Masked Page 46

  I opened my inbox and struggled to focus. And nearly jumped out of my skin when my cell phone vibrated. Though it was still in the confines of my purse, I sneaked a peek at it.

  Glad teacher approves. Guess whose ass I’m using this on tonight?

  Instantly, my mind swirled with a new fantasy. I saw him with dark intent in his eyes, approaching me with the ruler. Heard my answering gasp as he spun me around and then yanked off my panties. Could imagine the taunting strokes he’d give my ass with the ruler while he whispered dirty things about pleasure and pain in my ear…

  I squirmed in my seat and made three typos in my first email. I had no one to blame but myself. Awakening new sides of the man was a daily adventure, but so far, Playful Killian was my favorite. Strike that. Second favorite—only to Stunning Sex God Killian.

  After the Lincoln Zoo gala, the media seemed to be everywhere. They’d even started following our team around, knowing we worked closely with Trey and Killian. Creativity became a new game for Killian and me, especially due to the necessity of keeping things strictly professional in front of Margaux. To compensate, he’d opened an email account under an alter ego, Long Duk Dong, who’d grown fond of sending me messages every morning that alternated between filthy and hilarious. By the time lunch break came, I couldn’t wait to have him all to myself. Naturally, we’d discovered every broom and supply closet in the SGC building while we were at it.

  During one of those breaks, he’d surprised me by shuttling me off to a private lab, where he let me watch a tech draw his blood and test it for all the common STDs. I’d been so moved that I’d instantly done the same. Since I was on birth control already for controlling cramps, I’d been begging him to stop scrambling for condoms. We’d celebrated our mutual clean reports by attacking each other in the town car, entering the building through the basement when we returned. The secrecy sucked, but keeping our “thing” off the press’s radar was a vital necessity.

  We split many of our days between SGC and Keystone, consumed with damage control after Trey’s escapade. During our few free hours during the nights, I was obsessed with control of another kind—my libido—as Killian drove me to higher planes of pleasure while I was wrapped around him in his penthouse. Though we kept my room at the hotel to thwart suspicion from the media and Margaux, I now came and went from his building with such regularity that the door staff were on standing orders to see me in without calling for Killian’s permission. I was officially on VIP status at Lincoln Park 2550.

  Mental high five.

  Finally, Killian was fed up with what he called our Post-it notes of time. He called early on a Tuesday, ordering me to pack a bag and clear most of the upcoming weekend. We’d be in condo hibernation mode from Friday night through Monday dawn.

  As the next three days dragged by, I admitted to fantasizing about the time more than any other date in my life. I shook my head more than once during the process. Calling Killian Stone a date seemed blasphemous. This man was in a league of his own.

  Friday night finally came. I rolled my overnight case into the entryway with me, fully prepared for the weekend.

  As soon as I stepped into the living room, my stomach somersaulted in all the best ways. The lights in the room were dimmed. The fireplace crackled. Soft music played through the surround-sound speakers. Fantastic smells unfurled from the kitchen, the savory notes hinting at a menu of things tasty, cheesy, and French. I vowed to wave the white flag if Killian could cook on top of every other drive-me-crazy element about him.

  A quick peek into the kitchen revealed it as empty, though I saw two glasses of wine poured and waiting on the counter. Quickly after that, I noticed the open balcony door. A chilly breeze kicked in, blowing across the zebra-wood floor, past my high-heeled boots, and beneath my long skirt to my bare legs. It had rained most of the day, but the showers were full of springtime balm, so I hadn’t worn anything except panties beneath my work clothes. However, the night had a nip, and I was still a California girl wimp, so I allowed myself a quick shiver.

  I grabbed the glasses from the counter and headed toward the slider to find my handsome host. He turned as I approached, making me tremble for completely different reasons. He was more breathtaking than the city skyline view, dressed in a cream-colored sweater that enhanced his swimmer’s torso to perfection, along with soft wool trousers.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, extending a glass.

  He smiled as he accepted the wine before stretching to wrap his other hand around my nape, pulling me to where he stood. Simply continuing the motion, he greeted me with a warm, thorough kiss that banished my chill, sizzled through my veins, and had me whimpering by the time he pulled away.

  I couldn’t help swaying toward him, prying my eyes half open to glimpse if I affected him nearly as much as he did me. My vision was filled with his thick lashes, still closed against his cheeks as he pressed his forehead to mine, appearing as though he was praying to some deity with a mixture of penitence and praise. His shoulders were tense around his ears, and I wasn’t sure how to react. The man’s intensity, both daunting and beautiful since the first moment we’d shaken hands, now seemed to climb exponentially with each passing day.

  After a long moment, he exhaled and let his shoulders drop. He kissed me again, this time with a different purpose. Desperation? Need? Passion? All three? The latter seemed the most likely as he set his glass on the sheltered ledge and then lifted his other hand to my head, twisting fingers through my hair and plundering my mouth anew. I felt anchored to him, accepting the fervid strokes of his tongue with open mewls, letting him suck and bite at my lips and jaw while traveling his mouth to my ear.

  “Sweet Claire. My fairy queen.” He let out a harsh breath. I did the same. My stomach had taken up a full acrobatic act now, and my heart joined it. But gymnastics were not my thing.

  Something was going on. I pulled my head back to gaze up at him.

  “Tell me,” I charged. “What is it?” I let my psyche dive into the black seas of his eyes, rejecting the life vest. The emotions in his inky depths extended for countless fathoms, made even scarier by the realization that most involved me. But a larger epiphany struck. This weekend wasn’t just about hibernation. It was about revelation. There were still secrets between us, a fact I suddenly hated with a vengeance. His gaze confirmed that he felt the same.

  I reached up, stroking his strong, proud jaw. “Tell me, Kil. You’re safe with me, remember? No more running. Isn’t that our rule now?” I grinned as punctuation, trying to inject a little levity.

  He tugged my hand from his face and gently moved it over his heart instead. More emotional gymnastics, especially as he extended his gaze, regarding me with such tenderness, uncertainty…and fear? Dear God, I could feel him trembling too.

  “Are you cold?” I queried. It seemed the logical thing to say. He never shook like this. Never threw me into confusion like this. Never looked so vulnerable like this. “Should we go inside?”

  He laughed, but the mirth barely passed his lips. It sure as hell didn’t make it to his eyes. “I’m not cold, baby girl.” He kept my hand close to his chest. “I’m scared. Scared to death, actually.”

  I started to panic. Had Margaux finally said something to him? No. He’d already have downed half the wine, and a deep instinct told me his tension level would be different.

  That narrowed things to one option. What could Trey possibly have done now? I tried to pull my hand away, but Killian yanked back, gripping me tighter. “What happened? What has he done?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. He’s doing everything completely right. The picture of a reformed rake, down to his appearance at the Children’s Hospital Fun Run this afternoon.”

  I frowned a little. “And that’s a problem?”

  A laugh tugged the edges of his lips, though sadness formed its underpinnings. “Damn right it’s a problem. Everything’s going so well that you’ll pack up your things and go back to San Diego. And you’ll
take this”—he pulled my hand away enough to tap it back against his chest—“along with you.” His eyes began to shimmer with glints of intensity. “I’m not sure I’m equipped to survive without you now.”

  With my free hand, I raised my glass and took a huge gulp from it. I suddenly had the driest throat in Illinois. And the most overwhelmed mind. I drained the glass before daring to look up again.

  “Do you mind if we go inside? Now I’m kind of cold.” I was stalling, and he probably saw right through it. But returning to the living room freed me to turn distractions into conversation. “What smells so good? Please don’t tell me you can cook too, Stone. If this gets out, we’ll be worrying about your fan club instead of the press this weekend.”

  “Perhaps I can, Miss Montgomery.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows, making me burst into giggles. “Maybe we’ll forget teacher’s ruler in favor of a wooden spoon on that fantastic ass.”

  I continued laughing—until he pulled a big wooden spoon from the canister on the countertop. “You wouldn’t dare!” I’d just refilled my wine but set it down on the counter, backing away.

  “I would.” As he stalked toward me, he tapped the implement against his thigh.

  “Killian, I’m serious.” I deliberately cranked up my moan.

  “So am I, baby. So. Am. I.”

  “That— That thing will hurt.” Damn it, my stomach was in knots. The good, squishy kind.

  “Hmm. Probably. But only for a little bit, I promise.”

  My insides melted a little more. His “promise” looked hot and horny and heavenly. “Okay, wait. I’ll make a deal with you.” Yep, stalling again—but if I made a run for it, he would catch me before I cleared three feet down the hall.

  His Lucifer’s smirk spread across his sinful lips. “Hmm. A deal. Well, I am a businessman.” He arched an eyebrow. “But a shrewd one.”

  I nodded, my solemnity not entirely mocking. “And don’t I know it.”

  “Let’s hear your terms, then, fairy.”

  I firmed my stance and raised my chin. “Truth or dare.”

  His features widened on a laugh. “What?”

  “Truth or dare,” I repeated with more confidence. “If I pick dare, you can spank me with that giant oar you’re calling a spoon. If I pick truth, you can ask me anything you want.”

  He played at the hem of my skirt with the spoon. “The idea has merit. Go on.”

  “The rules apply both ways.” I fought to keep my gaze away from his face, lust now clouding his features as he roamed the spoon up my thigh and across one cheek of my backside. “But I’ll think of something better for your dare because I can’t imagine you’d consent to a spanking—ever.”

  His grin grew wider, which I interpreted as agreement to the plan. For a second, I almost reneged. What on earth was I getting myself into? On the other hand, maybe this was a good thing. We’d both been withholding things from each other, and we both knew it. Maybe now Killian would pry back a few of his masks for me, even a little. Maybe it would be worth the price of lifting mine.

  He swept a hand toward the sofa and then turned to pull a brick of brie from the oven. From the sideboard, he scooped up a basket of crusty artisan bread. I grabbed our glasses and the wine bottle before sitting down. As he lowered next to me, one arm sliding along the back of the sofa, he appeared a little skittish. I grinned, deciding Nervous Killian was pretty damn hot too.

  “All right, my queen. Ladies first.”

  “Really?” After his nod and grin of confirmation, I bounced a little, grabbed his hand, and declared, “Okay then, Mr. Stone. Truth or dare?”

  “Truth.” He answered with smug speed. That was all right. I was ready. You might think twice about that next time, Stone.

  “How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I blushed in the asking, but it was a legitimate curiosity. Besides, given my refusal to consent to a spanking in this lifetime, he certainly wasn’t going to tread lightly on his question for me. I had to take the opportunity now.

  “Seventeen.” He followed it with a simple stare. No details, despite the grin I gave him as a spur. Aha. Now I followed his strategy. I would have to word my questions more carefully.

  Satisfaction gleamed from the handsome bastard’s gaze as he twirled the spoon with his long fingers like a majorette’s baton. In the same motion, he popped a piece of bread into his mouth. “Okay, then. Truth or dare, Claire.” The silly slumber party words slid seductively from his mouth, especially as he lingered through the process of licking cheese off his lips.

  “You’re trying to distract me,” I accused.

  “Definitely. And it’s working.”

  I growled, met his stare straight on, and challenged, “Truth.”

  “Have you ever had sex on the beach?” His eyes danced with mischief. I’m sure mine sparkled wickedly now too.

  “Be careful what you’re asking, Mr. Stone. You may not like the answer.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide that?”

  I took a sip of wine. “Well, remember that I’ve lived in San Diego my whole life, so…yes.” When his face fell a little, I chuckled. “What’d I just say? Don’t ask me things you might be afraid of knowing, mister. You’re forcing me to tell you the truth.”

  A laugh cracked his lips as well. He leaned and planted a fast kiss on my lips. “We both have histories, baby. I know that. I can’t help being a little pissed that other men have touched you, but I’m not an idiot.”

  “Well,” I mumbled, “not all the time.”

  In retaliation, he pressed his lips harder. He paused to dip another piece of bread, but this time, he lifted it to my mouth with his fingers underneath to catch the dripping cheese. When I finished chewing, I leaned forward to suck the savory goo off his fingers, capturing his stare with mine as I swirled my tongue around the tip of each long, beautiful digit. His Adam’s apple throbbed with a hard gulp. I didn’t relent. With the edges of my teeth, I nipped at the pad of his thumb, which didn’t have a trace of cheese on it. It was time for this silly game to be over.

  He pulled his hand back and took a sip of wine without breaking our eye contact. The charge in the air between us was tangible. When he spoke, his voice was a husky grate. “Your turn, fairy.”

  “But I really liked the new game we were playing.” I said it with my best pout, making him laugh. I had to admit, getting him to open up was exhilarating. He was as movable as a mountain when an action plan wasn’t his idea.

  “Fine. Truth or dare?” I added a nice eye roll for good measure—though this time, he stunned me with his answer.

  “Dare.”

  I snapped wide eyes at him. Sucked in a hard breath.

  “Ohhhh, the possibilities, Mr. Stone.”

  He pressed close again, his burnished features a mesmerizing portrait of rigid and soft, command yet need. “Indeed, Miss Montgomery.”

  Screw the possibilities. There was only one thing I wanted right now. Needed. Screwed up my courage to demand from him.

  “I dare you to make love to me, right here, on your living room floor, in front of the fireplace.”

  By this point, my stomach was a damn trapeze act of anxiety—but another part of me cheered. Phrasing anything to this man in the form of an ultimatum, even in the parameters of a game, felt like telling the president to strip naked in front of Congress. It just wasn’t done. Killian’s authority was like his skin. He wore it, wielded it, and protected it with a ferocity I couldn’t explain.

  Which meant I succumbed to a dozen kinds of insecurity as he rose and walked out of the room. Despite my dread, I couldn’t peel my stare from him as he turned toward the bedroom. I heard movement but had no idea what was going on. In a motionless mix of apprehension and excitement, I waited for him to return—hopefully.

  He prowled back into the room carrying a large throw that was some type of faux fur in silver and black. I pushed the ottoman out of the way, taking care not to jostle the wineglasses, as he spread the blanket on the flo
or in its place. Still not uttering a word, he tossed the large pillows from the sofa on top of the throw. The result was a scene from some divine romance movie—as well as my wildest fantasies.

  Killian toed off his loafers and kicked them to the side of the blanket. He guided my hands to his shoulders as he bent and unzipped my boots, tossing them in the same direction after I stepped from them.

  For a long moment, we simply stood looking at each other. I tried to focus on getting enough air as I comprehended that, for this perfect bubble of time, this beautiful man was all mine.

  The rain began again outside. Drops trickled down the huge window panes, but the fireplace kept everything warm inside—as if I needed those flames, with the radiance of the man who now slipped to his knees in front of me. When he tilted his head and gazed up at me, the coal of his eyes reached into all the corners of my heart, heating me from the inside out. The song on the radio flowed around us, sweet harmonies on top of beautiful words.

  And if you fall, you’ll always land right in these arms…these arms of mine…

  “Claire.” He uttered only that while resting his head against my stomach. I filtered my fingers though his hair as he wrapped his arms around my hips, worshipping me. Holding him tighter, I battled the feeling that if I didn’t, I would be suddenly lost.

  In that singular moment, our relationship shifted to strange new ground. We really did peel back masks, opening ourselves, being bare…being scared. Without words, professing our acceptance of each other’s secrets and still wanting each other despite them. Because of them. A gift given mutually, freely, perfectly.

  I’d never felt more beautiful in my life. More desired. Forever. I pleaded the word to heaven. Couldn’t this simply go on forever? At the same time, I acknowledged my gratitude for it by refusing to rush anything. With slow care, I sank to my knees as well. We weren’t one above the other anymore—and because of that, I resolved my mind and heart to a significant decision.