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  “What the—”

  “No, sir. That’s my line, and I plan on using it.” She pointed a finger the general direction of the conference room. “What the hell was that?”

  I set the contract slide to the desk. “You mean the opportunity I handed you on a golden plate?”

  “Opportunity?” She spat the word like I’d dunked it in acid. “That wasn’t an opportunity. That was an ambush.”

  I rarely had problems finding a reaction for a situation. But at this moment, I admitted to the exception. I was stunned into silence.

  By now, most women with her ambition—make that all women with her ambition—would’ve had the door locked, my ass in a chair, their knees on the floor, and my fly down, eager to show their gratitude for the break I’d just delivered with everything but a big red bow on my dick. I didn’t expect or want that from her. A goddamn smile would’ve sealed the day with perfection.

  “Pardon me?” I bit out every syllable—making her retort more astounding.

  “Nope. Not ready to do that yet.”

  I folded my arms. “Really? So fucking sorry for the bother, then. Guess I was too busy wondering if I should call Britta to put out a tracking number on your sanity. Clearly it’s not in the building anymore.”

  She growled—growled—before sweeping her arms out, fingers splayed. “I wasn’t prepared! Don’t you get that? I wasn’t throwing out some bullshit line. I really wasn’t ready.”

  I arched both eyebrows. “Could’ve fooled me, San Diego.”

  “Are you seriously pulling flippant right now? Thank God I did have a few ideas to pull out of my ass—”

  “Brilliant ones, I might add.”

  “No,” she spat. “You may not add a damn thing. The integrity of Andrea’s reputation might have been compromised by your curve ball—also meaning my ass would be on its way to the unemployment line right now.” A humorless laugh spilled from her. “Wouldn’t that be a peachy wedding gift for my dad, telling him I’m moving back in because I was just canned by his sweet little bride?”

  “Not a possibility.” I growled too—though mine was issued in deep conviction. Andrea Asher didn’t strike me as a woman reckless enough to ax a team member for stepping outside their comfort zone in a private meeting purposed for the free exchange of ideas. Even if that were the case, I knew at least three companies here in town who’d snap up a jewel like Claire Montgomery. I had a feeling she’d like it here. Chicago was passionate, creative, and vital…like her.

  Hell. Could I deal with this woman working and living up the street? Permanently? Maybe that would be a good thing. Perhaps I wouldn’t be so transfixed by her. Right now, she was a shiny but transitory indulgence, captivating me to dangerous levels with her fleeting stop across my life’s path.

  “You might as well have stripped me naked.”

  She didn’t help my cause with the thoughts her line evoked. I used the act of circling out from the desk to help beat my brain into obedience. “All right, calm down. I’m sure you’ve dealt with curve balls before, Claire. And hell, you hit this one out of the ballpark.” I forced myself to stop several feet from her. Letting the warmth back into my face was an easier feat. “And you were amazing.”

  For a second, her features softened. But just a second. “That’s not the damn point.”

  I cocked my head. “Then what is the damn point?”

  She averted her eyes. “It was a curve ball from you.”

  “And?”

  I hadn’t moved. She scooted back as if I had, shaking her head. “It was a curve ball because of you.”

  The room dimmed a little. Night was encroaching, and I’d only turned on the desk lamp. Even in the dissipated light, I watched her fingers tremble as she rubbed her forearm. Her soft words threaded my chest with a sensation I’d never known before. The confession had been petrifying for her. I could see that. But now I felt it too. In the stillness of this room, in the tension of this moment, I couldn’t write off our connection to any more excuses. Neither could she. No wonder we were both terrified.

  “Sit down.” I quietly pulled out a chair.

  She backed off again. Started rubbing her other arm. “I have to get back to work.”

  “Sit down, Claire.”

  I deliberately snarled it, going for the edges of her frazzled composure. Was the tactic a hundred percent fair? Technically, no. But when she flashed me that hot Irish glare before hurling herself into the chair, I almost pumped a fist in triumph.

  Now we could get somewhere.

  “How may I help you, Mr. Stone?”

  Or maybe not.

  Her voice was sweet—and false—as a barista asking if I wanted extra foam on my latte. It was a good thing she really wasn’t. If I had the drink in hand right now, I’d be hurling it at the walls. Britta would have beheld my new artwork, clucked something colorful under her breath, and then asked if I’d lost my damn mind. At this point, I nearly wondered the same thing.

  What did I want?

  I wanted a simple thank-you.

  I wanted a little smile.

  I wanted her goddamn truth.

  I lowered into the chair next to hers. Every muscle in my body, especially the one between my legs, screamed to pull her closer. It was hell to rein the effort back, bracing one elbow on the table. She smelled so good. A Chanel something, probably Chance. Light. Luminous. Alluring. Fuck.

  “You know, San Diego, it’d be damn easy to box you back up as a precocious priss right now.”

  She let the chair swivel a little. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Why not?” I slid a finger along my lower lip. “Because I’ve never been one for easy, that’s why not.”

  Her eyes sparked with challenge. “Maybe it’s time to discover a new horizon.”

  I dropped my finger. “Too late.” Let it descend to her knee. “I already have.”

  A heavy gulp vibrated down her throat. She dropped her gaze. I let mine follow. Together, we stared at my finger on her skin. Burnished against pale. Rough against soft.

  I dared a trail higher. And didn’t try to hide my coarser breath as I headed for the shadows beneath her skirt.

  “Stone.” Her protest was a sparse rasp. “I don’t think—”

  “Why are you still thinking?”

  “Because one of us has to!”

  I paused my finger’s journey. We both lifted gazes again, letting them tangle in silent questions…wordless need.

  “Tell me you want me to stop. Tell me and mean it, Claire, and I will. But I don’t think you can. I don’t think you want to.”

  “It’s not a matter of what I want, damn it.” She swallowed and huffed. “It’s a matter of what I’ve fought for.”

  “You don’t think I understand that?” Of course she didn’t. She had no clue what I’d done to be sitting in this office today, guiding Stone Global from the office with the door that once bore the name Josiah Stone. No one in the world knew. And they never would.

  She stiffened and jerked her knee away. “You’re kidding, right? How the hell can you understand anything about me? About what’s at stake for me here?”

  I pulled away as well—and hated that the action came easily. “Wow. You’re absolutely right. I’m Killian fucking Stone, which means I was born at the end of the most beautiful rainbow on earth and then spoon-fed milk and honey by angels in see-through gowns who rode on unicorns that barfed thousand-dollar bills. I haven’t had a moment of strife in my entire sun-kissed life. Being raised in a constant spotlight was the easiest damn thing in the world. Then growing up to assume responsibility for the livelihood of thousands? Hmmm. Hasn’t exposed me to a second of pressure in my existence, either.”

  She swallowed again. Her chin trembled a little. Damn it. I’d made her chin shake. As if the broadside I’d dealt her in the meeting wasn’t enough, I had to add a heaping scoop of asshole on top of her shit sundae. Real smooth, Kil.

  “That— That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
>
  Her rasp, soft and brave, tore deeper at me. My psyche came to a crossroads of reactions. One of those paths led to kissing her. Hard.

  I picked the easier road. Raw rage.

  “Then what the hell do you mean?”

  She gasped as I reared up, yanking on both arms of her chair to position her directly under me. Her blouse was stretched tight by her pumping lungs, its pink shade matching the most vulnerable part of her inner lips. She was fucking breathtaking. One small click over from my fury laid my lust, pounding at my inner thighs, more than ready to take over my better judgment. Just one tick of permission from my mind and I could lift her, trapping her lips and her body and her will beneath mine…

  Back off. I let my anger whip my body into compliance.

  “We both know the answer to that.” She jabbed her chin up. “This is bigger, much bigger, than your kinky angels and puking unicorns, Mr. Stone.”

  Her sneering emphasis on the last two syllables was a good thing and a bad thing, feeding my rage even more. “Not an answer to the damn question.”

  “The hell it isn’t. Or was I right when I first walked in here? Are you really that inept at putting two sensible thoughts together?”

  “And are you that inept at addressing a direct inquiry?” I gripped the chair tighter. Loomed closer over her. Plunged my glare into her face.

  “I’m adept enough to tell you to back off, Stone. Now.”

  I didn’t move. She didn’t either. Her sable lashes flashed wider, unleashing the twin flames of her gaze back at me. I almost relented my stance. I didn’t expect how fury could change her gaze so quickly and then skewer my gut with equal speed. The brilliance in her amber irises intensified by a thousand, screaming at my senses to get lost in them—and my cock to be possessed by them. For one amazing second, I let myself feel all of it. The feeling was euphoric. Catastrophic. And agonizing. Clothes—mine and hers—had never seemed like straitjackets before.

  “That’s really what you want?”

  “Yes.” Though it was a small whisper, she maintained the regal hold of her head. “Yes, it’s what I want.”

  Though I already hovered less than a foot over her, I lowered a few more inches. Her face consumed my view. Her scent filled my head. In just twenty-four hours, her essence had sneaked beneath my constant, careful armor. I adored her for it. I hated her for it.

  “For the record, I don’t tolerate dishonesty from my employees, Claire.” Against every screaming protest from my mind, I dipped my scrutiny to her lips. “In any form.”

  She tried to press deeper into the chair. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  I let one side of my mouth twitch. “That’s an answer only you can provide.”

  She sucked in a ragged breath. “Mr. Stone…”

  “Yes.”

  “Leave me the hell alone.”

  She clutched her thighs, her hands still nowhere near my body. I pushed away as if she’d sucker-punched me.

  She might as well have.

  I wheeled away, surprised I didn’t drip blood in the doing. A brutal voice resonated through me about how this was for the best. If she’d gotten this far under my skin in a day, what kind of destruction could she bring in the months ahead?

  My fury told the voice to go fuck itself.

  I backed away as she rose from the chair, looking wobbly yet beautiful as a newborn fawn. Satisfaction merged with frustration in my chest. Even if she denied it a million more times, the woman’s body all but proclaimed its awareness of our attraction.

  “Miss Montgomery?”

  She came to a stiff stop in her retreat from the room. Without turning, she snapped, “What?”

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  * * *

  Hours later, ensconced in my condo office with my fourth glass of Scotch in one hand and my second contract in the other, I fought to remember that moment with the same fervor I used to forget it.

  Officially, I’d won the skirmish. Had the last word. Sent her fleeing from my office, looking flustered as hell about it on the way. Down she goes. Kill Shot lands the point.

  Some goddamn victory.

  Why the mope, Kil? Wait. I remember. She came to you expressing frustration and concern, and you returned the favor by coming on so strong she bolted from the room. Considering you were ten seconds away from plunging your tongue down her throat and your hand into her blouse, she did you a massive favor, shithead.

  Which blew apart my justification for the alcohol stupor.

  Fuck.

  Hope flared. There was a flaw in that logic, something circling back to the fact that I remembered this afternoon at all. Right. That was it. I wasn’t plowed enough.

  Another long swig of the Glenlivet slid down with a harsh burn. The contract’s words swam in my vision.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I blurted it aloud. Well, thought I did. At least my tongue was hopping on board the train to oblivion. As for my gut? It still listened to my mind, which answered the question with vicious clarity.

  What the fuck was I doing? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing because it had already been done. The damage was complete. I’d cauterized Claire Montgomery, relegating her to the bin she should’ve remained in from the start. She was a vendor. Brilliant, beautiful, and focused about her work, yes—but anything more than that, no.

  It’s better this way. You’re safer. Stronger.

  Why did I sense she said the same thing to herself tonight?

  Why had I stared into her eyes this afternoon, detecting the fires there that concealed their own secrets?

  Why did I feel her fear of me, of us, as something that extended beyond trepidation about sleeping with the boss?

  “Claire.” I etched her name on the air in a croak. Even in my trashed state, her name sounded like a poem from magical realms. “What are you keeping from me, fairy queen?”

  The invocation was all it took to conjure her in my mind’s eye. So stunning…she still wore that cute gray suit but had taken her hair down, letting it tumble in deep-copper waves around her heart-shaped face. A Mona Lisa smile played on her lips.

  You’ll never know, Killian Stone. You’ll never know.

  With a groan, I slammed my empty glass to the desk. Before I turned my chair to face the window, I shut off the desk lamp. The darkness consuming the room, along with the wind howling past the windows, should’ve eased the heat in my body. Fat fucking chance. I tore off my T-shirt, letting it fall to the floor as I watched the strands of car lights, white and red, along both sides of Lakeshore Drive. They turned into wet splotches as rain began to mix with the gusts.

  In my mind, the two of us were in one of those cars.

  We were wearing trenches against the rain. Beneath our coats, we were naked.

  My head fell back as the fantasy took over.

  “Tell me your secrets, Claire…and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Never, Killian. Ever.”

  I kissed her to silence her. Slid my hand inside her cloak to thumb one of her nipples and then the other. As she mewled against my lips, her flesh puckered beneath my fingers. Her skin was silken and soft, except for the stiff nubs that turned harder for me by the second…

  My groan sliced the stillness of the office. I chopped it short by clenching my teeth—and reaching beneath my sweats. As my fingers reached the moisture at the head of my cock, I laid my dream Claire back on the car seat. My free hand slid between her thighs. She gasped, arching into my touch. My dick swelled against my fingers. “Yesssss,” I hissed. Her body was hot and wet and ready, slicking my skin, enticing me to delve deeper…

  “Killian!”

  “Sssshhh, my queen. This is just the beginning.”

  “Of— Of what?”

  “Your pleasure. At the mercy of my hands…and my mouth.”

  “Ohhhh…God…”

  “Spread yourself for me. Let me into your pussy, sweet Claire.”

  Her sigh filled my head as my grunt
mixed with the howls of the storm. With a feverish jerk, I pulled my erection out of my sweats. My cock throbbed against my hand, veins distended, skin taut, blood pounding. I stroked myself with a mix of relief and anger, thankful to give in to my lust, furious it had to be like this.

  I slid my tongue through her slick pink folds, lowering my head to reach deeper. I could almost taste her now, tangy and rich and perfect…

  “Ohhh, Killian…”

  She grabbed my hair. I pushed on her thighs, spreading her wider. She hooked one ankle over the top of the car seat. The other, she wrapped around my back. I ran my hands along her inner thighs until I got to her ankles, shoving off her heels so I could explore the contours of her feet. Moving back to the middle of her body, I tugged at the tie on her overcoat, fully exposing her.

  In the dark office, I pumped harder at my cock. My precome was distributed everywhere now, even trickling along my balls. They throbbed an encouraging refrain in return. Soon. Soon. Soon.

  In the back seat of my dream car, the city lights flowed across Claire’s perfect body. She was aqua then pink then orange, my carnal queen, my private fairy to be fucked. Alfred buzzed on the intercom, asking if there was anywhere we wanted to go before returning to the condo. I slammed on the Return button, issuing two terse words in response. “Yes. Canada.”

  The wind whipped harder. The rain began pelting the office window. I pumped harder at my erection, all the while clenching my thighs. Not yet. I didn’t want to let it go. Not before the best part of the fantasy.

  “Killian. I need you inside me. Please…please!”

  Thank fuck the best part wasn’t far off.

  “Take the condom, Claire. I want to watch you roll it on me.”

  The perfect smile on her lips as she took the rubber. The perfect pressure of her fingers with every inch she sheathed me. The perfect angle of her hips, offered so sweetly to me.

  The pure, perfect paradise of her body.

  “Claire.” I rasped it aloud, needing at least a part of the dream to be real. “Dear God, Claire. Your pussy is pure heaven.”

  “Can you fuck me deeper? Please. Oh, please…”

  I thrust my hips, ramming my flesh ruthlessly through my fingers. I rocked my head back as I imagined hers doing the same thing in the car, her breasts jutting up, her bare body a brazen offering to me.