Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  I shudder, drawing in a ragged deep breath, and drop into my desk chair. Fear creeps into my body, pulling me toward the darkness.

  John's rage nearly killed me while we were dating. I'll do just about anything to avoid a repeat of those events in the future.

  Chapter Four

  Outside the courtroom, I pace the hallway and wait for my client to arrive. A young man steps off the elevator, ruffled blond hair, wearing khaki Dockers and a sage-green dress shirt. His tie has the entire Peanuts gang on it. My client, Alex Stone's nephew, Joshua Banks.

  A man steps off the elevator behind him. I stop dead in my tracks. I’m light-headed as all the blood drains from my face, and my brain’s fuzzy.

  Alex Stone. His gaze locks on mine, a sly smile on his lips. He radiates superiority, and it pisses me off that he's enjoying my shock. Doesn’t make me any less excited to see him, though.

  The last two days have been unbearable. I've spent hours thinking about him, hoping daily that he'd return to the office to sign paperwork or meet with Jack. It's so damn frustrating. I hate feeling discouraged because I haven't seen him in the past few days, so overcome with lust and desire, and nervous that I'm already in way over my head where he is concerned.

  I've worked too hard to regain my strength and self-worth to let an arrogant ass like Stone destroy it. But it's been impossible for me to banish him from my thoughts.

  I take a deep breath and approach the two men with as much ease as I can muster. While my confidence lacks, Stone's overflows through his playful grin and gleam in his eyes.

  His navy suit is so perfectly tailored that it might as well have been painted on him. The jacket is open, showing off his sculptured physique under the light-gray shirt and darker gray tie. He's stunning and gorgeous. I could look at him all day and never tire of the view.

  "Miss Tate, wonderful to see you again." He holds his hand out to shake mine.

  "Joshua's parents on their way?" I ask.

  "They asked me to handle this."

  I tilt my head to the side and smile. "On the short list for uncle of the year?"

  "Something like that." His playfulness slides into cockiness. He sweeps his arm toward his nephew, who is standing quietly while Stone and I banter. "This is my nephew, Joshua Banks."

  Joshua mumbles a greeting.

  "It's nice to meet you. Shall we head in?" I start toward the courtroom.

  I point to open seats in the gallery, indicating where Joshua and Stone are to sit, and quickly run through the process that's about to begin.

  I push through the gate separating the gallery from the attorneys' tables and judge's bench and exhale. All the tension in my shoulders releases. This is where I'm in control—in the courtroom. It's my sanctuary. The one place that allows me to block everything out, including the knowledge that Alex Stone is sitting behind me.

  I approach the prosecutor's table and go over last-minute details with Teri Shasty.

  Once the hearing is over, we return to the hallway outside the courtroom. I'm giving Joshua the you've-been-given-a-gift-so-don't-blow-it speech while Alex Stone stands next to me. His spicy, leathery scent swirls around my head, while sexually explicit thoughts of ripping his clothes off make me dizzy.

  We step onto the elevator, and Joshua immediately checks his cell phone. "Mom has reservations at Chart House, Uncle Alex." He looks at me from under his bangs. "She wants you to come too, Ms. Tate."

  I smile at him. "Oh, thank you, Joshua, but I can't make it. I'm meeting some friends from out of town, and we have tickets to the ball game tonight."

  Joshua nods. "That's cool. Maybe some other time?" He doesn't wait for a response before he shifts his attention back to the incoming text messages on his constantly buzzing cell phone.

  We walk out of the courthouse together and stop at the top of the stairs. Stone gently shakes my hand, and I am instantly flooded with warmth.

  "Mr. Stone, it was nice to see you again." I search for something else to say so that I can prolong the physical connection between us.

  His spicy essence is seducing every nerve in my body, intensifying the electric spark already raging through me.

  "The pleasure's all mine, Miss Tate," he says.

  My knees go weak at the sound of his voice drawing out my name. There's been a shift in his attitude—from smugness and arrogance to an expression of respect. For a moment, I consider canceling my plans and going to dinner with Stone and his nephew. But I'm not sure if I'm willing to become another notch on Alex Stone's bedpost.

  Joshua shifts uncomfortably beside us.

  Stone releases my hand and takes a step back. "Have a good time at the game, Miss Tate."

  "Thank you, Mr. Stone. Enjoy your evening."

  I tear my eyes away from his riveting gaze and walk away. God, I hope I'll see him again. I'm acting like a lovesick schoolgirl getting attention from the captain of the football team. This is so unlike me. But what I wouldn't do to be with Alex Stone in the backseat of a parked car.

  "Bitch!"

  Paul usually says that when I answer my cell phone. He's one of my best friends, and his greeting makes me giggle every time.

  "Where are you?" he asks.

  "I'm here. Just parked. Are you guys at will-call?" I close the door, lock the Jeep, and make my way toward the stadium.

  "Yes, hurry your ass up."

  I end the call and pick up my pace, excited to see Ryan and Paul again. They're standing along the fence, laughing and talking, as I walk up.

  We met while attending the University of Michigan. We lived in the same dorm during our crazy freshman year and shared an off-campus apartment during the last three years of school.

  I met them separately, but during our freshman year, I discovered they were gay. Once I introduced them to each other, it wasn't long before Ryan and Paul were dating and dragging me along to keep up platonic appearances between them. I didn't mind because we had so much fun together. Our friends called us the Three Amigos. I have a framed picture on my desk of us wearing huge sombreros Paul brought back from a family vacation in Mexico.

  By the time graduation rolled around, Ryan and Paul were in a committed relationship and planning their future together. I remember first learning of their plans while sitting at the kitchen table of the apartment we all shared. I was drinking heavily, feeling nostalgic, and toasting to our friendship with shots of tequila. I was also feeling very sad about the breakup of our little threesome after graduation. Paul was going to New York City to start a job with his father's investment firm, Ryan was going to Stanford to get his PhD in psychology, and I was going to stay in Ann Arbor to attend law school.

  I sat there, looking at my friends from under the brim of my sombrero, and burst into tears.

  "I can't beelieeeve we are graduuuating," my words slurred. "I'm gonna miss you guys soooo much!" I dropped my head to the table and sobbed.

  Ryan rubbed my back, soothing me as he always did. I lifted my head a little too quickly, got a head rush, and cursed. I glanced at Ryan and Paul, and started weeping again.

  "I just can't beeeleeeeve you guys are gonna be all the way 'cross the country from each other! It's not faaairirrr! You should be together and— and— haaaaaappy."

  "Shhhhh...," Ryan said to calm me. "Look at me, K. We decided I'm going to New York with Paul. I transferred to NYU. I'll get my PhD there, and we can share Paul's apartment. There's even an extra room for when you come to visit."

  "See?" Paul added. "There is nothing to be upset about. It's all good, whack job." Paul's pet names always have a demeaning character to them, which makes me love him even more.

  "But you guys are leaving me here, all by my loooonesooome." They let out exasperated groans, and snatched the tequila bottle from myhand. "This sucks."

  But Ryan and Paul are more than my best friends. They're all the family I have left—at least, the only ones I consider family anymore. They've been there with me during the most difficult times of my life, and I kno
w they always will be.

  "Hey!" I run the last few feet, waving my arms over my head.

  Paul scoops me up in a bear hug. He looks exactly the same—six-foot-five football-player build with blond hair. He's a total stud in his white T-shirt straining against the rippling muscles of his chest and upper arms. He's wearing an unbuttoned baseball jersey over the top and jeans. "Okay, my turn." Ryan pushes his way between us and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

  He's just a little taller than I am, also with an athletic build. His beautiful black hair has a few more grays than I remember, but it looks handsome on him. Ryan's blue eyes, which I once thought were incomparable, don't hold a candle to Stone's.

  I step up to the will-call window and give my name to the woman behind the glass. She puts up her finger indicating that I need to wait.

  A young man comes from around the back of the will-call booth wearing dark blue pants and a polo with the stadium logo embroidered on the chest. "Kylie Tate?"

  "Yes," How does he knows my name?

  "Ma'am, I'm here to escort you and your guests to the Stone box."

  "The stone box?" I repeat.

  "Yes, ma'am. Mr. Alex Stone would like for you to be his guest and enjoy the game from his private box." The young man gestures to the luxury suites encircling the stadium, high above the stands. "If you'll follow me, I'll escort you."

  Slowly, mouths gaping, Ryan and Paul turn to look at me, eyes wide. I shrug sheepishly, pick up my bag, and follow the usher into the stadium. Paul and Ryan are quick on my heels.

  The room is larger than I anticipated. There are two tiers—an upper lounging area separated by three steps leading down to two rows of upgraded plush stadium seats for viewing the game. The box sits along the third baseline, next to home plate.

  Along one wall in the upper lounge is a bar that appears to be fully stocked. Opposite the bar is a full buffet, loaded with trays of hot and cold dishes. In between the bar and the buffet are a couple of round tables with dark leather club chairs for viewing the game while eating.

  "Is there anything else you need?" The usher asks.

  I shake my head, and he walks out the door.

  "What the hell, Tate?" Paul draws out, a wide grin on his face.

  "Yeah, spill it, K. What's all this about?" Ryan asks.

  "I'm not really sure. I did some legal work for him—well, for his nephew. I guess this is his way of thanking me?" I shrug.

  The two men look at each other and mimic my shrug before heading toward the buffet.

  Paul rubs his hands together. "Well, we'd better not let this go to waste."

  They load plates with food, grab beers off the bar as they pass, and make their way to the stadium seating to watch the opening pitch.

  I turn and head straight for the bartender, Phil, and order a Long Island iced tea. Where is Stone? Is he here? Butterflies take flight in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again so soon.

  Phil hands me the drink and I take a large gulp.

  "Do you always work in Mr. Stone's suite?" I ask.

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm Mr. Stone's exclusive bartender."

  "Does Mr. Stone do this sort of thing often? I mean, give his suite to...people?"

  Phil glances at me as he wipes the bar, a half grin on his face. "Mr. Stone usually offers his suite to business associates who are visiting from out of town or people he has completed large deals with—things like that."

  What the hell? This is overkill. I didn't do anything for his nephew that a new lawyer couldn't have done at a fraction of the cost. Why such a grandiose gesture?

  "Thanks, Phil." I pick up my bag and fish through it until I find my iPhone. The only way to get answers is to go straight to the source. I take my drink, sit at one of the round tables, and call Alex Stone.

  He answers on the second ring. "Miss Tate. Everything satisfactory with the suite?"

  "Yes. Thank you, but you really didn't need to do this."

  "I have the suite, I'm not using it tonight, and you stated that your friends were visiting from out of town. I wanted to do something special for you and ensure you enjoyed the game."

  "Well, thank you very much. I—we—really appreciate it."

  "It's my pleasure, Miss Tate. We'll talk soon?"

  "Looking forward to it." The words tumble out of my mouth a little too quickly.

  There is something irresistible about this man. My heart is racing to find out what it is while my head is desperately trying to pull on the reins and slow down.

  "Good night, Miss Tate," he growls, and it hits me square in the chest, blazing a fiery path straight between my legs.

  "Good night, Mr. Stone."

  I shake my empty glass at Phil using the universal gesture for Hit me again.

  The sun is annoyingly bright. It's mid-morning when I drop Ryan and Paul at the Amtrak station. They have to cut the weekend short to head home for a family wedding that neither wants to attend.

  We barely mutter good-byes as they get out at the curb. My head is still a little heavy from last night's drink-a-thin, even though I have downed three bottles of water and about six aspirins. I silently curse every bump and pothole in the road.

  I enter the highway on my way back to my row house in the center of town. My cell phone rings, and I answer it without checking the caller ID.

  "Miss Tate, I trust you enjoyed your evening?"

  "I did. Thank you again for offering us your suite." My head is pounding, and I hope I'm exhibiting some professionalism and not the giddy schoolgirl response I feel inside.

  "Good. I'm glad. I won't take up your time. I'm sure you have plans with your guests. I just wanted to ensure that everything was to your liking."

  "Oh, you're not interrupting. I just dropped them off at the train station. They had to get back to New York."

  The line is quiet, and I wonder if the call dropped.

  "So, does that mean you're free today?" Stone's voice is hesitant.

  This is new. He's always so confident.

  My heart rate spikes. "Yes, I'm free."

  "I'm taking my boat out. There's a little place up north along the coast that has excellent seafood. I thought you'd like to come along."

  Is Alex Stone is asking me on a date? No way, I know his reputation. Stone doesn't date, especially not thirty-five-year-old women. It's more likely he's taking business associates out for the day to show off his wealth. My invitation is no doubt the etiquette of the elite and wealthy that must be extended due to the work I have performed on his nephew's case.

  I'd much rather spend the day on the couch watching baseball and nursing my throbbing head, but Jack would expect me to represent the firm and not insult our best client.

  Exhaling, I'm thankful Stone can't see my scrunched up face. "Sounds great. I'd love to go. What time and where?"

  "Two o'clock. Will that work for you?" Stone's voice sounds a little more relaxed.

  "Absolutely."

  After a few more minutes of logistics, I end the call and step on the gas. It has been one surprise after another since I met Alex Stone, and I'm a mixture of excited and wary to see what he comes up with next.

  Chapter Five

  I pull into one of the parking places that has Stone Industries spray painted on the cement. One glance down the dock and I see a sleek, white fiberglass boat with dark windows. Stone gave me a detailed description of it— down to the size, make, and model of the vessel—as if knowing he owns a Sunseeker Manhattan is going to aid me in finding the boat any easier.

  The sun is shining. It's warm, but not overly hot. I inhale deeply and breathe in the salt air.

  I throw my beach bag over my shoulder and walk toward the Zeus. Deciding what to wear stole nearly an hour of my life this afternoon. What is the dress code for an excursion up the coast on a yacht?

  My black shorts and white top covering a white bikini will just have to do. Flip-flops and sunglasses complete the ensemble, dress code or not.

  Alex Stone stands at t
he rear of his yacht on a lower aft deck. The intensity of his eyes, as they cruise up and down my body, sir the butterflies into flight in my stomach. It's been a while since any man has looked at me as if he wanted to worship me, consume, and destroy me with pleasure. I am so thankful for all those years of early morning trips to the gym, five-mile runs in the rain, and lap after lap in the pool. At the time, it helped maintain my sanity, with the added bonus of keeping me in shape. At thirty-five, I have the body of a twenty-year-old—well late twenty-year-old, perhaps. But that doesn’t seem to bother Alex Stone, if his pant-melting gaze is any indication.

  Stone is the definition of sex God in a white linen shirt over tanned skin, sleeves rolled up showing off muscular forearms. He does things for a suit that demands admiration. But casual tan cargo shorts, and Sperry boat shoes offer a whole new appreciation for muscular, toned legs. How will I ever make through this trip without drooling over this man and making a spectacle of myself in the process?

  He offers me his hand as I navigate my way onto the aft deck.

  "Welcome aboard, Kylie." Still holding my hand, he raises it to his lips and gently kisses my fingers.

  "Thanks for inviting me, Alex."

  He gives me a wide grin and my heart beats a little faster.

  "Let me give you the grand tour." There is a boyish excitement about him as he shows me around the yacht.

  And he is still holding tightly to my hand.

  We ascend the five steps to the main deck. With the touch of a button, the glass doors fold away against the walls, giving the living area an open, airy feel while still providing protection from the sun and sea. Matching white couches border either side of the room. Long windows run the length of the boat and offer views of the town and bay.

  Just past the lounge is the galley. It's larger than I would've thought possible on a boat, with a full-sized refrigerator, microwave, and cooktop. I run my finger along the breakfast bar topped with polished black granite.

  The space, however, is void of any partygoers milling about with flutes of champagne and caviar.