[Secrets of Stone 01.0] No Prince Charming

by Angel Payne

  “Oh yeah. The gym. I’m into that.”

  “For working out your body, Mr. Stone.” Margaux rolled her eyes. “Not your contacts list.”

  “We work our way up to public events next.” Clearly already reading Trey’s mind, Claire emphasized, “No dates! Social events and charity affairs, got it? You arrive alone, you depart alone. You have one drink and then switch to water. You’ll tolerate every bad joke thrown at you about senators’ daughters. You’ll be jovial to the men, charming to their women, and you’ll pretend their daughters don’t exist. It will help if the charities involve kids or animals. If we can get your name as one of the main sponsors for one of these things—”

  “Done.”

  The conviction in my voice made her jump a little. I was glad. I wanted her to see how fucking proud I was of her, how great she made me feel by trusting my lead and stepping outside her comfort zone. Her ideas had galvanized everyone in the room, especially Trey. But if they wanted to embrace her in support, they could march their asses into line behind me. On second thought, they could all drop her an email. Thanking her for this new direction was going to be my sole, pleasurable responsibility.

  “Done?” The lilt of confusion made her voice five times sexier. Or maybe it was the impish curl to her lips. Or the way her blouse hugged her breasts as she braced one hand to her hip. Screw it, I’d take them all.

  “I’m on the board at the Lincoln Park Zoo,” I explained. “And we always do a gala fundraiser in the spring. This year, it’s May eighth.”

  Andrea nodded, though the move was tense. Wisely, the woman observed that Claire’s ideas resonated with the whole room. Her own vote of support was clearly not cast as easily. “We can work with that,” she stated, “if that’s the direction you’re set on following, Mr. Stone.”

  “It’s gutsy.” The taller man from their team met my gaze across the table. “And it’ll be a steeper battle to win. But once you win it—and with us on board, you will win it—you’ll be miles higher, PR-wise, than Wooten and his shit-stirrers.”

  Trey nudged me a little. “I feel better about this plan too.”

  I turned to lock gazes with my brother. Conflict roared in. I knew how I should have responded. After everything he’d cost the company and family name with this stunt, his “feelings” carried no fucking weight here.

  But I didn’t listen to that voice.

  Instead, I indulged the Killian of nineteen years ago, a desperate eight-year-old who dreamed he’d do something cool enough to earn the respect of his big brother. Maybe he’d accomplish something even better, gaining something bigger. Not just Trey’s respect. His love.

  I leaned closer toward him. “You really do?” After Trey nodded and smiled, I did too. “Okay, man. We’ll make it happen.”

  Trey raised his hand in a sideways fist. “Rock and roll, Kill Shot.”

  I lifted my hand and met his bump. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called me that. No, I could. He’d been eight and I’d been five. We were in the formal garden with Lance, our own little commando force, stalking the groundskeepers. We didn’t care about the world we were growing up into. Birth order didn’t matter. Stockholders didn’t matter. Josiah Stone’s whims didn’t matter. Getting the bad guys was the only thing that mattered. Trey, Lance, and Killian were simply Torch Burn, Land Mine, and Kill Shot.

  Andrea and her team, earning every cent we paid them by immediately aligning the campaign with Claire’s compass, outlined an action plan for the next twenty-four hours. It felt good to watch Trey engaging with the suggestions.

  Correction. It felt fucking great.

  After the meeting concluded, I walked back to my office feeling higher than the clouds outside the window.

  Ten minutes later, the day took an even better turn. When Claire Montgomery appeared in the portal, I didn’t care that the contract in my hand represented fifty million dollars’ worth of business.

  A smile easily broadened my lips. Goddamn, she was stunning. The stormy afternoon light flowed across her classic features. Her eyes gleamed like magic lamps, burnished and brilliant despite the gloomy twilight. Tendrils of hair fell loose out of her Marian Librarian hairstyle, leading me to fantasies of slamming her into a case full of encyclopedias and researching every inch of her body. I’d make sure she maintained a library whisper by capturing all her moans with my mouth…

  Which was going to be fucking hard if she kept up that tight glower. Or shoved my door shut with any more vehemence, making the pictures rattle on the wall.

  I frowned, officially confused. “Good evening, Miss Montgomery—I think.”

  She took two steps before squaring off at me again. “You actually do that, Mr. Stone? That thinking thing? Because I’m not convinced right now.”

  “What the—”

  “No, sir. That’s my line, and I plan on using it.” She pointed a finger the general direction of the conference room. “What the hell was that?”

  I set the contract slide to the desk. “You mean the opportunity I handed you on a golden plate?”

  “Opportunity?” She spat the word like I’d dunked it in acid. “That wasn’t an opportunity. That was an ambush.”

  I rarely had problems finding a reaction for a situation. But at this moment, I admitted to the exception. I was stunned into silence.

  By now, most women with her ambition—make that all women with her ambition—would’ve had the door locked, my ass in a chair, their knees on the floor, and my fly down, eager to show their gratitude for the break I’d just delivered with everything but a big red bow on my dick. I didn’t expect or want that from her. A goddamn smile would’ve sealed the day with perfection.

  “Pardon me?” I bit out every syllable—making her retort more astounding.

  “Nope. Not ready to do that yet.”

  I folded my arms. “Really? So fucking sorry for the bother, then. Guess I was too busy wondering if I should call Britta to put out a tracking number on your sanity. Clearly it’s not in the building anymore.”

  She growled—growled—before sweeping her arms out, fingers splayed. “I wasn’t prepared! Don’t you get that? I wasn’t throwing out some bullshit line. I really wasn’t ready.”

  I arched both eyebrows. “Could’ve fooled me, San Diego.”

  “Are you seriously pulling flippant right now? Thank God I did have a few ideas to pull out of my ass—”

  “Brilliant ones, I might add.”

  “No,” she spat. “You may not add a damn thing. The integrity of Andrea’s reputation might have been compromised by your curve ball—also meaning my ass would be on its way to the unemployment line right now.” A humorless laugh spilled from her. “Wouldn’t that be a peachy wedding gift for my dad, telling him I’m moving back in because I was just canned by his sweet little bride?”

  “Not a possibility.” I growled too—though mine was issued in deep conviction. Andrea Asher didn’t strike me as a woman reckless enough to ax a team member for stepping outside their comfort zone in a private meeting purposed for the free exchange of ideas. Even if that were the case, I knew at least three companies here in town who’d snap up a jewel like Claire Montgomery. I had a feeling she’d like it here. Chicago was passionate, creative, and vital…like her.

  Hell. Could I deal with this woman working and living up the street? Permanently? Maybe that would be a good thing. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so transfixed by her. Right now, she was a shiny but transitory indulgence, captivating me to dangerous levels with her fleeting stop across my life’s path.

  “You might as well have stripped me naked.”

  She didn’t help my cause with the thoughts her line evoked. I used the act of circling out from the desk to help beat my brain into obedience. “All right, calm down. I’m sure you’ve dealt with curve balls before, Claire. And hell, you hit this one out of the ballpark.” I forced myself to stop several feet from her. Letting the warmth back into my face was an easier feat. “And you were amazing.�
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  For a second, her features softened. But just a second. “That’s not the damn point.”

  I cocked my head. “Then what is the damn point?”

  She averted her eyes. “It was a curve ball from you.”

  “And?”

  I hadn’t moved. She scooted back as if I had, shaking her head. “It was a curve ball because of you.”

  The room dimmed a little. Night was encroaching, and I’d only turned on the desk lamp. Even in the dissipated light, I watched her fingers tremble as she rubbed her forearm. Her soft words threaded my chest with a sensation I’d never known before. The confession had been petrifying for her. I could see that. But now I felt it too. In the stillness of this room, in the tension of this moment, I couldn’t write off our connection to any more excuses. Neither could she. No wonder we were both terrified.

  “Sit down.” I quietly pulled out a chair.

  She backed off again. Started rubbing her other arm. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Sit down, Claire.”

  I deliberately snarled it, going for the edges of her frazzled composure. Was the tactic a hundred percent fair? Technically, no. But when she flashed me that hot Irish glare before hurling herself into the chair, I almost pumped a fist in triumph.

  Now we could get somewhere.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Stone?”

  Or maybe not.

  Her voice was sweet—and false—as a barista asking if I wanted extra foam on my latte. It was a good thing she really wasn’t. If I had the drink in hand right now, I’d be hurling it at the walls. Britta would have beheld my new artwork, clucked something colorful under her breath, and then asked if I’d lost my damn mind. At this point, I nearly wondered the same thing.

  What did I want?

  I wanted a simple thank-you.

  I wanted a little smile.

  I wanted her goddamn truth.

  I lowered into the chair next to hers. Every muscle in my body, especially the one between my legs, screamed to pull her closer. It was hell to rein the effort back, bracing one elbow on the table. She smelled so good. A Chanel something, probably Chance. Light. Luminous. Alluring. Fuck.

  “You know, San Diego, it’d be damn easy to box you back up as a precocious priss right now.”

  She let the chair swivel a little. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Why not?” I slid a finger along my lower lip. “Because I’ve never been one for easy, that’s why not.”

  Her eyes sparked with challenge. “Maybe it’s time to discover a new horizon.”

  I dropped my finger. “Too late.” Let it descend to her knee. “I already have.”

  A heavy gulp vibrated down her throat. She dropped her gaze. I let mine follow. Together, we stared at my finger on her skin. Burnished against pale. Rough against soft.

  I dared a trail higher. And didn’t try to hide my coarser breath as I headed for the shadows beneath her skirt.

  “Stone.” Her protest was a sparse rasp. “I don’t think—”

  “Why are you still thinking?”

  “Because one of us has to!”

  I paused my finger’s journey. We both lifted gazes again, letting them tangle in silent questions…wordless need.

  “Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me and mean it, Claire, and I will. But I don’t think you can. I don’t think you want to.”

  “It’s not a matter of what I want, damn it.” She swallowed and huffed. “It’s a matter of what I’ve fought for.”

  “You don’t think I understand that?” Of course she didn’t. She had no clue what I’d done to be sitting in this office today, guiding Stone Global from the office with the door that once bore the name Josiah Stone. No one in the world knew. And they never would.

  She stiffened and jerked her knee away. “You’re kidding, right? How the hell can you understand anything about me? About what’s at stake for me here?”

  I pulled away as well—and hated that the action came easily. “Wow. You’re absolutely right. I’m Killian fucking Stone, which means I was born at the end of the most beautiful rainbow on earth and then spoon-fed milk and honey by angels in see-through gowns who rode on unicorns that barfed thousand-dollar bills. I haven’t had a moment of strife in my entire sun-kissed life. Being raised in a constant spotlight was the easiest damn thing in the world. Then growing up to assume responsibility for the livelihood of thousands? Hmmm. Hasn’t exposed me to a second of pressure in my existence, either.”

  She swallowed again. Her chin trembled a little. Damn it. I’d made her chin shake. As if the broadside I’d dealt her in the meeting wasn’t enough, I had to add a heaping scoop of asshole on top of her shit sundae. Real smooth, Kil.

  “That— That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Her rasp, soft and brave, tore deeper at me. My psyche came to a crossroads of reactions. One of those paths led to kissing her. Hard.

  I picked the easier road. Raw rage.

  “Then what the hell do you mean?”

  She gasped as I reared up, yanking on both arms of her chair to position her directly under me. Her blouse was stretched tight by her pumping lungs, its pink shade matching the most vulnerable part of her inner lips. She was fucking breathtaking. One small click over from my fury laid my lust, pounding at my inner thighs, more than ready to take over my better judgment. Just one tick of permission from my mind and I could lift her, trapping her lips and her body and her will beneath mine…

  Back off. I let my anger whip my body into compliance.

  “We both know the answer to that.” She jabbed her chin up. “This is bigger, much bigger, than your kinky angels and puking unicorns, Mr. Stone.”

  Her sneering emphasis on the last two syllables was a good thing and a bad thing, feeding my rage even more. “Not an answer to the damn question.”

  “The hell it isn’t. Or was I right when I first walked in here? Are you really that inept at putting two sensible thoughts together?”

  “And are you that inept at addressing a direct inquiry?” I gripped the chair tighter. Loomed closer over her. Plunged my glare into her face.

  “I’m adept enough to tell you to back off, Stone. Now.”

  I didn’t move. She didn’t either. Her sable lashes flashed wider, unleashing the twin flames of her gaze back at me. I almost relented my stance. I didn’t expect how fury could change her gaze so quickly and then skewer my gut with equal speed. The brilliance in her amber irises intensified by a thousand, screaming at my senses to get lost in them—and my cock to be possessed by them. For one amazing second, I let myself feel all of it. The feeling was euphoric. Catastrophic. And agonizing. Clothes—mine and hers—had never seemed like straitjackets before.

  “That’s really what you want?”

  “Yes.” Though it was a small whisper, she maintained the regal hold of her head. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

  Though I already hovered less than a foot over her, I lowered a few more inches. Her face consumed my view. Her scent filled my head. In just twenty-four hours, her essence had sneaked beneath my constant, careful armor. I adored her for it. I hated her for it.

  “For the record, I don’t tolerate dishonesty from my employees, Claire.” Against every screaming protest from my mind, I dipped my scrutiny to her lips. “In any form.”

  She tried to press deeper into the chair. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  I let one side of my mouth twitch. “That’s an answer only you can provide.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. “Mr. Stone…”

  “Yes.”

  “Leave me the hell alone.”

  She clutched her thighs, her hands still nowhere near my body. I pushed away as if she’d sucker-punched me.

  She might as well have.

  I wheeled away, surprised I didn’t drip blood in the doing. A brutal voice resonated through me about how this was for the best. If she’d gotten this far under my skin in a day, what kind of destruction could she bring in the m
onths ahead?

  My fury told the voice to go fuck itself.

  I backed away as she rose from the chair, looking wobbly yet beautiful as a newborn fawn. Satisfaction merged with frustration in my chest. Even if she denied it a million more times, the woman’s body all but proclaimed its awareness of our attraction.

  “Miss Montgomery?”

  She came to a stiff stop in her retreat from the room. Without turning, she snapped, “What?”

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Hours later, ensconced in my condo office with my fourth glass of Scotch in one hand and my second contract in the other, I fought to remember that moment with the same fervor I used to forget it.

  Officially, I’d won the skirmish. Had the last word. Sent her fleeing from my office, looking flustered as hell about it on the way. Down she goes. Kill Shot lands the point.

  Some goddamn victory.

  Why the mope, Kil? Wait. I remember. She came to you expressing frustration and concern, and you returned the favor by coming on so strong she bolted from the room. Considering you were ten seconds away from plunging your tongue down her throat and your hand into her blouse, she did you a massive favor, shithead.

  Which blew apart my justification for the alcohol stupor.

  Fuck.

  Hope flared. There was a flaw in that logic, something circling back to the fact that I remembered this afternoon at all. Right. That was it. I wasn’t plowed enough.

  Another long swig of the Glenlivet slid down with a harsh burn. The contract’s words swam in my vision.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I blurted it aloud. Well, thought I did. At least my tongue was hopping on board the train to oblivion. As for my gut? It still listened to my mind, which answered the question with vicious clarity.

  What the fuck was I doing? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing because it had already been done. The damage was complete. I’d cauterized Claire Montgomery, relegating her to the bin she should’ve remained in from the start. She was a vendor. Brilliant, beautiful, and focused about her work, yes—but anything more than that, no.

  It’s better this way. You’re safer. Stronger.