Masked by Angel Payne

Author:Angel Payne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947222380
Publisher: Waterhouse Press

Chapter 3

Killian

Damn.

The woman wasn’t just gorgeous. She was nervous. As in truly nervous.

The revelation struck me the instant her fingers touched my palm, trembling and a little chilly. For a moment, I didn’t know how to react, either.

When was the last time I’d really put a woman on edge?

Out of necessity, my life was lived behind giant doors, at the top of lock-key elevators. The females who made it past those barricades were sure as storm troopers in every step they’d taken to arrive. If they developed nerves it was an act, usually in thin disguise, to appeal to my protective masculine side. Within seconds, their thighs would be brushing my crotch, their fingers would be trailing my chest, and any shred of interest deflated from my cock. After that, beneath my own veneer of chivalry, I’d walk them back to the town car, the elevator, the stairs, the lobby, or any other alternative to permanently sideline their game. I didn’t have the time or patience to learn playbooks by anyone’s rules but mine, especially if pretense was involved. Life had already dealt me a shit ton of overtime where that offense was concerned.

As for the need left behind by those females? Those physical drives were easily handled with one or two phone calls. A number of the city’s most stunning bachelorettes, all requiring discretion for varying reasons, were only too happy to make the service entrance of their building, followed by their naked and willing bodies, available for my breach.

In the end, it worked out for the best. Being crowned the Enigma of the Magnificent Mile was, after all, an honor of sorts. I’d managed to make the title work for me on a number of levels.

But I didn’t want to make it work right now. There was a heavy ache in my chest, easily recognized as a physical plea to let go, to bask in how I did feel…just once.

With a woman you just met, dumbass? A woman who looks at public reputation in numbers and statistics instead of your hard work and life?

She stood upright again—in a manner of speaking. The stability lasted for two seconds before she tottered again, frantically seizing me for purchase. “Whoa there, San Diego.” I reached and braced both hands around her waist in an equal knee-jerk reaction—but as soon as I damned myself for it and tried to yank away, she squeezed back, spreading her slender fingers above my elbows.

“Oh.” Her touch stretched across the bottoms of my biceps. “Oh, my.”

There had to be a slick comeback to that somewhere in my head. I was a well-educated sonofabitch. Why was my mind suddenly a wasteland?

Christ. I was losing it. I’d just capped my mental pen after writing her off as an employee—a temporary one, at that—yet I never wanted her touch to end. Her fingers were long and tentative, with nails filed into graceful ovals and groomed in a striking shade of navy blue that had a hint of sparkle to it.

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