Dangerous Kiss

by Michelle Love

Livia hid a grin. When Marcel sent Moriko to do his dirty work it meant that, whatever the favor was, it would be a big—and probably inconvenient—one. “What is it?”

  “Well, he’s been asked to cater the Renaud party on Saturday. You know which one I mean?”

  Livia shook her head. “Nope.”

  Moriko rolled her eyes. “It’s an annual thing Nox Renaud does. He throws a Halloween gala party and gives a ton of money to charity.”

  “Never heard of him, or it. So, what’s the favor?” Livia thought she could guess—Marcel needed waitstaff. A moment later, Moriko confirmed her suspicions.

  “He was going to hire in silver service staff, but apparently they don’t want anything but canapés and cocktails. Silver service staff would cost him more than he’s making so …”

  Livia smiled at her. “It’s no problem. Usual uniform?” She pulled down on her too-tight white shirt and tucked it back into the black mini she wore to serve. It barely contained her lush curves—her full breasts and softly curved belly. Her legs, long and slender, were encased in black tights and she wore flat pumps, absolutely refusing to wear heels to wait tables. Livia wasn’t the tallest girl, but her long legs made her look taller than her five-five height, and her long tawny waves were her crowning glory. She had pulled her almost waist-length hair into a bun, but it was forever escaping the clips. Moriko grabbed it now and twisted it up for her. Livia shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks, boo. I really should cut it all off.”

  “No way,” Moriko said, her own shiny black hair falling in a straight curtain down her back. “I’d kill for your curls.”

  “So, Saturday night, waitressing for the rich muckety-mucks?”

  “I’ll be there too. Hey, at least we get to snoop around the rich guy’s house.”

  Livia sighed to herself. She honestly didn’t mind helping Marcel out, but she had very little time for rich boys with too much money. She’d had to wait on them enough in her time.

  She went back out to the café and grimaced. Two regulars had just come into the restaurant. Speaking of rich muckety-mucks, she thought, plastering a fake smile on her face. The woman, an icy-looking blonde with bright red lipstick and cold blue eyes, looked at her dismissively. “Egg white omelet with spinach and a mangotini.” She didn’t look at the menu once. Her companion, a suave-looking man who at least smiled at Livia and said please and thank you whenever he was in, nodded.

  “Same for me please, Liv. Good to see you again.”

  Livia smiled at him. She judged him for the company he kept, but if she was fair, he was always polite to her. She knew his companion was called Odelle, and her father was one of the richest men in the state. It didn’t impress Livia. “You too, sir. Sure I can’t interest either of you in some French fries to go with your salad?”

  Odelle looked horrified, but her companion grinned. “Why not?”

  Livia grinned and disappeared into the kitchen. Marcel slunk in and smiled at her. “Thanks for Saturday, Livvy. I’ll pay you double.”

  She kissed his cheek. “No problem, pal.”

  Marcel, his eyes so dark you couldn’t see the pupils, nodded to the restaurant. “I see Elsa and Lumiere are in the restaurant.”

  Livia laughed. “You’re getting your Disney all mixed up, and anyway, he’s okay. But, yeah, she is the Ice Queen.”

  “Don’t let their wealth get to you. It was all inherited, not earned.”

  “Oh, I know, and it doesn’t bother me. Money can’t buy breeding,” Livia shrugged off the woman’s rudeness. “I can honestly say these people and their ways don’t keep me up at night, Marcel.”

  “I’m just saying because I know the man, Roan Saintmarc, is Nox Renaud’s best friend. It’s more than likely they’ll be at the party on Saturday.” Marcel grinned at Livia, who rolled her eyes. “Just promise me you won’t tip their meals into their laps.”

  Livia snorted. “I promise, honey.”

  “Good girl.”

  Livia finished out her shift, then walked home through the busy streets of the French Quarter. She had fallen in love with this city—the slow, sensual heat, the sultry, laidback nature of the people. Strangely, for a city known for its voodoo and black magic, she had never felt uneasy walking the streets at night here.

  Moriko was still at work when Livia got back to their apartment, so Livia took a long hot shower, then made herself a bowl of soup, grabbing some saltines from the pack in the kitchen. As she ate, she flicked through the television channels, but soon got bored. Dumping her bowl in the sink, she washed it out, then decided to go to bed to read. She had a piano recital coming up and she wanted to go through the score again, miming her key strokes in the air. She fell asleep with Moriko’s cat cuddling in next to her and didn’t hear her roommate come home.

  Out on the bayou, Nox too had fallen into a deep sleep, but his was not so peaceful. Almost instantly the nightmares came. A woman, a beautiful young woman he knew but one whose face he could not see, was calling to him, begging him to save her. There was blood, so much blood, and he ran through the darkened mansion, wading through something—blood?—to get to her. A dark, malevolent force overcame everything, stopping Nox from reaching the girl. He heard her screams cut off abruptly and knew he was too late. He sank to his knees.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. His mother was smiling at him. “Don’t you know you’ll never save them?” she said softly. “Everyone you love will die, my beloved son. I died, your father, your brother … Ariel. You’ll always be alone.”

  Nox awoke, gasping for air in a pool of his own sweat, the certainty of his dream mother’s words screaming around his mind.

  Don’t fall in love. Don’t risk it. Don’t let anyone else get hurt.

  Chapter Two

  Odelle Griffongy lit another cigarette and stood out on the balcony of her bedroom. She hated this holiday and hated this party. And yet Roan, of course, wanted to support his best friend, Nox, and so now they were getting dressed to attend. Thank fuck Nox never had a dress code for the cocktail party—Odelle would have feigned a headache otherwise.

  She looked back into the bedroom where Roan was dressing, his dark gray suit spectacular with his coloring—medium brown hair and bright blue eyes. Ripped to the max, his hard body and his huge cock made him a machine in bed. Roan Saintmarc was, with the exception of Nox, the handsomest man in New Orleans—probably the state, even—and he was hers.

  Odelle might have been brought up in the upper echelons of New Orleans society, but she knew her brittle beauty would only last so long and that her cool, aloof nature wouldn’t make her many friends. That’s why she was staggered when Roan, known as the fun-loving one in his group of Harvard grad friends, made a play for her. He could have had anyone.

  Odelle turned back to see the crowds on the streets of the city. New Orleans went crazy for Halloween—parties everywhere, people haunting the streets, and the locals playing up the myths and legends to sell more drink, food, and tourist crap. The normally serene street where Odelle and her cohorts lived were no different: pumpkins and jack o’ lanterns, trees bedecked with twinkle lights and fake cobwebs, and Odelle’s least favorite thing: kids trick or treating at every house.

  Her doorbell rang, and although Odelle knew her staff would answer it, she couldn’t help an irritated, “Oh, fuck off.” Her voice carried down to the street, and she heard Roan’s throaty laugh from behind her.

  “Don’t be a bitch, Delly. It’s a rite of passage, trick or treating.”

  Odelle made a disgusted noise. “I never did that.”

  Roan smiled at her, sliding his arms around her waist. “No, you were too busy casting spells and mixing potions.”

  Odelle studied him coolly. “You think I’m a witch?”

  “Cue cheesy line from me about you casting a spell on me. No, baby, I don’t think you’re a witch, and—mostly—not even a bitch. You just have a warmth deficiency.” He said it with a grin, and although Odelle knew he meant it as a jo
ke, it still stung.

  Because it’s true, she told herself. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I be more like Roan? Or Nox, whose heart was so big it actually scared Odelle. Or even Amber, her frenemy, who had once had a thing with Roan. No, Odelle told herself. Don’t go there. Not tonight. She attempted a smile as Roan brushed his lips against hers.

  “You’re right. It’s just one night.”

  “That’s my girl.” Roan looked her up and down in her tight black dress and when his gaze met hers, Odelle saw the desire in his eyes. “Nox won’t mind if we’re a little late.”

  Odelle smiled and, turning, she bent over the balcony and hitched her skirt up to her waist. She heard Roan chuckle.

  “Out here? What will the neighbors think?” But then, with a grunt, she felt him thrust into her from behind, his massive cock reaming her cunt as he gripped the metal balustrade with both hands.

  Odelle closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of him filling her so completely. Her hand drifted down to stroke her clit as he fucked her, and soon she was moaning and shivering through one orgasm after another, not caring who heard her. Roan was a brutal lover, especially when he came, and Odelle winced as he thrust harder and harder until he blew his load inside of her and withdrew, panting for air and cursing softly with release. He spun her around and ground his mouth down on hers. “God, woman, you drive me fucking crazy.”

  Odelle smiled and squeezed his diminishing cock in her hands. “Do that to me once more and then we can go to the party.”

  And they began again.

  Livia and Moriko helped Marcel and his sous-chef Caterina—Cat—load the trays of canapés into the restaurant’s van before Liv and Moriko hopped in the back for the drive to the Renaud Mansion. Livia was trying to keep the trays from tipping and tying her thick mane up into a chignon at the same time, but the weight of it would not stay clipped. Moriko grinned at her.

  “Just pull it back. You’ll never get it all up.”

  “I refuse to be beaten,” Livia muttered. Eventually, Moriko pushed Livia’s hands out of the way.

  “Let me.”

  As Livia held the trays of food, Moriko deftly worked Liv’s hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. “That’s the best you’re going to get, girl, so live with it.”

  Livia tentatively patted it. “You’re a miracle worker. From now on, I’ll pay you to be my hair wrangler.”

  Moriko laughed. “You couldn’t afford me.”

  When they arrived at the mansion, they were stunned into silence. The old plantation home had been modernized to some extent—a plaque on the door detailed its history and its passage to the Renaud family in the 1800s, wherein all slaves were freed and the plantation became a family homestead rather than a working freehold.

  The imposing white building with shuttered windows and soft light radiating from within was decorated with high-quality Halloween trimmings. Moriko grinned at Livia as they passed a batch of expertly carved pumpkins. “You think they got Michelangelo to do them?”

  Livia rolled her eyes. The place screamed money and opulence, but Livia wasn’t impressed. As they moved into the kitchen, she saw Marcel talking to a young man who was dressed in a dark navy sweater and jeans, and who Livia guessed was the owner’s assistant. He had dark curls and the most intense—and beautiful—green eyes she had ever seen.

  The stranger sensed her scrutiny and looked up. Their eyes met and Livia felt a shudder of desire ripple through her. God, if even the staff looked like supermodels here …

  She nudged Moriko. “Does Marcel want us to change now or after we’ve set up?”

  “After. Apparently, there’s a dedicated room for us.”

  “Fancy.”

  “I know, right? Usually we have to squat in the back of the van to get ready.”

  Livia snorted and, between them, they quickly arranged the canapés on the silver trays. When they had finished, Livia saw the handsome assistant had gone and Marcel was nodding at them. “Lovely job. The food looks great. So, this thing kicks off in an hour, but guests are starting to arrive, so we’ll start with the welcome pumpkin-spice sidecars first up. Think you can cope?”

  “No worries, boss,” Moriko hugged Marcel, who turned red with pleasure. “We’ll show these rich kids a good time … wait, that sounded dirtier than I meant it to.”

  Livia snorted with laughter as Moriko shrugged. “Come on then. Let’s get dressed.”

  A half hour later, Livia was regretting the tightness of her skirt. It had been her go-to throughout college—short, black, and figure-hugging even back then when she was ten pounds lighter. She’d dragged it out of her closet this morning—it had been the cleanest, most professional skirt she could find. I need to go shopping, she told herself as she plastered a smile on her face and made the rounds with a tray of drinks.

  The mansion’s main ballroom (“Main ballroom,” she’d muttered to an amused Moriko. “Because the other ballrooms are too small.”) was decorated beautifully, even the cynical Livia had to admit. Twinkle lights draped the walls and soft music was playing as the guests milled around, talked, and drank. Moriko was making the first pass with a canapé tray, and Livia could tell her friend was gritting her teeth, fending off unwanted remarks and come-ons.

  “Hey, Livvy.” She heard Roan Saintmarc’s voice behind her and turned. She was actually relieved to see a friendly face; if the guests weren’t turning their noses up at her presence or trying to talk her into bed, they looked through her as if she were invisible. Roan’s smile was friendly. He indicated the man he was talking with, a tall, dark-haired man with a neatly-trimmed beard and dark brown eyes.

  “San, this is my friend from my favorite restaurant. Livia, this is Sandor Carpentier, a good friend of mine.”

  Sandor Carpentier had a warm, open smile as he shook Livia’s hand. She grinned at them both, happy to see friendly faces at last. “Can I get you fellas a refill?” She waved the bottle of Krug she was holding and topped up their glasses. “Boss tells me the good bourbon will be out soon,” she said with a wink.

  “If I know Nox, it will be,” Roan said, and looked around. “Speaking of whom, have you met our lord and master yet, Liv?”

  She shook her head. “But he would probably tell me to get back to work. Nice seeing you, Mr. Saintmarc, Mr. Carpentier.”

  “Sandor, please,” the man said, and Livia decided she liked his merry, twinkling eyes. He didn’t seem as aloof as the others. “And if you knew Nox, you’d know that’s unlikely. He’d probably insist you join us for a drink.”

  Livia smiled and made her excuses. Despite what they said, she didn’t want Marcel to get into trouble if she was caught fraternizing with the guests. She made her way back to the kitchen to refill her tray. Moriko was just coming in from the garden.

  “Hey, boo, I just finished up my break, and Marcel told me to let you grab one now that I’m done. There are a couple of good places to hide and take your shoes off out there.”

  Livia smiled at her friend gratefully and headed out of the kitchen door into the lush gardens. It was darker down here than at the front of the mansion, and she could see a fog coming in off the bayou at the end of the property. Livia thought it was much spookier, befitting the Halloween vibe of the party, and yet more beautiful than any of the decorations inside.

  With a soft moan, she eased off her heels and wondered why she hadn’t worn her usual flats. No, she knew why—she had wanted to make a good impression for Marcel. She knew she could pull off the cool professional vibe with her heels on, and at least it gave her a few extra inches when she needed to be seen. Still, her feet pulsed with pain, and when she put her hot soles on cool ground, she sighed with relief.

  She crept barefoot into a little grove, and seeing the edge of a stone seat, headed for it. She stopped, seeing the other end was already occupied. “Sorry,” she said, then saw it was the assistant she’d shared a moment with earlier.

  He had changed out of his sweater and jeans and was now we
aring what looked to be a very expensive black suit. Perks of the job, she suspected, but her attention was drawn by the way it fit his broad shoulders and slim figure so well. She meant to turn and go, but the sheer sadness in his eyes took her breath away. “Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, and the man stared at her, his eyes intense, before he half nodded, then shook his head.

  “Not really, but common manners dictate I say I am. So …” His voice was deep—a beautiful deep baritone that sent a shiver through her. Livia hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to him.

  “Escaping from the melee? Me too. Just for a minute.” She smiled at him, noticing again how gorgeous he was, except for that pain in his eyes. She wished she could take it away for him. “Are you hiding from the muckety-mucks?”

  His mouth hitched up in a half-smile. “Kind of.”

  She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I won’t tell,” she whispered, and he laughed. It changed his whole face, turning it from brooding and slightly dangerous into a boyish, joyful thing.

  “Right back at you.” He looked at her name tag. “Livia. Not O-livia?”

  She shook her head. “No, just Livia.” She shivered at the cool air coming up from the water. “It really is beautiful here.”

  He nodded, and seeing her trembling, he shrugged out of his jacket and put it around her shoulders. She felt her face get hot. “Thank you.”

  They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Livia felt tongue tied. He smelled wonderful too, all clean linen and woodsy spice, and for a moment she found herself having to resist the urge to run her fingertips over his long, thick lashes. They were so black, they looked like he had eyeliner on.

  She swallowed hard, the desire to kiss this stranger overwhelming and bewildering. She cast around for something to say. “I was thinking, that mist from the bayou must have known there was a Halloween party here tonight.” God, could she have sounded any dumber? She cursed herself, but he smiled at her.

  “I guess it must have known. I find it … romantic. Dark and malevolent, perhaps. But also sensual.”