“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just for a moment, you looked just like her.”
Viola. Ori’s heart twisted in sympathy, and she went to sit by him at the long kitchen table. “Are you okay? We were hoping to see you for dinner.”
Alex, his eyes tired and sad, tried to smile. “More wasted time, I’m afraid. Did Maceo talk to the police?”
“He did.”
“Did you know he was the one who introduced me to Viola?”
Ori nodded. “I did.”
“I was thinking about that just then when you came in and it made me wonder. Your resemblance to her….”
Ori suddenly saw where this was going and felt alarmed. “Alex, you don’t think Maceo could have had anything to do with her murder, do you?”
Alex sighed and rubbed his eyes. “No, of course not. It wasn’t like that—more like, you’re obviously his type, so then why did he give Viola up to me?.”
Ori tried to smile. “We aren’t the same person no matter how much we look alike, Alex.”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m so tired that nothing makes sense anymore. Let’s change the subject … how’s your brother?”
“Doing better,” Ori smiled at him. “I think he’s in love with your library.”
Alex laughed. “Then he has good taste. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“You’re very kind. I really am sorry about Viola.”
“Thank you.” Alex drained his glass of scotch and stood. “I’m going to try and grab some sleep. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
Alone, Ori wandered into the living room and slipped through the French windows into the garden. The grounds were beautiful, but now, here in the moonlight, Ori felt as if she were being watched. Was it just paranoia? She had kept the shock of Tyson’s threats internalized for the most part, not wanting to goad Maceo into doing something that would get him into trouble. But she was under no illusions that her stepfather meant her no harm. She could go to the press; her relationship with Maceo giving her some kind of credence, she supposed. The feminist in her cringed at that, but it was true. Maceo was as powerful as Tyson, if not more. His backing would mean they could take down Tyson—but there was still AJ to think about. He was Tyson’s son, and Ori would hate to see him hounded by the press.
Sighing, she went inside and went to bed, snuggling into the warmth of Maceo’s arms. Tonight was not the night to try and figure it all out. She was asleep long before Alex Milland opened the door to their room and looked in on them.
“I want to find another facility,” AJ told them over breakfast. “Somewhere that’s hardcore, that Dad can’t finagle his way into. I truly believe I can get past all this crap if I get the right help.”
Ori put her hand over her brother’s. “Whatever you want, AJ. I’m here for you.”
“We’re here for you,” Maceo corrected with a grin. “You deserve the best, brother, and both of you … you’re not to worry about the cost. I have it covered. Just pick the best one for you, AJ, and we’ll get you in there as soon as you want.”
Ori, too emotional to speak, hugged Maceo and he kissed the top of her head. AJ looked at him admiringly. “Maceo, man, I don’t know how to thank you.”
A look passed between the two men of understanding, of brotherhood. Ori was aware they had talked, but she didn’t want to intrude. She looked up at Maceo as AJ started to talk to Alex, and she pressed her lips to his. “I love you,” she said quietly, and Maceo chuckled, his eyes shining.
“Ti amo,” he murmured against her lips, and her heart soared. Maybe everything would be okay, after all.
A week later—God, had it really only been three weeks since they met?—they were on their way back to Italy. AJ had been transferred to a facility in California and although Ori was reluctant to leave him, AJ had insisted she go back to her new life, her new job.
“Try not to dwell on Dad,” he said. “He can’t touch either of us now. Maceo is a good man. Enjoy yourself, Ori. You deserve every happiness.”
Sometimes AJ seemed much wiser than his eighteen years, Ori pondered now as she sat beside Maceo on his private jet. Now her thoughts were turning back to her new job—and her old friend. Lucia had returned from Monte Carlo and had been amazed at Ori’s news. Ori omitted the part where she and Maceo were sleeping together—and in love, Ori grinned to herself now. She wanted to tell Lucia that particular news face to face. She wondered if Lucia would be happy for her, or whether her friend would remonstrate with her for falling for her boss after Lucia’s warnings.
She looked over at Maceo now. He looked glorious—but tired. He hadn’t been sleeping well, she knew, and deep inside, she was worried because it seemed like it had been since the I love yous that he’d been restless. Was he regretting showing his hand so soon? He had said he was ready for commitment, but maybe it had all been too much. Her stepfather, AJ, the thing about Viola … it was a lot to put on a man who only a few weeks ago had been carefree and screwing his way around the world’s most beautiful women.
Ouch. Ori pushed that thought away. No. Don’t dwell. Just live and love and everything will be okay.
Maceo looked up and caught her watching him. He grinned, and her insides went to mush. “Are you all right, bella?”
“I’m with you. Of course I’m okay.”
Maceo put his laptop down and slid next to her, taking her in his arms. “Il mio amore, when we get back to Venice, I would like you to move in with me. I want to know you are safe every minute. I want you to feel safe. And loved. Above all else, loved.”
Ori was floored and suddenly nervous. “Really?”
“Really.”
As she looked into his sea-green eyes and at their honesty, she knew what her answer would be.
Lucia rolled her eyes but hugged Ori anyway. “I might have known. For what it’s worth, I’ve never seen him like this before, so I guess it must be love.”
Ori was relieved that her friend was okay with her sleeping with her boss. She and Maceo kept things professional at the office, and she was grateful that she was learning from him too. She saw the way he dealt with his clients. He was definitely on the side of the artists and got them the best deals while maintaining good relationships with his buyers. His team, too, was ultra-efficient, and Ori found them all inclusive and helpful. Even Cassie had seemed to change her mind about Ori, and now she enjoyed the other woman’s company. They would often go for lunch together and talk about back home. Cassie was from Virginia, a Rhodes Scholar and art historian by education.
“I just wanted to come to Italy to travel, but then I met Maceo and that was that.”
“Snap,.” said Ori, smiling, but inside wondered if Maceo had gotten all of his staff the way he’d hired her—by screwing them.
Cassie was watching her carefully. “No is the answer to the question you’re not asking,” she said with a wry grin. “I had a boyfriend when I met Maceo, one that I loved very much. So, no, Maceo and I didn’t sleep together.”
Ori was scarlet-faced. “I, um….”
“Ori, let’s be real. Everyone knows you and Maceo are together. We’re cool with it, so relax...” Cassie was grinning at her knowingly now, and Ori had to laugh.
Ori rolled over in bed and stretched. It had been two months since she’d returned to Italy and moved in with Maceo and it had been bliss. Utter, complete heaven, she thought now. Her body ached pleasantly from making love most of the night, and now, on this Saturday, she and Maceo had plans to do … nothing. From the whirlwind of work, it was really the first time they had spent together that was free of work commitments and Ori was really looking forward to just hanging out with him.
They had become good friends as well as lovers, equal partners in their relationship despite Maceo’s imposing wealth. Ori never felt at a disadvantage with him, even living in his opulent apartment.
She wondered where he’d gone now—maybe to fetch some breakfas
t. She got up and pulled her robe around her naked body. As she suspected, Maceo was in the kitchen, fighting with his new espresso machine and cursing loudly in Italian. He was bare-chested, just in his jeans, and she slid her arms around his waist.
“Buongiorno, beautiful ...” He bent his head to kiss her. She kissed him back and, in reply, opened her robe and pressed her bare skin against him. He groaned, and she giggled as he lifted her onto the countertop, pushing her legs apart and unzipping his jeans. “God, woman, you make me crazy.”
He fucked her there, hard, until she was crying out his name in ecstasy and he was shooting hot, thick cum, deep inside her. Laughing and panting for air, they collapsed to the floor together.
“Bella, I love to fuck you, I really do,” he said, puffing for air. “But God knows how we’re going to get anything else done.”
She wound her arms around his neck. “Today, my love, we don’t have to.”
And so, they lazed around the apartment, making love and talking, sending out for pizza when they got hungry.
The day went by too quickly for Ori’s liking. Maceo grinned at her sulky face. “Mio caro, tomorrow is Sunday. We can do it all over again.”
But a phone call changed everything in a heartbeat. At first, Ori frowned at the unknown cell phone number on her caller ID, but when she answered it the blood in her veins turned to ice and her legs gave way under her.
Maceo took the phone from her and talked to the person on the other end. By the time he ended the call, he knew that Ori’s world had just collapsed and felt helpless to know how to fix it. Not even his money could help her now.
AJ was dead.
They told her it was a suicide but that they had not seen any signs of it. AJ had been doing well in his new program and had even talked about getting an apartment away from the facility with a friend he’d met there. Everything had seemed good and when Ori had talked to him he had been upbeat and positive.
Then, Friday afternoon, an orderly had found him on the concrete path outside the building. He had leaped from the roof. He was killed instantly, his brains smashed from his head by the impact.
A numb Ori let Maceo make all the arrangements for her, and they flew to California to claim his body and arrange the funeral.
But Tyson Janek had gotten there first, and now, with the tragic suicide of his son, he was a media darling again, all past mistakes forgiven. Ori sat through a media circus of a funeral, arranged by Tyson. It had been the exact opposite of what AJ would have wanted. Maceo kissed her gently. “Are you sure you’ll be okay if I go out? I won’t be long.”
Ori nodded. They were in a hotel in San Francisco. Ori had not wanted to go back to Italy yet, wanting to be near AJ’s grave a little while longer. Maceo had other plans. He was going to see Tyson Janek—not that he told Ori that. Tyson Janek was going to pay for what happened to AJ, and for what he’d done to Ori.
He walked into the restaurant where Tyson Janek was eating breakfast with a weasely-looking lackey. Maceo strode up to the table and glared at the aide. “Fuck off. Now.”
The aide paled but looked at Tyson, who nodded. Maceo took the seat the aide vacated and stared at Janek.
Tyson sipped his coffee slowly, seemingly unfazed in the face of Maceo’s overwhelming anger. “What do you want, Bartoli?”
Maceo gave him a chilly smile. “Only to tell you that once Ori is ready, we will be going to the authorities about the sustained and continued abuse she suffered at your hands.”
Tyson shrugged. “And who is going to believe her? Where’s the proof?”
Maceo’s smile dropped, and his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “I suppose you think the press, now that you’re playing the grieving father card, will slam her for taking advantage at this time? They’ll paint her a gold-digger? I think not. I have a feeling the press will soon be against you, Janek, and the scandal you’ve just weathered will seem like a walk in the park.”
Tyson laughed loudly. “Really? And where are you getting this fairytale from?”
Maceo sat back, studying him carefully. “Because this world is fucked up, and because it blames the victim rather than the perpetrator, especially if the victim is female, you probably think, hey, who’s going to believe her?”
Tyson inclined his head, and Maceo leaned forward. “Then how do you think the press will respond to a father raping his own son, Janek? You piece of utter shit. AJ told me everything.”
To Maceo’s satisfaction, Janek paled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know damn well. You raped AJ, just like you did Ori. You’re a monster and, believe me, I’m going to make sure the world knows it.”
Maceo got up and stalked out of the restaurant. Tyson stared after him, then plucked his cell phone out of his pocket. “It’s me. He’s just left. Do it now.” Ori had just gotten dressed when Maceo called her. “I’m on my way back now, bella. I’ll see you soon.”
Ori smiled. “Good. I missed you.” She scooped her long dark hair into a messy ponytail and grabbed her book from the nightstand, intending to read until Maceo got back.
As she walked back into the main suite, a movement caught her eye. She turned, and he was on her. A masked figure, twice her size, threw her to the ground. Ori, her mind panicked and confused, had no time to fight back as the attacker brandished a knife.
Oh god. No, please …
Ori had no time to scream …
Chapter 2: EVENTIDE
Paris …
Benoit Vaux’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re getting married?”
Marcella, his good friend and companion, laughed, throwing her dark hair back. “Mon chère, there are other reasons for me to give up the escort life, not just for another man. No, Benoit, I’m not getting married. But I am leaving the country. You know I’ve always wanted to travel, and now is the right time.” She touched his cheek. “My sweet boy, there are a million women ready to take my place in your bed. Or maybe it’s time you concentrated on finding her.”
“Her?”
“I think the young people call it ‘the one’.” Marcella smiled and swung her long legs over the side of the bed.
Benoit reached for her before she could move away. “Marcella … have you ever thought that you might just be the only one for me?”
Marcella smiled down at him. “Oh, you perfect man, I’m sorry to tell you this. There isn’t any chance I might be your ‘one’. Go and seek her. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
Benoit was still thinking about what she said the next day as he sat through the first meeting of the week. His Chief Exec, Delaine, always wanted these godawful meetings. Team building, he called it. Benoit barely listened to what was being discussed. How had his life come to this? Stuck in meetings, barely ever getting to do the things he loved—designing, building, creating. No, at this point it was all deals and accounts and bullshit.
He edged his chair around to gaze out of the window while one of his accountants droned on. Outside his window, his city, his home, Paris, sprawled across his view. He had been to many places and many countries, but no city made his pulse race more than his birthplace. Being able to build here and giving people homes to build their families in—it had been his dream.
He gradually tuned back into the conversation. Always about the bottom line, he thought now, listening to Delaine remonstrate with the money men. Benoit cleared his throat. It made him smile how that always made everyone in the room shut the hell up and pay attention. He leaned forward.
“Gentlemen, I want to move forward with the development on Le Boulevard Coutances. It’s prime greenbelt land, and I’m not going to let it sit there any longer. We fought to acquire it and, God knows, the 13th Arrondissement is in need of it. So, please, no more talk of budgets or waiting until we have the full budget. Let’s begin.”
After the meeting, he headed gratefully back to his office where his P.A., Genevieve, a striking woman in her late fifties, handed him a shot of thick, dark coffee
, and his mail. “A woman from L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales has called six times this morning. She wants to set up a meeting.”
“Which woman?”
“Shiloh Hunt.” Genevieve followed him into his office, her notepad in hand. “She seems quite intent on speaking to you.”
Benoit sighed. The French environmental lobby had become powerful over the last few years and L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales had influence with the government’s housing department. Major influence, he thought now.
“Fine. Find fifteen minutes.”
Genevieve hid a smile. “How about right now?”
Benoit, looking at her over his spectacles, looked confused. “Huh?”
“She’s right outside. You walked right past her.”
Benoit got up and returned to the outer office. A young, willowy blonde looked up at him from behind huge black-framed glasses.
“Ms. Holt?”
She stood, and Benoit was surprised to see she was almost as tall as his six feet—maybe five-ten, even in flat pumps. Her long, ash blonde hair hung below her shoulders in soft waves, and her bright blue eyes regarded him without even a hint of friendliness. Benoit smiled, knowing he was about to get into a fight.
“Ms. Holt, please come in.” He shot a look at Genevieve as Shiloh Holt stalked past him; Genevieve hid a smile.
Shiloh Holt didn’t wait to be asked to sit. As Benoit walked to his desk, he heard her draw in a deep breath. “Mr. Vaux, I am here on behalf of L'Institut des Préoccupations Environnementales.”
“I know, Ms. Holt. Please have a seat.”
Shiloh blinked and looked down at the chair in front of her as if it hadn’t occurred to her to sit. She pulled it out and sat, rather impatiently. “Mr. Vaux….”
“It’s Benoit, and I know where you’re from, Ms. Holt. I assume this has to do with the new development on Le Boulevard Coutances?”
Dirty Little Virgin: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 46