[Secrets of Stone 01.0] No Prince Charming

by Angel Payne

  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 eyebrows 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 marked 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 was the panic that had 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. Damn it, 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 in 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 takeoff. 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, waiting—damn it, 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 face 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 preflight 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 Haversham 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 rain pinging 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.

  She’d pulled her hair up into a ponytail, which emphasized the angles of her face and the little tilts at the corners of her eyes. Burnished strands trailed down against her cheeks, some dotted with rain drops. Her skin was scrubbed clean of makeup, deepening her beauty a thousand more levels for me. Her eyes seemed darker, her lips softer, her skin creamy and clean, begging for my touch…my kisses. In a violent slam of thought, I realized this was probably how she looked first thing in the morning. I immediately imagined her in my arms, yawning as she awakened…only with a lot less clothing. Certainly not with that overcoat, and with—

  What the hell was she wearing underneath?

  My lips quirked. I was guessing, but her ensemble looked like a matched flannel pajama set. The soft-pink fabric was dotted with little purple flowers that matched the tie in her hair. To finish off the ensemble, she’d put on a pair of running shoes, which she now jabbed at the carpet as she took in the plane’s cabin, gaze wide, hands grabbing at opposing elbows.

  She looked so small. So unsure. So confused.

  So perfect.

  Air throttled my lungs at full force. I tried to combat the effect by forming dual fists, realizing too late that appearing like a fire-breathing asswipe wasn’t the best welcome for a woman I’d dragged into the night with a couple of ridiculous notes.

  “You came.”

  Nice going, slick. That’s so much better than the fire-breathing dragon.

  Claire swallowed and wrapped her arms tighter. “I shouldn’t have.”

  My chest constricted. Regret was another feeling I didn’t like to visit very often. I sucked it up and faced the shit anyway. “Probably not.”

  She scooted forward by a hesitant step. “This is a bad idea.”

  I took one too. “Probably is.”

  She lifted her head. I willed her gaze to lock with mine. When it did, I returned to the land of stupid and silent again, not ready to limit this moment to words. Her face was full of torment. I should have said something—done something—to alleviate her conflict. All I could manage was the awe of having her back. Seeing her here. Surrendering the miracle to time’s selfish grip simply wasn’t an option.

  “God.” She half moaned it before breaking our connection, shaking her head. “Look at you!”

  “Why?”

  “Seriously? Now look at me!”

  A wry laugh escaped me. “I haven’t been able to do much else for weeks, baby.”

  She shot back a glare like I’d grown a damn horn. “This isn’t the royal dance at the palace, Killian.”

  “Thank fuck.”

  She ignored my sarcasm. “That means you can’t turn my rags into finery and then waltz me out of the door, thinking we’re going to leave the world behind.” A sound escaped her, perilously close to a sob, before she added, “It means I can’t consider it either—and it was a really dumb idea to come—”

  I cut her off with a vicious growl. Before I talked myself out of the feeling, I crossed to her, shoved my hands to the sides of her face, and cradled her there, subjecting her to the full force of my glare. I didn’t plan on fucking this up again. Nor would I allow her to. “Your rags are the hottest things you’ve ever worn.” I pushed my body closer to hers, purposely sliding my cock against her cleft, grinding against her even harder than I had in the office a few hours ago. “And, God help me, dancing’s only the beginning of what I want to do with you.”

  With a brutal sweep, I dipped her whole body back, forcing her to grip my shoulders for balance. A mixture between a moan and a sigh fell out of her while she did, reverberating through my lips as I let them fall to the column of her neck. When I raised her back up, the movement was merely a formality. With my hand, I quickly found her thigh, swinging it over so she rode on mine while I ground our bodies tighter, moving in time to the sultry rhythm streaming through the speakers. I never thought I’d be so damn grateful for jazz muzak in my life.

  “Killian?” She raised a hand while rasping my name, scraping her fingernails up the back of my head.

  “Yeah?” I worked to press volume into the reply. She felt incredible in my arms, her arms wrapped around me, her floral scent surrounding me. My blood raced. My nerves zinged. My cock swelled. Every sense in my body opened for her—to her.

  “This…this isn’t waltzing.”

  Her coat finally fell open. I lowered my head to the top button on her pajama top. “And I’m not the goddamn prince.”

  She let out a little mewl, responding to my undulations by rocking her hips in return. And fuck if it wasn’t the sexiest thing with her body encased in those damn pajamas. “So…I don’t have to worry about the clock striking midnight? About having to run back to the pumpkin?”

  I dragged my head up in order to meet her eyes. Hers were heavy-lidded, the irises clouded beneath a golden haze of longing…and lust. Dear fuck, I wanted to kiss her again. And I did. Though the contact was brief, I lingered on, biting at her sweet coral lips with open offerings of my teeth, now bared in a joyous grin.

  “No waltzing,” I finally murmured. “And no clocks. And no pumpkins. And no running.”

  Both her dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Good,” she whispered. “Because God help me, I don’t think I can.”

  Chapter Ten

  Claire

  As Killian groaned in approval and pulled me tighter to him, my nerves and adrenaline battled with disbelief and wonder. Was this really me, bantering with him about pumpkins and waltzes? Was this really him, breathing harder as I ran my fingers up his nape and through his thick, beautiful hair? Was this my body, tingling low in my belly, moistening for him, craving more of his commanding touch? All the answers led to one word, shrouded in my haze of lust.

  Yes.

  “Let’s get you out of this wet jacket.” He ordered it with his devil’s grin—and a panty-melting glint in his eyes. “I’d like to show you the rest of the plane.” While scooting behind me to help with the coat, he added in my ear, “As soon as possible.”

  “There’s more?” My awe was genuine.

  “Oh, yeah. The best part.” He walked back around, taking my hand with a playful wink, dissolving me deeper. I wondered how many people in the corporate world, if any, had seen the playful side of Killian Stone.

  He continued walking me toward the back of the plane. I let my jaw fall, admitting I’d never seen anything like it in my life. I’d only had glimpses of first class, let alone been in a private jet. Rich wood panels rep
laced the normal white plastic cabinets. Sleek metal trim outlined compartments for storage, accented by matching knobs and inlaid handles.

  But the most glorious sight of all was the man in front of me, dark and tall and perfect in his tailored-to-the-millimeter suit, his steps confident as a king, his warmth alluring as a panther. His elegance reminded me of my own ridiculous state. Despite the command of his handclasp, I winced and hesitated. He stopped too. I dropped my head to avoid his scrutiny. And, if I was honest, to indulge my anxiety.

  He pressed close again, surrounding me with heat. I swore God had replaced one of the man’s vital organs with a furnace.

  “What is it?” He bypassed a questioning tone in favor of an outright demand. “No more stop signs, Claire, remember?”

  “I’m not running,” I protested.

  “No?”

  “No. I’m—I’m embarrassed.”

  A long index finger lifted my chin. “Open up,” he directed softly. When I obeyed, opening my eyes only to be consumed by the midnight depths of his, he pressed, “Why embarrassed?”

  “Earth to Killian Stone?” My attempt at sarcasm backfired into a trembling mess. “I’m standing here in my pajamas, mister. Not even my good ones.”

  His lips twitched. “You have more than one pair of these?”

  “If I hadn’t promised not to bolt on your ass—”

  He stopped me with another kiss that had my toes curling inside my shoes. After he let me breathe again—at least I thought I could—he drenched me with a stare full of pure seduction before murmuring, “I have the perfect solution to your dilemma, sweet damsel.”

  After a few more steps, we arrived at the back end of the plane and stopped in front of another door. Killian turned and looked down at me again, beaming even more of his wicked, secretive smile. I gazed back, watching a million thoughts flash through his eyes, including a frisson of uncertainty. For a second, I knew the heady feeling of having power over Killian Stone. It was…bizarre.