Wet For Her Warriors (Book 5 of the WILD -- Warriors Intense in Love & Domination -- Boys of Special Forces) (37 page)

Franzen
chuckled. “That’s just fine by me, kid. I’ll introduce you to the magic of
Stephen Schwartz. You can pick from
Pippin, Wicked,
or
Godspell
.”
As Leo’s groan echoed out to them, he looked to Tait and Kellan, the sadness
clinging to his gaze. “It’s going to suck to replace you two, despite your blatant
middle finger to my orders the last time you were here.”

Lani arched both
eyebrows. “A decision that saved my life, Johnny.” In more ways than the man
would ever realize.

“Yeah,” the man
drawled. “That’s why they lived to brag about it.” He replaced his sarcasm with
a respectful tilt of his beer bottle. “On a more serious note, I’m proud as
hell of you both at being tagged for the JSOC venture. Congrats, Sergeants.”

The guys
conveyed their thanks for the praise before Franzen returned to the house. The
rain kept coming down, soaking all three of them, turning the steamy Hawaiian
twilight into a brilliant baptism for their new life together. Lani laughed and
lifted her face, rejoicing in the shower from the sky the same way she finally
accepted what destiny had brought in the form of these two incredible men. All
it had asked in return was her openness, her passion, her courage to embrace it
all. It bade the same of both Kellan and Tait, in overcoming their own walls:
for Kell, in recognizing he even
had
walls, and for Tait, in realizing
that Luna wanted him to be truly happy again.

They’d all come
so far.

Yet it was only
the beginning.

The rain surely
masked her tears now, but somehow she knew the guys could tell the difference,
anyway. She peered up at them through the mist of her happiness and whispered,
“Let’s go home.”

None of them
turned back toward the car. Arm-in-arm, they took the beach route back to Hale
Anelas. As they started to walk along the sand, the last rays of the sunset
burst through the clouds and across the sea, guiding Lani and her warriors
through the rain with a perfect symbol of the spirits’ blessing on their love.

A triple
rainbow.

#
# #

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Special
Preview

Prologue

April

Claire

Oh my God
.

It was all I could think, over and over, as I
reached up to prod at my lips—maybe as a way of assuring I wasn’t dreaming. Or
hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a
really
crazy
way.

Oh. My. God.

What the hell had just happened?

Forget my lip. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had
dental work done, tingling where his lips were just moments ago. Which had
been…everywhere. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was
suddenly contorted.

My mind raced, trying to catch up with the erratic
beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager,
so I repeated myself. Which made
so
much sense.

It was all because of that man. That dictatorial,
demanding…

Nerve-numbing, bone melting…

Man
.

Who really knew how to deliver a kiss.

Hell. That kiss.

Obviously, at this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d
been
everything
before. But that—what we’d done—that single moment was
going to keep me awake tonight.
Late
tonight. I would bet on it.

I pressed the call button for the elevator with
trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just come out of, I
considered re-pushing that buzzer, instead. The sleek black lacquer panel
around the button was still smudged by the angry fingerprints I’d left when
arriving here, not more than thirty minutes ago, because of his damn summons.

Yeah. He’d “summoned” me. And like a breathless
backstage groupie, I’d dropped everything and come.

I was even more pissed now. At him. At me. At the
thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone now, all in answer to one tormenting
question.

If Killian Stone kissed like that, what could he do
to the rest of my body?

No
. That kind of thinking was
dangerous.  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if the air
conditioner just kicked on. It hadn’t. 

It had been a while since I had been with a man. At
least like…that. “Okay,” I admitted to the polished marble floor, “maybe a
long
while.”

For the last three years, career had come in front
of all else, of course. Dad had fought so hard to get doors opened for me, and
wasting those opportunities to spend time on relationships simply wasn’t an
option. My focus paid off, leading to a coveted position at Asher and
Associates PR, where I’d quickly moved up to the elite field team for Andrea
Asher herself. The six of us, including Andrea and her daughter, Margaux, were
called corporate America’s “miracle cover stick.” We were brought in when the
blemishes were too big and horrid for in-house PR specialists, hired
specifically for our thoroughness and objectivity—which also meant the
assignments were brief, ruthless, and very temporary.

The gig at Stone Global was exactly such a job.  And
things were going well. Better than well. People were cooperating. The press
was moving on to new prey. The project was actually ahead of schedule, which
meant that soon, I’d be back to my rightful place at the home office in San
Diego, and what had just happened in Killian Stone’s penthouse would be no more
than a blip in my memory. And his. So what was wrong with having lived a
little? At twenty-seven, I was due for at least one heart-stopping kiss with a
man who looked like dark sin, was built like a Navy SEAL, and kissed like a
fantasy. 
Sweet God, what a fantasy
.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I muttered
furiously. “You didn’t break any rules…technically. You’re both consenting
adults. You’re—”

Having an argument with yourself in the
middle of a hallway in the Lincoln Park 2550 building, waiting on the world’s
slowest damn elevator. 

I leaned on the call button again.

While
still
trying to talk myself out of
pouncing on Killian’s buzzer, too. Or perhaps back into it. If I could concoct
an excuse to ring his doorbell before the elevator arrived…

No. This is dangerous, remember?
He’s
dangerous.
You know all the sordid reasons why—his
and
yours.

Maybe I could just say I accidentally left my purse
inside…

And that’s going to fly…how?
One glance down
at my oversized Michael Kors clutch had me cursing the fashion trend gods,
along with their penchant for large handbags.

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and
hoping for a light bulb. I was bombarded with Killian’s smell, instead. Armani
Code. The cologne was strong in my nose, its rich bergamot and lemon mingling
with the spice of his shampoo and the Scotch on his breath, like he’d marked
the scent into me through the intimacy of our skin…

My fingers roamed to my cheek, tracing the abrasion
of where he’d rubbed me with his stubble. My head fell back from the heady
impact of the recollection.

Suddenly, it was as if he stood right in front of me
again, commanding and warm and close,
so close
. I felt his breath on my
face again. The press of his wool pants against my legs. The metal scrape of
his cufflinks on my skin as he stroked my arms. And the wild throb of my heart
as he pulled me in, caressing my face. Then lifting my chin and…

Yes.

The memory was so vivid, so good. I used the flat of
my palm on my face now, thinking I could save the magic if I covered it.
Protecting it from the outside world. Our perfect secret in the middle of this
chaos.

Whoa.

“Get a grip.” I dropped my hand along with the
furious whisper. It was one kiss. Incredible, yes, but I guaranteed
he
still wasn’t thinking about it like this. Behind that huge, pretty door,
Killian Stone moved again in his world, instantly focused on the next of his
hundred priorities, none of them bearing my name. And he expected me to get
back to mine: cushioning his company from that big, bad outside world I’d just
been vilifying.
You’ve been hired to help clean up the Stone family’s mess,
not add to it.

The elevator finally dinged.

At the same time, Killian’s penthouse door opened
behind me.

I froze a smile on my face, trying to look like I
had been patiently waiting for the elevator the entire time.

“Miss Montgomery?”

Not Killian. I didn’t know whether to curse or
laugh.

“Yes?” I managed a girl scout-sweet reply.

A kind smile waited when I turned around. The man
had such a warm face, as well, tempting me to call him Fred.
Not
Alfred.
Just Fred. The man was too handsome for a full “Alfred.”

Fred handed me a small ivory envelope, then stepped
over into the elevator. He held the doors open while I got into the car with
him. We rode in silence down to the lobby. I squirmed while Fred smiled as if
it were Saturday in the park. Did he know what his boss had just done to me?

I winced toward the wall. Technically, Killian was
my boss right now, too.

Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone. Mr. Stone.

He can never be “Killian” again.

The sooner you remember that, the
better.

 I was dying to open that little envelope, but
carefully placed it in my queen-size clutch for when I was alone again in the
cab on my way back to the hotel.

“I’ll call a cab for you.” Fred made it very obvious
it wasn’t up for debate, so I smiled with gratitude and followed him across the
gleaming lobby to the awning in front of the building.

Chicago was a great city, but the traffic was
insane. Nevertheless, Fred made an empty cab appear within seconds. He prepaid
the fare to the driver, and within seconds, Killian’s building was swallowed by
the lush trees of the neighborhood. I was on my way back to the hotel. Back to
real life.

I pulled out the little treasure from my purse.
Nothing was written on the outside. Killian—Mr. Stone—had expected it would get
to me without questions.

The elegant handwriting inside, dedicated to just
one sentence, dried out my throat upon impact.

I must see you again.

He left no signature. No phone number. Not even an
email address. But the strangest part about it all? I wasn’t surprised. He was
Killian Jamison Stone. And he kissed like
that.
Things—and people—came
to him,
not
the other way around.

But did I have the strength to be one of those
people, knowing I’d never see him again after three months?

Chapter One

Three Months Earlier – February

Killian

“Have a seat.”

I tried to be diplomatic about it. Trey’s stoned
eyes and clammy skin were evidence enough of how he’d tried to self-medicate
the nightmare away last night. But this mess,
his
mess, wasn’t going
away anytime soon. I’d closed the shades, blocking out the panoramic view of
the river and skyline, to force him to see it. All ten monitors on my office
wall blared the headlines from the major news carrier websites.

Stone’s at it Again—Times Two

Throwing Stones? Looks Like He Did

Stones, Sex, and Politics: They Really
Do Mix

Senators Daughters? He’ll Take Two,
Please—At Once

Oh, Trey! Come and Play the Washington
Way!

The titles progressed in creativity from there.

Trey didn’t sit. Instead, while taking a surly trip
to the sideboard, he snarled, “Turn that crap off.”

I parked my ass against my desk and braced my legs.
“Not happening.”

“Where the hell’s all your booze?”

“Forget it. Also not happening.”

“All you have here is coffee.”

“Because it’s nine in the morning.” I glanced at the
monitors again and clenched my jaw. A blond and a brunette this time. One of
them was still in her school uniform. The other had waved hello to eighteen
just last week. Yes,
that
was our single ray of hope here. At least one
of the girls was “legal.”

“I hate coffee.”

“Drink it. You’re going to need it.”

“I’ll gack.”

“Good. It’ll save me the money from having your
stomach pumped.”

Trey hurled the coffee mug, thankfully still empty,
past my head and into one of the monitors. “You know what? Fuck you, Killian!”

The hatred he flung from those bright green eyes,
now through a tangle of his dark hair, hadn’t changed since we were kids.
Neither had the stake of sorrow it drove into my gut. But unlike then, I wasn’t
willing to share my Legos for a chance at his love. Because since then, I’d
learned it wouldn’t make a difference. So the stake stayed. How’d the ditty go?
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.
I could work with that.

“Sorry,” I drawled, “you’re not my type, brother.
Besides, I’d have thought you were a little weary of fucking by now.”

“Nice,” Trey sneered. “I see the overall asshole
factor of this office is seeping into you with no problem.”

“Probably true. But right now, my ‘asshole factor’
is keeping
your
ass from being nicknamed ‘gerbil bitch’ by prisoner
two-fifty-six before dinner tonight. So
sit
.”

Watching the color drain from his pretty-boy cheeks
was an odd relief. Maybe the dumbshit started to comprehend how much trouble he
was really in. He finally dropped into one of the room’s new conference chairs.
The white leather didn’t do anything for his pallor.

Against my better instincts, I gave in to a moment
of sympathy and sat across from him. Sympathy? That proved it; I had to be five
kinds of fucked-up. His trip down Idiot Avenue was costing us market share by
the minute. My lunch with the Melbourne investors, carefully orchestrated for
the wow factor in the Kaffe Room at Keefer’s, would have an appetizer course of
paparazzi. My work day would end long after midnight.