by Angel Payne
I took another long breath. “Okay, good.”
“Yes. Let’s get you off that Tilt-A-Whirl.” He didn’t move only his finger this time. He shifted his whole body, forward and down, until I found myself surrounded by him, bracketed by his arms, thighs pressed by his, breath mingling with his. Killian Stone was on his own knees now, crouching over me like a panther who’d found prey. “Or perhaps,” he murmured, “I’ll just jump on with you.”
So much for smoothing out. “Is that so?” I managed. “You may not like this ride, Stone. It’s rough. The safety belts break. You could fall. We could fall.”
“We won’t fall.” His lips firmed and his jaw tautened, telling me he comprehended the allegory as deeply as I did. “I won’t let that happen.” I opened my mouth, hoping words of protest would come to it, only to be silenced by his fervent, perfect whisper. “Claire…sweet Claire.” He lifted a hand to my face, using that same long finger along my cheekbone. “You utterly fascinate me. You’re genuine and pure, funny and honest…and your layers intrigue me. All of them.”
Through some miracle, I found enough breath for a reply. “A-all of them?”
While nodding, he pressed his forehead to mine. “Fuck, yes.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” His whispers. His strength. His scent. His desire. He flooded me in all of them, and I gladly gave into the drowning.
“I want you. I’ve fantasized about having you. I’ve touched myself with the force of it. Is that what you want to hear? I’ve wrapped my fingers around my cock and pretended to be inside you, instead. And when I came, it was your name on my lips.”
“Oh.” It was nothing but a breath. It was all I could manage.
“I want you in my bed, sweet Claire. I want to make love to you for hours on end, to feel your body wrapped around mine. I want to watch your face as you shatter beneath me, with my name on your lips, too.”
The car lurched forward again. Our heartbeats throbbed against each other. Our heavy breaths mingled.
“Is that enough cards on the table for you?” No kiss came after it, despite how every cell in my body longed for the contact. I sensed Killian waiting for the right words from me, perhaps the right word, period.
A simple yes.
I couldn’t muster it. I was stunned silent. My senses whirled, processing what he’d said. My mind short circuited as I pushed up and grabbed for my wine again, battling the urge to toss it back like a tequila shot instead.
The car slowed. I looked out the window at the circular driveway of my hotel. Killian shifted away from me, also quiet. Within ten seconds, the air had transformed from thick and lusty to awkward and unsteady. I felt around for my phone, grateful when he reached back then handed it over to me. Finally, I screwed together the courage to look up at him again, directly meeting his unblinking onyx gaze.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” He could melt me with those eyes.
“I—I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure I expected what you said. I think I’m a little overwhelmed.”
He laughed. The sound was deep and oddly comforting. “Can I accept that as a good thing?”
I tried to join him on the chuckle but couldn’t. He made everything sound so easy. So worldly. Sure, I’d traveled a lot of the world, but being a worldly person was really different. “I just don’t see how it all fits.”
“And I’m not standing here with a glass slipper, Claire.”
The driver stopped at the main lobby door, but Killian directed him to proceed to the hotel’s side entrance, where guests were dropped for formal events in the large ballroom beyond a pretty gold staircase. Fortunately, the entrance wasn’t being heavily used tonight. After what had just happened on the sidewalk, the last thing we needed was more lookie-loos with high-resolution camera phones—or Margaux and Andrea during their all-too-regular visit to the lobby bar. When the vehicle stopped, Killian gave me another soft smile. “Maybe sleep will help us both. Perhaps it’s simply time for good night.”
When he exited the car with his trademark grace, I was plummeted into silence again. He was really going to take the chivalrous route. His hand appeared in the opening as proof, open-palmed and ready to help me out. His grip was strong and sure, pulling me into a night that had obtained a biting wind. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t walked all the way back—for a number of reasons.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He released my hand to brush a wild strand of hair behind my ear, though he burrowed his hand against my scalp for a few moments after that, locking it there. His stare pulled me in, dark and bottomless, black pools that entranced with a thousand textures at once. My heart lurched with the certainty that I was the substance of at least a few of them.
“OK,” I finally whispered. “Tomorrow.”
Though I said it, I deliberately lingered until I visibly trembled. Killian bracketed my shoulders with his big hands and gently turned me. “Go,” he urged into my ear. “You’re shivering. I’ll wait until you’ve made it in.”
“Who’s bossy now?”
His chuckle followed me up to the door. Once there, I pivoted to see him leaning against the side of the town car, hands in his pockets, wind lifting his hair and plastering his shirt to his perfect V of a torso.
He was the most breathtaking man I had ever seen. And he was standing there, waiting and watching—me. Then lifting a little wave at me, almost dorky and sweetly sincere…
I returned the gesture, resisting the longing to run back and tackle him for that kiss my lips ached for. But it wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop at the kiss. The rest of my body already thrummed at a higher frequency of need. My chest warmed, my heart danced, and my pulse sprinted from all the words we’d just exchanged.
He was right. He wasn’t offering a glass slipper, a bed in the castle, or a happy-ever-after. At best, this would be a clandestine carriage ride, filled with stunning vistas, new adventures, and thrilling speeds. But it was getting harder and harder to say no to the invitation.
No one had to know. No one could know, especially Margaux and Andrea.
It would have to be enough. It was enough.
Because God help me, I was falling hard for Killian Stone.
Chapter Seven
Killian
So this was what a kid felt like on Christmas morning.
After kicking everyone’s ass at polo practice this morning, I quickly showered, shaved, slid some goop into my hair and finger-combed it in the car on the way to the office, bypassing both the gym’s salon and shoeshine station. For the first time in a long time, I grinned as the SGC building came into view. The place no longer seemed my prison. It was a portal to possibilities.
And the walls in which I’d see Claire again.
Going after her last night had been a knee-jerk action, driven solely by visions of her being blown down the street and into the lake by the wind that had been predicted for last night. Silly California girl. Her idea of a “weather front” was a drop of three degrees and a balmy breeze from the desert. But who was I to call her shit on being silly? I’d chased after her like a desperate boy, before slapping my “cards” on her in a gamble that had nearly ended with us horizontal and naked on the town car floor. The move had been pure impulse, total idiocy.
And sometimes, fortune favored the idiots. Thank fuck.
Despite the screams I’d gotten from my cock afterward, I was glad we’d put the brakes on our bodies when the car had. Though “horizontal” and “naked” were still very parts of my plan for Claire Montgomery today, it felt important to make things right. Had I forgotten she’d be returning to the other side of the country in less than ten weeks? Not for a second. Maybe that was the core of my reasoning. This wasn’t going to be forever. So dammit, it had to be perfect.
I smiled at the conclusion, lips curling higher when remembering Alfred’s knowing smirk as I instructed him to direct the housekeeping staff on making the changes to my bedroom. Egyptian cotton on the bed. Whi
te roses in the vases. Temecula Valley wine in the cooler. And yes, a few candles, too. Pillars, not tapers. I wasn’t the goddamn Phantom of the Opera.
My next instructions had gleaned Alfred’s biggest smirk. After they finished with the bedroom, everyone could take the night off. He was included in the directive, though I doubted he’d collect. The only full day the man ever took off was Christmas, forced by my threats to look up his real name if he didn’t. There was a time that I think he really expected me to believe his name was Alfred. I’d explained how I grew up in a North Shore mansion, not under a rock. We had a mutually sarcastic understanding about it all, unless it was Christmas Day. On the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, the man took great delight in mother-henning me to the point of reading my damn mind, a fact that irked the shit out of me on most occasions.
Today wasn’t one of those times.
Today, the banks of the river could turn into a tsunami down Michigan Avenue and “irked” wouldn’t enter my vocabulary.
It was Christmas. And my special present was just a few steps away.
“Good morning, Britta.” I slapped a palm to her desk after stepping off the elevator. “Fine day, hmm?”
The woman scrutinized me over the top of her sleek reading glasses, now dipped to the bridge of her aquiline nose. “It’s twenty and looks like Mother Nature belted Let It Go on the way to the ‘L.’’”
I glanced out the window with a chuckle. “It’s brisk. Refreshing.”
She peered harder at me. “Is your hair still wet?”
I pawed my damp nape. “Maybe. A little.”
She uttered something in Swedish and shook her head. “Somebody had a good evening. Maybe even a good morning.”
I ignored her innuendo in favor of a glance toward the conference room. Just a glance. I’d thought about Claire’s actions from last night on my way home—then in the shower, and again in bed—concluding that the discretion part of this thing was just as key for her as me. Of course, I didn’t know the reasons why yet. That would change. I wanted to know all her secrets. And keep them all safe. Keep her safe.
“Who’s in from Asher’s team so far?”
I observed shadows through the conference room’s frosted glass but couldn’t discern their owners. The team usually arrived together in the company’s service town car so shadows were a good sign, though Claire was known to escape to the cafeteria for chats with our own media team. It felt good to think of my people rendering their “stamp of approval” on her. While the asshole in me decreed that their feedback shouldn’t matter, the man in me took precedence for a moment. I’d hired those people because I valued their viewpoints. Observing their camaraderie with her imparted a fantastic high.
“They’re not here yet,” Britta supplied. “That’s just the catering team. Ms. Asher told me they’d be working through the day spinning Trey’s appearances from yesterday, so I took the liberty of ordering them some snacks.”
I smiled through my disappointment. “Perfect. Good work.”
Britta circled her chair toward me. “Don’t bestow the gold star yet. I haven’t given you the bad news.”
I scowled. Damn. Not on Christmas. “What bad news?”
“You do already have a visitor. She’s waiting in your office.”
“She?” Understanding kicked in along with the troubled lines on Britta’s face. It had to be Kim Xu, SGC’s vice president in charge of Asia. She’d flown in two days ago to help me meet with numerous distributors, as many of them were being pressured through back channels to drop ties with Stone Global. I had a damn good idea of the people propping open those rear doors, too. All roads led to a weasel named Wooten.
Last night at six o’clock, after a meeting in which Andrea assured Kim and I that they’d be looking into those back channels, Kim confirmed she’d be catching a flight back to Beijing today. It supposedly took off three hours ago.
“Shit,” I spat.
Her plans had clearly changed. A hundred conjectures formed as the reason why.
“Only the messenger.” Britta offered a wincing smile. “But for what it’s worth…sorry?”
I started down the hall on wide, stressed steps. “I’m not to be disturbed.”
“Understood.”
As I expected, Kim was already set up at the smaller conference table in my office and tapping at her computer like a cricket on crack. The analogy made sense, given how tiny she was. Her all-black wardrobe and her signature hairstyle, one severe bun, always stressed her no-nonsense mien.
But when the woman smiled, she lit up the whole damn building. That grin greeted me now, as she jumped up as if seeing me for the first time in years. “Jamie!”
I returned her hug with a chuckle. “You’re still the only woman I’ll allow the middle name from, aside from my mother.”
“As well I should be.” She grimaced while trying to wipe her lipstick off my cheek. “Oh, dear. My apologies, darling. I wore the industrial-strength shit today.”
“Of course you did.” I waved her off. “Forget it. Let’s get to the issue. Why are you here and not sipping a good Beaujolais over the Atlantic?”
Her sharp features intensified into a frown. “Three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
“Fuck.”
“Xiao-ling, Ultralux, and Eastern Partners are all spooked now. They claim they’ve received word that Emily Wooten did do the nasty with Trey, and is now pregnant—”
“What?”
“And the senator is biding his time for the right moment to break the news.”
Fury stormed my composure, though I knew it was useless to indulge the shit. I took a page from Claire’s book, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm down while lowering into my chair. “If that young lady is with child—and I use the term ‘lady’ in the loosest sense—it’s not by Trey.”
Kim purposefully crossed the room on her black stiletto boots. She clasped her hands behind her back while perusing the photos on my wall. “You sound very certain of that.”
“Because I am.”
“Because Trey insisted he used a condom?” Her tone held open skepticism.
Because Trey is sterile.
I examined my knuckles, white and tight against my black blotter, as the words weighed my mind. Despite the burden, I wasn’t tempted in the least to speak them. They belonged in the deepest trenches of my spirit, the places where all the other shadows lay, never to be moved. A secret that belonged to the darkness as much as my own.
“We’ll take this to a paternity test if that’s what required.”
Kim tilted her head. “Good message. Maybe it’s best that we get it out before Wooten does.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m not fond of that road, Kim.”
“I don’t think Asia cares, Jamie.”
“You know what Asher and her team are attempting here. We’re going with clean and positive on this recovery.”
The woman turned and folded her arms. “Have you seen the smog in Beijing? They don’t mind spreading a little dirt in order to get the job done.”
I lowered my hand but kept my eyes closed. As if it were yesterday, I saw Claire once more, so full of hope and energy while presenting her plan for Trey’s new image. She’d changed so much in the short time since that meeting. So had Trey. My brother had worked at becoming a different person. He’d stuck with the plan. Ditched the booze and women, cranked up the good works and gym trips. He’d even taken a small interest in the company again.
Taking the offensive on Wooten would drag everything we’d done to the level of that prick’s sludge again. It would cancel the value of Claire’s strategy and be a damn good catalyst for the tempters to go knocking at Trey’s door again.
“There has to be another way,” I insisted. Kim didn’t offer much hope with the cynical twist of her lips until I tossed out, “What if I go back to Beijing with you?”
Her brows shot up. “You mean now?”
“Not
immediately. There are a few things I can’t clear from my schedule.” Like having Claire Montgomery in my bed, nude and wet and screaming my name. “But I’ll leave tonight.” After insisting she have lunch with me. We can have soup. I’ll lick mine out of her navel…
“Outstanding.” She beamed, turning her face into a dazzling collection of classic beauty. “A personal touch of the emperor’s robe should calm the minions down.”
I laughed while getting to my feet. “Fuck you, Xu.”
“No thank you, Stone. You’re not my type.” She grabbed me from behind, bracing my waist with her little hands. “But the view from back here doesn’t suck.”
As I groaned and prepped another comeback, the door opened. Margaux Asher damn near flew into the room, leaving a fuming Britta behind in the hallway. She looked like a game show contestant who’d just won the big package with the car and the boat.
“Mr. Stone! I arrived to find brilliant-ness in my inbox this morning! I had to tell you personally, before anyone else!”
“Of course,” I grumbled.
“‘Brilliant-ness?’” Kim queried.
If I had an explanation, which I didn’t, Margaux cut it short, anyway—by trying a move that was half hug, half long jump. As she plastered onto me, she gushed, “Oprah’s agreed to the interview—and People wants to do a four-page spread during the same week! Isn’t it exc—” Her hold slackened a little. “Uh…hello.”
“Ni hao,” Kim replied.
“Who are you?” Margaux asked.
Before Kim could answer, somebody cleared their throat in the doorway. I raised my head, readying a pleading stare for Britta.
“Shit,” I blurted.
It wasn’t Britta.
The shock in Claire’s eyes stabbed me like a hundred shards of glass. But it was the pain she added after that, when recognizing Margaux as the human barnacle on me, that hurt worse. Fuck. Much worse.
“I—I have the demographic feedback from yesterday.” She rasped it while throwing her gaze to the floor.
“Brilliant.” Kim ducked her head out from behind me. “Is that international or just domestic?”
