VELOUR NIGHTS [Prelude]

Midnight Velvet

Journee, a luxury hotel concierge with a secret nightlife. Saint, the reclusive billionaire who books the penthouse once a month-and only talks to her. A game of anonymous letters and after-midnight visits escalates into obsession. She breaks the rules. He makes new ones.

Journee

The dimmed lights mixed with expensive alcohol encouraged club goers to make mistakes. Body to body, a low chuckle in an ear, the warmth of breath against skin, and a temptation of a smile. The ingredients of a memorable night lost in an alcohol induced haze or a regretful morning.

"You tryna get up outta here?"

Hot breath assaulted the back of my neck, and I swerved aside, clenching my drink against my chest as I looked over my shoulder. Bug-eyed, cheshire-smiling, iguana looking specimen stood there. The dimmed lights couldn't distort my vision enough to make me give him a double take.

I bit down on my lip, holding back a cackle, but the amount of alcohol that I've consumed tonight was working against me as I sputtered. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I wobbled in my heels.

The man narrowed his eyes, moving like a shadow until he was directly in front of me. Personal space was nonexistent.

"You think something funny?"

"I think you need to back up and move around."

"I'm just trying to--"

"You're trying to get yourself hurt. You can move or be moved. I don't mind causing a scene, but I don't feel like catching a charge 'cause you don't know how to accept no."

His gaze hardened as he leaned in closer, I popped open my clutch and revealed my glock 19 and he suddenly found the sense that God should've given him. He backed off quietly, emerging with the sea of bodies that crowded the dance floor. Inhaling a sharp breath, I immediately sobered up.

"Shit," I hissed, I've never used that fucking thing since I bought it.

I glanced down at my phone seeing that it was just a little after midnight, my buzz was gone and that wasn't part of the plans tonight.

"What made you think that it was safe for you to come out looking like that?"

I shivered as cool breath mixed with the hot air of the club made contact against the back of my neck. I turned, ready to tell off whoever it was. What I wasn't expecting was it to be a regular patronage of the hotel that I work at.

"Mr. McClure..." my breath caught in my throat as I looked up into his eyes.

A smoky, dark brown that gave off the vibe that he could be older or he could just be tired. Mr. McClure wasn't all that old, just thirty-eight. He books the penthouse suit in the hotel that I work, he was usually quiet and kept to himself.

He'd speak, only to me, I suppose and offer a strangled grumble to any other of the staff. His casual clothing a starking contrast to his usual suit and tie, it was no complaint because he could wear anything and still look, attractive for lack of word, more respectful than what I'm truly thinking. I lick my lips, a sudden parchness taken over.

"I didn't think I'd see you in a place like this, you're as quiet as a mouse behind the check-in desk." He leans in, teasingly.

My nostrils flared as I inhaled, the scent of his cologne a musky, sandalwood, ember and whatever else I couldn't name. It was...intoxicating. Or maybe I simply was.

"We're not at the hotel, now are we?" I smirked, sitting my drink down on a random table.

"No, no we're not, but that still doesn't answer my question."

His eyes lowered, just momentarily.

"Just one of my nights off, I can have fun, can't I?" I lied, I'm here three time a week hoping to leave with somebody's son, daddy, uncle, brother or granddaddy to crack my back for the night.

He smirked, folding his arms over his chest. "Well," he paused licking his lip, "Maybe I should stay close to make sure you leave here safely." He suggested.

"Mr. McClure--"

"Saint," he corrected.

A small smirk tugged at my lips, "It won't be necessary, Saint. I'm not trying to leave alone."

His brow ticked, "Who said you had to be alone?"

I bit my lip, glancing down at his watch momentarily, its just now a little past midnight. My head tilted up to look at him, the usual soft expression was long gone. His eyes held mine just as long as if reading me, I looked to the bar and shrugged.

"Let's go then," I linked my arms around his biceps.

A hum slip from my throat as his muscles were prominent even in his business attire. I allowed him to guide me out of the club, and a couple of steps away from the entrance was a Black SUV. The driver's door opened, and he held out a firm hand to halt his driver, his arm wrapped around my waist steady as he led me to the back passenger's door.

Sliding into the back seat, Saint slid right in behind me. I chuckle lightly at the thought of him sliding in something more tonight.

My buzz was completely gone at this point; I was as sober as the night sky was pitch black. Saint turned to me; a finger curled under my chin as my face was lifted to meet his. Jawline, sharp. Eyes sharper.

"How much did you have to drink?" He asked.

"Not enough," I snickered.

It wasn't much; I had only made it to my second drink that was instantly waned from the asshole that wanted to try my patience. I wasn't as buzzed, but I could complete a thought and a sentence. It was enough to know that I wanted this man to absolutely ruin me throughout the night.

"Take the longer route." He commanded the driver.

My breath catches. He leans in, kissing me slow at first, then deeper, pulling me onto his lap. I melte into him, arms around his neck.

Saint mutters against my lips, low and rough.

“I need you as sober as you can be."

His kisses trail from my lips to my jaw, down to my neck. I tilts my head back, a soft gasp escaping. The tension from these last three years gone, replaced with heat and surprising tenderness. Saint's hands roam carefully, asking for permission with every touch.

Then, when I whispered, “don’t stop,” he pulled me even closer, holding me like I'm the only thing in his world.