by Angel Payne
“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.”
The 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 of 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 in 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’d left on his desk right about now. I’d sneaked 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 sneaked 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 and 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’d even started following our team around, knowing we worked closely with Trey and Killian. Creativity became a new game for Killian and me, especially due to the necessity of keeping things strictly professional in front of Margaux. To compensate, he’d 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’d instantly done 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 I was 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.
Mental 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 dimmed. 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 tasty, cheesy, 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 nearly 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 though he was praying 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 and 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.
“Sweet Claire. My fairy queen.” He let out a harsh breath. I did the same. My stomach had taken up a full acrobatic act now, and my heart joined it. But gymnastics were not my thing.
Something was going on. I pulled my head back to gaze up at him.
“Tell me,” I charged. “What is it?” I let my psyche dive into the black seas of his eyes, rejecting the life vest. The emotions in his inky depths extended for countless fathoms, made even scarier by the realization that most involved me. But a larger epiphany struck. This weekend wasn’t just about hibernation. It was about revelation. There were still secrets between us, a fact I suddenly hated with a vengeance. His gaze confirmed that he felt the same.
I reached up, stroking his strong, proud jaw. “Tell me, Kil. You’re safe with me, remember? No more running. Isn’t that our rule now?” I grinned as punctuation, trying to inject a little levity.
He tugged my hand from his face and gently moved it over his heart instead. More emotional gymnastics, especially as he extended his gaze, regarding me with such tenderness, uncertainty…and fear? Dear God, I could feel him trembling too.
“Are you cold?” I queried. It seemed the logical thing to say. He never shook like this. Never threw me into confusion like this. Never looked so vulnerable like this. “Should we go inside?”
He laughed, but the mirth barely passed his lips. It sure as hell didn’t make it to his eyes. “I’m not cold, baby girl.” He kept my hand close to his chest. “I’m scared. Scared to death, actually.”
I started to panic. Had Margaux finally said something to him? No. He’d already have downed half the wine, and a deep instinct told me his tension level would be different.
That narrowed things to one option. What could Trey possibly have done now? I tried to pull my hand away, but Killian yanked back, gripping me tighter. “What happened? What has he done?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. He’s doing everything completely right. The picture of a reformed rake, down to his appearance at the Children’s Hospital Fun Run this afternoon.”
I frowned a little. “And that’s a problem?”
A laugh tugged the edges of his lips, though sadness formed its underpinnings. “Damn right it’s a problem. Everything’s going so well that you’ll pack up your things and go back to San Diego. And you’ll take this”—he pulled my hand away enough to tap it back against his chest—“along with you.” His eyes began to shimmer with glints of intensity. “I’m not sure I’m equipped to survive without you now.”
With my free hand, I raised my glass and took a huge gulp from it. I suddenly had the driest throat in Illinois. And the most overwhelmed mind. I drained the glass before daring to look up again.
“Do you mind if we go inside? Now I’m kind of cold.” I was stalling, and he probably saw right through it. But returning to the living room freed me to turn distractions into conversation. “What smells so good? Please don’t tell me you can cook too, Stone. If this gets out, we’ll be worrying about your fan club instead of the press this weekend.”
“Perhaps I can, Miss Montgomery.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows, making me burst into giggles. “Maybe we’ll forget teacher’s ruler in favor of a wooden spoon on that fantastic ass.”
I continued laughing—until he pulled a big wooden spoon from the canister on the countertop. “You wouldn’t dare!” I’d just refilled my wine but set it down on the counter, backing away.
“I would.” As he stalked toward me, he tapped the implement against his thigh.
“Killian, I’m serious.” I deliberately cranked up my moan.
“So am I, baby. So. Am. I.”
“That— That thing will hurt.” Damn it, my stomach was in knots. The good, squishy kind.
“Hmm. Probably. But only for a little bit, I promise.”
My insides melted a little more. His “promise” looked hot and horny and heavenly. “Okay, wait. I’ll make a deal with you.” Yep, stalling again—but if I made a run for it, he would catch me before I cleared three feet down the hall.
His Lucifer’s smirk spread across his sinful lips. “Hmm. A deal. Well, I am a businessman.” He arched an eyebrow. “But a shrewd one.”
I nodded, my solemnity not entirely mocking. “And don’t I know it.”
“Let’s hear your terms, then, fairy.”
I firmed my stance and raised my chin. “Truth or dare.”
His features widened on a laugh. “What?”
“Truth or dare,” I repeated with more confidence. “If I pick dare, you can spank me with that giant oar you’re calling a spoon. If I pick truth, you can ask me anything you want.”
He played at the hem of my skirt with the spoon. “The idea has merit. Go on.”
“The rules apply both ways.” I fought to keep my gaze away from his face, lust now clouding his features as he roamed the spoon up my thigh and across one cheek of my backside. “But I’ll think of something better for your dare because I can’t imagine you’d consent to a spanking—ever.”
His grin grew wider, which I interpreted as agreement to the plan. For a second, I almost reneged. What on earth was I getting myself into? On the other hand, maybe this was a good thing. We’d both been withholding things from each other, and we both knew it. Maybe now Killian would pry back a few of his masks for me, even a little. Maybe it would be worth the price of lifting mine.
He swept a hand toward the sofa and then turned to pull a brick of brie from the oven. From the sideboard, he scooped up a basket of crusty artisan bread. I grabbed our
glasses and the wine bottle before sitting down. As he lowered next to me, one arm sliding along the back of the sofa, he appeared a little skittish. I grinned, deciding Nervous Killian was pretty damn hot too.
“All right, my queen. Ladies first.”
“Really?” After his nod and grin of confirmation, I bounced a little, grabbed his hand, and declared, “Okay then, Mr. Stone. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.” He answered with smug speed. That was all right. I was ready. You might think twice about that next time, Stone.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I blushed in the asking, but it was a legitimate curiosity. Besides, given my refusal to consent to a spanking in this lifetime, he certainly wasn’t going to tread lightly on his question for me. I had to take the opportunity now.
“Seventeen.” He followed it with a simple stare. No details, despite the grin I gave him as a spur. Aha. Now I followed his strategy. I would have to word my questions more carefully.
Satisfaction gleamed from the handsome bastard’s gaze as he twirled the spoon with his long fingers like a majorette’s baton. In the same motion, he popped a piece of bread into his mouth. “Okay, then. Truth or dare, Claire.” The silly slumber party words slid seductively from his mouth, especially as he lingered through the process of licking cheese off his lips.
“You’re trying to distract me,” I accused.
“Definitely. And it’s working.”
I growled, met his stare straight on, and challenged, “Truth.”
“Have you ever had sex on the beach?” His eyes danced with mischief. I’m sure mine sparkled wickedly now too.
“Be careful what you’re asking, Mr. Stone. You may not like the answer.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
I took a sip of wine. “Well, remember that I’ve lived in San Diego my whole life, so…yes.” When his face fell a little, I chuckled. “What’d I just say? Don’t ask me things you might be afraid of knowing, mister. You’re forcing me to tell you the truth.”