Midnight Craving (Contemporary Romance)

by Kimberly Ivey

  “Me too,” Katie added.

  “Me three,” sang out Hannah.

  Two year old Joseph Junior waved a spoon. “Me!”

  Mira flashed Armand a grin. “”Are you taking your cues now from Dr. Seuss?”

  He whisked a tea towel about his waist with much ceremony and tucked it in the unbelted waistband of his jeans. My God, but she looked delicious. If only there’d been more time he would have had this delectable woman for breakfast. He bowed with much ceremony. “Chez Armand Giancarlo at your service.”

  His heart beat sped up as Mira leaned against the counter, giving him a most delectable view of her bra-less breasts. He’d caressed and tasted those beauties last night, and he had every intention of doing so again soon.

  “You cook too?” she asked.

  Once he’d torn his gaze away from her tempting treasures and regrouped most of his brain cells he answered, “As a matter of fact, I do. For a brief while I attended a culinary school in Paris.”

  “You’re a man of many talents.”

  He winked. “How well you know.”

  A sexy blush crept across her face. She cleared her throat. “Well, I can’t let you serve breakfast. You’re a guest.”

  Armand leaned in closer so only Mira could hear. “After last night, Mira, do you still look upon me as simply a guest?”

  Her face reddened even more and he smiled to himself.

  “Surely you don’t extend such courtesies to all your boarders?”

  Her mouth fell open….ohhh, that pretty little mouth that had given him many moments of pleasure in the night. He pressed his finger to her ruby lips to stave off any saucy reply.

  A few minutes later he’d prepared alphabet pancakes, scrambled green eggs, fried ham slices and fresh squeezed orange juice.

  “Damn, but I’ve still got it,” he said as he rounded the table, sliding the colorful eggs and thick, sizzling ham onto tiny plates featuring cartoon characters. “Eggs and ham for you, and you, and you.” He finished with each child, then eased up to Mira. “And a big piece of meat for you, madam,” he said, giving her a naughty wink.

  She smiled and turned her face away. “Take a seat, Armand.”

  He did and dived into the meal he’d prepared with relish. It had been a long time since he’d made alphabet pancakes. Hell, it had been ages since he’d cooked his own breakfast. He poked at an A on the platter—his initial—and felt like a nine year old boy again in his mother’s kitchen.

  The children ate heartily and he smiled to himself, content. Yes, this was cozy. Four happy children sitting around the breakfast table, an irresistibly sexy woman at his side, and all of this following an incredibly night of hot, unbridled sex. Famished from the night’s vigorous activities, he ate like a man who hadn’t eaten in a month.

  He looked over at Mira and realized he could get used to this. Oh, yes, he could really get used to a lifetime of mornings like this. Lovemaking all night long….family breakfasts every morning…

  The girls snickered, drawing everyone’s attention.

  “What is so funny?” Armand asked as he lifted a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  Katie’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh.

  Armand’s gaze swung to eight year old Hannah, who sat to Katie’s left. “All right. Who is going to let me in on the private joke?”

  “Hannah likes you,” Katie whispered, then giggled..

  Armand’s eyes met Mira’s across the table. Mira shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Hannah thinks you’re cute,” Katie blurted out, then hid her face in her napkin.

  Hannah elbowed Katie and pulled a face. “You weren’t supposed to tell him,” she whispered loud enough for all to hear.

  Armand nodded to Hannah. “Well, I think you’re cute, too, little pumpkin.”

  The doorbell rang and Mira groaned. “Don’t tell me its bad news,” she said under her breath before casting him a covert glance. “Please keep the kids settled at the table, Armand, while I see who it is.”

  Armand inclined his ear to listen, but the voices were muffled. He assumed someone had arrived with news of her sister, Jocelyn.

  Then he heard it, the unmistakable screech of a pterodactyl.

  Wait. Pterodactyl’s had gone extinct over 65 million years ago.

  He inclined his ear to the tinny female voice.

  It was . . . oh, God, no . . . Nooo! Fear ripped through his gut.

  Tara Carrington.

  His literary agent!

  He sprang from the chair and wiped his mouth on a napkin only moments before he heard the clickety-clickety-click of her spiked heels edging closer. His heart beat sped up. Shit. He’d barely started the damned manuscript and she probably wanted to see what he’d done with it.

  What to do now?

  He looked at the children. “Quick, boys and girls, if a monster were after you at this very moment, what would you do?”

  “Hide under the table,” the youngest girl, Katie suggested.

  “I’d get in the closet,” Hannah offered.

  “I’d stab it with a fork!” Devin cried as he jabbed his ham slice.

  Little Joseph Junior burped loudly, sending the children into a round of giggles.

  But it was too late to hide. He felt Tara’s piercing hawk eyes upon his vulnerable flesh. He turned in slow motion and flashed his best casual smile as their gazes met.

  “Why, hello, Tara. Imagine running into you here at the Inn. Nice weather we’re having on the island, eh?”

  She tapped an impatient foot as her lips twisted into a scowl. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls, Armand?”

  “Juice?” he offered, lifting the pitcher. “Fresh squeezed this morning.”

  Tara folded her arms across her bosom. “I’m going to squeeze the juice out of you Armand in about half a second. You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Moi?” He made a tsk-ing sound. “Tara, you’re imagining things.”

  “Why did you turn off your cell phone? I’ve been leaving messages like frickin’ crazy. Finally, I convinced your housekeeper, Helen to tell me where you’d gone. Okay. So I didn’t convince her. I threatened to turn in her daughter-in-law to the immigration authorities if she didn’t cooperate.” Tara’s gaze wandered about the room. “Shit, Armand….I never thought I’d find you in a place like this, however.”

  “A place like what, Ms. Carrington?” came Mira’s voice as she entered the dining room.

  “One so . . . quaint,” Tara answered with an insincere smile.

  Armand moved past a curious Mira and took Tara by the elbow, escorting her into the parlor out of earshot.

  “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing, Armand?” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to find you!”

  “I’m on a working retreat, Tara.”

  She narrowed her blue eyes up at him. “Oh, I’ll just bet you are…working your dick in and out of the little haus frau.”

  Armand let out a sigh. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Really? You hide out from me for days and I track you down in this podunk town at some sea side inn playing daddy to this woman and her four kids?”

  “For your information those are Mira Reece’s nieces and nephews and I’m not hiding out.”

  “Cut the bullshit Armand. Do you have a manuscript? A draft? Anything to suggest you’ve been writing at all? You have less than six weeks to finish you know.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t have a manuscript.”

  The pterodactyl’s face pinched and contorted. Ewww, this was turning ugly.

  “Oh, bloody hell. I have a chapter,” he conceded.

  Buzz. Wrong answer.

  “What’s wrong, Armand? Can’t keep your pants zipped long enough to get any work done?”

  Armand took a step back and rubbed his temples. He was growing a monster headache—one named Tara Carrington. “Why did you truly come here?”


  “Hartefilms loves the concept of Passion’s Storm. They want to make a movie out of it. We’re talking a frickin’ multi-million dollar deal, Armand.” She gave him a light slap on the cheek that actually stung. “Time to wake up mister and get your ass in gear. You’re going to be freaking rich. Me, too, of course.”

  Armand was certain he hadn’t heard correctly. His body went numb for a few seconds. A movie from his book? “Are you quite certain?”

  “Yes, I am quite certain,” she mimicked in his British accent, “so you’d better start thinking with the head on your shoulders Romeo, not the one in your pants, and get something to me soon so I can push this deal forward.” She smacked him hard on the ass and started to the door. “We’ll talk later. I’ve made dinner reservations tonight at a decent restaurant on the mainland—one of the few that wasn’t a real dump. I’ve also booked a suite for you in my hotel. You’ll stay overnight.”

  He followed her. “I can’t meet with you tonight. I’ve made other plans.”

  “Cancel them. And bring your lap top. We’ll work late into the night.” Reaching up, she patted his cheek in the place she’d slapped him. “Oh, come on. Don’t look so downcast at the thought of spending an evening with me.”

  She licked her lips slowly and Armand swallowed hard. Was Tara coming on to him?

  “I’ll be gentle,” she whispered. “See you seven thirty-ish—and you’d damned well better bring something for me to read.”

  Mira cleared away the breakfast dishes and sent the children to her room, armed with a basket full of picture books and stuffed animals she’d pulled from the storage closet. She’d heard everything Tara Carrington said to Armand in the hallway, and she wanted the kids out of the room in the event the confrontation with Armand turned ugly.

  He wandered into the dining room, his eyes downcast. “Bad news sweet Mira.”

  “I’d say so.”

  He looked up at her. “Tara comes on a bit strong, doesn’t she?”

  “She’s a bitch.”

  He nodded. “That may well be, but she is also my agent and she’s in the middle of negotiating what could be a movie deal.”

  “I know. I eavesdropped on your conversation with your dear darling Tara.”

  “Then you know about our dinner plans this evening?”

  “Oh yeah. I know all about the slumber party you have planned in her hotel room.”

  He frowned. “It’s a business meeting. We’ll be working.”

  “Sure. Just like you were ‘working your dick in and out of me, the haus frau to quote your agent. How dare that snotty bitch insult me in my own house!”

  “I’m truly sorry you heard that remark. Tara can be callous.”

  “And calculating, apparently. She’s planning on seducing you tonight.”

  “What? Oh, for Pete’s sake . . . I’m not going to sleep with her.”

  “But you have slept with her, haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  Unable to control her anger any longer, she launched the first verbal missile. “Either you’re sleeping with that woman or you’re thinking about it!”

  “Sweet Mira, you must cease going on about this. I am not intimately involved with Tara Carrington, nor have I ever been. I do not want to sleep with her. What we have is a purely business relationship.”

  “You’re staying in her hotel room tonight.”

  “Yes. We’ll probably work late, going over contracts. Not to worry, I’ll reserve my own suite.”

  Mira’s heart sank. The dream was over. The best thing that had ever happened to her was walking out the door tonight and into the clutches of a Jezebel. Armand could deny it all he wanted, but she hadn’t missed the way Tara Carrington looked at him—like a lover, or a woman in love. Was he too much of a fool to see that predatory gleam in her eye?

  “Fine. Go meet with your agent tonight,” she said, waving her hand. “It isn’t my place to interfere with your life or your career.”

  He made a move toward her, his hands outstretched. “You’ve not interfered with anything. These past two days with you have been wonderful.”

  She polished the dining table top, pausing to wipe a tear that fell. “Go Armand. I suddenly feel the urge to throw something at you.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  She blinked back tears. “Just …go, dammit!”

  Out of the corner of her eye she watched him leave, listened to his footsteps on the stairs as he returned to his room. Only after she heard his door click shut, did she allow herself the luxury of crying over a man who could never be hers. It was time to face facts. Armand Giancarlo had been a temporary interlude. A one night stand. She had to let him go before he broke her heart.

  Armand would somehow make this up to Mira. He must.

  He packed an overnight bag, along with his laptop and waited for Tara on the front porch.

  He would have said goodbye to Mira but she and the children were no where to be found.

  The moment Tara pulled up in front of the house, he spotted Mira and the four youngsters on the beach making their way toward the house. They wagged yellow and blue buckets—no doubt full of treasures from the shore. He waved to Mira, but either she didn’t see him, or she’d decided to ignore him.

  He placed his belongings in the trunk of Tara’s car, then slid onto the beige leather seat beside her and closed the door. Tara tore off before he could fasten his seat belt.

  “For Christ’s sakes woman, slow down,” he admonished.

  “Sit back and enjoy the drive,” she said, sliding on her sunshades. “Because of your little game of hide and go seek, we’ve got a lot to accomplish tonight. There’s no time to waste. Hope you still like sushi.”

  He didn’t, but remembered it was Tara’s favorite. Armand buckled his seat belt as she rattled on about details of the contract—advances, royalties, foreign and domestic film rights –even the actors who were being considered for the movie. But he wasn’t listening. His thoughts were still back at the inn with Mira and the children.

  She would be alone tonight. He’d miss reading the children the bed time story they’d selected: Arnold The Can-Do Ardvark. God, but he loved that story.

  “Oh, for crying out loud, Armand,” Tara yowled, yanking him from his reverie. “You look like a damned lovesick puppy. Pick up your bottom lip before you trip over it. It’s only for one night.”

  One night that was going to feel like a lifetime.

  “You could have stayed in one of the rooms at the inn, Tara.”

  She snorted. “Right Like you’d ever catch me dead in a dump like that?”

  Armand bristled. The Inn was far from being a dump. The historical home had to at least go for at least two million dollars by his estimation.

  “The bed and breakfast is a charming relaxing place, Tara. That’s why I chose it.”

  “With all those screaming kids under foot, I doubt it’s quiet,” she was quick to insert. “I’d shoot myself if I had to deal with those brats.”

  He clenched his teeth, then counted to ten before replying. “The children are not brats.”

  Tara shot him a look. “Oh, hell. You have that I-want-to-be-a-daddy look on your face. You want to settle down, have a couple of runny nosed babies and buy the proverbial house with a white picket fence, don’t you? Hey, why not throw in a mini van and a shaggy sheep dog, too.”

  “And precisely what’s wrong with that?”

  Tires squealing, Tara jerked a hard right and pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned convenience store. She narrowly missed hitting the large FOR SALE sign posted in the empty parking lot. She slammed the car in park and turned to him. “Are you a fool, Armand? This is your big chance, your fucking lucky break. How many authors do you think wish they could ever achieve half of what you have and in such a short amount of time? How many of them would sell their grandmother to get a deal like this one?”

  Actually at the moment he didn’t
give a rat’s ass. Tara had insulted Mira and the children and diminished his deepest longing for a family of his own as some silly whim. He’d learned long ago that money and fame meant nothing when you had no one to share it with, no one to come home to, no one to love you in the dark lonely hours of the night.

  He drew in a deep breath. “We need to wrap up our business early,” he told her. “I’m returning to the Inn tonight.”

  “The hell you are, Armand,” Tara said sliding over in the seat beside him.

  He watched as she hiked up her dark skirt, then straddled his lap in the car.

  “What the hell—Tara stop! Have you gone mad!”

  Her hands and mouth were all over him. Holy shit! He was strapped in, unable to unhook the seat belt! He fumbled for the release as Tara took his face in her hands and her mouth moved over his.

  He tore his face away. “No!”

  He jerked at the seat belt strap. The damned thing was stuck. He yanked violently at it, but to no avail.

  Tara gave a knowing smile, as if she’d planned this—sabotaged it! She began unbuttoning his shirt. She moved in for another kiss, her mouth slamming hard and hot across his.

  “You have gone mad!” he cried, coming up for air.

  She rested her cheek against his. ““Do you or do you not want me to fucking negotiate this contract for you, Armand?”

  Armand swallowed hard, disbelieving Tara was suggesting that he screw with her in exchange for her agent’s services. Oh, shit!

  She nibbled at his ear, although he turned his head aside in protest. “Stop, Tara!”

  “Come on, Armand, slide your hand under my skirt. I’m not wearing panties.”

  “I am not sleeping with you, Tara!”

  She laughed softly, then sat back in the seat, her bare breasts bathed in the moonlight that shone through the passenger side window. “You will if you want me to negotiate the Hollywood movie deal.”

  He shut his eyes. Many years ago at the start of his modeling career, when he’d been young and naïve, he’d made the mistake of having an affair with the owner of a modeling agency to advance his career. In the process of losing his virginity, he’d lost his self-respect, and eventually the older adventurous woman had moved on to younger, newer conquests. No matter that this deal could set him financially for life, he’d vowed never compromise his integrity again.