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  No More Masquerade

  The Secrets of Stone, Book 2

  By Angel Payne

  and Victoria Blue

  No More Masquerade

  Secrets of Stone, Book 2

  Copyright © 2014 By Fin Mint Publishing, LLP

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9904137-3-8

  Kobo Edition

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Edited By:

  Melisande Scott

  Riane Holt

  Tracy Roelle

  Cover Art:

  Parajunkee Designs

  www.parajunkee.net

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The authors gratefully acknowledge the following registered trademarks in this work of fiction.

  Oscars

  Audi

  Tilt-a-Whirl

  Duraflame

  Giuseppe Zanotti

  Louboutin

  Prius

  M&M’s

  Cole Haan

  Funyons

  Cap’n Crunch

  Dr. Martens

  Dove Bar

  Dedications

  Angel:

  To my amazing family, especially the man who puts up with all the take-out, late nights, and pointless tears. Thomas, you are my rock…forever.

  They say a friend is someone who sees all of you and loves you, anyway. Victoria Blue, you’re the Key to my Peele, the Schmidt to my Jenko, the Thelma to my Louise—and I hope we never stop driving over cliffs together. I love you so much. Now go throw my jacket into the river.

  During the creation of this book, so many amazing events happened to make me so grateful for the support pillars on this crazy writing journey of mine. You all know what blessings you are, in your own amazing ways…

  Jenna Jacob, Carrie Ann Ryan, Shayla Black, Kennedy Layne, Shannon Hunt, Desiree Holt, and Leagh Christensen. Thank you, my wonderful goddess friends!

  Victoria:

  My dearest David and Kadin are the two most amazing men a girl could ever dream of knowing, and I have them both in my life to love and love me back. That in itself makes me the luckiest girl in the world. But I’ve been given another gift we named Ivy. Lately she has shown me what bravery, strength, love, compassion, empathy, heartache and fortitude look and feel like. She reminds us all what our purpose is every day, and when we step out of line, she quickly tugs our leashes and we snap back into place. So for our sweetest girl, I marvel that this book was completed on time, and even makes sense in a lot of places.

  With that in mind, I must thank the four most amazing women in my life, starting with the gift I was given as my writing partner, appropriately named, Angel. Putting up with late nights from hospital rooms and lots of tears this time around, thank you from the bottom of my heart for the encouragement and the true belief in my ability. I love you truly.

  And my dear friends, Elisa, Anna and Kim. I can’t imagine my life without the three of you, I don’t know how I would get through a day with out checking in with you, or hearing your kindness, or goofiness or love and support. I would be lost in a really cruel world without you. xoxoxo

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedications

  Acknowledgements

  Reviews

  One: Claire

  Two: Killian

  Three: Claire

  Four: Killian

  Five: Claire

  Six: Killian

  Seven: Claire

  Eight: Killian

  Nine: Claire

  Ten: Killian

  Eleven: Claire

  Twelve: Killian

  Thirteen: Claire

  Fourteen: Killian

  Fifteen: Claire

  Sixteen: Killian

  Seventeen: Claire

  Eighteen: Killian

  Secrets of Stone, Book 3

  The Cimarrons

  Excerpt from His to Take

  Excerpt from Delicate Ink

  Acknowledgements

  As always, AMAZING thanks to the Angels Wings Goddesses and the WILD Things Facebook group!

  To the insane, amazing, wonderful members of the Skype sprint group:

  Thank you for all the love, encouragement, and support!

  To every blogger and reviewer who wrote to encourage us for more of Killian and Claire’s journey: you have no idea how much those messages have meant! We dig you all so much, and hope you like this one just as much as book 1!

  An incredible, huge, heartfelt thanks to our beta reading team.

  We couldn’t have done it without you!

  Ava Snow

  Val Green

  Amy Kaneff-Rudolph

  Lisa Simo-Kinzer

  Anna Chimenti

  Eileen JeBran

  Susan Stoffel

  Have you read SECRETS OF STONE, BOOK 1?

  Readers and Reviewers across the globe fell in love with Killian and Claire in

  NO PRINCE CHARMING:

  “A book I will be recommending…like smooth whiskey, goes down hot and lingers for a while. I found Killian to be a combination of smexy and sweet, sharing dialogue with Claire that was snarky, funny, and creative.”

  –The Jeep Diva

  “One whopper of a read. The loves scenes are hot and the description of that kiss…ohh, la la!”

  –Noble Reviews

  “A fun, sexy, captivating read…the sex scenes were ridiculously hot; I read them over and over again. You’ll be trapped in a whirlwind of inescapable desire. Mr. Stone is incredibly swoon-worthy!”

  –Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads

  “It was…so easy to get scooped up in this book and empathize. I enjoyed every happy, sad, miserable, horny, and angry minute of it! You will not be disappointed in the least with this awesome, wonderful, and funny contemporary romance.”

  –Paranormaly Yours

  Chapter One

  Claire

  The world was exploding.

  It was my usual reaction when getting swarmed by the paparazzi and their flashbulbs. It probably wouldn’t ever change. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to. Did anyone ever get used to this?

  Eight months after I’d publically become Killian Stone’s girlfriend, the shutterbugs still enjoyed tracking me down when photo ops were thin up north, in the hallowed land of LA-LA. Their latest opportunity—and a Fellini-like horror straight from my nightmares—occurred on a Saturday morning when I got home with groceries in my arms, a sloppy ponytail on my head, and my rattiest beach shorts paired with a faded Queen T-shirt. The tee was a classic, Mercury not Lambert, so I could get away with the rip in the right sleeve.

  “Good morning, Claire. You look great, girlfriend. Give us a smile? Just one?”

  “Guys,” I protested, “aren’t the Oscars in a few weeks? There has to be someone in Hollywood being fitted or waxed or plucked…or whatever they d
o to get ready for that stuff. You have to know where all the salons are, right?”

  “Pffft. They all hire private stylists now. We’re not getting anything before the red carpet unless Syndra Sinclair decides to have some fun.”

  Syndra, aka “Sin Squared,” was the media’s newest Tinseltown bad girl to hound. Despite the starlet’s wild behavior, I pitied her. The photographers were much nicer to me than her, and the experience still left me frazzled. I could only imagine what her life was like.

  “It’s a beautiful Saturday morning,” I persisted, “and we’re only going to have this Indian summer for a few more days. Take the day off. Go to the beach. I give you permission.”

  They chuckled. Then kept clicking away.

  “Speaking of you and the permissions you grant…you’ve captivated Stone longer than any woman before. Will there be a ring on that left hand soon, Claire?”

  My gut clenched. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been asked the question before. I was sure Killian had been asked twice as many times. But he wasn’t asking that question until a lot more of mine were answered. Until he exposed those shadows I could still see in the depths of his gaze…

  “Answer’s the same, Hal.” I shrugged. “No comment. Can you make yourself useful and shut my car door, please?”

  “Need it locked?”

  “It’ll do that by itself.”

  Of course it did. The winter white Audi A8 did everything on its own except yell at idiot drivers and levitate over traffic jams. After Killian gave it to me, I’d told him my name wasn’t Captain Picard and refused to drive the thing for a month. Then he drove me in it for a long weekend in Santa Barbara…and showed me how it detected every Starbuck’s within a five-mile radius…and gave me an afternoon in its back seat, parked in a eucalyptus grove overlooking Goleta Beach, that still made parts of me quiver…

  Now I needed a cold shower.

  I settled for a glass of ice water, retrieved after putting away the groceries and enjoyed on my favorite chair in the house, an old leather recliner I’d had since college. The chair joined the Napa-style décor in my rented Mission Hills bungalow, where I’d lived since graduating. I didn’t care that planes flew overhead all hours of the day and night; the neighborhood was my favorite part of the city, and the chair my favorite part of the house. It was like a friend who knew all my warts and still loved me. It was just what I needed right now. A reminder of closeness on its most basic level.

  Exactly what I was missing with Killian now.

  I sighed. This feeling sucked. He’d given me so much already, and I didn’t mean the material things. While being his queen was sometimes like walking through a luxury living magazine, all of it was simple background to the magnificence of him. His power, grace, sensuality, intensity…all of it enthralling me more with every minute we spent together, even if it was over the miles and especially if it was face-to-face. With every consuming kiss, every sinful look, and every tingling touch, I gave the man more of my heart.

  It scared me.

  Too good to be true.

  How many times were those words more right than wrong?

  The doorbell couldn’t have butted in with better timing.

  I gratefully left my insecurities behind in the chair, despite the discomfort of what I faced. I liked Hal and his buddies but having to shoo them off like magazine salesmen wasn’t fun.

  My door didn’t have a peep hole but I slid back the small peek-a-boo door set into the heavy wood, double-checking it really was Hal and not somebody selling double-paned windows—which I already had.

  I blinked in surprise. No Hal. A small woman stood on the porch, neatly groomed and shyly smiling. I tried to make out the logo on her T-shirt but the sun blasted me in the eye, bouncing off the neighbor’s clay tile roof from across the street.

  “Can I…help you?”

  She nodded in respect. “Hi. I’m Christina. From Mystic Maids?”

  “Well, I’m mystified.” I laughed, unable to help myself. She’d pitched it over the plate but I was still down in the count. I hadn’t hired a cleaning service. She glanced at her paperwork, clearly certain she was at the right address.

  We stood there trying to figure each other out…then it hit me.

  Killian.

  “Dear Lord.” I unlocked then opened the door. “Please come in. Christina, right?” I looked back over my shoulder while the young woman followed me in.

  “Do you mind if I put my lunch in your refrigerator?” She was so adorable. It was going to kill me to tell her she wouldn’t be here long enough to eat the meal.

  “Listen, Christina…I didn’t actually hire you. While I’m sure you do a great job, and I appreciate you coming all the way over here…” I grimaced as her brows met in confusion. “Please, if you can sit tight while I make a quick phone call to my over-the-top boyfriend, we’ll get this straightened out.”

  On cue, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back blasted from my phone. Heat crawled across my face. Christina giggled. Again, endearing to the power of ten. Dammit, she was growing on me by the minute.

  “Speak of the devil.” I gave her a commiserating wink. “Excuse me for one sec.”

  I picked up the call after walking into the front sitting room.

  “Good morning, fairy queen. How’s my girl today?”

  God, he was so perfect.

  And frustrating.

  “Good morning to you, too. I was just about to call you.” I caught Christina starting to move things in the kitchen, dusting into the corners. Better talk fast, girlfriend.

  “Oh, yeah?” His voice descended to a growl that would tempt a nun. “Were you dreaming about me again? Wait one sec while I close my office door and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Why are you in the office on a Saturday?”

  “And you’re not working today?”

  “Not…right at the moment.”

  “The door’s closed. Better idea. Let me video call you. Then you can act out your dream for me. Go to the bedroom. I’ll wait.”

  I swore I could hear his eyebrows waggling across the line. It made my blood dance in delicious ways. A lot of things mesmerized me about the man but his lighthearted side neared the top of the list. He showed it to so few, and it made me kind of swoony to think I was the leader of that privileged crowd. I liked that spot. A lot.

  Where the hell was I?

  Frustrating. Him. Same sentence.

  “We have to switch to serious for a minute.”

  “Okay, but only a minute.”

  “This girl showed up at my house this morning. From Mystic Maids?”

  “Hmm. Good. She’s right on time. They came recommended for their thoroughness and punctuality.”

  “So you not only hired a service, but researched the whole thing.”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Dammit, Kil.”

  “What? The new acquisition has been a boatload of extra work for your team. And with the unexpected damage control from Father’s episode, added to your propensity for perfection…you’ve been working too fucking hard.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle?”

  “The last thing you need to be worrying about is keeping the house clean.”

  “How is Josiah doing, by the way?”

  “They released him yesterday. Simple heartburn, as everyone knows thanks to you. Don’t change the subject.”

  “It’s my subject, buddy. You’re on the hot seat here, not me.”

  “You’re not Cinderella, for chrissake. In spite of the wicked stepsister and the questionable stepmother, the mice on your hearth don’t get to gawk at your cleavage if I don’t.” There was a beat before he got the humor of his own line and started snickering.

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “You’re violating our agreement and I’m peeved.”

  “We didn’t have an ‘agreement.’ We had a talk. I’m not violating a damn—”

  “I don’t need you to keep doing stuff like this for me! I’m sending her hom
e.”

  “Don’t. You. Dare.”

  Shit. Now I’d pissed him off. Big time. And damn…was it hot.

  “Really? Or what? What are you going to do, Chicago? Hmmm. That’s right. You’re all the way in Chicago. Oh, boo.”

  Why the hell was I goading him? You know damn well why. He soaks your panties when he’s in prowling panther mode, that’s why.

  “I could be there by this afternoon, Miss Montgomery. Then I doubt you’d have such a pert little attitude.”

  Miss Montgomery. Shit. When he called me that…using that dark, dangerous tone…

  “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning my own house, Killian. This is ridiculous.”

  “But I don’t want you to.” The line rustled. I imagined him straightening in his Odin’s throne chair at the office, leaning over his big desk, the long fingers of his free hand pushing at the wood as his face hardened with command. “That should be enough of a reason. Do you understand?”

  More heat suffused my face. My eyes slid shut, letting the heat of his imperative tone wreak all kinds of chaos on my bloodstream. I had no idea what to do with him when he got like this. While it was infuriating as hell, he elevated caveman to a new level of sexy. If he commanded me to jam my hand down my shorts and touch myself while he spoke I would’ve complied, even with Christina in the next room.

  “Claire?”

  “What?” I retorted.

  “If you send her away, I will be very disappointed.”

  “Tell me.” Only half my breathy emphasis was feigned. “How disappointed?”

  “Don’t push me.” He grunted without embellishment. “Goddammit, why do you make this shit so hard? I like doing things for you. It’s important to me. And I won’t be questioned over every single decision I make.”

  I stared out the window, feeling pulled by an undertow then slammed by a ten-foot breaker. After eight months, he could still do this to me. I seethed at him. Burned for him. Hated him. Wanted him.

  Loved him.

  “Claire? Are we done here?”