Midnight Alpha

  An Alpha series novel

  MIDNIGHT ALPHA

  By

  Carole Mortimer

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2015 Carole Mortimer

  Cover Design Copyright © Glass Slipper Designs

  Editor: Megan Stevens

  Formatter: Matthew Mortimer

  ISBN: 9781910597064

  ISBN: 9781910597071

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved.

  DEDICATIONS

  Welcome to Aoife Jane Mortimer

  Our darling new grand-daughter

  Chapter 1

  “Would you care to explain exactly what it is you’re doing under there?” There was Gregori’s mahogany desk in his office at the members-only nightclub, Utopia, one of several he owned in London.

  He stood in the doorway as he looked at the heart-shaped bottom of a jeans-clad woman sticking up in the air from the deep well of the desk, and with what looked like a bright yellow handkerchief sticking out of her back pocket.

  It was a firm and shapely bottom, admittedly, but it shouldn’t have been there at all: this floor of the Utopia building was strictly off-limits to all but executive and security staff. He currently employed no female executive or security staff.

  The woman swore softly under her breath at the sound of his voice and lifted her head quickly, followed by a muttered ‘ouch’ as her head obviously hit the underside of the desk.

  Gregori’s eyes now widened as that shapely bottom began to wiggle from side to side as the woman backed out of the confined space before moving up onto her knees. Her long auburn hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and it fell back over her shoulder as she placed her hands on the edge of the desk and rose slowly to her feet, her back still towards him.

  Allowing herself time to regroup? To come up with a plausible explanation as to what she was doing in his office at all, let alone poking about—suspiciously—under his desk?

  Gregori wasn’t normally at the club this early in the evening: it was still a couple of hours before opening time, and he usually didn’t arrive until midnight. But he’d spent the past four days visiting his sister Katya and brother-in-law Dair at their home in Venice, arriving back in London just a short time ago. It had seemed like a good idea to go straight to Utopia on his way back from the airport.

  He’d enjoyed seeing his sister so happy after almost losing her five months ago, but a little of being around the newly married couple—when they were so obviously besotted with each other—went a long way.

  A long way.

  There had been a few raised eyebrows and surprised looks from the staff preparing for opening time when Gregori walked into the club just after seven o’clock.

  As he was now surprised at finding this woman where she shouldn’t be.

  His mouth firmed. “I asked—”

  “I heard you— Oh my God!” the young woman gasped as she finally turned around and saw who was standing in the doorway. “Mr. Markovic…” Brown eyes widened in obvious dismay.

  Brown? That description was far too ordinary for the color of those dark-lashed eyes. They seemed to change color as a variety of emotions flickered in their depths, going from brown to gold in just a few seconds.

  Her skin was the natural cream of a redhead, with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks; her lips formed a perfect—and sensual—bow above a small and pointed chin. Her body, in proportion to that very shapely bottom, was voluptuous: curvaceous breasts beneath her white T-shirt, dipping in at the waist before fanning out again to those equally curvy hips.

  Gregori took in all of her appearance in the blink of an eye.

  An increasingly lustful eye, Gregori acknowledged as he felt the effects of that lust in his rapidly swelling and rising erection. His jaw tightened at that reaction. “Who are you? And what are you doing in my private office?”

  She didn’t exactly take a step back—there was nowhere for her to step back to—but she seemed to want to as he watched her intently through narrowed lids. He moved fully into the office and closed the door behind him before leaning back against it and folding his arms across the width of his chest. She seemed to shrink physically back into herself.

  Guiltily so?

  Until Gregori knew more he was reserving judgment on the reason for her reaction to him: the Markovic name alone could be intimidating.

  “Er—my name is Gaia. Gaia Miller. G-A-I-A,” she spelled the name out, as if it was something she was accustomed to doing. “She was the goddess of—”

  “The earth.” Gregori nodded abruptly. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Miss Miller,” he added dismissively.

  Of course he knew that, Gaia instantly admonished herself disgustedly. Gregori Markovic may be the undisputed head of the Russian side of the London criminal underworld, but she knew he was also a very smart man. He had attended university and obtained a degree before taking over that role on the death of his father seven months ago. Obviously even Russian crime lords required an education nowadays!

  He was also, Gaia just discovered, one of the most powerfully attractive men she had ever met. Oh, she had seen photographs of him in the media, of course, and knew he was in his mid-thirties, several inches over six feet tall, and always wore perfectly tailored dark suits, usually with a pale shirt and meticulously knotted silk ties to match. But none of those photographs had done this man justice, had in no way conveyed the air of absolute power he wore so effortlessly.

  It was now obvious that those tailored suits covered wide shoulders and muscled arms, a powerful chest and tapered waist and thighs. His hair was brushed back from his face, a dark, gleaming ebony, and long enough to brush the collar of his shirt, with a tendency to curl about his ears and nape. Those high cheekbones were no doubt inherited from his Russian ancestors, as was the sharp blade of his nose, his sculptured mouth, and a square and determined jaw.

  All devastatingly attractive traits on their own, but put them together with eyes so dark they appeared obsidian, and the effect was lethal.

  Enough to make Gaia’s heart beat rapidly in her chest and the palms of her hands damp.

  Or maybe that was because she had been caught in his office. His private office. Where she had no right to be.

  Where they both knew she had no right to be.

  “I’m still waiting for your explanation, Miss Miller,” he reminded harshly.

  Gaia could barely breathe, let alone talk past the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. She’d spent weeks planning insinuating herself smoothly into a job at the Utopia nightclub and casino, and now it looked as if she might be about to stumble and fall at the first hurdle.

  Not going to happen, she decided with a determined straightening of her shoulders. Not now that she had come this far.

  Not going to happen, she repeated to herself.

  Because no matter how overpoweringly attractive she now knew Gregori Markovic to be, he was still the head of the Russian contingent of London’s underworld, and possibly the man responsible for the death of Gaia’s half-sister Angela two months ago.

  “Or perhaps you would prefer that I turn this matter over to my head of security?” he challenged icily.

  Gaia felt a shiver go down the length of her spine just thinking about Nikolai Volkov. He of the overlong blond hair and equally as pale and piercing watchful grey eyes. Even tailored suits couldn’t disguise the fact that he was the predator his name implied: Volkov translated to wolf in
English.

  Gaia repressed another shiver of apprehension as she forced her lips to curve into what she hoped looked like an unconcerned smile. “If you talk to Mr. le Coeur,” she easily dropped the name of the manager of Utopia into the conversation, “I’m sure he’ll confirm that I work here.” She sincerely hoped she wasn’t getting Claude le Coeur into trouble by revealing that he hired her in this man’s absence, because she really liked the elegant Frenchman.

  “Since when?”

  She swallowed past that lingering lump in her throat. “Since three days ago.”

  Gregori allowed his gaze to move leisurely up from her booted feet to the top of her head before he once again looked into those golden-brown eyes. “As what?” he finally drawled skeptically.

  A blush warmed her cheeks. “Bar staff,” she answered him stiffly.

  Perhaps an indication that the color in her cheeks was due to resentment, at the insult lacing his tone, rather than embarrassment?

  “I see.” He gave a cool inclination of his head. “Well, by all means, correct me if I’m wrong, Miss Miller, but the last time I checked, the bars were all situated on the first and second floor of the building and not the third?”

  Security at Utopia—at all of Gregori’s business premises, as well as his homes—had all been tightened five months ago, after an incident with the Orlov family in New York involving Gregori’s sister Katya. Gregori’s retaliation had been short, swift, and ultimately, although unintentionally, lethal.

  They also had a second problem. During the past few months Nikolai had reported the use, if not sale, of illegal drugs within Utopia, after several incidents in the nightclub involved fights and unacceptable behavior. Anyone caught using or selling drugs within any of the nightclubs Gregori owned around the world was immediately and swiftly dealt with.

  These things happened in nightclubs like Utopia from time to time, of course, but security was already stretched to its limits keeping a wary eye out for retaliation from Ivan Orlov. Under the circumstances, Gaia Miller’s unexpected presence in Gregori’s office was reason for suspicion, at the very least.

  “Please call me Gaia, Mr. Markovic,” Gaia invited brightly. Perhaps a bit too brightly, if his darkening frown was any indication. “And you’re quite correct, the bars are all on the two lower floors, but a lot of the cleaning staff called in sick this week, a flu bug I think. Mr. le Coeur asked the other members of staff to come in early and fill in until we’re back to full strength.” At least she was telling the truth about that—if not the real reason for being found in his office.

  “I see.”

  Did he? It was difficult to tell what he was thinking behind those emotionless and watchful dark eyes.

  She shrugged. “Obviously I would have made sure to be out of your office if I’d known you were going to come in early this evening.” Gaia knew from the staff’s gossip that this man usually arrived at Utopia at a time between eleven-thirty and midnight.

  It was one of the reasons she had felt relatively safe searching through his office now.

  Relatively, because Nikolai Volkov always seemed to be prowling about the rooms and corridors of Utopia. In fact, Gaia was starting to wonder if the man ever slept, because he was always here no matter what time she arrived for work, and was still here when the club closed at four o’clock in the morning.

  “So you’re cleaning my office?” Gregori Markovic repeated slowly.

  “Did you imagine the cleaning fairies did it?” Gaia had meant the comment as a joke but she was so tense she knew it came out sounding more like a challenge.

  Well of course she was tense: she was currently alone in Gregori Markovic’s office with him!

  The man’s presence was so overpowering that he seemed to suck all the air and color out of the room, leaving her with nothing to look at but him.

  She found herself wondering what he would look like out of that tailored suit. His shoulders really were very wide, his chest muscled and waist tapered. And he had those really long legs and—

  Oh yes, very sensible, Gaia, she mocked inwardly. Undress him with your eyes, why don’t you, that’s really going to ease your tension.

  “I admit to never having given it any thought at all,” he answered her dismissively.

  Of course he hadn’t. Men like him didn’t question how something was done; they only expected that it would be. “Mr. le Coeur didn’t mention the flu thing to you?”

  “I haven’t seen Claude yet this evening.” His gaze narrowed. “Where’s your cleaning equipment?”

  “Ta dah!” Gaia instantly pulled the yellow duster from the back pocket of her jeans and waved it about. Her story about the cleaning staff being ill was actually true, and she hadn’t minded in the least when Claude asked for volunteers to come in early to help clean. In fact, it had suited her purpose perfectly.

  But Claude hadn’t specifically asked her to go into Gregori Markovic’s office.

  “And your reason for being under my desk?”

  Shit, he would have to go there.

  And the answer?

  Gaia had been looking under the desk for a hidden compartment, somewhere he might hide…things he didn’t want other people to see, like evidence or records of the sale of illegal drugs that might help her link him to her sister’s death.

  She had already searched for a safe in the book-lined wall, the drinks cabinet, and looked behind the framed photographs on the walls—Finn Devlin originals, worth a fortune, and not a little one either—all with no luck. She had also tapped on the two wood-paneled walls to see if either of them sounded hollow. Plus looked behind all twenty of the security monitors on the fourth wall, currently switched off. Again with no success.

  She had rapidly come to the conclusion that any records must be kept in a file on Gregori Markovic’s laptop. Even criminals had to keep records of their transactions somewhere, right? But as she had no idea where he kept his laptop that looked to be a dead end.

  Checking beneath his desk for a possible hidden compartment had been her last resort, and it could be a costly one if she couldn’t convince the unsmiling Russian to believe her cleaning story.

  Gaia gave what she hoped was a dismissive laugh. “I thought I dropped a hairpin under there.” She smoothed back her already tidy hair.

  Dark brows rose. “And did you?”

  “Apparently not.” Gaia shrugged. “I must have dropped it in one of the other rooms before coming in here.”

  “Hmm.” Gregori Markovic stepped further into the office, instantly seeming to take up even more air and space, dwarfing Gaia as well as the room.

  Gaia was now having trouble holding her ground. Not surprising when just being near this overwhelming man made her want to bolt out of the room, this club, and maybe out of London altogether.

  But she wasn’t going to do it. She had promised herself when Angela died that she would find who was responsible, and if possible bring them to justice.

  The police had written off Angela’s death as either a suicide or an accident, when they found a syringe next to Angela’s bed and the heroine in a small pouch in the bedside drawer. Gaia didn’t believe that for a moment. For one thing, she knew Angela never used drugs. For another, her sister loved life, and more importantly, she was madly in love, so she would never have killed herself willingly.

  Leading Gaia to the conclusion that someone else must have administered that lethal overdose.

  She knew how far-fetched her theory sounded to others, but once the idea came into her head, it simply refused to go away. The police certainly hadn’t believed her, and it hadn’t helped that Gaia couldn’t tell them whom her sister had been in love with, only that it was someone Angela said she met at the Utopia nightclub, where she worked as a hostess. The few times Gaia had asked her sister for the name of her lover, Angela muttered something about rules of ‘fraternization’ and wanting to keep her job.

  The police had certainly made it obvious that they weren’t about to go po
king about at Utopia on the flimsy information Gaia had been able to give them, and risk ruffling the feathers of a man as powerful as Gregori Markovic.

  Angela was Gaia’s older half-sister, the two of them sharing a father, even if he had been married to Angela’s mother when he had a brief affair with Gaia’s mother.

  Gaia had never known her father, had only learned who he was after his death six years ago—ironically just four months after her mother died—when, much to the chagrin of Graham Grant’s wife, he left his illegitimate daughter some money in his will.

  It hurt at first to know that he had known of Gaia’s existence all along. It hurt more when Lorna Grant made it obvious she had no time for her. But after Angela and Gaia met at the reading of their father’s will, the two young women became firm friends, as well as sisters.

  Which was why it was so much harder for Gaia to accept Angela’s death as being a suicide, or even an accidental overdose of drugs. She simply didn’t—wouldn’t—believe it.

  Lorna Grant unfortunately wanted nothing to do with what she called Gaia’s ‘conspiracy theory’. In fact, the older woman had gone so far as to accuse Gaia of being the reason her daughter became mixed up with drugs in the first place.

  With no help forthcoming from the police or Angela’s mother, Gaia had decided she would have to do any investigating herself, and the only way she could think of to do that was to get herself a job at Utopia.

  The last thing she had expected was to find herself face to face with Gregori Markovic during her first few days of working here!

  Although having now met him, Gaia could perhaps understand the police’s reluctance to pursue any sort of investigation that might involve this man. Gregori Markovic was without doubt an icy, powerful, scary son of a bitch.