Midnight Action

by Elle Kennedy

  His gaze swept over her. He’d lied before. He was totally digging the dress. And the hairdo. The shoes. The vixen-red lipstick. Christ, he wanted to kiss those fuck-me lips more than he wanted his next breath.

  “Come. Here,” he growled.

  “Make me.”

  Just like that, his control snapped like a bungee cord. Forget breathing—his brain stopped working right along with his lungs, his vision nothing but a thick haze of lust as he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her toward the railing. He spun her around so she was against it, then moved in behind her and ground his aching groin over her ass.

  Noelle’s moan cut the air, soft enough that he doubted anyone down below had heard it. And if they did, he didn’t give a fuck. He’d turned into an animal, a desperate, hungry animal with one thought on his mind.

  He scrunched up her dress and shoved the material all the way up to her waist. She was still covered in the front, but naked from the lower back down, and when he glimpsed her bare ass, a groan left his lips.

  “Oh Jesus.” He stroked her tight buttocks with his palm, then undid the button of his trousers.

  Letting out a ragged breath, he reached inside his boxer-briefs and pulled out his granite-hard cock. With Noelle in front of him, he wasn’t worried about anyone catching a glimpse of the little soldier, but there was nothing shielding her. If anyone in the ballroom so much as craned their neck, they’d get a hell of an eyeful: Noelle bent over the railing, fingers curled over the cool steel, cleavage spilling out of her dress.

  Cursing softly, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her backward, repositioning them so they were against the wall, several feet back and out of view of any guests.

  The second he rubbed the head of his cock along the crease of her ass cheeks, she gasped in pleasure. “Oh God. Please.”

  The quiet plea was enough to make him shudder.

  Holding her dress up with one hand, he gripped her hip with the other and drove into her from behind.

  Fuuuuuck.

  It felt so criminally good he literally saw stars. Heat and moisture surrounded his erection, her inner muscles clamping around him like a hot, pulsing glove. The sexual excitement burning in his blood was stronger than any burst of desire he’d ever felt in his life.

  But no, that wasn’t true. He’d experienced this same blast of need before. Earlier today, when he’d been balls deep in Noelle. Nineteen years ago, when he’d been buried inside the most beautiful girl in the world.

  It was her. It was always her.

  The realization spurred his emotions, propelled his hips forward. He slammed into her, struggling for breath, desperately trying to hold on to his crumbling restraint. But there was nothing controlled about this.

  With Noelle, it was impossible to hold back.

  His chin rested on her shoulder as his hips pistoned hard, his cock furiously thrusting into her tight channel, over and over again. Her unique scent drugged his senses, and the fine hairs at the nape of her neck tickled his cheek and made him shiver.

  A moan slipped out when his next thrust hit deep. “Oh God,” she whispered. “More. Faster.”

  The tempo went from fast to frantic, as he relinquished all common sense and gave in to raw, primal need. His balls slapped Noelle’s perfect ass with each demanding stroke, and he knew from her little mewls of pleasure that she was getting close.

  When she threw her head back and trembled in orgasm, it was like stepping into a room engulfed in flames. His heart stopped and his body burned, and triumph blinded his vision, because it was so rare to watch this woman come apart. So rare to hear her throaty cry of surrender and see the sated slump of her delicate shoulders.

  “Coming,” he ground out. “Oh fuck.”

  The hot waves of pleasure started deep in his balls and shot out in every direction, turning his limbs to jelly and his mind to mush. His release filled her, dripped down his still-hard shaft, and even as he tried to catch his breath, he reached into his pocket for a black silk handkerchief and hastily cleaned them up before their clothes got ruined.

  The climax had been so intense he still saw black spots, still had trouble breathing. With a hoarse groan, he withdrew from her tight sheath and tucked his semierect cock back in his pants. As he zipped up his trousers, the hem of Noelle’s dress slipped from his fingers, the silky material floating to the floor with a soft rustle.

  “How about now?” Her voice shook slightly as she turned to face him. “Out of your system?”

  “No,” he said thickly. “You?”

  She opened her mouth, but was cut off by a sudden buzz of voices from the ballroom. Frowning, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and approached the railing.

  Morgan followed her, resting both hands on the steel rail as he gazed below.

  He immediately pinpointed the source of commotion. A small crowd had formed near the ice sculpture he’d been admiring earlier, and holding court in the center of the group was a man in a black tuxedo jacket and white dress shirt.

  “I think our host is here,” he said.

  Noelle nodded. “Looks like it.”

  They watched from the box, but the new arrival was blocked from their view, surrounded by several taller men who didn’t seem inclined to move out of the way. Morgan glimpsed a head of dark blond hair, an aristocratic profile, and a flash of straight white teeth, but it wasn’t enough.

  Annoyance filtered through him. “Let’s go downstairs. I can’t see shit from here.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the crowd parted to reveal the center of attention. Maurice Durand. The man was in his late sixties. Medium height, fair complexion, handsome face...that face.

  Morgan couldn’t quite place the man, but he knew him. He wasn’t sure how, but—son of a bitch.

  At that moment, Durand turned to speak to someone, offering Morgan a perfect view of his eyes.

  He froze, unable to fathom what he was seeing.

  Those eyes.

  The color of dark roast coffee, deep and intense and completely unsuited for that lily-white skin and light hair.

  In his lifetime, Morgan had come across only two people with that particular combination of chocolate eyes and pale skin.

  All the air seeped out of his lungs as his brain made the connection.

  “Ariana,” he breathed.

  Chapter 12

  One word. Four syllables.

  That was all it took for the color to drain from Noelle’s face, for her heart to stop midbeat and her knees to buckle. Hearing that name, now, when her body was still exhibiting the lingering effects of her orgasm...It was like a splash of icy water to the face. God, she still felt the evidence of her and Jim’s coupling sticking to her thighs.

  How could he say that goddamn name?

  She gripped the railing to steady herself, while her gaze frantically scanned the crowd below, searching it for a tiny blonde with dark, petulant eyes. She came up empty-handed at every turn.

  Ariana wasn’t here.

  Maybe she’d misheard him and he hadn’t spoken Ariana’s name at all. Or maybe he’d said it to hurt her. Waited for her to drop her guard, to give in to desire again, only to twist the knife deep by saying the one thing he knew would hurt her the most. Maybe he—shit. Her train of thought came to an abrupt standstill as her gaze landed on a familiar face.

  Walther Dietrich.

  Noelle wasn’t taken aback often, but there was no mistaking his face. It was older now, boasting new wrinkles around the mouth and eyes, but aside from that, Dietrich hadn’t changed.

  Beside her, Jim was frozen in place. Blue eyes glued to Dietrich, his face pale and stricken.

  In all the years she’d known him, this was the first time she’d seen Jim Morgan look...powerless. Honest-to-God powerless, as if he had no answers, no master plan, no idea what to do next. He
remained paralyzed with shock, prompting Noelle to snap into action.

  She grabbed his arm and forcibly moved him away from the railing, using her other hand to fish her phone out of her clutch.

  “Frédéric,” she snapped once her driver answered. “Bring the car around. Now.”

  Her command snapped Jim out of his trance. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “We have to go.”

  The color slowly returned to his face. He blinked wildly, as if still trying to make sense of what he’d seen. “Are you kidding me? We can’t go! Didn’t you see him? That’s Walther fucking Dietrich down there!”

  The desperation flashing in his eyes brought a rush of bitterness to her throat. She swallowed through the acidic burn and fixed him with a grave look.

  “We have to go,” she repeated. “We’re not equipped to deal with this right now. What if he recognizes you?”

  His cheeks hollowed in dismay. “We can’t leave. What if she’s here? Ariana...What if she’s here in this house?”

  A wave of fury crested inside her, so strong she nearly launched her fist into his jaw. Goddamn him. Goddamn him. How could he even say that?

  “I don’t give a shit if she’s here,” Noelle hissed out. “If Dietrich sees either one of us, we could both lose our lives. If you want to die tonight, then by all means, stay. But I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  She bulldozed past him, flinging aside the velvet curtain and stumbling into the brightly lit corridor. It took every ounce of willpower not to pick up the antique brass candelabra on a nearby Louis XV–era credenza to hurl it into the wall. The rage she’d been harboring for so many years had bubbled to the surface, threatening to blaze everything in its path, but somehow she managed to tamp it down. She needed to keep a clear head.

  She halted at the top of the stairs, realizing she couldn’t risk going back to the ballroom. No, she had to find another way out of the mansion, an escape route that wouldn’t place her in Dietrich’s path.

  Walther Dietrich. Here, in Paris. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  But she forced herself to banish the slew of questions that arose. She didn’t have time to think about what had happened between her, Jim, and Dietrich all those years ago. She didn’t have time to dwell on that moment that had made Jim Morgan hate her as much as she hated him. She just had to get out of this house unseen. End of story.

  Drawing an even breath, Noelle headed in the other direction, marching past closed doors and walls adorned with more expensive artwork. She’d just discovered a second staircase at the end of the corridor when she sensed Jim’s presence.

  Setting her jaw, she turned her head and said, “Finally saw reason, huh?”

  His jaw was equally tight, twitching from the rigid posture. “Let’s go. We can’t afford to be seen.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  They didn’t speak as they descended the stairs. Noelle took the lead, not trusting Jim to follow through on the exit plan. If that bitch Ariana popped out during their escape, she had no doubt Jim would freeze again, and that only enraged her further.

  At the bottom of the stairs they found themselves in another hallway, this one with bare walls and tiled flooring instead of marble. Most likely part of the servants’ quarters, which meant there had to be a service exit nearby. A flurry of voices drifted out of an open doorway up ahead. The kitchen, Noelle realized, as a medley of mouthwatering aromas floated in their direction.

  “Quick,” she murmured.

  They bypassed the kitchen with lightning speed, and suddenly they were in another hallway. A narrower one, without a single door on either side. Jesus. The house was a damn maze.

  Fighting a burst of frustration, she hurried to the end of the hall, took a right, and wound up in a new corridor that contained a wall of rear-facing windows.

  She peered out, taking a moment to orient herself. She glimpsed the hedge maze to the left, a rectangle-shaped swimming pool to the right, each landmark bordered by the beautiful gardens that surrounded the mansion.

  “There should be a way out over there.” She took off in a brisk walk, turned another corner, and breathed in relief.

  The enormous sunroom they’d stumbled into offered comfortable-looking wicker chairs, an endless amount of leafy green plants, and French doors that led outside.

  Neither of them said a word as they exited through the doors. Noelle felt Jim’s warm breath on the back of her neck, heard his unsteady exhales, but she didn’t glance over her shoulder. She didn’t want to see his expression.

  She was worried it could actually cause her to kill him.

  They emerged onto a stone patio. The sweet fragrance of the garden filled Noelle’s nostrils, but she didn’t take the time to admire the scenery. She stepped onto the cobblestone path winding through the property and followed it to the edge of the house, her hand instinctively moving to her thigh as they crept along the exterior wall toward the front of the mansion. She paused to peer around the corner, ready to go for her knife if she had to, but the circular driveway was deserted.

  Except for her Town Car waiting near the arched entryway.

  “Come on,” she muttered to Jim.

  She didn’t turn to check whether he was following her. Frankly, she didn’t give a shit if he was. All she knew was that she had to get out of here, and her self-preservation mattered more to her than Jim Morgan’s emotional state.

  Ten feet from the car, she risked a glance at the front entrance, and spotted the same tuxedo-clad attendant who’d granted them entry before. He had company now, in the form of a tall, blond man who looked vaguely familiar. Noelle couldn’t place him, and she didn’t stick around to try.

  Keeping her gait as casual as possible, she headed for the Town Car and opened the back door before Frédéric could come out to do it for her.

  “Get in,” she said when Jim appeared beside her.

  He had the nerve to hesitate, so she swallowed a curse and nudged him into the car. She’d just slid in after him when the blond man by the door took a distrustful step forward.

  Their eyes locked for one brief moment, and the last thing Noelle saw before she slammed the door shut was the deep frown creasing his mouth.

  A second later, Frédéric stepped on the gas and sped off, leaving the blond stranger and the Durand estate in their proverbial dust.

  The moment they drove through the gate, Noelle allowed herself to relax, but her breathing remained unsteady, thanks to the emotions clogging her chest.

  Beside her, Jim wore a vacant expression and his broad shoulders were slumped over. He hadn’t uttered a word since they’d fled the house, but now those dark blue eyes focused on her.

  “Seventeen years,” he said dully. “I’ve been searching for her for seventeen years.”

  The confession stabbed Noelle like a knife to the heart. She’d known he was still looking for Ariana, but hearing him say it out loud...

  She clenched her teeth and gazed out the tinted window, watching the countryside whiz by as Frédéric delivered them to safety.

  Ariana Dietrich. Jim had been searching for that spoiled, awful girl for seventeen years.

  It shouldn’t hurt this bad, but God, it did. Knowing that he’d loved Ariana that much, that he’d invested so much time in his search...It ripped Noelle apart.

  And that, right there, encapsulated her entire history with the man sitting beside her. Ripping her apart—it was what he always did. He’d ravaged her heart. He’d ruined her life, stolen the only person who’d ever given a damn about her. He’d made her believe he truly loved her, and then he’d snatched that love away, leaving her broken and alone.

  He’d used her. Discarded her like a piece of garbage. Destroyed her.

  She’d thought he was the man of her dreams, only to find out that he’d faked their entire romance.
And then, two years later, he’d done the same damn thing to another unsuspecting female.

  At least that was what Noelle had thought. But what do you know—turned out she was wrong. Yep, because although he’d pretended to love the young and foolish Noelle Phillips, he hadn’t been pretending with Ariana Dietrich.

  The symbolic knife in her chest twisted harder, causing her fingers to tighten over the very real one strapped to her thigh. It wouldn’t take much to slide her hand beneath her dress and unsheathe the blade. She could end it now. Shove the deadly tip directly into his carotid artery. Be done with him forever.

  But her hand stayed put.

  • • •

  It was a long and agonizing drive back to the city. When they finally got to her town house, Noelle was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop. She had to get away from Jim. Had to collect her thoughts, control the dangerous emotions running through her. If she didn’t get a handle on herself and these impulsive urges, she might do something she’d regret, and for a woman who prided herself on self-control, her current state just pissed her off more.

  “Noelle.” Jim’s gruff voice sounded from behind her.

  She’d just reached the elevator on the other side of the cavernous garage, but she forced herself to look over at him. “I want you gone. Right now.”

  He frowned.

  Her hands began to shake again. She spun around, jammed a finger on the elevator button, and kept her back to him.

  “You have no reason to be here anymore,” she said stiffly. “You know who wants to kill you now, and it’s not much of a stretch to figure out why. So get back in the car and tell Frédéric where you want to go. I’ll have your things delivered to you.”

  Rather than heed her order, he followed her into the elevator.

  Uncharacteristic panic clawed at her throat. “I mean it. You need to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The moment of weakness he’d succumbed to earlier had vanished. His face was no longer slack with shock, but hard with fortitude. And his voice was steady again, ringing with determination.