Read Online Midnight Action by Elle Kennedy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elle Kennedy
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to her like a flame luring a moth. A hot flame of seduction, igniting every libido in the club.
But she didn’t accept any offers to dance; she simply turned from the flock of men who approached her, spinning around and flitting away each time a new bachelor joined the fold.
Morgan kept watching as one song ended and another began. She was up to something. He could feel it in his bones.
Sure enough, the suspicion was confirmed a minute later, when a tall, muscular man stepped onto the floor and moved with purpose toward Noelle.
The newcomer came up behind her—and she let him. She ground her ass against the man’s groin, allowing his hands to slide down her body and grip her hips.
Morgan’s nostrils flared with derision as he studied Noelle’s dance partner. Dude looked like a total creep with his slicked-back hair, sharp features, and lips that were far too pouty to belong on a man’s face. His getup consisted of tight leather pants and a black wifebeater, and only added to the slimebag vibe he was broadcasting.
What was the damn woman up to?
It pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out. He usually had no trouble getting inside Noelle’s head and intuiting her next move, but tonight he was drawing a blank.
“Danse?”
The shrill female voice had him jerking his head to the side. He glanced at the dark-haired woman who’d sidled up to him, then gave a brisk shake of the head.
As the brunette slunk off in disappointment, he refocused his attention on the dance floor, but Noelle and her slimebag were gone.
Shit.
Where the hell were they?
His shoulders went rigid as he scanned the crowded club. He didn’t spot them in the throng of dancers. Didn’t see them near the DJ platform. They weren’t in the bar area, and they wouldn’t have been able to head out the door without crossing his line of sight, which left only one option—the shadowy corridor leading to the restrooms.
Setting his jaw, Morgan left his beer on the counter and marched toward the rear of the club. He dodged a group of inebriated young men, waved off several offers to dance from eager women. When he finally ducked into the back hallway, he discovered two long lines leading into each of the restrooms, but no sign of Noelle and the creep.
He assessed the narrow space, catching sight of the closed door with a succinct French sign: SUPPLIES—KEEP OUT .
His right hand tingled with the urge to reach for the Sig tucked into his waistband, but he kept his arms at his sides as he approached the closet. A test of the handle revealed the door was unlocked. Hmmm. Noelle had gotten sloppy.
Or not
, he discovered a moment later, after he’d opened the door a crack and noted that the padlock on the interior handle was broken.
He quietly slid into a room that was bathed in darkness and much larger than he’d anticipated. As his eyes adjusted, he could see rows and rows of metal racks that took up the space, shelves lined with cleaning supplies, bags of cocktail napkins, and random storage items.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he heard a low male groan. Followed by a female purr of pleasure that hardened his veins to ice.
For fuck’s sake, was she screwing the loser in a goddamn supply closet?
A rustling noise broke the silence, the unmistakable sound of a zipper dragging down, and then a metal clatter and a soft giggle, as if someone—a curvy female body, perhaps—had been backed into a rack by an overeager lover.
Morgan’s jaw was so tense his teeth started to hurt. He took a step forward, then stopped, forcing his scuffed-up boots to remain planted in place. Fuck it. If Noelle wanted to get drilled by a creep who didn’t know how to use hair gel in moderation, then fine. It was none of his damn business.
He had just taken two steps back to the door when the horrified male expletive echoed in the darkness.
This time he didn’t hesitate—he drew his weapon and crept down one of the aisles, just as a loud
But she didn’t accept any offers to dance; she simply turned from the flock of men who approached her, spinning around and flitting away each time a new bachelor joined the fold.
Morgan kept watching as one song ended and another began. She was up to something. He could feel it in his bones.
Sure enough, the suspicion was confirmed a minute later, when a tall, muscular man stepped onto the floor and moved with purpose toward Noelle.
The newcomer came up behind her—and she let him. She ground her ass against the man’s groin, allowing his hands to slide down her body and grip her hips.
Morgan’s nostrils flared with derision as he studied Noelle’s dance partner. Dude looked like a total creep with his slicked-back hair, sharp features, and lips that were far too pouty to belong on a man’s face. His getup consisted of tight leather pants and a black wifebeater, and only added to the slimebag vibe he was broadcasting.
What was the damn woman up to?
It pissed him off that he couldn’t figure it out. He usually had no trouble getting inside Noelle’s head and intuiting her next move, but tonight he was drawing a blank.
“Danse?”
The shrill female voice had him jerking his head to the side. He glanced at the dark-haired woman who’d sidled up to him, then gave a brisk shake of the head.
As the brunette slunk off in disappointment, he refocused his attention on the dance floor, but Noelle and her slimebag were gone.
Shit.
Where the hell were they?
His shoulders went rigid as he scanned the crowded club. He didn’t spot them in the throng of dancers. Didn’t see them near the DJ platform. They weren’t in the bar area, and they wouldn’t have been able to head out the door without crossing his line of sight, which left only one option—the shadowy corridor leading to the restrooms.
Setting his jaw, Morgan left his beer on the counter and marched toward the rear of the club. He dodged a group of inebriated young men, waved off several offers to dance from eager women. When he finally ducked into the back hallway, he discovered two long lines leading into each of the restrooms, but no sign of Noelle and the creep.
He assessed the narrow space, catching sight of the closed door with a succinct French sign: SUPPLIES—KEEP OUT .
His right hand tingled with the urge to reach for the Sig tucked into his waistband, but he kept his arms at his sides as he approached the closet. A test of the handle revealed the door was unlocked. Hmmm. Noelle had gotten sloppy.
Or not
, he discovered a moment later, after he’d opened the door a crack and noted that the padlock on the interior handle was broken.
He quietly slid into a room that was bathed in darkness and much larger than he’d anticipated. As his eyes adjusted, he could see rows and rows of metal racks that took up the space, shelves lined with cleaning supplies, bags of cocktail napkins, and random storage items.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he heard a low male groan. Followed by a female purr of pleasure that hardened his veins to ice.
For fuck’s sake, was she screwing the loser in a goddamn supply closet?
A rustling noise broke the silence, the unmistakable sound of a zipper dragging down, and then a metal clatter and a soft giggle, as if someone—a curvy female body, perhaps—had been backed into a rack by an overeager lover.
Morgan’s jaw was so tense his teeth started to hurt. He took a step forward, then stopped, forcing his scuffed-up boots to remain planted in place. Fuck it. If Noelle wanted to get drilled by a creep who didn’t know how to use hair gel in moderation, then fine. It was none of his damn business.
He had just taken two steps back to the door when the horrified male expletive echoed in the darkness.
This time he didn’t hesitate—he drew his weapon and crept down one of the aisles, just as a loud
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