by Angel Payne
The images fought each other while my stare tangled with his. There were so many layers to his eyes, so much beauty in his face. It was official; I’d met the most glorious man of my life. His body was pure heat as he rubbed mine in sinuous thrusts, a blatant promise of possibilities to come. But Margaux’s threats, while delivered with the social finesse of a seventh grader, weren’t empty. The woman had done worse to adversaries simply in the name of the company’s projects. Delivering on behalf of her personal spite would be even less of a screw to turn. She’d destroy me—and in the process, Dad, too.
And what about her mother’s joy as possible collateral damage in the hit? My blood chilled from the answer. The apple never falls far from the tree. Margaux had learned her technique from the best of the bitchy best. Something told me Andrea would be just fine, with or without Dad at her side. The same instinct didn’t hold true when I thought about Dad having to deal with his child in prison and his engagement broken.
Which meant this recklessness needed to end here and now.
I clutched my blouse with one hand and pushed at Killian with the other. He reared back, bringing a blast of chilled air across my body. I hated this. I didn’t want him to stop. But I had to—before it was too late.
“We—we have to stop.” My voice was thick with desperation, clinging to a last vestige of common sense. He didn’t hear it. More likely, chose not to.
“No,” he whispered, scraping back my hair again. “It’s all right this time. It’s perfect this time.”
To my shock, I laughed. “This is your idea of perfect?”
He tugged on my hair, compelling my eyes to meet his while heat sluiced through my whole body in reaction. “This is my idea of perfect.” He stroked a thumb across my cheek in emphasis.
“Killian—”
“We’re safe here, Claire.” He pressed back down, lowering his forehead to mine. “Everything. All of it. All our desires…all our secrets…”
With the single word, he turned my body into an ice floe. “Secrets are exactly why we have to stop.”
He fought me with a harsh breath. “Then give yours to me. All of them. I’ll keep them safe. I promise.”
My laughter dissolved into a sob. “You can’t keep that promise, Killian. Nobody can.”
His fingers, so long and warm, bracketed my head. “Then leave them behind and stay with me, anyway.”
It was a plea as deep as his coal-dark eyes. A promise of the sweetest pleasure I’d likely ever know, the most incredible sex I’d probably ever have, the kisses and embraces of the most breathtaking man I’d ever met.
I squeezed my eyes shut again. I’d regret this moment forever, that much was clear already. But staying would equate to the biggest mistake of my life. Margaux and her threats, while the easy reach for explaining my strife, were really only the start of my conflict. The bigger peril came from the heart ramming at my ribs with agonizing force—the acknowledgement that my secrets weren’t the most dangerous thing Killian could now wrest from me—another rash risk I’d resolved never to take again.
“Y-you’re leaving for Beijing tonight,” I finally stammered. Though the words were shaky, they lent enough strength to roll free and regain my footing. “Even if you weren’t, this isn’t going to work.” I peered around for my trench. “There are so many reasons why this isn’t going to work.”
How could I trust the man with my secrets, when I’d abandoned trust in my own heart and soul from the night I’d found Nick with Darcie? When the choice of trusting a man with my secrets had become a mistake to haunt me for years?
Finally spotting the coat, I grabbed it and headed for the door as if the room had caught on fire. I wasn’t sure it hadn’t.
“Claire…dammit!” Killian’s tone was full of more tension than his shoulders, still hunched over the desk. In an unwanted moment of transcendence, I saw my body in the space below him once more. Hot for him. Spread for him. Wanting him.
I grimaced and turned. “If there is really an issue with the press release, email me, okay? And Killian? Please—”
Don’t do this again.
I fell into silence, unable to speak it. Unable to think it.
I bolted before he could say another word, stumbling through the living room with its sleek cream-on-black décor and its panoramic view of the lake, wondering if I’d pass out on his butter-soft rug before getting to the door. Once again, being in his presence had the power to suck every breath from my body. What the hell was his power over me? I’d never known such intense feelings for another person. Was this what the experts meant by “animal attraction”? Was this some pheromone thing, a crazy concoction brought on by his cologne meeting mine? Was it even more basic than that? Had my moon ascended into his karma at just the right time, some cosmic bullshit Chad could explain?
Whatever the hell it was, I had to make it stop. Otherwise, I might not survive this damn assignment.
I flung myself out into the hallway and stabbed the elevator call button while battling to pull myself together and assess the answer to one question.
What the hell had just happened?
* * * * *
I must see you again.
I turned the card over again before setting it down on the small table in my hotel room. Nearby, my room service order sat nearly demolished. Something about pizza, macaroni and cheese, and apple pie was a perfect beginning for a night when a girl wanted to stay inside and wallow. My favorite flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks helped the effort, along with the in-room movie channel cued up with Sixteen Candles.
Yep. Wallowing. Big time.
I’d ordered the dinner with a whole bottle of wine, and poured myself a third glass. It was a really good Cabernet, and I tried to focus on all the oaky overtones that the label bragged about instead of the man I’d left behind in that condo overlooking the lake. “Don’t do it,” I seethed at myself. “Don’t you dare.”
It didn’t matter how gorgeous he was, how great he kissed, how good he smelled or how fantastic I knew he would be in bed; I had to purge Killian Stone from my system. After a long bath, a ton of carbs, and all the wine, I thought I’d be well on my way to that goal by now.
Instead, I sat on the bed and stared at that damn card.
I’d pitched it in the trash twice, only to fish it out again and set it somewhere safe. I dialed my Dad once and hung up, deciding he didn’t need his half-plastered daughter crying on his shoulder—or giving him a reason to have a “chat” with Andrea about my mental stability. Chad and Michael called and damn near dictated I’d be going for some good sushi and bad karaoke with them but I declined, needing a chunk of self-pity time. The makeup was officially scrubbed, my hair piled beneath an old scrunchie, and I was set to finish my food coma with some John Hughes therapy.
If only the note would stop taunting me.
“Small steps,” I muttered, taking an encouraging sip and forcing my sights on the TV. “At least you’re not crying.”
I’d just hit the play button for the movie when there was a knock at the door. I huffed and slammed my glass down, glaring across the room. Couldn’t a girl be miserable in peace?
Trudging over, I started my rant at Chad during the last two steps to the portal. “Listen, you little bitch, you’ll just have to find another Freebird partner tonight, so—”
My mouth dropped in an open gawk.
Alfred stared back, surprise in his kind eyes.
“Fred?”
“Good evening, Miss Montgomery.” He lifted a polite smile.
“I’m sorry; I thought you were someone from my team, and—” I frowned again. “Wait. Why are you here?” Guess I wasn’t done being rude, after all.
“I’m delivering a message for you.”
“A message? From who?”
He only had to arch one brow before I blushed, recognizing the silliness of the query. Fortunately, he didn’t waste any more time before pulling a small envelope from his breast pocket—a perfect match to the m
issive he’d given me earlier.
“Thanks.” Feeling like the card would bite if I weren’t careful, I accepted it then gawked at it. My mouth turned into the Sahara again. My pulse throbbed in the base of my throat. Though I told myself to stop being silly, I watched the envelope tremble in my fingers.
After a huge breath, I realized poor Fred was still standing there. I attempted a smile and murmured, “Thanks again, Fred. Have a good night.”
The man shifted and cleared his throat. “Respectfully speaking, Miss Montgomery—”
“Claire. Please, just Claire.” As if I’d ever be seeing him again after this.
“Well then…Claire. I’m to wait while you read it.”
“No offense Fred, but do you always do everything he tells you?”
The man lifted both brows at me, just like Dad did when I had an attack of snark or drank too much. In this case, it was likely both. Guilt washed in. “Sorry,” I repeated. “It’s been a tense night.”
“Indeed.” While his response was neutral on the surface, it came with a second jump of brows, speaking volumes. Apparently, Killian was being more irascible than me.
“Why don’t you come in?” I offered while opening the envelope. The ivory note card inside was exactly the same as the first one Killian had sent—however this message was comprised of a single word. My hand fluttered to my throat as I read his handwriting.
Please.
Tears clouded my vision. I swiped at my eyes. The action was no use. New tears replaced the old ones. One word, a multitude of meanings. Entreaties weren’t easy for a man like Killian Stone. Confessions were even harder. But in many senses, I held both in the palm of my hand. From him. Penned by his hand.
Why?
It spilled from me in verbal form, too. I stared up at Fred as if he could crack his boss’s mysterious code for me. “What does this mean?” I choked out. “Please what? What does he want from me?”
Forget trying to stop the tears now. I sped right past stunned and into the valley of confused. The simple answer to that? Killian had given me the answer himself, in his office. He wanted nothing from me except me. The attraction between us turned into a more alluring path every day, beckoning to be explored and enjoyed. As we inched nearer to it, I saw more pieces of this man, parts that he showed few besides me. I gave him safe ground for that, and in return, the cocky guy promised my own safety, completely blind to the enormity of his promise…
Fred shifted his stance, not hiding his nervousness about being in an enclosed space with a crying female. “He’s, uhhh, asked me to bring you to him—if you’ll agree, Miss Montgomery. The car is double-parked, so we should go soon.”
For a long moment, I didn’t say anything. I looked down at what I was wearing and panicked. I was in flannel pajamas, for Christ’s sake. And fuzzy socks. And a faded purple scrunchie in my nonexistent hairstyle. And what wasn’t I wearing? Earrings. Makeup. Panties.
Hell.
“Do I have time to get ready, at least?” I added an imploring stare.
“I’m sorry, miss. He’ll be on his way to Beijing in just a bit. If you delay, you’ll miss him. If I may make a suggestion, your trench coat will cover most of your clothes.” Fred offered a guilty little smile. “If I may be even bolder, you look splendid as you are. I am sure Jamie—err, Mr. Stone—will agree.”
I hung my head, still flustered. Wasn’t this stepping into the damn time machine, hitting the button for this afternoon, and repeating the same fiasco from his penthouse? He’d beckoned. I was dropping everything and running. But we’d have the same maddening result. There were more reasons we couldn’t be together than reasons we should.
But even as I thought it, every cell in my body was pulled by the force of his vortex…the promise of him. Hot on the heels of that sensation: the panic that hit me in the office yesterday. I leaned on the wall from the dizzying force of it. Could I resist Killian, even if I wanted to? This pull toward him was primal, biological, a connection I cherished and hated at the same time. Maybe this was how it felt to have a twin—only without the visions of ripping his clothes off and roaming my hands over every inch of his hard, naked flesh.
I was supposed to feel guilty about that, right? And the fear…where was that, too?
Gone. Both had been usurped by an exhilarated defiance. Dammit, I needed this moment of bliss, if only as a reminder that sometimes, for a few magical hours, the glass slipper did fit, and there was nothing else in the world except joy and fulfillment. And for some strange and magical reason perhaps known only to the universe, Killian Stone yearned to give it to me.
And yes…I longed to give him the same in return.
A stolen moment. A secret time. That was all it ever could be, before Margaux leapt back at him, perhaps literally, with wiles turned up, claws sharpened, and ploys aimed his direction again. I felt a little better now, knowing she’d never succeed. Though Killian had subjected me to a thrill ride of attitude over the last three weeks, he’d astounded my mind in equal measure with his acumen and intuition. He’d seen through Margaux’s games before she could bat her eyelashes twice.
Only one question remained.
Could I maintain this clinical distance even when I stood in front of the man again? Could I be okay with having him in my arms and inside my body, naked and intimate, without baring my soul just as openly…and dangerously?
My senses answered with maddening silence.
I looked up to Fred, hoping he’d have another piece of “bold” advice. No help this time. Instead, the man walked to the door again and reopened it, standing with a patient but expectant light in his compassionate eyes. “Miss Montgomery? What is your decision?”
Chapter Nine
Killian
My tension spiraled with every jostle, bump, and shout from the ground crew as they readied the plane for take-off. I watched the men move efficiently across the tarmac, tapping off their checkpoints on handheld devices. Frosty rain pelted from above, dripping off their beards and gloves.
I wished to God I could join them.
If I were active and freezing, at least I wouldn’t be counting every thrum of apprehension in my pulse every needle of frustration through my temples. I wouldn’t be feeling like a goddamn prisoner in my own private jet.
I wouldn’t feel like climbing the hell out of this thing and telling Beijing they needed to suck up their nerves and honor the contracts they had with SGC, just like the other big kids at the table.
I woke my computer for the fiftieth time, struggling to concentrate on my email inbox. For every hour I ignored the fucker, a hundred more messages made it past Britta’s screening process, landing in the column for my response.
The words meshed into each other. My thoughts were worse puddles. I peered out into the rain once more, wondering—dammit, hoping—for a pair of headlights to pierce the night.
The rain fell harder.
I bit out the f word and clicked open my first email. It was time stamped from four hours ago.
“Mr. Stone?”
The voice was deep, matching the tall figure in the pilot’s uniform who stepped into the plane. The man’s lantern-shaped jaw crunched into a frown.
“Vaughn.” I forced a cordial smile at the guy. “Good afternoon. Thanks for rearranging your schedule for this flight. A trip to Beijing isn’t exactly a hop to New York.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Stone.” His face didn’t relax. “But…did I write down our takeoff incorrectly? We’re not due to leave for over an hour.”
I lifted a hand in reassurance. “You’re good. Don’t sweat it. I got on early to get some work done.”
He answered with a commiserating snort. “Things are chaotic at the office these days, eh?”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“I take it they won’t leave you alone at the home office, either.”
“Things are a little messy there, too.”
If this conversation were a Jeopardy
category, it would’ve been Ironic Understatements. The answer involving my home desk would be an ideal Daily Double. After Claire bolted from the condo, I’d gawked at the aftermath with just as much remorse. And felt like just as much of a jerk.
Which thoroughly explained why I’d sent those goddamn notes out with Alfred.
I hadn’t used the word please with someone—and meant it—in over ten years. It was always a convenience of my life, of my masquerade. And now, like the pathetic fuck I was, I couldn’t even call her to say it. I sent it in a note, delivered by my damn butler.
No wonder she wasn’t coming.
As Vaughn made his way into the cockpit and turned on the saxophone-heavy pre-flight music, I slammed my laptop shut.
Just as headlights cut through the rain, glaring through the window.
I jolted to my feet. Raced to the open doorway. Doubled back, pacing like an idiot, stabbing fingers through my hair. What if it was only Alfred arriving with bad news instead of Claire? I whooshed nervous air out, jamming my tie back into place like some stupid shit getting ready to pick up a girl for prom. As if I knew what that felt like. The closest thing I’d gotten to prom was the Havirshim Girls Academy’s annual cotillion, where the upperclassmen from Triton were forced to escort girls in dresses resembling wedding cakes. That never made me nervous so much as scared.
Guess I’d had ideal preparation for this, after all.
As I stood there trying to comprehend that the sheen on my palms was really sweat, Alfred’s calm voice broke through the pinging rain on the air stairs outside.
“Careful, Miss Montgomery. In this weather, the steps are slick.”
In an instant, I forgot about my palms. And my dread. Irritation took its place. Had the damn woman worn a pair of her stilt heels in this weather? She was going to slip and smash her head open before I could—
Stand and gawk at her like I did through the next moment. And the next. And the next.
