Masked Page 38

  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 9

  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 th
ings 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 10

  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 replaced 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.

  He opened the small door and stood back, letting me enter the private room. My whole body trembled as I stepped forward. A queen-size bed took up most of the space. It was decorated with luxurious pillows and a downy comforter, all in rich hues of mahogany and chocolate. The space also contained a small dresser and another door, apparently leading to a bathroom and dressing area.

  Everything knotted and pulsed in my stomach…and then trailed lower. I kept my composure by taking a deep breath before turning toward Killian. He’d followed me and now stood inches away, hovering as if assuring himself I wouldn’t change my mind. He wrapped an arm around my waist, stabbing his intense gaze down at me before hauling me close. With his other hand, he pulled the tie free from my hair and then buried his face in my loosened tresses. I rested my cheek to his chest, letting the pound of his heartbeat resonate through my senses.

  We sighed together. Then moaned. Damn. Damn. He was so hard, so strong, so close, so warm. So here. I rolled my head against him, practically a pleading kitten in my need for more. I didn’t care. Judging from the deep resonance of Killian’s answering groan, he didn’t, either.

  He squeezed me tighter. Tunneled his hand deeper into my hair, tugging gently so my scalp ignited tiny bites of tantalizing pain.

  “I love the way you smell,” he grated.

  In an equally rough surge, he twirled me around then yanked me back against him, fitting our bodies into each other. I gasped as my backside pressed on the long, hard evidence of his desire.

  “I love the way you feel.” He rocked me along his erection, breathing hard in my ear. Heat exploded through my body and roared through my head, an effect that intensified as he reached back and shut the door with a distinct click. My pulse spiked as he returned both hands to my body, trailing warm kisses down my neck while spreading his grasp across my waist.

  “You’re so tiny.” He punctuated the whisper by sinking his teeth into my shoulder, making me cry out in stunned arousal.

  The way he handled me, targeting every bite to render the most carnal reactions from my flesh, plunged my senses deeper into their most primitive state.

  “I could eat you up in one bite, baby.” His tone became rougher. His touch did too. “But I’m not going to. I’m going to savor every lick, every taste, and every sip of you. You’re my special little dessert.” At last he cupped my mound through my clothes, enforcing how much he’d soaked me already. “Goddamn. I’ve never tasted a fairy before…and now I can’t wait to know what every drop of you is like.”

  I leaned my head back on his chest and moaned. “I want you so much…” I ended it with a mortified gasp. My hands flew up to cover my mouth as he chuckled once more. That damn wine. It loos
ened every ounce of foolish boldness in me. I couldn’t believe the words had spilled out like that.

  He didn’t help my nerves at all by sneaking around to face me again, his steps smooth, his face intent. With a commanding rumble, he pulled my hands from my mouth and then held them in front of me, as if preparing me for prayer. Not a bad idea. Maybe divine intervention would keep me from jamming my entire foot into my mouth.

  With both my hands gathered into one of his, he flashed me that Hades-born grin again. My pulse kicked up. It pounded in my throat as I tried to swallow.

  “Now.” He drew the word out, turning the sole syllable into a sensual work of art. I gulped again. If he was going for intense effect, it was working. Brilliantly. “I think it’s time we take care of these pajamas.”

  “Oh,” I squeaked. “Can we…errr…turn out the lights first?”

  He shook his head with slow deliberation before I finished. One of his black eyebrows arched up. Without releasing my hands, he used his free fingers to slip my top button open. He let one finger loiter in the space, tugging back the fabric to reveal the first flesh of my breasts.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  I, on the other hand, was engaged in some speed math. The pajama top only possessed four buttons, though the bottom one had gone missing six months ago. I couldn’t bring myself to put it in the Goodwill basket yet. That meant he only had two more buttons to go.

  Correction. One more.

  Killian bent and used his lips on the opening as he freed the next button. I shuddered from the reverent contact of his mouth. When he exposed more skin with the last, he moved his magical lips into that space too.

  He released my hands so the shirt could slide off my shoulders and then down to the floor. I instantly blushed, dunked in embarrassment. Everything I knew about foreplay wasn’t like this. I was used to groping and rushing in the dark. This was so strange and new and—

  Mesmerizing.