Nightclub Surprise

by Michelle Love

  Kate felt her throat close. Oh god. Why? Why had she kissed him? This was not good at all—and yet she felt overwhelmingly excited. She steeled herself. “Well, that’s very sweet. He’s a good friend of Maceo Bartoli’s, that’s how I met him. He’s just saying thank you.”

  Nikos seemed to buy this, but when Kate was alone, she kept re-reading Lisander’s message. I cannot cheat on Nikos with you, Mr. Duarte. I won’t be that girl.

  The doctor came in to check on her. “Hey, Kate, how do you feel?” He pulled up a chair next to her.

  “Okay, thanks, a little sore.”

  The doctor, Dr. Payes, nodded. “Good. Kate, when we were operating, we noticed something else which we thought might be significant. Have you had abdominal surgery before?”

  She nodded. “When I was eighteen; an ovarian cyst.”

  “On your left side?”

  She nodded. “They had to remove the ovary.”

  “Okay. Kate, we noticed that your right ovary has a small cyst now too. Now, we can operate to remove it, but of course, if things go wrong, we might have to remove your other ovary.”

  He was silent then, letting it sink in. Kate stared at him blankly. “So I would be infertile?”

  “I’m afraid so. In these circumstances, we would recommend freezing some eggs just to be safe. You’ll still be able to carry a pregnancy to full term; as far as we know your uterus is fine, but we will make sure of that, of course. Kate, do you want me to call your partner?”

  Kate shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

  He patted her hand. “I’ll give you some space. I’ll come back in the morning, and we’ll talk.”

  Kate blew out her cheeks. Well, that went south quick. She rubbed her hands over her face. She had always known it could happen—the female side of her family had always been prone to these benign cysts. She’d looked into freezing her eggs before, half-heartedly, but when she found out that fertilized eggs had a better chance of survival, she balked. Why?

  Because she truly didn’t know if she wanted children at all … or if she did, if she wanted them with Nikos. And now she would have to make that decision.

  “Well, shit,” she muttered for the second time that day. Lying down, she couldn’t help but stare at the bouquet from Lisander and as she fell asleep, she knew that if Lisander had been the father, she wouldn’t have hesitated…

  Maceo smiled to himself as he looked down at Ori’s sleeping figure. Last night, as Lisander had driven him up to Vermont when they approached Alex’s sprawling compound, Maceo had laughed when he saw a little dark-haired figure yank open the door and run out to meet the car. He was out of the passenger seat before Lisander had time to hit the brakes and he and Ori fell into each other’s arms, joyful at being reunited.

  They made it another hour and a half, chatting with Alex and Lisander, before they couldn’t bear it any longer and excused themselves. Practically tearing each other’s clothes off, they’d made love through the night. Ori had assured him that Alex and Lisander were sleeping on the other side of the house, and so they fucked with abandon until, exhausted, they fell asleep as the dawn rose.

  Ori lay on her stomach, her dark hair clouded around her. Maceo drew the curtain of it back with his finger, before bending his head to kiss the length of her spine. He heard her murmur and chuckled. “Good morning, mio amore.”

  Ori wiggled onto her back, smiling at him sleepily, stretching her arms above her head. Maceo enjoyed the way her breasts jiggled with her movements. God, she made him hard, so hard … he took one of her nipples into his mouth and heard her sigh of pleasure. His hand swept over the soft curve of her belly and down into her sex. She was already wet for him. Her small hands reached for his cock, trailing gently up and down the hot length of it.

  “Will we ever get tired of this?” she whispered, and Maceo grinned.

  “I sincerely hope not, bella.” He moved on top of her and slowly entered her, making her moan. They made love slowly this time, tenderly, both of their orgasms shuddering, mellow things. Maceo kissed her deeply, wanting to taste her. He trailed his lips to her ear and whispered, “Sposami?”

  Ori smiled through her tears and nodded. “Yes, Maceo Bartoli, I will marry you.”

  By the end of her second week in Nairobi, Shiloh was flying high. The work was hard, the language barriers made easier by Shiloh’s interpreter, the cases sometimes heartbreaking. But this, this, was what she had studied for and broken her back to achieve. She was working with another, older human rights lawyer, Florence, and Shiloh knew she had found her mentor. Florence, a well-spoken Briton, was friendly but thorough. She reined in some of Shiloh’s more emotional tendencies with practicality and an encyclopedic knowledge of the law.

  Benoit kept his word and flew to see her every few days, so much so that her colleagues knew him as well as they did her. She felt grateful that he took an interest in her work and didn’t even seem to mind that Florence tried to persuade him to invest in housing projects in the country.

  “Africa needs investment in housing, Mr. Vaux. Here in Nairobi, there is five percent of the population living in slum conditions. You are in a unique position to help them.”

  Benoit enjoyed jousting with the older woman. “That is true of any country, Florence.”

  “True, but we’re here, now.”

  Benoit laughed. “Florence, I am a businessman. Come to me with a business plan, and we’ll talk.”

  Shiloh would smile to herself. Benoit had already told her he was looking to help the people of Nairobi—what Florence didn’t know was that Benoit planned to help the entire country.

  She was on her way to Paris now, to spend the weekend with him. For once, they had cleared the week’s work early, and Benoit had sent his plane. Just this once, Shiloh had told him, and he’d grinned. “If I promise to offset the carbon footprint, will you forgive me?”

  She loved that he cared about her beliefs. Now, as she came into land in Paris, she knew he would be waiting with a limousine. She smoothed her hand over her dress, stopping to feel the tiniest bump in her belly. The billionaire’s baby. She shook her head, disbelieving of the way her life had turned out.

  Benoit leaped up the steps of the plane and embraced her. “Darling, how was your flight?”

  They traveled back to his apartment and Shiloh, gazing out of the window at her beloved Paris, could not help but feel glad to be home.

  She and Benoit spent a wonderful, lazy afternoon making love and talking. Then, as evening closed in, they dressed for dinner. Shiloh slid her slender frame into a dark red cocktail dress, pulling her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Asking Benoit to zip her up added another half hour to their dressing time, the moment his lips trailed against her shoulder, the dress was on the floor again.

  The maître d’ welcomed them with a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Vaux, Ms. Holt. Your table is ready.”

  Shiloh and Benoit ate between talking; the food was out of this world, and although she wasn’t drinking, she still felt light-headed and happy. Benoit smiled at her glowing face.

  “Pregnancy makes you even more beautiful, my love.”

  “Sweet talker,” she said, but she flushed with pleasure. Benoit was more relaxed this evening than usual, and she liked to think it was because she was there. We’re good for each other.

  Lingering over coffee, Shiloh looked up to see a beautiful, slightly older brunette touch Benoit’s shoulder. Shiloh recognized her—Marcella. A cloud passed over Benoit’s eyes, but he politely introduced them. He didn’t invite Marcella to join them and, feeling awkward, Shiloh asked her if she would like to have coffee with them.

  “You are sweet, ma chére, but I have a date waiting. It is nice to finally meet you; I know Benoit was desolate over your leaving Paris.”

  Shiloh noticed Benoit shooting daggers at Marcella. What the hell was going on? Marcella smiled at Shiloh. “Darling, let’s have lunch soon. I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.”

  Marcella sasha
yed off to her table, and Shiloh suddenly felt sick. “Can we go?”

  Benoit, grim-faced, nodded. In the car, Shiloh opened the window, letting the cool night air ease her nausea. It could be nothing, she thought, probably morning sickness. But there was a tension in the air that was palpable.

  At the apartment, she waited for Benoit to say something. When he didn’t, she told him she was going to bed. “I’ll be in shortly, darling.”

  Shiloh changed into her nightgown and slid between the cool cotton sheets. Her chest hurt, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Benoit was hiding something from her.

  When he hadn’t come to bed in an hour, she got up and padded into the living room to find him. She heard him talking on the phone in hushed tones. He was arguing with someone in rapid French. Shiloh stayed out of sight and listened. Whoever was on the other end of the phone—and Shiloh was convinced it was Marcella—was arguing with him as his voice was hard, impatient.

  “Non, no, she need never know because it was nothing. I made a mistake, and you know that … no, no, Marcella. You do not understand. I have found my person, my love. You told me to find her, and I did … because you didn’t want me, Marcella, do you remember that?”

  Shiloh leaned her head against the door jamb, tears in her eyes. Damn that woman … Shiloh had to admit she had been jealous of Marcella ever since she’d seen the photographs of Benoit and Marcella in the society pages. The other women fit into that world. Will I ever be that kind of woman for Benoit?

  Unconsciously, she rubbed a hand across her belly. No, you’re just the girl stupid enough to get knocked up.

  Benoit was still arguing.

  “I don’t care, Marcella, not anymore. You will not ruin this for me. Goodbye.”

  Shiloh quickly ran back to the bedroom, and when Benoit came in, she pretended to be asleep. Benoit stripped and slid in beside her. “Shiloh? Are you awake?”

  Shiloh kept her eyes closed, ignoring his whisper, and when she heard his breathing become regular and even as he slept, only then did she let the tears fall.

  Maceo shook his head. “Mio caro, it’s too dangerous for you in New York. I think you must stay here with Alex.”

  Ori had been arguing with him for an hour, but he wouldn’t budge. “You’ll only be there for a day. I can stay safe for one day, surely?”

  Maceo and Alex looked at each other. Kate Garcia had called them; the DA had dropped the charges, but she wanted Maceo to come back to New York to finalize everything. Ori argued that if she was traveling with him, she couldn’t be in that much danger.

  Ori sighed. “Look, both of you, you know this is my decision, right? As much as I love you both, I do have control of my own life, and I’m not willing to give that up. For anyone. I had that taken away too much by Tyson.”

  Maceo hugged her. “I get that. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “Don’t apologize for caring; I’m just saying … yes, there’s a creep threatening me out there, but no way in hell am I going to stop living my life the way I want to.”

  Alex, who had been listening, cleared his throat. “I have an idea, if you don’t mind me sharing it.”

  Maceo, kissing Ori’s temple, nodded at him. “Go for it.”

  “Ori, I have someone who could be of help … not a bodyguard, per se, but an instructor of Krav Maga.”

  Ori’s eyebrows shot up, and she nodded. “I’ve heard of that … a martial art?”

  Alex smiled. “Kind of a mix of martials, boxing, wrestling, etc. You’re a healthy, athletic—okay,” he grinned as Ori made a face at athletic.' “You could be athletic. You want more control? This is it. Self-defense.”

  “I like that idea very much,” Maceo said, grinning gratefully at his friend, then he turned to Ori, “Bella, would you also allow me to find you a bodyguard? Someone who could be a friend as well as protector?”

  Ori considered. “Only if I get to interview him or her … her. I want a woman.” She saw the friends exchange a glance and she grinned, shaking her head in mocksadness. “Sexist Neanderthals.” She sighed as they laughed. “Seriously, though, guys, we women can squeeze another human being out of us; we can handle being a bodyguard.”

  Kate had discharged herself from the hospital without having the further surgery. “There’s no rush, is there?”

  The doctor wasn’t happy, but extracted a promise from her to see her gynecologist. She hadn’t told Nikos yet about her condition; she knew if she did, he would insist on inseminating and freezing her eggs and Kate just wasn’t sure. She wondered when she had decided that Nikos wasn’t the one for her. When you met Lisander Duarte, you little fool …

  Now it was a month later, and Kate was relieved when Nikos told her he was working out of the city for a week, and Kate could bury herself in her work. There had been an odd atmosphere between her and Nikos, one which neither of them wanted to address, so they limped on, never really talking.

  Maceo was officially a free man; there was simply no evidence he had killed Tyson Janek, and the DA’s office had to walk back a very embarrassing statement they had made about catching his killer the day of the murder.' Kate had never known the DA’s office to behave so recklessly, and she was determined to find out if the DA himself had any ties to Tyson Janek. She would bet her life he did. Tyson must have poured poison into his ear about his stepdaughter's new love. She made her displeasure with the DA known—Gerry had talked her out of launching a formal complaint until they were sure he was corrupt.

  “A junior partner accusing the DA without proof—that would be the end of your career, Kate. Not just in the States, either. News travels.”

  Kate had been digging around without much success and was in her office, being frustrated by the lack of response to her questions, when Lisander Duarte knocked on her door.

  “Hey,” she said in delighted surprise and stood to greet him. She suddenly felt awkward. Did she shake his hand or hug him? They had kissed, but …

  Lisander saved her by placing his hands on her shoulders. “Let me look at you. You seem healthy. I trust you’re doing well?”

  She grinned. “I am, thank you. Appendicitis is painful, but thankfully, the recovery is quick. Thank you, Mr. Duarte, for the beautiful flowers and the sketch. It meant a great deal to me.”

  “I think we can go with Lisander and Kate now, can’t we?” Lisander grinned, taking the seat she offered. “And it was my pleasure. I meant what I said. When you’re ready, that gown is yours.”

  “You are too kind.” Kate could feel her face burning. “What brings you into the city?”

  “Forward planning for New York Fashion Week. And I wanted to see you and make sure you were okay.”

  Her face couldn’t get much hotter, Kate mused, but she was delighted he wanted to see her. She threw caution to the wind. “Hey, look, I’m finishing up here … want to grab a drink somewhere?”

  Lisander pushed through the crowded bar and to the table he and Kate had commandeered. He handed her one of the sodas in his hand, and they clinked glasses. Kate Garcia was easy to spend time with, he thought now, and she’d done what nothing else had done for months now—made him smile. She grinned her thanks to him for the drinks as he sat back down beside her.

  “Thanks for taking care of Maceo,” he said, clinking his glass to hers.

  “If only all cases were that easy.” She checked her watch and leaned back happily, “but not for another hour. I could live here...” She looked around the bar, its subtle lighting and dark wood complementing the big leather couches.

  “You seem like a woman who would want to go out every night, soaking up everything New York has to offer. Good or bad,” he added, grinning wickedly.

  She laughed. “Yeah … been there, done that. Not here, but yeah, I’ve done my share of partying.” Her expression was suddenly changed, bleak and sad. Lisander frowned.

  “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I was a mess with drugs, booze, anything that was availabl
e. My dad had just died; Ma was remarried and with her new family.” She laughed quietly then. Lisander waited, and she smiled at him. “Little Miss New Boobs.”

  Lisander’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  Kate grinned. “It’s from Friends. When Janice’s husband leaves her for another woman and his new family, she calls her Little Miss New Boobs.”

  Lisander shook his head. “Your knowledge of Friends is somewhat encyclopedic.”

  She bowed her head. “I thank you. I could probably recite the whole ten seasons to you verbatim. It’s a gift.”

  “It’s something, all right,” Lisander muttered, and laughed when she punched his shoulder. “Hey, tell me to mind my own business …”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Funny girl. So, what was the catalyst? To stop the partying?”

  Kate smiled. “I can’t even tell you. It’s like one day I just woke up and thought ‘What the hell is this life? Such a waste.’ I remember being out at Coney Island, and it was cold but sunny and just a perfect day. I had a hangover, but the fresh air blew through me, and I just decided at that moment to change. So, I got clean. It’s not like I was on the heavy drugs— it was just the odd ecstasy pill and some weed—and enrolled in college. And that was that.”

  Lisander nodded. “Impressive. For what it’s worth, I’m very grateful to Coney Island.”

  Kate laughed. “Me too.” She met his gaze, and her stomach flipped. Lisander smiled, a soft, intimate smile, and then his lips were on hers.

  God that kiss, tender, gentle, then firm and masterful. Kate’s head whirled with desire. Lisander leaned his forehead against hers. “Wanna get out of here?”

  She took him back to her apartment, her desire for this man overriding the thought of Nikos. Lisander’s hands were on her body, caressing, massaging, stroking, and she let go of all her ambitions. Christ, she wanted him inside her, had never felt such a strong desire before. She wanted to be naked with him, fucking him, being fucked in every way there was, giving herself over to him completely.