The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  Maceo moaned. “Please stop talking like that.”

  Ori tried to smile, taking his hand. “It’s been my reality for over a decade, Maceo. Why do you think I’ve kept moving? If I stand still, he’s got me, and I’ll be dead.”

  Maceo swore in Italian and got up, just as someone knocked at the door. The paramedics examined Ori. “I think it’s just a bad concussion but we should still take you in for tests.”

  Maceo shut down Ori’s protests and rode with her in the ambulance. Once at the hospital, he arranged a private room for her and settled her in. Ori, despite her hatred of hospitals, felt some of the stress of the day falling away and, when the doctor had seen her and prescribed some strong painkillers, she felt herself drifting to sleep, Maceo holding her hand, ready to spend the night in the chair next to her bed.

  The nightmare hit her with full force. She was back in their hotel room, curled up on the bed asleep when he entered the room. Weirdly, she knew he was male even though he was entirely clad in black from head to toe. He forced her onto her back and, in the dream, she complied, watching him dispassionately as he pushed her T-shirt up and raised the lethal-looking blade in the air. It was only when he pulled off his mask that she began to scream.

  Maceo.

  No, no … please, not you, not you, my love …

  Maceo drove the knife into her over and over as she screamed out her love for him, and she felt every inch of the cold, hard steel as it sliced into her tender flesh. She was begging him to stop but he didn’t listen, her blood soaking them both. As she died, she felt his lips against hers and heard him whisper to her, calling her by an unfamiliar name.

  Viola …

  For a few minutes when she woke, Ori did not open her eyes. The nightmare had been so vivid and so visceral that she did not want to see the man next to her, Maceo, and associate him with the monster who had slaughtered her in her dream. God. She felt nauseous, tormented. She struggled with her senses, then opened her eyes. Maceo, his head on the bed, his chair pulled up close, looked 20 years younger when he slept, the furrows and lines of his face smoothed out. His fingers were interwoven with hers, and his dark lashes rested on his olive skin. A small scar at the corner of his right eye curved around like a half moon and Ori reached out to stroke it, her body relaxing.

  God, how I love you, she thought and as he stirred, opened his eyes and gazed at her, she smiled at him. “Good morning, handsome.”

  Maceo blinked a couple of times, still looking like a young kid, then sat up, rubbing his head to try and wake up. He pressed his lips against hers.

  “How do you feel?”

  Ori nodded. “Okay, actually. I had some weird dreams, but I feel good.”

  Maceo sighed. “Thank God.” He moved next to her so he could take her in his arms. Ori snuggled into the warmth of his broad chest.

  “Can we get out of here soon? I want to go home.”

  His lips were against her temple. “If the doctor says you’re good. We can change hotels; I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “No, I mean, home.” She looked up and smiled at his surprised expression, “Home home. Venice. I don’t want to be in the same country as Tyson Janek.”

  Maceo grinned. “You don’t need to persuade me, bella.”

  Four hours later, they were on a flight to Venice. As Ori slept beside him, Maceo was talking to his head of security back in San Francisco. “I want to know who was behind the attack. If it’s Janek, we get the proof and go to the police and the press.”

  “I’ve already looked into it, boss,” Greg, the calm security expert told him. “From what I’ve found out, when you left your meeting with Janek, he gave the order to follow you … but if it was one of his guys who attacked your lady, then it was a rogue operation. Janek wants to kill her himself, not get some lackey to do it. The dude has a seriously fucked-up obsession with his stepdaughter. I don’t think this was him.”

  Dread started to curl in Maceo’s stomach. “Then who?”

  Greg sighed. “We don’t know yet. I’ll call you when we’ve found something out.”

  Maceo drew in a breath. “So we’re being followed?”

  “From a distance. We’re not letting anyone too close, believe me, but you’re leaving the States will probably ping their radar, and they know where to find you in Venice. Sure it’s a good idea to go back?”

  “I won’t be run out of my own city by these figli di puttana,” Maceo said in a low voice. “Ori and I will make our family there. We have our home there, our work.”

  Greg, who had been with Maceo for many years, gave a low, soft chuckle. “Boss, have to say ... I’ve never heard you like this.”

  Maceo smiled. “Never felt like this. Keep me informed.”

  He went to check on Ori, who was asleep in the small bedroom at the back of the private plane. He watched her sleep for a few minutes before lying down next to her and pressing his lips to hers. Ori opened her eyes and smiled, her lips curving up against his, and without speaking, he pushed her onto her back and covered her body with his. He smoothed her hair away from her face, gazing down at her, his eyes questioning. Ori nodded, a tiny movement, and her smile widened as he began to unbutton her dress, his mouth seeking her pink nipples as he popped the catch on her bra. Her breasts were plump and soft against his face as he teased the small nipple until it was rock-hard and Ori was gasping. Maceo grinned as his lips trailed down to her belly, his tongue circling her navel. His fingers were pulling at her underwear, and he could feel how wet she was for him.

  He slid two fingers inside of her as his thumb stroked a rhythm over her clit. Ori moaned softly, willing him on, and then his mouth was on her sex, his teeth grazing gently until he bit down in it. Ori writhed and gasped as his long, thick fingers fucked her, his mouth and his tongue exploring her most intimate places. Maceo could feel his cock thickening, swelling almost painfully until he could bear it no longer and, tugging off his pants, he entered her, his cock enveloped in her sweet, warm cunt.

  They moved together in perfect union, Maceo feeling her had nipples against his chest, her soft belly against his as he drove his cock into her in long, hard thrusts. Her mouth sought his, her skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat, her dark hair clouding around her on the pillow. Her fingernails dug deeply into his buttocks, urging him deeper, rougher ….

  Maceo came hard, his cum shooting deep into her belly as he watched her face change, become ecstatic, glow with the force of her orgasm. Her cunt warmed, contracting and gripping his huge cock and Maceo never wanted this to end. He kissed her passionately, roughly, and tasted blood as he ground his mouth onto hers. Still erect, he began to fuck her again, thrusting harder this time, his gaze locked with hers.

  “Sei così bella,” he whispered tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Ori had tears in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Ti amo, Maceo Bartoli.”

  They made love until they were exhausted, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Shiloh Holt was not a happy woman. The small apartment she shared with two of her friends was getting smaller each day, and she longed for her own space. Sadly, being a spokeswoman for an environmental group didn’t exactly pay well. Despite this, she had been saving for a couple of years and now, finally, it looked like she would get her own place: a tiny studio in the Marias.

  Arranging for her stuff to be moved in a few weeks’ time, Shiloh had to drag her attention back to her work when her boss called a meeting on the Thursday afternoon. Most of her colleagues groaned; Miriam’s meetings tended to run late, and they all had dinner plans or family to get home to.

  Shiloh didn’t mind; anything to prevent going back to the tiny cramped apartment where she lived with Heloise and Liv. She adored them both, as they did her, but all three were feeling the confinements of living so close together. Heloise was her oldest friend from college, a Frenchwoman and artist who dressed entirely in black and smoked endless Gauloises cigarettes. Liv, an eccentric Swede, was a scie
nce lecturer at the Sorbonne. Along with Heloise’s two Siamese cats and Shiloh’s cocker spaniel, Beau, the small apartment was rarely tidy, organized, or stress free.

  No, Shiloh thought to herself now, it’s time, before we all get on each other’s nerves and ruin our friendships.

  Miriam, the director of the institute, began to run through her schedule. Shiloh only half listened until she heard Miriam say her name. She looked up to see everyone staring at her. She flushed.

  “I’m sorry, Miriam, I didn’t catch that.”

  Miriam’s lips pursed in annoyance. “I was asking how you got along with Benoit Vaux.”

  “Got along? Well,” Shiloh grinned, “we didn’t get along at all. He was, as expected, the arrogant prick we all suspected.” The others chuckled, and even Miriam smiled a little. “But, seriously,” Shiloh continued. “I’m afraid to say that he shut me down. Wouldn’t budge. Even a consultation into the suitability of the land is beyond his reasoning at this point.”

  Miriam looked a little startled. “Oh.”

  Shiloh tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry, Miriam.”

  Miriam shook her head. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that he called this morning to tell me that I should be very proud of having such a committed and passionate spokesperson.”

  Shiloh was stunned. “He did?”

  Miriam inclined her head. “And he told me that he would look again at the site.”

  Speechless, Shiloh could only open and close her mouth for moment. “Excuse me,” she muttered after a few moments, then left the meeting room. She strode back to her office and slammed the door. She grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

  Benoit sounded amused. “How nice to hear from you, Ms. Holt.”

  “What game are you playing, Vaux?” Her temper snapped as soon as she heard his chocolate-smooth voice.

  Benoit laughed. “You’ll find out at dinner, tonight. The car will pick you up at eight-thirty.”

  The line went dead, and Shiloh was left mouthing dumbly at the phone. What the hell had just happened?

  Shiloh slammed the receiver down and let out a stream of curse words. There was no way she was going to dinner with this man—no effing way.

  At eighty-thirty, when her doorbell rang, Shiloh was resolutely still in her jeans and old, comfortable T-shirt, barefoot, her hair shoved messily into a ponytail. She opened the door expecting to see an anonymous driver. Instead, Benoit Vaux stood leaning against her doorjamb, dressed in a dark red vintage T-shirt and jeans that hugged his slim hips. Shiloh had to admit—on looks alone, the man knocked it out of the park. He grinned at her.

  “Ready for dinner?”

  Don’t give in. “Mr. Vaux, if you hadn’t so rudely hung up on me, I would have saved you the trouble of coming here by telling you that I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”

  His eyes were amused. “So you don’t want to find out what I’ve decided about the land on Boulevards Coutances, then?”

  She crossed her arms. “What say you tell me now?”

  He shook his head—really, his grin was maddening. “No deal. I’m hungry. There’s a place I’d like to take you.”

  Shiloh’s stomach rumbled and she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not getting changed.”

  Benoit shrugged. “You look beautiful,” he said casually, before holding out his hand.

  Flushing at the compliment but ignoring his hand, Shiloh grabbed her purse and walked out in front of him. She heard his soft chuckle and gritted her teeth. God, he was infuriating.

  But, in the car—a hybrid, she was amazed to note—she studied him while he drove. His dark hair was cut in a style which showed off his long neck and his muscled shoulders. The red T-shirt suited his swarthy skin color; his dark eyes sparkled with amusement. He wore a subtle, clean-smelling cologne which sent her senses reeling.

  He glanced over. “Trying to make me out?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Why did you give me such a hard time then tell my boss all of that bullshit?”

  “Not bullshit...” He shook his head, still smiling. “You made me think about what you said. I called a few people and maybe—just maybe—we can work together to both our mutual satisfaction.”

  “It’s not to my satisfaction,” she said without rancor. “It’s the city’s. I only act in Paris’ best interest, Mr. Vaux. I’m not against business or progress, you see. Just, I feel that both evolution and the environment could be more simpatico, you know?”

  He smiled over at her, and there wasn’t a hint of arrogance on his face. “I do know. Paris is in my blood too, Shiloh. And it’s Benoit.”

  Shiloh gave him her first genuine smile. “Benoit.”

  Over dinner she found him to be an attentive listener, and to her continued surprise, he knew more about her than she expected. She asked him about that; half-jokingly, she asked him if he had her followed.

  “I assure you, I would never invade your privacy like that,” he said, not fazed by the question. “Shiloh, everything I know about you I got from a very basic Internet search and asking around. And what you told me on our first meeting, of course.”

  She looked blank. “Harvard and Brown,” he reminded her with a laugh.

  “Oh, right. There’s not much else to tell … Wait...” A thought had come to her suddenly. “How did you know where I lived?”

  Benoit grinned. “When I said I asked around, I meant I have friends at the utility company.”

  Shiloh’s eyebrows shot up and for a moment she didn’t know whether to yell at him or laugh. She chose the latter. “Man, you really are something else.”

  Benoit was unrepentant. “I used what was available to me.”

  Shiloh nodded. “Fair enough. But I mean what I say, Benoit. Paris is suffocating. We need those green spaces more than ever now, if you could just consider the big picture. That’s all I ask. I’m not naïve; I know how the world works. I just don’t think it should be at the expense of our planet.”

  Benoit was listening to her, she could tell. His gaze never left hers and now he nodded, slowly. “Shiloh, believe me. I understand your position and, yes, our company could do more. But we also have to consider that the population is growing every day and these people need some place to live. But I have a proposition for you.”

  Shiloh was intrigued. “Which is?”

  “Come work for me. Work with me to try and strike a balance. I’m not saying give up your job; I can tell it’s important to you, but work with us as a consultant. I promise you this now—if we go ahead on the Boulevard Coutances project, my company will invest an equal amount of money on creating new green spaces in the city. My only condition is that you are involved in making those decisions.”

  Shiloh felt her heart racing, excited at the prospect of making a real difference. Still, she hesitated. “Why me, Benoit? I’m not even on the Board at L'Institut.”

  Benoit leaned forward and she caught his scent—clean and woody. Her stomach did a little dance and she felt her face burn. If he saw her blush, Benoit didn’t say anything, for which she was grateful. “Shiloh, in this world, to find someone who is as passionate as you is a rare thing, sadly. When I see it, I can’t help myself. I want to harness that passion to make things happen.”

  Shiloh smiled shyly at him. “I admit, you have surprised me this evening, Benoit.”

  His dark eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Not as soulless as you first thought?”

  She laughed, her face going red again, but she nodded. “I’m reserving judgment.”

  Benoit laughed. “I’ll take that.”

  He drove her home and kissed her hand at her door. “That was a fun evening. We should do it again.”

  Shiloh smiled. “I’d like that.”

  When he was gone, Liv stuck her head out of her bedroom. “Was that Benoit Vaux?” Her voice registered amazement and Shiloh grinned.

  “It was.”

  “You’re dating the big bad wolf?”

  Shiloh rolled her eyes
. “Not dating. We’re working together.”

  Liv looked skeptical. “Yeah, right. Working together on what’s in his pants.”

  Shiloh sighed. “Really, not.” Her mind flitted to his dark eyes, the sensual mouth, the tall, hard-bodied physique. No, stop it. She followed Liv into her room and sat cross-legged on her friend’s bed. “It’s not like that.”

  Liv was sitting at her vanity trying—and failing—to apply false lashes. She glanced at Shiloh in the mirror. “Heloise dated him back in the day, you know.”

  Shiloh ignored the jolt of jealousy that hit her. “Really?”

  Liv nodded, giving up on the eyelashes. “She said he was hot, but absent. Didn’t give his heart away. She got tired of being treated like an inconvenience in the end.”

  Shiloh stayed silent, wondering why it should bother her so much. “Well, I’m just working with the man, so it makes no difference.”

  Liv gave her an amused glance. “Come tell me that again in six weeks.”

  Lucia knocked on Ori’s crowded desk and Ori, discombobulated, her mind deep in her work, looked up and blinked. Lucia grinned. “I’ve been calling your name for about ten minutes now ...” she exaggerated. “It’s way past seven. Come get something to eat with me.”

  Ori checked her watch. She’d been so focused on what she was doing that she hadn’t even noticed the other staff leaving the huge open plan office in Maceo’s gallery. She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes and Lucia sighed.

  “Sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentler. “You look exhausted. You’re going at this too hard. Is it AJ?”

  Ori swallowed over the lump in her throat. “I’m trying to distract myself,” she said, her voice gruff, and Lucia put her arms around her friend and hugged her.

  “No one expects you to be over this anytime soon,” she whispered, and Ori felt grateful for her kindness and leaned into the hug.

  “I know, and everyone has been wonderful, especially you and Maceo. I just feel this emptiness.”

  It hadn’t helped that Tyson Janek had been all over the news, giving interviews about the tragic death of his son, giving a performance so convincing that for a second Ori could almost believe he was in mourning. But then Tyson would look into the camera and beg Ori to “Come home. Let us be a family for AJ’s sake.”