Oh my God.
The words sprinted through my head, over and over, as I prodded at my lips in assurance I wasn’t dreaming. Or hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a really crazy way. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was suddenly contorted.
Oh. My. God.
What the hell had just happened?
Forget my lips. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had dental work done, tingling in all the places his lips had touched moments ago—which had been everywhere.
My mind raced, trying to match the erratic beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager’s, so I repeated myself. Because that helped, right?
Wrong. So wrong.
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.
Okay, by this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d been everything before. But after what we’d just done, I’d be awake for long hours tonight. Long hours. Shaking with need… Shivering with fear.
I pressed the Call button for the elevator with trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just emerged from, I reconsidered pushing the buzzer next to it instead. The 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—answering his damn summons.
Yeah. He’d summoned me. And, like a breathless backstage groupie, I’d dropped everything and come. Why? He was my hemlock. He could be nothing else.
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 at full power.
It had been a while since I’d been with a man. At least like…that.
Okay, it had been a long while.
For the last three years, career had come before all else. After the disaster I simply called The Nick Years, Dad had fought hard to help rebuild my spirit, including the doors he’d finagled open for me. Wasting those opportunities in favour of relationships wasn’t an option. My focus had paid off, leading to a coveted position at Asher and Associates PR, where I’d quickly advanced to the elite field team for Andrea Asher herself. The six of us, including Andrea and her daughter, Margaux, were called corporate America’s PR dream team. We were brought in when the blemishes were too big and horrid for in-house specialists, hired on a project-by-project basis for our thoroughness and objectivity. That also meant the assignments were intense, 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 job was actually ahead of schedule, and thank God for that. Soon, I’d be back in my rightful place at the home office in San Diego and what had just happened in Killian Stone’s penthouse would remain no more than a blip in my memory. A very secret blip.
I shook my head in defiance. What was wrong with having lived a little? At twenty-six, 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. “You didn’t break any rules…technically…”
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Source No Prince Charming By Angel Payne and Victoria Blue