Hot for His Hostage (43 page)

Coming in October 2014:

The acclaimed series by Angel Payne & Victoria Blue continues!

No More Masquerade

Secrets of Stone—Book 2

Behind every good man…is the love of an even better woman.

Those were just pretty words before I met Claire Montgomery. Before my fairy queen
burst into my life, I didn’t recognize the bastard in my morning mirror—but her love
has given me the strength to face the imposter, even embrace him. My tower in the
clouds is no longer a sentence of isolation; it’s a jumping point to the stars. With
Claire at my side, I’m the king I always wanted to be, the Killian Stone I always
dreamed of becoming.

Which means for once, I want the mask guarding my secret to stay right where it is.

If you want the grown-up fairy tale…learn to love the dark side.

Profound sentiment. Wish I could get on board with it but the prince in pinstripes
has other ideas. Life has been a dream since Killian burst into the ball offering
the perfect fit—his heart and mine, not the shoes, the car or the jewelry—but the
treasures have become his armor, hiding the man I yearn to know. I refuse to open
his little velvet box until he opens
himself
, letting me see even the dark hallways of his soul…

Until he lifts all his masks for me.

Master of the masquerade…

Fate has always bowed to my bidding. I should have known it was simply picking its
time to exact the best revenge, to reveal the secrets that will destroy everything.
Without my disguise, am I still the man Claire fell in love with…or another penniless
prince vying for an unattainable dream?

Mistress of his ruin?

He always told me to be careful what I wish for. By demanding his truth, have I not
only demolished the dream we had…but the man I’ve loved more than any other?

Special Sneak Preview Excerpt

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 publically became Killian Stone’s girlfriend, the shutterbugs
still enjoyed tracking me down when photo ops were thin up north, in the hallowed
land of LA-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 unless Syndra Sinclair decides to have some fun.”

Syndra, aka “Sin Squared,” was the media’s newest Tinseltown bad girl to hound. Despite
the starlet’s wild behavior, I pitied her. The photographers were much nicer to me
than her, and the experience left me frazzled. I could only imagine what her life
was like.

“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 like I hadn’t been asked the question before. I was sure
Killian had been asked twice as many times. But he wasn’t asking that question 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 gave 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 took me for a long weekend in Santa Barbara in it. And showed me how it detected
every Starbuck’s within a five-mile radius. And gave 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 need…

Now I needed a cold shower.

I settled for a glass of ice water, retrieved after putting away the groceries 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 college. I didn’t care that planes flew overhead all hours
of the day and night; the neighborhood was my favorite part of the city—and the chair
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.

A nag about the piece of intimacy I was still missing with Killian.

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 simple background to the magnificence of him. His power,
grace, sensuality, intensity…it had all sharpened every day between us, even over
the miles, getting better with every consuming kiss, every sinful look, every tingling
touch.

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 peep hole but I slid back the small peek-a-boo door set into
the heavy wood, double-checking it really was Hal and not some magazine peddler.

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 in respect. “Hi. I’m Christina. From Mystic Maids?”

I frowned. “Well, I’m mystified.” I laughed, unable to help myself. She’d pitched
it right 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…then it hit me.

Killian.

“Dear Lord,” I muttered, before unlocking and opening 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 wasn’t going to 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 up here…” I grimaced as her brows 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 erupted in a giggle. Again, adorable to the power of ten. Dammit,
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 one sec 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…and 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 since things were damn
near perfect between us, I was becoming the leader of that privileged crowd. I liked
that spot. 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 highly recommended for their thoroughness
and punctuality.”

“So you not only hired a service, but researched the whole thing.”

“Yes and yes.”

“Dammit, Kil.”

“What? The new acquisition has been a boatload of extra work for your team. Then with
the unexpected damage control from Father’s episode and 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 on 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 makes your panties twelve
kinds of wet 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 wreck all kinds of chaos on my bloodstream. I had no idea what to do with him
when he was like this. While it was infuriating as hell, he elevated caveman to a
whole 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.” It was more a breath than anything else. “How disappointed?”

“Don’t push me.” He let out a rough grunt. “Goddammit, why do you make this shit 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 the window, feeling pulled by an undertow 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.