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  I shook my head and risked brushing my knuckles on the edge of her shoulder. “It sounds kind of…nice.”

  I could’ve sworn she trembled, though she covered for it with a delicate snort. “You going sentimental on me, Chicago?”

  I let the jibe pass in favor of risking my touch at the outer curve of her shoulder. “Bet they didn’t wait long to work on creating you.”

  “They waited three years,” she insisted. “They wanted to get established, hopefully buy a home. They were finally able to, though it wasn’t much, just a bedroom, a den, and a kitchen on the rough side of town, in an LA suburb.” She smiled around the rim of her glass as she sipped more. I was tempted to join her, but watching her lips play over that lucky stemware had me forgetting to do anything except stare at her. Study her. Be more deeply enraptured by her. “Those were some of the best days of my life,” she said wistfully.

  “You were very young,” I argued gently.

  “Agreed. But to this day, I can remember those summer days on our tiny front lawn, running through the sprinklers with a homemade ice pop in my hand as Mom looked on. She always had a sketch pad around and enjoyed helping Dad with conceptual drawing of the gardens he was designing.” Another soft laugh spilled from her. “She would always add a little image of me in the pictures too. She told me I was Dad’s ‘wee garden good luck fairy,’ and sometimes she wouldn’t tell me where she’d drawn me in. It became a grand game for me to peer at the drawing, trying to find myself.” Her head bent, and she sniffed. Though she emitted such a quiet sound, her tears were heavy on the air. I turned my hand over in order to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” She swiped at her face. “What a morose mess. It must be the wine.”

  “Then have some more.”

  “No. Really, I—” She huffed as I tipped the bottle over her glass once more. “You don’t like the word no, do you?”

  “Astute woman.” To make her feel better, I poured some more into my own glass. “So. Summers in the sun. Ice pops and sprinklers. Magical garden fairies. Sounds pretty good.” Better than good. For a brief, vicarious moment, I was able to experience a childhood I’d never really had. “What about your siblings? Did they enjoy the front lawn as well?”

  Her answer startled me. “No brothers or sisters. Wasn’t for lack of trying—or so Dad tells me, much to my horror.” She chuckled again, turning to settle an elbow on a throw pillow. “I imagine it’s a blast to grow up with siblings, though. There was a time when you, Trey, and Lance liked each other, right?”

  “Of course.” I forced myself to return her stare, to avoid giving up the lie. The feat was sheer hell, and I had no idea why. By now, the deception had become part of me, like a whore using tender talk on a client she barely knew. A job requirement.

  “So what happened?” she pressed. “How did the three of you sail on such separate tides?”

  There was another lie prepared for that too. I couldn’t bring myself to use it. Maybe borrowing the truth for an ambiguity would feel better. “We grew up,” I hedged. “It happens fast when one is answering to the Stone empire.”

  I took another drag on my wine, disguising the torture of holding back the bitterness from those last three words—another anomaly to this conversation. Normally I evoked the Stone name with reverence. Tonight, it felt like a lead chain around my neck.

  “Okay,” she replied softly. “So what about your parents? You’re close to your father, right? And tell me about your mother.”

  I kept my stare fixed on the burgundy depths inside my glass. “That’s an easy one.” Liar. “I…owe her a great deal.” In truth, the boundaries of words couldn’t contain my gratitude to Willa Stone.

  “What do you mean?”

  I pulled in a deep breath. Answering that wasn’t a luxury I could afford. Not now, not ever. “The subject of this conversation is you, Miss Montgomery, not me.” As soon as I asserted it, she crossed her legs. Though she remained angled toward me, the new pose was a clear intention to shut me out. Nevertheless, I charged. “Tell me what happened to bring you here. Between the ice pops…and these.”

  I pulled on one of her shoes, bringing her foot with it. With my thumb against the top and my other fingers around her ankle, the gesture was meant more as demonstration, not flirtation.

  It was a nice attempt at logic.

  It was also a complete failure.

  Once more, her skin trembled beneath my touch. But this time, she wasn’t only nervous. The fast intake of her breath, the hitch of the pulse at the base of her throat, the heated parting of her lips, all told me otherwise. My breath seized. My cock, hot but obedient until now, pounded in rebellion.

  Goddamn, I wanted her.

  “Sacrifice.”

  The word tumbled from her on half a whisper. I shook my head a little to banish its aroused fog. “What?”

  With a wince, she tugged her leg from my hold. “You want to know what happened to get me here, Mr. Stone? A lot of sacrifice. It was my dad doing without so many things so I could go to college. It was him not taking a single day off during my freshman year. He also sold our family home and lived in an apartment so we’d make my tuition payments. You’re amazed at my focus skills? Well, I learned them from an amazing man. Colin Montgomery.”

  I didn’t reply to that. The renewed set of her shoulders conveyed how much she didn’t want one. She gave me further confirmation by putting down her glass and scooping up her purse.

  I nodded. It would accomplish nothing to tell her that having a glass of wine with me didn’t constitute an insult to her father. After the way we’d just damn near shorted out the electricity in the room with one touch, I understood her anxiety.

  I also had to respect it.

  “Thank you for the honor of your time tonight, Miss Montgomery.”

  Hell. How had my attempt to keep it professional ended up sounding like a line of innuendo?

  “The honor was mine, Mr. Stone.”

  She didn’t help matters, damn it. Every syllable she spoke, soft and polite, sprouted vines of heat through my blood, winding their way right around my cock. Of course.

  “I’ll have the town car brought up to take you back to the hotel.”

  “It’s all right. I can call a cab.”

  “It’s not all right.” I beelined toward the en suite phone on the kitchenette counter. “It’s late. Freaks are still lingering in front of the building—”

  “And I’m a grown woman, capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Where? In San Diego, where the worst thing to fear is a sunburn?”

  She shot up too. Her nostrils flared a little. Her lips bunched a lot. Just my luck, she was sexy as hell even when pissed. “That’s pretty naïve.”

  I snorted. “I assure you, baby girl, I am not naïve.”

  Stunned silence weighted the air—hers because of the endearment I’d flung, mine from wondering if I’d ever known a day of naïve in my life. Our gazes wrestled as proxy for our wills. Our bodies tightened as sacrifices for our desires. I allowed a trio of harsh breaths to break free, hoping they’d assuage the craving to stalk over there, yank her into my arms, and kiss her into submission. And yes, the kiss would only be the start. Of so much more…

  Fortunately, she was an observant woman. Her eyes widened, reading the heat beneath my stare. Between shaky breaths, she declared, “I—I’d better go.”

  I nodded again. Firmly. “In the town car.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  I expected her escalated wrath. In a warped way, I looked forward to it. This woman, in the throes of rage…damn, it was exciting. I knew what that made me. First-class asshole coming through, kids. She’d been through a flight from California, a meeting ending in my pissing contest with Trey, Wooten’s press conference, and retrieving her phone charger on all fours. Yet selfishly, I still reveled in how gorgeous she was, marching back toward me with a stabbing finger. How alive she was. When was the last time I’d felt anything close to
alive?

  “Okay, look. During business hours, you can play dictator as much as you want with me. I even went along with your game tonight, trying to be nice.” She stopped in place and straightened her shoulders. “I’m not going to be nice anymore.”

  “And I wasn’t playing.” Fascination gave way to irritation. I imitated her defiant stance. “I’m still not. Your safety isn’t a goddamn game, Claire.”

  She jerked up her chin. “I’m calling a cab.”

  That did it. Chafing against my arrogance? Alluring as hell. But shoving aside her wellbeing to make a point? Unacceptable.

  I approached her with firm but slow steps. Luckily she didn’t know me well enough yet to decipher my intent—or the level of my ire. When I was a foot away from her, I stopped. Slid my hands into my pockets. Touching her wasn’t going to happen this time. Spearing her with the force of my glare was another matter. From the sizable gulp vibrating down her throat, I was certain she’d gotten the point.

  “Go ahead. Call your cab,” I murmured, serene as a Tibetan monk. “Only, when you hop in, tell the driver to take you all the way to the airport.”

  Her mouth formed an O.

  “You’d throw me off the project for this?”

  “I don’t tolerate stupidity in the name of pride, Miss Montgomery. My patience for that game has been tapped dry by my brother.”

  She snorted again. “Maybe all the rumors about you are true, Mr. Stone.”

  Touché. She’d landed a good stab beneath my armor. But like hell would I let her see that. “There are many rumors spread about me. Can you be more specific?”

  She gave a false smile. “My pleasure. All the ones involving the words overbearing bastard.”

  I rocked back on my heels. “Hmm. Sounds about right.”

  She blinked as if that surprised her. Before she stepped completely away from me, I could have sworn another look crumpled her features behind it. A grimace of sadness?

  “I’ll go get my things from the conference room. Tell your driver I’ll be down in ten minutes. Good night, Mr. Stone.”

  “Goodbye, Miss Montgomery.”

  My gut had nagged me to use the more permanent words. Giving her closure on this—whatever this had been—would assure her I had no intentions of inviting her down the hall for wine sampling every night. Restoring boundaries was my expression of respect.

  Though I doubt the woman presently agreed with me.

  Want to punch me that bad, San Diego? Get in line behind the two dozen people who were there before you.

  In this case, I’d gladly pay the penalty of her fury. At least she’d be safe to wield it.

  So why did those parting words still taste like shit in my mouth?

  Chapter 4

  Claire

  My phone alarm went off at five thirty a.m. I shut it off in a morose haze, wondering if there was any chance at all that yesterday had been a dream. If so, I wouldn’t be a speck sorry.

  My head throbbed. Strangely, so did my heart. I’d never had any trouble disengaging from a project before, especially just one day in. Margaux’s ultimatum on Killian should’ve made this one a no-brainer, though Andrea discouraged serious client mingling as a large unwritten rule. The woman set a daunting example for us all too. She could eat, drink, joke, flirt and do coy with a source for hours, all the while sharpening a knife for their evisceration. Dad even knew this. He thought it was “savvy and sexy.” When he’d confessed it to me, I’d been left wondering if the woman’s blowjobs were that good.

  “Ew,” I whispered.

  The thoughts waiting for me on the other side of the exclamation weren’t much better. How had this happened? I’d only spent seven hours at Stone Global yesterday—time that included the train wreck of last night.

  Damn it.

  What the hell had I been thinking? And doing? Letting him haul me down from the conference table. Clinging to him like a newborn colt. The gut spill in his private sitting room. And the clincher, the brat act I’d given him about a stupid issue like my ride home, sparked by feeling so out of control around him.

  Because I was out of control around him.

  If the day were a fish, I’d throw it back.

  Remarkably, a smile bloomed on my face. Dad had the expression hand-painted on a little plaque in the potting shed in his backyard. I always looked at it and groaned, calling him a maudlin Irishman. Yesterday had sure proved me wrong, hadn’t it?

  I sat up, switched on the light, and peered around the room as a distraction for my aching chest. Already, I was way off my game. Normally I would have all my suitcases unpacked, my toiletries lined up on the vanity, and relaxation candles out—in short, moved in and ready to start my day as if I were in my little house back home, on the hill overlooking Old Town. Instead, I got up and had to paw through my luggage, searching for the least-wrinkled blouse and skirt I could find.

  In the shower, yesterday’s events came barreling back again. Humming Maroon 5 didn’t help, either. Nothing had moved like Jagger from the second Stone paralyzed me with my ass in the air on that table before dragging me into his private hidey hole, the perfect setting for spewing my life story after three sips of wine…

  I groaned.

  Was I that much of a lightweight?

  No. My stupidity had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with the strange fog that slammed me in that man’s presence. I never opened up like that, not even to Dad, especially not to a client. And, damn it, not to a client like him. He graced magazine covers. Did consulting gigs for CNN. Dined at restaurants with unpronounceable names. Could probably see to Canada from his home, at the top of one of those buildings that disappeared into the clouds…

  I shivered with mortification and cranked up the hot water. As the spray pelted my face, one question taunted. How would I face him this morning? By now, he’d likely formed a few definitive thoughts about me. Weak-willed. Imprudent. Immature. A woman—a girl—who babbled like a tipsy sorority sister to every man who poured her some wine, never mind how expensive and fabulous the vintage.

  The worst thing of all?

  I’d reveled in every minute of it.

  God help me, I couldn’t deny my attraction to Killian. Maybe I could’ve if he hadn’t touched me, but it was too late for that. The damage was done. My stomach flipped over on itself when I recalled him helping my balance after pulling me from the conference table…and then reliving the current that passed between us like lightning arcing between storm clouds. Every time we’d brushed, that connection had flared all over again, brilliant and searing, so that when he leaned close, I’d let him. Inwardly, I’d damn near begged for his nearness.

  I smiled, remembering every one of those heart-halting moments. Why not? For a few special minutes, I’d been treated to a glimpse of the man beneath the bespoke suit. He was funny and engaging when he let his guard down, though I quickly comprehended how difficult the exposure was for him. That was only the beginning of his labyrinth—a psychological maze I simply didn’t have time for. Trying to decipher a man like Killian Stone was undoubtedly a full-time job, best left for some bored upper crust woman with nothing more complicated to ponder than matching her shoes and handbag for the city’s next society event.

  Scoffs the woman who matched her nail polish to the company’s damn logo.

  “There’s a difference,” I seethed. Coordinating a manicure was miles from dropping panties for the man. That distance was not going to be breached—even if he caused my body to tingle in places that I’d long forgotten. Illicit places. Wet, pulsing places…

  I brutally turned the knob toward the C setting and finished my shower with chattering teeth.

  When I climbed out, coffee was in order. I brewed the java while my straight iron heated, thanking God for the SGC travel department, wise enough to set us up in a hotel with single-cup brewers. Final decision on the look for the day? A sleek top knot formed a classic match for my no-nonsense gray pinstriped skirt suit, paired with p
ractical pumps. Since it had been so cold in the conference room yesterday, a long-sleeved blouse and the suit jacket would do fine. I always received compliments when I wore pale pink, and luckily, that was the blouse most ready to go.

  As I slipped into my shoes, I stopped for a long second. Hell. I was actually putting extra care into my appearance, though realizing it a few minutes too late.

  “Okay, Montgomery,” I muttered, perusing myself one more time in the full-length mirror on the door. “This behavior needs to stop. You’re here to do a job. Only that. End of story. Nod your head. You understand this. Now nod again.”

  I complied and then realized one affirmation was still missing. No matter what happened between Stone and me yesterday, it was back to business, only business, today. Those minutes together, that feeling when he focused those midnight eyes solely on me…that kind of shit could become addictive. I didn’t have time in my life for addictive. I didn’t have room in my heart for the disappointment and betrayal that would follow. I’d had enough of both to last a lifetime.

  I stuffed my laptop into my briefcase, grabbed my cell, and headed for the elevator. The team usually met in the lobby and then took a shuttle to the business we were working with. I hadn’t heard different plans, so I hit the button for the lobby while taking advantage of the elevator’s mirrored wall to get my lip gloss on evenly.

  The doors slid open, and I caught sight of the team—as they exited through the hotel’s revolving door. Fortunately, Chad turned to make one last scan of the lobby, his face creased with worry. Relief took over as he spotted me.

  “Shit, Claire. I thought we were going to leave you behind.”

  “What the hell? We always leave at eight forty-five. I’m ten minutes early.” I tried and failed not to fume as he hustled me across the lobby. Obviously the plan had been changed and I hadn’t been clued in. The switch-up wasn’t a big deal, but being kept in the dark about it? Not nice. Secrets, big or small, were a major pet peeve, thanks to the significant baggage Nick had left behind in my psyche. The sordid side of our work often provided stunning justification for the mindset too. The truth, however messy, ultimately did set a person free.