Dirty Little Virgin: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  She inclined her head, slightly mollified. “It does. Mr. Vaux, as I’m sure you know, we are campaigning to stop any further development on this piece of greenbelt land. We feel strongly that we must protect the rapidly diminishing green spaces in our city.

  Benoit smiled. “Our city? Ms. Holt, if I’m not mistaken, that’s an American accent. And it’s Benoit, not Mr. Vaux.”

  “Mr. Vaux,” Shiloh said, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. “I was born here in Paris. I hold dual nationality. My parents are French.”

  “Where did you go to get that accent?”

  Shiloh looked frustrated. “This is not what I came here to talk about.”

  “Where?”

  She sighed. “Brown. Then Harvard Law.”

  “Good.” Benoit leaned forward, his manner switching from amused to businesslike. “Ms. Holt, as you are probably aware, my company vets every piece of land we intend to acquire. One of the main tenets of our ethos is that we exhaust every possible reason not to purchase the land, be it financial, social, or environmental. The land on Le Boulevard Coutances was deemed non-vital. It also has great links into the center of the city and a thriving community being built up around it.”

  Shiloh was listening to him carefully. “Mr. Vaux, Paris has less than ten percent of green space in a city whose population grows larger every second. That community of which you speak needs parks and recreational places too. Your boutique apartments or hotels will not benefit that community; they will be priced out of the market, making it more difficult for the people who were born there to stay there.”

  “That’s true of any developed land,” Benoit said calmly. “If we considered that as a factor every time we purchased land, nothing would ever get built. We cannot take responsibility for people’s lack of finances, or their situations. This is a business, not a charity.” While he was talking, Benoit was studying the fine planes of her delicate face and the slender frame of her body. Despite her height, he still felt as if she would crumble in his arms if he touched her; she had a kind of fragility that he was drawn to.

  Shiloh was staring at him, her expression disgusted. “Which is my entire problem with men like you, Mr. Vaux. You are soulless. You exist in this other worldly plane, one where your wealth and your looks open every door. Have you ever struggled to feed yourself, Mr. Vaux?”

  Benoit sighed. The anger in her made her face flush scarlet and it was very distracting. “I think we have wandered from the point.”

  Shiloh sucked in a deep breath. “Mr. Vaux, I’m asking you to reconsider….”

  “No. I’m sorry, Ms. Holt, but this meeting is over. We have done our due diligence. The development goes ahead.”

  Shiloh looked askance. “You won’t even consider my proposal?”

  Benoit sat back in his chair. “Ms. Holt, so far, you haven’t made any proposal. You have ranted at me and called me soulless. Now, I have work to do. Genevieve will see you out.”

  Shiloh gaped at him in silence for a beat then stood and stalked out. He appreciatively watched the way she moved. A beautiful woman, he thought, but a major pain in my ass. Shame.

  He called Genevieve back in and got on with his work. Only later when he was alone did he let his mind wander back to Shiloh Holt’s blue eyes, the flush of pink in her cheeks, and the rosebud mouth. He wondered if he would see her again.

  “Penny for them.”

  Benoit looked up to see his old friend Alex standing in the doorway. Benoit’s face cracked into a wide smile.

  “Mon frère! How wonderful to see you; I had no idea you were coming to Paris.”

  “Had to get away from the crap going down at home,” Alex shrugged, his eyes sad. Benoit stood and hugged him.

  “Let’s go grab a drink, and you can catch me up.”

  Ori started to come around just as she heard Maceo calling her name. She opened her eyes and his beautiful face, frantic with fear, filled her vision.

  “Ori! Are you okay? Dio mio … mio amata.”

  She felt herself being scooped into his arms and carried to the bed. She heard him yelling instructions to someone to call for medical help. Her entire body ached and she remembered being forced to the ground, a man, his knife … had she been stabbed? Everything seemed so jumbled that she couldn’t figure out her own body. The only thing she knew for sure was who was behind the attack.

  Tyson.

  God, he’d sent someone to kill her, hadn’t he? He was making his final moves; now that AJ had died, she was the only threat left to him.

  Flashes of the attack were coming back to her as she tried to focus on Maceo’s face. He was talking to her, his arms cradling her. Finally, her head started to clear.

  “Maceo?”

  “What happened, baby?”

  “There was someone here. He grabbed me. He had a knife.”

  She heard Maceo’s sharp intake of breath and felt his hands running over her body, trying to find any wounds. “You have some cuts and scratches, baby, but I don’t think you’ve been stabbed. Your head is bleeding.”

  “I must have fallen when he grabbed me. I hit my head.” She tried to sit up, but Maceo locked his arms around her.

  “Take it easy, bella. We’re going to get you checked out.”

  Ori sighed, but relaxed back into his arms, gazing up at his face. His green eyes were full of concern and shock. “I’m okay, I think, Maceo. I just don’t know why I’m still alive.”

  She saw him wince. “Don’t say that.”

  “It was Tyson. I know it. Or one of his men. I just don’t know why he didn’t kill me.”

  Maceo frowned. “It wasn’t Tyson himself, Ori. I know that for sure.”

  “How?”

  “Because I was just with him.”

  Ori did sit up now, her head pounding. “You were with Tyson?” There was no reproach in her voice; she trusted Maceo enough now that he would have only met with Tyson to benefit her. Maceo nodded.

  “To warn him to stay away from you. I think he got the message.”

  “He must have had us followed and called someone to attack me while you were out of the way. Except….” She trailed off, deep in thought. Absentmindedly, she pressed the heel of her hand to her head, wincing when her skin touched the open wound there. Maceo was watching her.

  “Except what, mio caro?”

  Ori nodded her head. “If it had been Tyson, I would be dead. He’s sent enough warnings; he would have taken the chance to end it, even if it meant not killing me with his own hands. That’s his ultimate goal, I know it.”

  Maceo moaned. “Please stop talking like that.”

  Ori tried to smile, taking his hand. “It’s been my reality for over a decade, Maceo. Why do you think I’ve kept moving? If I stand still, he’s got me, and I’ll be dead.”

  Maceo swore in Italian and got up, just as someone knocked at the door. The paramedics examined Ori. “I think it’s just a bad concussion but we should still take you in for tests.”

  Maceo shut down Ori’s protests and rode with her in the ambulance. Once at the hospital, he arranged a private room for her and settled her in. Ori, despite her hatred of hospitals, felt some of the stress of the day falling away and, when the doctor had seen her and prescribed some strong painkillers, she felt herself drifting to sleep, Maceo holding her hand, ready to spend the night in the chair next to her bed.

  The nightmare hit her with full force. She was back in their hotel room, curled up on the bed asleep when he entered the room. Weirdly, she knew he was male even though he was entirely clad in black from head to toe. He forced her onto her back and, in the dream, she complied, watching him dispassionately as he pushed her T-shirt up and raised the lethal-looking blade in the air. It was only when he pulled off his mask that she began to scream.

  Maceo.

  No, no … please, not you, not you, my love …

  Maceo drove the knife into her over and over as she screamed out her love for him, and she felt every inch of the cold, hard s
teel as it sliced into her tender flesh. She was begging him to stop but he didn’t listen, her blood soaking them both. As she died, she felt his lips against hers and heard him whisper to her, calling her by an unfamiliar name.

  Viola …

  For a few minutes when she woke, Ori did not open her eyes. The nightmare had been so vivid and so visceral that she did not want to see the man next to her, Maceo, and associate him with the monster who had slaughtered her in her dream. God. She felt nauseous, tormented. She struggled with her senses, then opened her eyes. Maceo, his head on the bed, his chair pulled up close, looked 20 years younger when he slept, the furrows and lines of his face smoothed out. His fingers were interwoven with hers, and his dark lashes rested on his olive skin. A small scar at the corner of his right eye curved around like a half moon and Ori reached out to stroke it, her body relaxing.

  God, how I love you, she thought and as he stirred, opened his eyes and gazed at her, she smiled at him. “Good morning, handsome.”

  Maceo blinked a couple of times, still looking like a young kid, then sat up, rubbing his head to try and wake up. He pressed his lips against hers.

  “How do you feel?”

  Ori nodded. “Okay, actually. I had some weird dreams, but I feel good.”

  Maceo sighed. “Thank God.” He moved next to her so he could take her in his arms. Ori snuggled into the warmth of his broad chest.

  “Can we get out of here soon? I want to go home.”

  His lips were against her temple. “If the doctor says you’re good. We can change hotels; I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “No, I mean, home.” She looked up and smiled at his surprised expression, “Home home. Venice. I don’t want to be in the same country as Tyson Janek.”

  Maceo grinned. “You don’t need to persuade me, bella.”

  Four hours later, they were on a flight to Venice. As Ori slept beside him, Maceo was talking to his head of security back in San Francisco. “I want to know who was behind the attack. If it’s Janek, we get the proof and go to the police and the press.”

  “I’ve already looked into it, boss,” Greg, the calm security expert told him. “From what I’ve found out, when you left your meeting with Janek, he gave the order to follow you … but if it was one of his guys who attacked your lady, then it was a rogue operation. Janek wants to kill her himself, not get some lackey to do it. The dude has a seriously fucked-up obsession with his stepdaughter. I don’t think this was him.”

  Dread started to curl in Maceo’s stomach. “Then who?”

  Greg sighed. “We don’t know yet. I’ll call you when we’ve found something out.”

  Maceo drew in a breath. “So we’re being followed?”

  “From a distance. We’re not letting anyone too close, believe me, but you’re leaving the States will probably ping their radar, and they know where to find you in Venice. Sure it’s a good idea to go back?”

  “I won’t be run out of my own city by these figli di puttana,” Maceo said in a low voice. “Ori and I will make our family there. We have our home there, our work.”

  Greg, who had been with Maceo for many years, gave a low, soft chuckle. “Boss, have to say ... I’ve never heard you like this.”

  Maceo smiled. “Never felt like this. Keep me informed.”

  He went to check on Ori, who was asleep in the small bedroom at the back of the private plane. He watched her sleep for a few minutes before lying down next to her and pressing his lips to hers. Ori opened her eyes and smiled, her lips curving up against his, and without speaking, he pushed her onto her back and covered her body with his. He smoothed her hair away from her face, gazing down at her, his eyes questioning. Ori nodded, a tiny movement, and her smile widened as he began to unbutton her dress, his mouth seeking her pink nipples as he popped the catch on her bra. Her breasts were plump and soft against his face as he teased the small nipple until it was rock-hard and Ori was gasping. Maceo grinned as his lips trailed down to her belly, his tongue circling her navel. His fingers were pulling at her underwear, and he could feel how wet she was for him.

  He slid two fingers inside of her as his thumb stroked a rhythm over her clit. Ori moaned softly, willing him on, and then his mouth was on her sex, his teeth grazing gently until he bit down in it. Ori writhed and gasped as his long, thick fingers fucked her, his mouth and his tongue exploring her most intimate places. Maceo could feel his cock thickening, swelling almost painfully until he could bear it no longer and, tugging off his pants, he entered her, his cock enveloped in her sweet, warm cunt.

  They moved together in perfect union, Maceo feeling her had nipples against his chest, her soft belly against his as he drove his cock into her in long, hard thrusts. Her mouth sought his, her skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat, her dark hair clouding around her on the pillow. Her fingernails dug deeply into his buttocks, urging him deeper, rougher ….

  Maceo came hard, his cum shooting deep into her belly as he watched her face change, become ecstatic, glow with the force of her orgasm. Her cunt warmed, contracting and gripping his huge cock and Maceo never wanted this to end. He kissed her passionately, roughly, and tasted blood as he ground his mouth onto hers. Still erect, he began to fuck her again, thrusting harder this time, his gaze locked with hers.

  “Sei così bella,” he whispered tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Ori had tears in her eyes as she smiled at him. “Ti amo, Maceo Bartoli.”

  They made love until they were exhausted, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Shiloh Holt was not a happy woman. The small apartment she shared with two of her friends was getting smaller each day, and she longed for her own space. Sadly, being a spokeswoman for an environmental group didn’t exactly pay well. Despite this, she had been saving for a couple of years and now, finally, it looked like she would get her own place: a tiny studio in the Marias.

  Arranging for her stuff to be moved in a few weeks’ time, Shiloh had to drag her attention back to her work when her boss called a meeting on the Thursday afternoon. Most of her colleagues groaned; Miriam’s meetings tended to run late, and they all had dinner plans or family to get home to.

  Shiloh didn’t mind; anything to prevent going back to the tiny cramped apartment where she lived with Heloise and Liv. She adored them both, as they did her, but all three were feeling the confinements of living so close together. Heloise was her oldest friend from college, a Frenchwoman and artist who dressed entirely in black and smoked endless Gauloises cigarettes. Liv, an eccentric Swede, was a science lecturer at the Sorbonne. Along with Heloise’s two Siamese cats and Shiloh’s cocker spaniel, Beau, the small apartment was rarely tidy, organized, or stress free.

  No, Shiloh thought to herself now, it’s time, before we all get on each other’s nerves and ruin our friendships.

  Miriam, the director of the institute, began to run through her schedule. Shiloh only half listened until she heard Miriam say her name. She looked up to see everyone staring at her. She flushed.

  “I’m sorry, Miriam, I didn’t catch that.”

  Miriam’s lips pursed in annoyance. “I was asking how you got along with Benoit Vaux.”

  “Got along? Well,” Shiloh grinned, “we didn’t get along at all. He was, as expected, the arrogant prick we all suspected.” The others chuckled, and even Miriam smiled a little. “But, seriously,” Shiloh continued. “I’m afraid to say that he shut me down. Wouldn’t budge. Even a consultation into the suitability of the land is beyond his reasoning at this point.”

  Miriam looked a little startled. “Oh.”

  Shiloh tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry, Miriam.”

  Miriam shook her head. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that he called this morning to tell me that I should be very proud of having such a committed and passionate spokesperson.”

  Shiloh was stunned. “He did?”

  Miriam inclined her head. “And he told me that he would look again at the site.”

  S
peechless, Shiloh could only open and close her mouth for moment. “Excuse me,” she muttered after a few moments, then left the meeting room. She strode back to her office and slammed the door. She grabbed her phone and dialed his number.

  Benoit sounded amused. “How nice to hear from you, Ms. Holt.”

  “What game are you playing, Vaux?” Her temper snapped as soon as she heard his chocolate-smooth voice.

  Benoit laughed. “You’ll find out at dinner, tonight. The car will pick you up at eight-thirty.”

  The line went dead, and Shiloh was left mouthing dumbly at the phone. What the hell had just happened?

  Shiloh slammed the receiver down and let out a stream of curse words. There was no way she was going to dinner with this man—no effing way.

  At eighty-thirty, when her doorbell rang, Shiloh was resolutely still in her jeans and old, comfortable T-shirt, barefoot, her hair shoved messily into a ponytail. She opened the door expecting to see an anonymous driver. Instead, Benoit Vaux stood leaning against her doorjamb, dressed in a dark red vintage T-shirt and jeans that hugged his slim hips. Shiloh had to admit—on looks alone, the man knocked it out of the park. He grinned at her.

  “Ready for dinner?”

  Don’t give in. “Mr. Vaux, if you hadn’t so rudely hung up on me, I would have saved you the trouble of coming here by telling you that I have no intention of going anywhere with you.”

  His eyes were amused. “So you don’t want to find out what I’ve decided about the land on Boulevards Coutances, then?”

  She crossed her arms. “What say you tell me now?”

  He shook his head—really, his grin was maddening. “No deal. I’m hungry. There’s a place I’d like to take you.”

  Shiloh’s stomach rumbled and she sighed. “Fine. But I’m not getting changed.”

  Benoit shrugged. “You look beautiful,” he said casually, before holding out his hand.

  Flushing at the compliment but ignoring his hand, Shiloh grabbed her purse and walked out in front of him. She heard his soft chuckle and gritted her teeth. God, he was infuriating.