The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  He laid his head on the bed and closed his eyes, his fingers interlocked with hers. A memory.

  The beginning of their relationship, the very beginning, that first heavenly weekend of making love, eating good food, wandering around the city. They’d been out in the sun all day, and Ori had offered to cook for him at her apartment so they could enjoy some private time. She’d made a sumptuous duck a l’ orange for their supper, and afterward, they sat together on her tiny balcony, Ori leaning back against his chest, his lips against her temple.

  “Tell me about your friends in this Midnight Club. Were you all really born on the same day?”

  Maceo smiled. “We were. When the other students found out about the weird coincidence, they were ones who gave us that name. We just took it as a badge of honor. God, we were such kids.”

  Ori laughed. “So you were the kings of that campus?”

  “We thought so then; well, if I’m fair, it was more me, Lisander, and Benoit who were the sluts and showmen. Alex and Seth were more reserved. Puritans, I used to call them. But really, they were just more mature.”

  “They’re not from the Romance countries of the world,” Ori mused. “Was it more a cultural thing?”

  Maceo considered. “I never thought of it like that. Maybe so. Smart girl.”

  Ori grinned. “I have my moments. Who are you closest to out of them?”

  Maceo thought about that. “Probably Alex.” He laughed softly. “He’s the one who has the most patience with me. I get a little excitable at times.”

  Ori sat up and turned around to face him. “Don’t I know it?”

  Maceo grinned and pressed his lips to hers. “You can hardly blame me, mio caro, when such incentive is before me.”

  His fingers were at the buttons of her dress now, and she watched him slowly undo them, his gaze drifting between her own and the skin he was exposing. “Your skin is like honey,.” he said softly, letting his fingertips trace a line between her breasts before pushing back the bodice and sliding her bra straps from her shoulders. He stroked her skin gently, his lips on her shoulders, trailing along her collarbone to her throat. “You’re so beautiful, bella, so lovely …”

  His movements were slow and sensual and Ori gave herself to him completely. He gathered her to him and carried her inside to the bed, removing her dress and panties and stepping back to both strip himself and admire her body. They had no need for words now, the connection between them was so strong and full of trust. Maceo felt his cock harden and stiffen as he slid a hand along the length of her leg as he buried his face in her softly curved belly. His tongue traced a circle around her navel, dipping into the deep hollow of it. He heard Ori gasp and felt her fingers tangle in his dark curls as his own found the slick crevice of her sex, his thumb strumming a beat on her clit. Her skin smelt of soap and fresh air. He looked up at her.

  “The first time I saw you,” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice making her smile, “I wondered what your cunt would taste like. I dreamed about what it would feel like to be inside you and feel the soft flesh of your inner thighs against my hips as I fucked you.”

  He could tell how turned on she was by his dirty talk and smiled. He moved up her body, stopping to gently bite down on each perky nipple, grazing them with his teeth before he covered her mouth with his. “The reality, mio prezioso tesoro Ori, is so much better than I could ever have dreamed.” He sat up, gently pressed her legs apart and lowered himself back onto her, gently wrapping her legs around him as his cock slid into her ready cunt. He thrust his hips hard, watching her expression change and soften with the pleasure of him inside her.

  “Bella, I love to watch you as I fuck you. Your lovely face, that blush in your cheeks, the way your mouth opens as you cry out ...”

  Ori moaned, and he knew that she was responding not just to his cock plunging deeply into her but to his words. He loved having this power over her, but never before had he himself been so emotionally connected to a woman, to another person. He wanted her, just her, never wanted this night to end.

  “Ho intenzione di scoparti fino a quando non mi preghi di smettere …” he growled as his thrusts grew harder, deeper, quicker. “I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop, Il mio dolce Ori.” My sweet Ori.

  True to his word, she was screaming his name by the time he made her come for the fifth time but he was relentless, taking her in every way he could imagine. Fucking her perfect ass brought new pleasure to them both, Ori telling him that she’d never tried it before and Maceo schooling her gently as they moved together.

  Finally, as dawn was breaking over Venice, they held each other and slept, exhausted and sated.

  Maceo studied the face of the woman he had known he was in love with that same night. If it hadn’t been for her paleness, the machinery keeping her alive, he could almost have seen her as he did that night, sleeping peacefully.

  Except ... he would never get over the sight of her in his car that night, stabbed, bleeding, dying. The sound of her breath hitching and catching as she struggled to drag oxygen into her lungs. Maceo squeezed his eyes shut and willed the images to go away. What was worse was he imagined the killer stabbing her, her fear, terror, pain.

  “Stop it,” he groaned to himself. He couldn’t change that. But he could do everything in his power to find out who did this to Ori. He was convinced, utterly sure, that he knew who Ori’s would-be killer was. He was sure.

  Alex.

  Lisander and Kate had talked all night after Maceo’s accusation. “He’s serious,” Lisander said without rancor. “So we should take it seriously.”

  Kate nodded. They had ordered room service, and Kate had spent the night writing notes as they tried to figure out who and why. At one point, Kate had written Alex, Seth and Benoit’s names down and pinned them to the wall. Lisander, in a move which shocked her, wrote his own name down and Maceo’s and added them. Seeing her expression, he half smiled.

  “We look at all the evidence, Kate. Which means all of us need to be looked at. I know I didn’t stab Ori or kill Viola, but we look at everything. For your own peace of mind, if nothing else.”

  Kate smiled, her eyes filling with tears. She touched his face. “I know you didn’t do this. I know it in my bones. But, you’re right. Let’s do this properly.”

  “Start with me. Hopefully, counselor, you can rule me out pretty quickly,” Lisander grinned, but a few minutes later his smile had faded.

  The night Ori had been stabbed, he had been with a designer at a small gathering at the designer’s studio but had left and decided to take a stroll through the streets of Venice. He’d gotten lost and ended up a long way out of the city.

  “Still, there’s no way you could have gotten a car, driven all that way just to stab Ori, and then made it back to me,.” Kate shrugged it off, but Lisander sighed.

  “But you didn’t notice I was back until the next morning.”

  “Did none of the hotel staff see you come back?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Okay, so that’s something to check. The hotel’s security cameras would have picked you up and provided a time stamp.”

  “What about Viola?”

  “When was she killed?”

  “September fifth, last year.”

  “Where were you?”

  Lisander nodded, sure of himself this time. “Paris Fashion Week. Viola was apparently murdered during the daytime in New York; there are myriad photos of me that day in Paris.”

  Kate wrote this down and pinned it under his name. “See? We’re making progress already. Now, when you were in Paris, did you see Benoit?”

  Lisander shook his head. “No. Benoit at a fashion show? He was working, but I don’t know where. We didn’t meet that time; we’d just come back from a boys’ trip to Crete, so we didn’t bother arranging anything.”

  “Boys’ trip,” Kate scoffed, and he grinned at her.

  “You betcha.”

  “Well,” Kate stuck
her last notes up. “That’s you. Plus, the whole you have no motive’ etc. Who shall we do next?”

  Lisander’s brow furrowed. “Maceo. It makes me feel nauseous even to consider him, but he’d feel the same as me. Get the whole picture.”

  Kate nodded. “Well, we know for sure he didn’t stab Ori. God, can you imagine? The gas station’s security cameras show him talking to the owner when the masked man attacked Ori. But, yeah, he had a fling with Viola.”

  Lisander sighed. “Which gives him the motive to keep her quiet. But, like when he was accused of killing Janek, Maceo just doesn’t have it in him.”

  “Hey, remember, no hunches,’ Kate reminded him. “Where was Maceo when Viola was killed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, so that’s another thing to check. There’s another theory. Maybe he hired someone to kill Ori?”

  Lisander rubbed his eyes. “But why? He adores her. Absolutely worships her.”

  “To the point of obsession?” Kate wondered, then shook her head. “No, if that were the case, he would have stabbed her himself. No, I tend to agree. Maceo would never hurt Ori. But what if someone was seeking revenge on Maceo for Viola? Eye for an eye?”

  “Which brings us back to …”

  “Alex.”

  They stared at each other and then Lisander groaned. “I don’t want to think what I’m thinking.”

  “But we’re all thinking it,” Kate said softly. “When you were in that room, when Maceo said what he said, I’m willing to bet you all thought the same thing. Alex has the motive. Is he capable? Do you think he is capable of killing his own fiancée, of trying to murder Ori, the woman who resembles her so much?”

  Lisander stared at her with despairing eyes. “God help me … I think he is.”

  In the bar of the hotel, Alex Milland swirled the last of his scotch in the bottom of his glass then drained it. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Seth and Netta. His friend and half-sister sat on either side of him. “I don’t want to talk,” Alex said.

  “Alex …” Netta’s lovely face was creased with worry, but Alex shook his head.

  “Maceo thinks I did it. We all know that’s what he meant. He thinks I stabbed Ori; he thinks I killed Viola.” He looked at a silent Seth. “You think so too.”

  Seth shook his head. “No.”

  Alex gave a humorless laugh. “Say that like you mean it, brother.”

  He saw Seth and Netta exchange a look. “Don’t worry, I’m not freaking out. Yet. Just … I know it looks bad and I admit, Viola sleeping with Maceo did upset me. But who wouldn’t be? Doesn’t mean I killed her. And Ori? Why the hell would I hurt her? I …”

  “Am in love with her,” Netta finished in a gentle voice, and Alex nodded, looking up at her with desolation in his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to be. I don’t want to be. When Maceo called and said she’d been stabbed, I thought I would go crazy.”

  “Alex,” Seth said, his voice quiet and calm. “Just answer this. Where were you when Ori was attacked?”

  Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes. “In Venice. And no, no one can corroborate that. Hell, I almost wish I was guilty because I feel like I’m responsible. If I had found out who killed my Viola …”

  Netta, tears dripping down her face, wrapped her arms around her brother. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”

  Seth put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maceo will calm down. As soon as Ori comes out of the coma, as soon as she’s back with us, he’ll see sense.”

  Alex sighed. “Seth … what if she doesn’t make it?”

  Seth had no answer for him.

  Later, when they had persuaded Alex to get some sleep, Netta and Seth sat together in Seth’s room. Netta was exhausted. She leaned into Seth, who put his arm around her.

  “Seth … how is any of this going to be okay?”

  Seth sighed. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I think we just have to concentrate on hoping Ori pulls through. Then we can deal with the rest of the crap.”

  “Alex is spiraling down,” she said, her voice breaking and Seth hugged her tightly.

  “We’ll get him through this too.” He pressed his lips to her temple. He had always been the closest to Netta out of Alex’s friends, and she smiled at him gratefully.

  “You are a good guy, Seth Cantor.”

  He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning. “Shucks.”

  Netta chuckled. “Irina is a damn fool for letting you go.”

  Seth’s smile faded, and he gazed at her. “You think?”

  The atmosphere in the room had changed unexpectedly. Netta smiled slowly. “I do. I really do.”

  Their eyes locked and Netta leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Seth kissed her back but then pulled away, his eyes amused and wary. “Netta … is this a good idea?”

  She smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. “I don’t know. I just know I want this. The question is, do you?”

  In reply, Seth pulled her into his arms. Netta slid her arms around his broad torso, feeling the hard abs beneath his blue shirt, his mouth firm on hers. She got up and offered him her hand and led him to the bedroom. She pulled the straps of her dress from her shoulders and let it slither down her body to the floor. She knew she had a great body, athletic and strong, and she saw the desire ignite in Seth’s eyes and smiled.

  She removed his shirt, kissing his rock-hard pecs, and slid her hand down to cup his cock. She felt it thickening and lengthening through his pants. Seth’s fingers popped the catch on her bra, removing it, then slid into her panties, caressing her. Netta moaned as he swept her onto the bed. “Don’t wait, Seth, don’t wait … … .”

  Seth’s cock, huge and throbbing, plunged into her as she clamped her legs around his waist. She grinned up at him as they fucked. “If you knew how long I’ve thought about this.”

  Seth, his face serious, buried his face in her neck. “God, Netta …”

  They drove each other to orgasm then lay, panting. Netta looked over at him. “Mr. Cantor, that was better than I ever dreamed.”

  Seth laughed softly. “And was probably a big mistake, Nets.”

  She rolled onto her side and gazed down at him. His body was finely honed—the result of working out twice a day, but it had still surprised her with its hardness, its fierce masculinity. Seth Cantor was strong not just in mind, it seemed. Netta pressed her lips to his nipple, teasing it with her tongue. Seth smiled down at her.

  “Nets, seriously. We should keep this between us for now.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Netta said, not at all stung. “But we should keep it.”

  Seth laughed out loud then. “You are insatiable.”

  He rolled her onto her back, shaking his head as he smiled. “Where did you come from?”

  Netta’s eyes were suddenly serious. “Seth … are you really telling me you didn’t know I’ve had a thing for you for years?”

  “I really didn’t,” he admitted ruefully. “I wish I had known.”

  She kissed him. “Let’s not waste any more time then.” And they began again where they had left off.

  New York City, five years previously.

  The Museum of Modern Art was packed with guests for the charity gala. Alex scanned the room for Maceo and saw him talking to a beautiful woman across the room. Alex grinned to himself. He nudged Seth who was standing by his side. “Look.”

  Alex nodded at Maceo and Seth rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

  They made their way over to their friend, who grinned widely when he saw them, embracing them both. “Alex, Seth, allow me to introduce Viola Redman. Viola, Seth Cantor, Alex Milland.”

  While Seth was talking to the woman, Maceo nudged Alex. “I brought her for you, Alexander. She’s 26, a Brown graduate, and a junior partner in a publishing firm.”

  Alex sighed. Maceo was forever trying to fix him up, but he had to admit, Viola Redman was stunning with long dark hair that fell in waves to her shoulders and large brown eyes the c
olor of honey. As Maceo very unsubtly steered Seth away from the couple, Viola smiled at Alex. “He’s quite a character.”

  “He’s something, all right,” muttered Alex darkly, then laughed. Viola really was beautiful, her smile gentle, her eyes friendly. He found it easy to talk to her and before long, he realized he had been chatting with her for nearly an hour.

  “Viola,” he said, snagging her another drink from a passing waiter, “would you like to have dinner with me later?”

  He took her to The Palm, where they had lobster and talked late into the night. Alex was smitten. Viola was funny, erudite, and sweet; she gently ribbed him about his “boys’ club.'

  There was no question that they’d spend the night together. The moment Alex unzipped her lavender dress and let it fall to the floor of his hotel room, he knew he had met the love of his life. Viola wasn’t shy in bed; as he plunged his cock into her, she cried out his name, raking her nails down his back, spurring him on. They fucked all night, and in the morning, she’d gone, leaving him a note with her phone number on it.

  He hadn’t waited to call her. Viola moved in with him two weeks later and everybody, everybody knew they’d be together forever.

  Until Viola was murdered and Alex fell apart …

  “Mr. Bartoli?”

  Maceo looked up to see Ori’s surgeon smiling at him. Maceo had been gently sent away from Ori while they did some tests on her and now he was in the small relatives’ room, cold, exhausted, and drinking some very weak coffee.

  “Mr. Bartoli, why don’t we sit?”

  He’s going to tell me she’s not going to make it. “Okay.” He steeled himself as they sat. The doctor nodded to him.

  “We think Ori’s coming out of the coma.”

  Maceo’s heart began to thump hard against his ribs. “Really? Oh my god, I mean, really?”