Masked Page 53

  A couple of hours later, we stood at the VIP security checkpoint in O’Hare Airport. I sighed back tears and swallowed hard. Then again. This was the part that sucked every time.

  I stood on the tips of my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck. I felt—and saw—the appreciative stares of other women at him, also not a new aspect of our public goodbyes. Killian was just one of those men. It didn’t matter what he wore, said, or did—he simply attracted attention. His own sigh, deep and heavy, reverberated through us both as he locked his arms around my waist and lifted me off the ground to meet his lips. Our height difference was ridiculous when I wasn’t in heels, and I always dressed in flats when traveling in case of the need for an OJ-style sprint through the airport.

  “Just two weeks,” he whispered into my ear.

  I reacted with a choked moan. “It always seems like longer.”

  His grip tightened. He nipped softly at my earlobe. “You know, in this position, you’re a bit helpless. I could just steal you away…walk you right out of here before you could fight back…”

  He pulled back enough to let me see his attempt at a sinister leer. Instead, he looked a little dorky…and a lot sexy. I giggled and rubbed a hand against the weekend scruff lining his jaw. “I wouldn’t even try to fight, and you know it.”

  We smothered each other in a lip-mashing kiss. At the moment I felt his crotch start to lurch against the puddle at the crux of my thighs, he reared back. With a deprecating grin, he murmured, “Wow.”

  “You stole that thought right out of my head.”

  His gaze darkened, and his lips lifted. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Damn straight. Just think…how I was so afraid of you running away…”

  I pouted. “I never ran very far.”

  “Would’ve been a lot less far if you were naked in my bed more often.”

  I smacked his shoulder playfully as he set me back down, but the overhead speakers blared with the boarding call for my flight. Instantly, I leaped back at him, overwhelmed and teary. He was right—it would only be two weeks before I saw him again. The reassurance did nothing this time. I didn’t want to let go. No…no.

  I looked up into his dark velvet eyes, struggling to blink the sting out of mine. Alarm tightened the corners of his lips.

  “Hey hey…why the tears, fairy?” He brushed my hair back and kissed my forehead.

  “I love you so much,” I rasped. “In such a short amount of time, I’ve fallen so far. I’m in big trouble here.”

  “This isn’t trouble, baby. It’s love. And it’s the best thing a person could hope to find in their lifetime. This is the real deal…and we’ve found it with each other…and I’m so fucking grateful. So unless those are tears of happiness, no more crying, okay?”

  His words, so pure and strong, lent me the will to nod. “Okay.”

  “You’re stuck with me, Claire Montgomery, for as long as you’ll have me. The ride’s just beginning.”

  “Not a Tilt-A-Whirl, right?”

  He chuckled. “Nope. No more throwing up, I guarantee it. This distance thing…it’s temporary.”

  I giggled again. “Watch out, everyone. Killian Stone has spoken.”

  “Fucking right,” he drawled, kissing me again before assuring, “We’ll work it out. Maybe there’s a Southern California office in the future for SGC, or maybe we’ll buy a little farm halfway for both of us…”

  I smirked. “You realize that lands us somewhere in Colorado.”

  “Hmmm. Perhaps a ranch, then. Or a little trendy coffee shop. I could wear a beret and make designs out of cappuccino foam all day.” When I could answer with nothing but a long laugh at imagining him as a hipster barista, he answered with a dazzling smile and went on. “We don’t have to decide today. Until we do, it’s one day at a time for you and me. Now get your sweet ass on that plane before I really do have to fly you home myself.”

  We had a long-standing deal. I never looked back after I cleared security, so we kissed one last time before I turned and headed home.

  The summer sunset gleamed through the window of the plane as I buckled into seat 1A, the same place I occupied on every flight. The first-class location was another nonnegotiable item Killian had insisted on in my SGC contract. When I’d questioned the extravagance, he’d growled that if his fairy queen insisted on commercial flights, he insisted she fly in front, and there’d be no argument. I’d known better than to reply with anything more than a thankful kiss.

  A private driver waited for me at Lindberg Field when I arrived in San Diego, loading me up in no time. During the drive through the city, I turned on my phone, not shocked to see three text messages waiting for me. I slowly smiled. No matter how many surprises the man wielded, in some ways, he was breathtakingly predictable. I knew what the texts would say before even reading the screen.

  I.

  Must.

  See you again.

  And we lived happily ever after.

  For now.

  Continue the Secrets of Stone Series with Book Two

  Keep reading for an excerpt!

  Enjoy Secrets of Stone: No Prince Charming?

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  Excerpt from No More Masquerade: Secrets of Stone Book Two

  Chapter One

  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 publicly become Killian Stone’s girlfriend, the shutterbugs still enjoyed tracking me down when photo ops were thin up north in 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 do 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 these days.”

  “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 as though I hadn’t been asked the question before. I was sure Killian had been asked twice as many times. But he wasn’t getting down on one knee 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 had given it to me, I’d told him my name wasn’t Captain Picard and refused to drive the thing for a month. But then he’d driven me in it for a long weekend in Santa Barbara. And had shown me how it detected every Starbucks within a five-mile radius. And had given me a couple of hours in its back seat, parked in a eucalyptus grove overlooking Goleta Beach, that still made parts of me tremble with desire…

  Now I needed a cold shower.

  I settled for a glass of ice water, retrieved after putting away the gr
oceries 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 at 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 simply 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 peephole, but I slid back the small peek-a-boo door set into the heavy wood, checking it really was Hal and not somebody selling money-saving solar panels.

  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 quickly. “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…and then it hit me.

  Killian.

  “Dear Lord.” I unlocked and 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 eyebrows 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. Damn it, 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 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 position. 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.”

  “Damn it, 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 in 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 home.”

  “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. “Goddamnit, 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 of the window, feeling pulled by an undertow and 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.<
br />
  Loved him.

  “Claire? Are we done here?”

  I fumed for another long moment. “Fine. Yes. We’re done here. Jerk.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too, jerk.”

  His chuckle filled my ear before I disconnected.

  I showed Christina where I kept my vacuum and whatever else she needed to clean the place but drew the line at her doing my laundry. I’d wash my own damn underwear, thank you very much.

  After packing my laptop, some files, and a bottle of water into my beach bag, I headed out. Before leaving, I demonstrated the alarm-setting procedure for Christina. Apparently, she’d be stopping by on a weekly basis from now on.

  The second I was settled in with my towel, chair, and laptop at the beach, my phone rang for the fifth time. I already knew who it was. Persistence should have been the man’s middle name, not Jamison—especially when he knew I was unhappy with him.

  “Yes, dearest?”

  “Why are you letting my calls go to voicemail?”

  “I was driving to the beach. Sorry, I almost waited for the shoulder carriage but figured you’d cancel the order when learning about the four studs that came with it.”

  “I was worried about you.” He ignored my sarcasm in favor of a gentle tone. It was likely the closest thing I’d get to an apology right now.

  “It was less than ten miles.”

  “Most fatal accidents occur close to home. And your driving scares the hell out of me. You know that.”

  “So I’m supposed to make it worse—and break the law—by picking up your call?”

  “I’ll just get you a driver too. Two birds, one stone. You can get more work done instead of stressing about the commute, and I won’t have to worry when you don’t—”