Dangerous Kiss

by Michelle Love

  The trouble was not with her case, which as far as she and her boss could see was pretty open and shut, but with Kate herself. The past few days she had felt so ill, so sick, that even Nikos had noticed.

  “You should stay home,” he’d said, but Kate shook her head.

  “No way. I’ve never taken any time off sick, and I’m not about to start now.”

  Sitting here in the stuffy courtroom, she was beginning to regret her stubbornness. Thankfully, the judge arrived. Kate argued her case, the prosecution argued theirs and finally, the judge granted bail in the sum of one million dollars. “And you are to surrender your passport, Mr. Bartoli.”

  Maceo nodded somberly. “Of course, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  Afterward, in the car with a very relieved Maceo, Kate told him what she’d found out. “They have no case, Maceo. Nothing. They needed to make an arrest quickly because of who Tyson Janek was, but they have nothing on you. No forensics. The artist in Queens wasn’t the only one who saw you at his place or at MOMA. I’ll be surprised if this case ever sees the inside of that courtroom again. The DA is pissed.”

  Maceo sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest. “That’s good to hear.”

  “Do you want to go back to the hotel and get some sleep?”

  “I’ll go back to the hotel, but only to take a shower. I want to go to Vermont tonight. Lisander is waiting for me.”

  At the hotel, Kate, telling herself it was just to make sure Maceo checked in okay and not, absolutely not, because she wanted to see Lisander again, went with him.

  Lisander was waiting in the suite, a table full of sketches in front of him. He and Maceo hugged for the longest time, then, as Maceo went to shower and change, Lisander smiled at Kate. “Thank you.” His rich, heavily accented voice made her belly quiver. “You have done a remarkable job.”

  Kate tried to smile. “Not really, but thank you. They don’t have a case; it’s that simple.” She nodded at the sketches. “They’re beautiful.”

  Lisander smiled. “You think so? Come, take a look for me.”

  “I don’t know anything about fashion.”

  Lisander made a noise. “Don’t be silly. All I want to know is if you would wear something like this.”

  He picked up a sheet of sketch paper and handed it to her. It was a beautiful, gold gown, fitted, with a skirt that billowed out from a tiny waist. “You would look amazing in this,” Lisander said softly. “The color of your skin against the gold? Oh, yes. And how about this green? Or the burgundy?”

  Kate flushed at his compliment. He was sitting next to her now, and she couldn’t help breathing in his scent of cologne and soap. His knee rested gently on hers. Although her stomach was roiling, she still felt desire flood through her. Nikos. Don’t forget Nikos …

  She looked up at Lisander, opening her mouth to comment on the sketches, when her brain failed her. Lisander was looking at her, his dark eyes so intense she couldn’t look away. Time passed; one heartbeat, two …

  Lisander bent his head and brushed her lips with his. Light, quick, testing her. The second kiss was firmer; the third one he slid his tongue into her mouth. Kate sank into the kiss, knowing it was wrong.

  They both jumped as someone banged on the door. “Room service.”

  Guiltily, Kate stood, not looking at Lisander. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Maceo?”

  Maceo came out of the shower, wearing a towel around his waist. Kate almost groaned. What was with these guys? They radiated sex. She forced herself to speak in a professional tone. “I must go. Have a great time in Vermont, but stay in touch. “

  She couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. In her car, she brushed away some tears. What the hell were you thinking? Poor, poor Nikos. He deserved better.

  He wasn’t home when she got in, and she was glad. Her nausea had returned, and now she felt lightheaded and hungry. She grabbed some leftover lasagna from the fridge and microwaved it, but as soon as she put the first forkful into her mouth, she knew she had made a mistake.

  She made it to the sink before she threw up, but barely. When there was nothing more to vomit up, she sank to the kitchen floor. God, she must be sick. She crawled to the bathroom and rummaged around for painkillers in the cabinet. She threw a couple down with some water, managed to keep them down, then crawled into bed. Curling up under the duvet, she dozed off and on. A couple of hours later she heard Nikos come home.

  He checked her temperature. “Still sick, baby?”

  She nodded, and he wrapped her up in the comforter. “I think we need to get you to a doctor, Kate.”

  She waved him away. “It’s just a virus.”

  Three hours later, she was screaming in pain as a panicked Nikos called the emergency services. Sirens, flashing lights, and she was being wheeled into emergency surgery. Appendicitis.

  “Well, shit,” she said, still high on morphine when Nikos came to visit her the next day. “Just damn appendicitis.”

  Nikos smiled at her. “Just? Baby, I’m so happy it was just that. I was scared out of my gourd.”

  A nurse knocked on the door. “Someone sent flowers.”

  “That’s nice … oh, wow.” Kate gaped as a huge bouquet was brought in with a large manila envelope. The bouquet was stunning, pale golds, creams, yellow and whites; roses, gerberas, lilies, and, Kate noticed, a few fronds of pampas grass. She suppressed a smile. Lisander. How the hell did he know she was here?

  Nikos’s expression was confused. “Who are they from?”

  “I think they are from a friend of a friend. Lisander Duarte.” She was opening the envelope.

  “The designer?” Nikos sounded impressed, but Kate wasn’t listening. She was holding the sketch of the golden dress. On it, in his elegant scrawl, Lisander had titled it El Catalina D’Oro’ and under that had written, “When you are well enough, it is yours. L’

  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 ha
ve 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 sashayed 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 d
angerous 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.”