Lunchtime Chronicles: Passion Fruit

“I just wanted to know more about you.”

She spun around. “Why?”

“Because you’re captivating.”

She blinked again.

He held his arm out for her.

Sighing, she curled her arm around his.

To maintain her composure, Angel focused on the club.

In the millionaire section, dim ceiling lamps served as the lightning. Solid black paint decorated the walls. Black carpet covered the floor.

For some reason, the shadows comforted Angel and shoved away her embarrassment. Toward the edges of the room, people lounged on the floor and rested their heads on the pillows as they fondled each other.

A pair of men had both been enjoying themselves right near the bar. One had his hands in the other’s pants moving it up and down. The other whimpered in his ear.

Christian brushed his lips against Angel’s ear. “Do you like it?”

Her body shivered in pleasure. “Yes.”

She turned to him.

He watched her with wicked delight on his face. She had to be careful around Christian. So easily, he’d already seeped into her barrier. Sparks of interest uncoiled and divided into ribbons of sexual curiosity.

Although the space was dimly lit, his eyes held an erotic glow. “Let me show you one of the rooms.”

“Just showing?”

“Of course.”

He guided her forward.

“Back to your earlier question. Who do I think killed Diana?” He kept his voice low. “I thought that perhaps her ex-boyfriend Kevin had something to do with it. He was possessive and didn’t like Diana and me being friends.”

“You two never—?”

“God no. She’s too young. I’m 40 myself. I like to stick to my age group. Much more interesting conversation.”

“I thought you were younger.”

“I take care of myself.”

“Then, why do you think Kevin did it?”

“He told the police that he was sick in bed. His maid backed the lie. My detective discovered that Kevin was in Blue that night, playing with another woman. The manager showed us the footage.”

“That asshole lied.”

“That’s life. Next, being that Diana died from the rope, I figured it might have been breath play gone wrong.”

“She was into that?”

“Yes. But she would have done it with someone, so I had my detective look to more of the people around her.” He sighed. “Then, we have her manager. He was down and out before Diana. She had just signed a renewal contract with him. No one cried more than him at the funeral. I wasn’t sure if it was due to their friendship or all the lost money.”

Stairs appeared.

They stopped in front of them.

Feeling comfortable in his grip, Angel looked at him. “That leaves her best friend.”

“It does, but as you already know Romee had a photoshoot that same evening.”

“She did.”

“Which leads us both to the sad fact that we’ve been trying to avoid.” He frowned. “Diana commited suicide.”

Angel’s heart twisted in pain.

“Everyone keeps trying to convince me of that. I just...” Angel shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Me either. Diana had a rough life before modeling. I thought all the glamour and glitz could help her forget, but she struggled with depression. The money never helped. I recommended therapists. She never went. She said it was ‘white people shit.’”

“The facts and clues were there, but I refused to deal with them.”

“For me, it was because she was a dear friend. For you, perhaps it was because Diana looked like she could have been your daughter..”

Angel widened her eyes.

“However, where Diana had girlish beauty. You have a mature elegance that drips with wild feminine sexuality. You’re completely different and once I saw your picture I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“You have an amazing way with words.”

“I’m just being honest.” He gestured to the steps. “Diana would have been happy that you cared so much about her. It was hard to convince her that she was loved.”

“After her childhood, I can understand.”

“Tonight,” Christian sighed, “Let’s celebrate her life by enjoying ourselves at Diana’s favorite club. I know that she is looking down and laughing at me.”

“Why?”

“She knew that I barely ever spend time with women anymore and I’m sure she was entertained by my soft stalking of you.”

“Soft stalking.”

The wicked grin reappeared. “Let’s go.”

They climbed the steps.

Unlike the lounge area and bar, black and white photos covered the stairwells. They were artistic images of nude men and women.

Upstairs, black walls shifted to crimson red. There were twenty different doors down the hallway. Some were closed. Others sat open. Erotic sounds flowed out—moans, groans, whimpers, cries of pain, shrieks of pleasure, slapping, whipping, squeaking beds, the smacking of skin, slurping, and the sloshing of bodies rubbing up against each other.

Angel’s heart raced. She wanted to tear her clothes off and touch herself.

Better yet, Angel yearned to see what lay underneath Christian’s clothes.

Christian studied her reaction.

Angel closed her eyes and breathed.

When she opened them, Christian was right in front of her.

Before she could speak, he captured her bottom lip and sucked. Shocked and delighted, a tiny whimper escaped her lips. Surprisingly, she opened her mouth to his kiss.