For all his determination to leave her be, he couldn’t resist reaching out one last time. His fingers brushed one ripe nipple, traced the underside of her satiny breast, and came to rest against the furious thump of her heart.
Despite the century and a half of unsatisfied lust shaking his control, a strange tenderness came over him.
A virgin.
He fingered one satiny lock of her flaming hair. “Sleep well, Rouquin,” he murmured and reluctantly withdrew his hand.
Then he settled himself beside her for an agonizing night. Much the same as the night before, and every night since Val had drawn his last mortal breath.
The difference was, at least he’d been alone, his bed collecting dust in a storage She’d owned by the Historical Society of New Orleans. Then he’d gone on to spend some time in a restored antebellum mansion converted to a museum, still alone and untouched. Then some rich historian had purchased the bed, only to die shortly after. Val had still been alone, his bed collecting more dust in a storage warehouse while a dozen or so children fought for the rights to their papa’s estate. Finally, everything had been sold a short time ago and Val had wound up in an antique shop. Still alone and celibate, despite his close brush with ecstasy just days before the sale.
The lawyer’s assistant, a sweet blonde with long legs and a nice bottom, had been tagging items at the warehouse when she’d spotted his bed. She’d promptly kicked off her shoes and stretched out. Delighted, Val had incited a few erotic daydreams to put her in the mood. She’d been moaning and panting and so very ready, and then her fiancé had arrived, and he’d been none too happy to find his woman taking her pleasure without him.
Had it not been for the warehouse security guard, Val’s treasured bed would have been firewood on the spot—the fiancé had picked up an antique ax and nearly taken off a bedpost. If the jealous man had succeeded, Val would have been pushed to the other side, into a fate much worse than eternal peace. Ready or not.
Not.
In the meantime, he’d unknowingly traded solitude for a soft, tempting, sexy virgin.
He wondered if maybe he’d finally given up the ghost and crossed over into hell. Or perhaps this was the final act to push him over the edge, to drive him into the Afterlife. Yes, that was it. He’d spent too long here and the Powers That Be were tired of indulging him.
But Val still had unfinished business, and he didn’t care how hellish they made his time here, he wasn’t leaving until he’d found some answers.
The virgin chose that moment to turn over, her breathing still raspy from her climax, her body glowing with a fine sheen of perspiration as she rolled near him, into him, and he all but climaxed at the sheer contact.
A lesser man would have conceded. But Val was more than a man, and he wasn’t about to budge, not even if he’d had twenty virgins taunting him.
All right, perhaps twenty. But as it stood, he had only one. And one, he swore to himself, he could definitely resist.
He settled himself down and reached for the textbook he’d lifted from her chest earlier. A few descriptive pictures snagged his interest and he smiled. Then frowned.
Obviously his little vierge was trying to educate herself.
The smile returned. Perhaps he could help her with her education. Yes, he thought to himself as he reached for her pen and notes. He could, indeed, help her on this subject, and maybe, just maybe she could help him.
As much as Val wanted her in his bed, there was one thing he wanted even more. He wanted the truth.
Chapter Two
“Ronnie! Are you all right?” Several sharp knocks followed the voice.
Ronnie buried her head beneath the pillow. “Just five more minutes,” she begged. Five measly minutes.
“Veronica! Rise and shine or you’ll miss the school bus.”
Ugh. “I hate school, Momma. My dresses are sooo long and ugly, and my hair is sooo long and blah, and I’m the biggest geek in the entire junior high. Let me skip today. Please?”
“Nonsense. Your dresses are respectable and ladylike and your hair is your glory. You’re a prime example of a proper young lady, Veronica. You represent this family.”
“By looking homely.”
“Traditional, dear.”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Coming, Mama,” Ronnie grumbled into her pillow. “Traditional, homely, what’s the difference?”
She forced one eye open, only to clamp it shut, instantly blinded by the stream of sunlight through the French doors.
Whoa. There were no French doors in her bedroom back home. Just pink frilly curtains and lace-edged blinds and—
She smiled into her pillow. She wasn’t at home. She was in her own place, in her own bed, and she wasn’t in junior high anymore. There was a God!
And the Devil himself was beating down her door.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Ronnie?” The knock turned to a pound, like the Energizer bunny that kept going and going and—“If you’re alive and able to move, please open up!”
“I’m coming.” She forced herself up onto her elbows.
“Ronnie? I mean it. If you’re alive, you’d better get to this door right now. Otherwise, I’ll assume the worst.”
“Coming!” she yelled, but her voice was little more than a croak. She groped for the soda leftover from last night. Her fingers curled around the can. She took a long swig and waited for the instant rush of caffeine.
Oh no. She’d bought caffeine-free. Ugh.
“Last chance. I’m going to get the super if you don’t open up, and if you’re not dead, you’re going to wish you were. He hates missing a minute of ‘Wake Up, New Orleans.’”
Wait a second. She fought for her wits as the last minute of reality swirled in her fuzzy brain. Danny pounding on her door. Sunlight. “Wake Up, New Orleans” … No!
She blinked at the clock and her heart stopped beating as the time registered. Seven fifty-five.
It couldn’t be! She had an eight a.m. class, the campus was a fifteen-minute walk—driving was out since it would take thirty minutes to find a blasted parking space—and she needed to dress and wash her face and—
She blinked, fixing her gaze on the slim black hands of her alarm clock. It was seven fifty-six now. She’d wasted an entire minute trying to focus.
“Ronnie!” It was Danny’s worried voice again. “I’m going to get Mr. Sams. I’m turning. Here I go—”
“No!” She flung her legs over the side of the bed, her mind instantly alert with the rush of nervous dread through her system. Nervous dread could kick caffeine’s butt anytime. “I’m coming!”
“You’ve got five seconds to open this door. Otherwise I’ll know something’s wrong. Five, four,…”
She shoved her nightshirt down and stood up. Her feet made instant contact with the pair of silky panties she’d been wearing the night before.
“Three …”
Cool air filtered under her T-shirt to stroke her bare bottom as last night’s dream rushed at her full force.
“Two.”
She went rigid, every nerve in her body tingling at the remembrance. Her insides tightened to the rhythm of the ferocious climax she’d had.
Holy Moly. She took a deep breath. Had she really …? Had he really …?
“One.”
Whoa, girl. There was no he. He was a dream, brought on by stress and deprived hormones, and enough junk food to keep a dentist and a heart specialist in business for a long, long time.
Her gaze dropped to the crushed panties and her face turned at least a dozen shades of red. It was one thing to have a fantasy, to watch it unfold, and quite another to actually participate. Unconsciously, unwillingly. She’d undoubtedly pulled her own panties off, touched herself, induced her own body’s response. Geez …
She had all of four heartbeats to nurse another wave of embarrassment before the door shook and Mr. Sams’s grumbling voice reached her ear.
“Dammit, boy. They’s talking to the q
uarterback for the New Orleans Saints this morning, and I’m missing it. This had better be good or I’m crackin’ some heads.” Metal clanged, dead-bolts clicked, and the doorknob trembled.
“No!” she shouted, snatching up her panties and forcing her legs to move. She hit the door a second before it gave way and slid the chain into place. “I—I’ll be right there,” she murmured against the wood. Calm, cool, rational … Get a grip.
“Are you all right?” Danny’s concerned voice carried from the other side. “I’ve been knocking for at least ten minutes!”
“I’m fine. I just overslept.” The explanation met with a colorful expletive from Mr. Sams and an astonished “You?” from Danny.
“Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be right out.”
Ronnie spent the next ten minutes moving at the speed of light. She washed her face, combed her hair, yanked on clean clothes, downed a can of soda, and gathered up her book bag, and all without any more freaking out.
As she reached for the textbook on her nightstand, her gaze snagged on the piece of paper tucked inside. Relief washed through her and she sent up a silent wave of thanks to a host of dead saints that she’d had the good sense to write down her paper topic the night before. Otherwise she’d be in deep … what Mr. Sams had said.
“Man-o-man, are you sick?” Danny was right beside her the moment she walked out of the apartment. “You better have one heck of an excuse for worrying me like that.” He followed her down the hall and out the front door.
“I overslept.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me.” She stifled a yawn and popped a Hershey’s Kiss into her mouth, determined to get her caffeine rush one way or another. “I overslept. I didn’t get to bed until midnight.”
“I didn’t fall into the sack ’til two a.m. and here I am, fresh as a daisy. ’Course, I have been taking this new vitamin supplement, Excite and Energize.”
“Two a.m.?” She hefted her book bag over one shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. “Big date?”
His expression went from worried to disappointed as he followed her down the front steps of the restored eighteenth-century townhouse now home to half a dozen small apartments including hers, and out into the early morning sunshine. “Wanda had a calculus test today.”
With black hair and dark brown eyes, Danny Boudreaux looked like David Copperfield, with wire-rim spectacles and a bright future as a mechanical engineer. He was dark, intense, and very, very smart.
If only one Wanda Deluca, cheerleader/nutrition major/five feet eight inches of hot female, saw half the things in Danny that Ronnie did, he’d be in heaven. As it was, he was merely Wanda’s tutor. A living hell, as far as he was concerned.
“Wanda was up studying until two a.m.? And I thought textbooks gave her hives.” Ronnie turned on to the sidewalk and started for the corner.
“Actually, we didn’t get started until midnight. She can’t hit the books until after cheerleading practice. Then she had to shower and eat, do her yoga, and watch Letterman. I went over to her place after that.”
A pang of sympathy shot through Ronnie and she wished a head full of split ends on Wanda’s shiny blonde mane. “She made you wait up until she went through her nightly ritual and watched Letterman?”
“It’s a nightly group thing she does with her friends, but it wasn’t really her fault. I sort of offered to wait.”
“She takes advantage of you, and you let her.”
Danny shrugged, “She needs me.”
“She needs a swift kick in her panties. If she wants to study, then, by all means, help her. But stop bending to her schedule. You set the time and the place. You’re the one doing her a favor.” She adjusted the book bag on her shoulder and ignored the urge to check her watch. She was already late. No sense worrying over Guidry’s reaction and spoiling her walk to campus.
Even as she told herself that, she picked up her pace. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”
“Wanda? As if she’d go.”
“You’ll never know until you try.”
“I know this much. I’m not her type. She goes for all brawn and no brain.”
“You’ve got brawn,” Ronnie said when they hit a crosswalk and stopped. As they stood waiting for the light to change, she eyed him. “Okay, so you’re more brain, but you’re not bad in the bod department. You’re a little slim, but you’re really well built, and you take care of what you’ve got with all those vitamins you’re always taking. Wanda could do a lot worse.”
“Too bad she hasn’t realized that yet.”
“She will, especially if you give her a little encouragement. Let her know you’re interested.”
“Look who’s giving love advice. When’s the last time you had a date?”
She fought back a wave of heat at the memory of last night. That had been anything but a date. Just a dream. A harmless dream.
A wet dream, a deep, sultry, man’s voice in her head corrected.
Ronnie wiped at the bead of sweat that slid down her temple, grateful when the walk sign flashed on. She started across the intersection. Her gaze snagged on a young man heading toward them. He was as big and muscular as a football player. A black T-shirt emblazoned with a pink silhouette of Elvis and the words Hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin’-love in matching script stretched across his massive chest.
Ronnie was not accustomed to attracting anyone’s attention. With her baggy clothes and blah appearance, most men glanced past her. Mr. Hunk-a-hunk looked at her face.
“… Ronnie?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“The date,” he prodded. “When’s the last time you had one?”
Ronnie turned her attention back to her friend. “Three years ago, I think, but I’m not the one complaining.”
“Three years,” he said with a shake of his head. “And I thought I was hard up.”
“I’m not hard up, thank you very much.” Not after last night.
“Face reality, Ron. I could give you pickup lessons, and my sex life is just this side of nonexistent.”
She sighed and stopped for another crosswalk. “I don’t have the time or the energy for love.”
“I’m not talking love. I’m talking sex. A little one-on-one tackle.”
“With my schedule, it’s hard enough to find time to sleep.” The light changed and she darted across the intersection.
Danny’s long legs ate up the distance behind her. “It only takes fifteen minutes.”
She shot him a sideways glance. Fifteen minutes? Her dream had lasted longer than that.
“Okay, so maybe twenty, twenty-five, depending.”
“On what?” she asked.
He shot her a sideways grin. “You tell me. You’re the one taking Guidry’s class.”
She frowned. “You know I only took his class because I needed another elective to graduate, and it was the only one offered this early in the morning.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I’m serious, Danny. Besides, the last thing Guidry teaches is ‘a little one-on-one tackle.”
“Sure. So tell me,” he went on, “what cataclysmic event caused the always punctual Ronnie Parrish to sleep late. Your alarm clock explode?”
A smile played at her lips. “I slept in my new bed for the first time since the store delivered it.”
His eyebrows raised expectantly. “That comfortable, huh?”
She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “Comfortable isn’t exactly the word I would use.” Earth-shattering. Mind-boggling. Spectacular. “But I guess you could say that.”
“Wow,” he said, a dreamy look on his face. “There must be nothing like a new mattress. I’ve been sleeping on the same old lumpy one I’ve had since I was five years old.”
Mattresses were the last thing on Ronnie’s mind. Her scalp tingled as she felt the gentle tug of fingers on her hair. And in her mind, she heard the sultry voice, the deep baritone rumbling through her head as it had followed her into oblivion.<
br />
“Sleep well, Rouquin. Sleep well.”
Rouquin. She’d heard the term so many times. A girl didn’t grow up with bright red hair in southern Louisiana and not get called Red a time or two. But no one had ever said the name quite the way her dream man had. Maybe it was the deep tone of his voice, or the way he growled the R just enough to send a shiver through her that rocked her control as much as his touch did.
Mmm … His touch.
Her breasts suddenly throbbed, her thighs tingled, and a yearning for something she couldn’t name filled her.
She took a deep breath, ordered her body to behave itself, and shot another glance at her watch. Waving goodbye to Danny, she launched into a full-blown run across campus.
Guidry was just going to the chalkboard when Ronnie slinked into his class a good thirty minutes late. Thankfully, his back was turned and he was preoccupied with a very detailed drawing of the female ovaries.
“Kind of you to join us, Miss Parrish.”
Ronnie stalled halfway into her seat. Her book bag hit the floor with a solid thunk that seemed to echo like a cannon blast.
“Uh, yes, sir.”
He speared her with a beady, black glare, pulled a pen from his coat pocket, and reached for his grade book. The scratch of pen on paper grated across Ronnie’s nerves and she winced. A demerit. She knew it even though she couldn’t see the big red check mark by her name.
“How many times do I have to stress that this class, though an elective for the majority of you, is just as important as any other science course. I would wager that none of you would dare be late to Laramie’s quantum physics or Bechnell’s mechanical engineering.” He placed the pen back in the pocket of his immaculate white lab coat. “I expect each one of you to treat this course with the same respect and appreciation that you give your other classes. Understood?” Four dozen heads nodded in unison and Ronnie sank into her seat.
A group reprimand wasn’t so bad—
“And as for you, Miss Parrish…”
Ronnie braced herself. So much for the worst being over.
“Since you hold this class in such little esteem that you can’t find your way out of bed in time to join us at eight sharp, then I assume it’s because you are so knowledgeable in our area of study. In that case, I ask your expert direction in labeling the specifics of today’s subject.” He gestured toward the model sitting on the podium and motioned her forward. “Front and center, Miss Parrish, or I’ll add another demerit to your already growing résumé.”
In the Midnight Hour Page 3
