time I set eyes on her in the sparkly floor-length thing. Sure as hell had solidified my insistence that we sit in the back of the box instead of the front, too. I was going to gawk my fill of her tonight, no matter where it took my thoughts…and quite possibly my actions.

  My imagination started in on the possibilities…

  “Really?” she returned. “You’ve barely been paying attention Do you even know what’s happening in the story right now?”

  “Spoiler alert. Somebody dies.”

  Her eyes widened. She raised fingers over her lips to stifle her giggle. I tugged at them, quickly pressing my mouth down in their place. “You’re awful,” she rasped when I pulled up. “And morbid.”

  “We’re at the opera, baby. Somebody always dies.” I ran my hand to the middle of hers, stroking her palm with my thumb while I absorbed the perfect sight of her all over again.

  “That’s no reason to joke about death.” She spread her fingers around, along the back of my hand, in order to pull it back up to her face. “That asshole doesn’t have a sense of humor. And I’ll be damned if he decides to come for you even one day too early.”

  Her words were bold but her tone was raspy. When her fingers trembled too, I lifted her face toward mine. “Death doesn’t want me, Claire. I’m a bigger dickwad than he is.”

  Her lips twitched. “And likely a hell of a lot more gorgeous.” She kissed my fingertips. “You’d steal his game with the girls.”

  “Nah. I’d be too busy with the re-org on hell. He’d have to fall in line. No more late-night parties down at the seventh ring.”

  The soft laughter I expected didn’t materialize. Instead, her features tightened. “Don’t die on me, Killian.” She slid a hand beneath my shirt, gripping urgent fingers to my nape. “Just…don’t.”

  Once more, her syntax was snippy but her voice was desperate, as if she saw a greater truth to which I was blind. Or was it simply that she sensed the decision I’d just made…to never tell her about the real origins of my identity? That as of tonight, part of me really was dead?

  Or could it be that the woman really loved me as completely as I loved her?

  The magnitude of the realization consumed my mind—and points deeper—like the music soaring to the building’s rafters. It ached. And pierced.

  She loves me.

  And flew. And pulsed.

  She loves…Killian Stone.

  For the first time in my life, there was nobody I was more grateful to be. No more regrets about what—or who—could’ve been. No wild wonderings about how happy I’d be if I were just the son of the Keystone estate’s groundskeeper. Killian Stone at last knew who he was. The man Claire Montgomery gazed at with such longing and need. The man who’d ensure she wanted for nothing else for the rest of her life, that she was happy and fulfilled and spoiled rotten. The man who’d absorb the force of her love and return it to her tenfold with every passing day.

  The music softened, again a perfect completion to the atmosphere of my soul. While the knowledge of her love was crashing cymbals, the acceptance of it was a peaceful harp, flowing into the kiss I skimmed across her lips. Sometimes, especially this time, it felt good to simply taste her…savor her…

  “Dying isn’t an option,” I whispered. “Unless I’m slaying a dragon for you, baby.”

  Claire curled a hand into my tuxedo lapel. “Not even then. Promise me.”

  Her entreaty was so soft and exigent, I couldn’t help kissing her again. Our lips met with more urgency, seeking the assurance of each other…the perfect click of our souls. Didn’t take long. I barely held back a moan as her passion reached to mine, giving it wings like the music flying from below. Splendor. Harmony. My sublime aria. My queen Claire.

  “I’d promise you the cosmos if it kept you in my arms forever.”

  A shiver visibly claimed her. She worried me for a moment but when I pulled her face up, my stare was filled with the adoring smile on her lips…and the sparkling tears on her cheeks.

  Yet again, I couldn’t move. Below us, a tenor sang of heartache. Above us, reflections scudded like clouds. Between us, there were only inches of tangled breath, barely banked fire—

  And unstoppable magic.

  She initiated the kiss that turned our embers into a full blaze, yanking my bow tie out of its knot to do so. As our mouths crashed, she burrowed her hands under my jacket, scraping them against my shirt until she finally had the damn thing pulled free from my pants.

  Took her less than a second to slide her touch directly to my skin. Her fingers were already like fire, forcing me to tear my mouth from hers in order to breathe without groaning. Even then, I worked to regulate myself from sounding like a grizzly tempted to hump the hottest she-bear in the forest.

  Who the fuck was I kidding? I was beyond tempted. And I was in Italy, for fuck sake. If any of the signori in this place found themselves alone in a box with a woman like this, with her golden eyes burning at them with every fuck-me-please sign in the book, they’d do exactly what I did. Surged out of my seat and onto the floor in front of her, planting my knees hard. Jammed both hands beneath the black layers of her skirt—how many were there, for chrissake?—until I found her scanty lace panties.

  And tore them apart in two ruthless rips.

  I absorbed her gasp with my mouth, sucking ruthlessly on her lips as I yanked her ass to the edge of her seat. She wrapped a hand around my neck again, using the leverage to bury her head against my chest—a well-timed move, since her next gasp was higher and sharper than the first. Could have had something to do with how I slicked both thumbs to the hot flower between her legs, teasing at the flesh on both sides of the quivering little ridge that popped up for me.

  The music swelled, building toward the climax of a chorus.

  I trailed my thumbs back the way t
hey’d just come…except inward, over her clit.

  Her tiny scream vibrated against my chest as her nails threatened to tear open my back. The sweet pain spurred my own ferocity, driving my hands around her buttocks in order to pull her tight against me, wrapping her hips around mine.

  I worked my mouth into the warm grotto of her ear. “Baby, you’re wet.” When she returned my rasp with a feverish nod, I nipped at the skin around the sparkling diamond triad embedded in her lobe. Damn…the earring against her creamy skin…exquisite. This woman was made to wear Tiffany. I needed to drape her in more of it—and very little else—soon.

  Not the vision for helping your self-control, asshole.

  “And baby, you’re trembling.”

  Her head bobbed up and down again. And her fingers—dear fuck, her fingers—scratched at me harder, betraying how completely on board she was with the whole let’s-hump-in-the-woods idea. Problem was, this wasn’t the woods. And while it was Venice, home to some of the world’s most famous debauchery, subterfuge sounded like a damn erotic idea tonight.

  “And you’re hot. So damn hot, Claire. Your cunt is already burning my fingers.”

  I didn’t get a nod for that one. Instead, she worked those eager, deft hands into the scant space between our bodies, working my fly open with frantic tugs. Despite her efforts to make the action quiet, the slide of my zipper coincided with another respite in the music, causing discernible stirrings in the booths to either side of us. I even heard a man’s knowing chuckle—not that I cared anymore. The second she reached inside my briefs, palmed my balls then ran her hand up the length of my shaft, enough heat blasted through me to burn this building down for the fourth time in its history.

  I muffled my groan by biting her neck and gripping her hips harder—not exactly a wise move, since it compressed her fingers harder around my cock. Since her hand was situated so close to the crown, the little minx used that opportunity to squeeze me there, milking the small surge of white heat that told us both how goddamn ready I was to be inside her.