In the Midnight Hour

by Kimberly Raye

  “Maybe you just imagined him,” she said to herself after she’d gone into the bathroom to change her ice cream-splattered shirt. She stared into the mirror, noted the shadows under her eyes. Tired. She was overworked. No wonder she was dreaming up such outlandish things.

  “Who is Danny?”

  The deep voice brought her whirling around to find Val standing inches behind her, so tall and good-looking, filling up her tiny bathroom.

  “You are real.”

  “I thought we already established that.” He frowned. “Now who is this Danny sitting in your living room, eating from your refrigerator?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  His mouth drew tight. “A boyfriend?”

  “Just a friend. A guy pal. Someone I hang out with. A guy, but a safe guy.”

  “Safe?”

  “As in nonthreatening, as in I don’t have to worry about him putting moves on me or me putting moves on him. There’s no chemistry between us. Just friendship. Safe.” She planted her hands on her hips and did some frowning of her own. “You disappeared,” she said accusingly. “One minute I was staring at you and the next, poof! Gone.”

  “Out of sight, but not out of mind, chérie. I was still there, you just couldn’t see me. It wouldn’t do to have your neighbors get a look at me. Some people get quite spooked.”

  “My neighbors? You mean I’m not the only one who can see you? Anybody else could?”

  “Only those with an open mind, who believe in ghosts.”

  “Can you do that shimmering thing anytime you want?”

  He nodded. “One of the many wonders of being what I am.”

  Handsome and sexy and charming and … a ghost.

  The ghost who’d propositioned her last night.

  “You mentioned something about a favor—”

  “Ronnie, are you all right in there?” Danny’s voice cut into her sentence, followed by a soft knock on the bathroom door.

  “Um, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” She turned back to Val. “What is it you want from me?”

  “I haunt my bed for a reason.” His smile dissolved as if she’d reminded him of something he wanted to forget. “Not all people turn into ghosts when they pass on. Some cross over to the other side, but others remain in this realm, unwilling to give up the ghost because of some question that haunts them, some truth they’ve yet to uncover, some deed unfinished. Perhaps they’re sad or guilty or just curious. The point is, they are tied to this world until they can finish their business here. Then they can cross over and be at rest.”

  “So what’s your business?”

  “I have a question. I need to know what became of a certain woman.”

  It was Ronnie’s turn to frown. “An old girlfriend?”

  “Just a woman—”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Danny’s voice cut in. “You’ve been in there an awful long time.”

  “Fine,” she growled. “Just women’s business. So what about the woman?” she asked Val.

  “She was rumored to be pregnant.”

  “Yours?”

  “Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. We shared only one night together. A night I have no memory of.”

  “Why can’t you remember?”

  He shook his head. “Too much whiskey, perhaps.”

  “Doesn’t alcohol dull the libido? You don’t strike me as a man with a dull anything, especially a libido, if what’s in those letters bears any truth.”

  “They are all true, and you’re right I never indulged too much, never to the point of forgetting a sweet face, a delicious scent, until that night—”

  “You want an aspirin or something?” Danny asked.

  “Uh, no,” she called out.

  ’“Cause I don’t mind getting you something. Wanda has the very same trouble sometimes. Headaches. Cramps. The whole time-of-the-month thing.”

  “It’s not my time of the month,” she blurted.

  “But you said—”

  “Can’t a girl sit in her bathroom in peace?”

  “Well, excuse me. A guy doesn’t act sensitive, and he’s out of luck. He acts sensitive, and he’s still out of luck. I wish you women would make up your minds.…”

  “Help me, Veronique,” Val urged, drawing her attention as he stepped closer, “and I will help you.”

  Help, not need.

  Funny, but when he put things in that perspective, it didn’t seem as … as distasteful as it had before.

  Help, as in a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Fifty-fifty.

  “A woman, huh?” At his nod, she said, “I guess it can’t be that much different from tracing a family tree.” Not that she’d ever traced hers, but there were books that told how to go about the process. “When do we get started?”

  “Started on what?” came Danny’s voice from the other side of the door.

  “Nothing,” she called out. “I was singing.”

  “You were talking.”

  “My singing just sounds like talking.”

  “What’s going on, Ronnie?”

  “Go watch TV,” she told him.

  “Not until you open up.” He pounded on the door again. “I mean it.”

  “You should go,” Val told her. “And so should I.”

  “No,” she blurted as he started to shimmer, then fade. “Please don’t leave—”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Danny declared.

  She hauled open the door to find her friend hovering on the other side. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  His gaze swept the interior of the bathroom. “Then who were you talking to?”

  “No one. I told you, I was singing.” She hummed and blurted out a few bars of her favorite song. “See?”

  He gave her the once-over. “I know talking when I hear it.”

  “Talking, singing, both forms of communication.”

  “Is something wrong with you?”

  “I’m just tired.”

  He stared at her long and hard, before letting the subject go with a shake of his head. He settled into a chair and fixed his gaze on the TV, Pringles on his lap, while Ronnie stretched out across her bed, closed her eyes, and replayed the conversation with Val. The proposition.

  She smiled. While Valentine’s help was for a higher purpose—to help her pass—it would also fulfill more personal needs.

  The dream flashed in her mind, the feel of his hands on her body, the heat pooling in her stomach.

  Geez, she had it bad. She was attracted to a ghost.

  Mmm … As crazy as the idea sounded, it also excited her. Sacrificing her time and effort on a man when she should be concentrating, on her future was one thing. But this … this was different. Val was different. He wasn’t a man.

  He was a ghost.

  Handsome, sexy, and risk-free. She didn’t have to worry about falling in love, about being lured away from the path she’d chosen for herself by love, sex, or a combination of both. He was simply a ghost. Here one minute, gone the next. Safe. As safe as Danny, but definitely more exciting.

  Val helped her, she helped him. He crossed over to the Afterlife, she aced Guidry’s class and graduated, and moved on to the rest of her career-driven life.

  No getting sidetracked with a messy relationship.

  She sighed and rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

  “Close your eyes, Rouquin,” the voice whispered, and her head jerked to the side to find Danny fixated on the television. She turned the other direction and drank in the empty expanse of bed to her left. She didn’t see Val.

  But she felt him.

  “What about the lessons?” she whispered.

  “We’ll start tomorrow night. Sleep well.”

  “Now how am I supposed to sleep well knowing that?”

  “Did you say something?” Danny shot her a glance.

  “Uh, I said I’m sleeping. I’m sleeping well.”

  “Great, you need it. You’re acting punchy. Look, I’ll let
myself out in a little while. Alex is about to do Double Jeopardy.” He grinned. excitement flashing in his brown eyes. “The category is ancient Egyptian rivers.”

  “My personal favorite.” She closed her eyes. Not to sleep, but to think, anticipate, feel the warmth and heat so temptingly close. Val …

  Tomorrow night.

  Chapter Seven

  “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” Ronnie slid the top button into place and glanced in the floor-length mirror.

  The ugly brown dress—an eighteenth birthday present from her Aunt Mabel and one of the few mementos Ronnie had kept from her past life—buttoned from neck to ankles, the sleeves long, concealing everything but Ronnie’s head, hands, and feet. She’d always hated the dress, but she’d loved her aunt, who’d passed on shortly afterward.

  A housedress, her aunt had called it. Undoubtedly because it was large enough to fit a nice two-bedroom, two-bath, maybe even with a double-car garage.

  “I’m just the student, mind you, but it seems to me undressing would be more appropriate to my paper topic. Or at least some skimpy lingerie. Something sexy. We’re talking about attracting the opposite sex, not repelling it.”

  “Exactly, and sex appeal is not about what a woman wears. It’s about the way she feels inside. Feeling sexy is the first step to ultimate sexual fulfilment. What you think here—” Val tapped his forehead “—sets the stage to attract the opposite sex. If you feel attractive, men will sense it. It will lure them quicker than an eyeful of cleavage.”

  “Have you been flipping the television to Dr. Ruth while I’m asleep?” She shook her head. “What am I saying? You’re the Doctor of Delight, according to those letters. You certainly don’t need a sex therapist to tell you the score.”

  He frowned. “Do you always talk so much?”

  “Actually,” she smiled, “it’s one of the things I do best. That, and I’m a whiz at receivables.”

  “That’s admirable, chérie, but neither is likely to help you pass your love course, and you’re wasting precious time. Back to the subject. Now close your eyes.”

  She obeyed. The warmth at her back grew stronger as he moved closer. The dream flashed in her mind, the sheets drifting down, his hot, wet mouth trailing over her skin. She shivered. “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “You’re jumping ahead, and even if you weren’t, I still would not kiss you.”

  Her eyes popped open. “But we have a deal—”

  “Which involves my tutoring you, not kissing you. I will tell you everything you need to know.” He indicated the fresh notebook she’d left on the kitchen table. “And you will write everything down.”

  “But my paper requires more than just a theory. I need documentation to support what I’m proposing.”

  “The love letters are written proof that my methods work.”

  And how. Several graphic scenarios flashed in her head and she blushed. “True, but they’re old. I have to prove that your methods work today, in the nineties. For that I need current experiments.”

  “So conduct an experiment.”

  “How can I if you don’t kiss me?”

  “Not an experiment with you as the subject, dear. I’ll tutor you and you find your own subject.”

  “Me go after a man?”

  “That would be the obvious choice, unless you’re a bit more daring than I imagined.” His warm chuckled chased goose bumps down her arm.

  “A man will do just fine.” This man, her dream-obsessed hormones insisted.

  The trouble was, he wasn’t a man.

  Val was just a ghost. Albeit a good-looking, charming, tantalizing, sexy ghost, but still a spirit, and Ronnie needed the real thing.

  The dream rushed through her mind, the hot mouth working at her nipple, the purposeful fingertips tantalizing her bare flesh. If a ghost could stir so many feelings inside her, a real man would be even better. And he wouldn’t fade once three a.m. hit.

  And that was the problem in a nutshell.

  Val was Val. A ghost. Just this side of her imagination. Safe.

  But she needed real.

  Or did she?

  A smile tugged at her lips as an idea hit her. She could be the subject, or rather a creation of her own mind. A Madame X. She could document Madame X’s journey into the realm of sexual fulfillment. But she would still need experiments.

  Her gaze zeroed in on Val. Although he looked determined now, Madame X could change his mind.

  “What are you thinking?” Val eyed her suspiciously.

  “Don’t you know?”

  He stared at her a full minute more before shrugging. “Sometimes. When your defenses are down.”

  “And they’re up now?”

  He nodded and she smiled. The last thing she needed was him noseying around in her thoughts all the time.

  “So what is going on in that stubborn little mind of yours?”

  “Just that you’re right. I do need a man. If you can make me flush hot and cold, imagine what a real hunk can do.” She shivered in anticipation.

  Val frowned and snapped, “Are you ready to begin?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “Why so touchy all of a sudden?”

  “I’m not touchy,” he muttered, so low she wondered if she’d just imagined it. “That’s the problem.”

  As in, he wanted to touch her.

  Of course he did. He’d endured a century and a half of celibacy. He probably salivated at the sight of one of those exercise shows, drooled while glancing through the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. He didn’t stand a chance with Madame X, the poor guy.

  Ghost, she reminded herself as she snapped her eyes shut. “Now what?”

  “Think of the first time you exploded beneath a man’s touch.”

  “But I’ve never—”

  “Mais oui, you have, Rouquin. In your dreams.”

  Yes, the dream.

  “Remember.” His deep voice rumbled in her ears, stirring her senses the way his hands had brought her to such sweet ecstasy. “Are you remembering?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now tell me exactly where you are.”

  “I’m in my bed.”

  “My bed,” he whispered.

  “My bed,” she countered, and though she couldn’t see his smile, she felt it. The tension that emanated from him eased for the space of two heartbeats and his warm chuckle slid along her nerve endings before the sound faded.

  “So you’re in the bed,” he murmured. “Tell me what you smell.”

  She took a deep breath. Oddly enough, she didn’t smell the musty aroma of mothballs from the old brown dress. A sweet, seductive scent spiraled through her nostrils and made her chest heave.

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  “Leather and apples and something … a freshness, like water … cool water on a hot day.” She took several deep breaths and the mingling of scents wafted through her head. “It makes my nose tingle and my heart beat faster. Makes me breathe a little deeper, as if I can’t get enough.”

  “Now tell me what you feel.”

  “The soft mattress at my back,” she murmured. “A cool, cotton sheet slithering down my bare legs.” She shivered, goose bumps chasing up and down the legs in question.

  “What else, love?”

  “Incredibly hot fingertips brushing my cheeks, my collarbone, my breasts. I…” Her breath caught as she felt the sensations, the memory as intense as the dream itself. “I feel a moist heat on my—” she swallowed and summoned her courage “—my nipple.” She gasped at the memory of the fierce suckling. “I-I can feel it Right here. Right now.”

  “Can you, chérie? Can you feel the sweet heat stealing through your body, stirring an ache deep in your belly? A hunger?”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  Nothing. The denial poised on the tip of her tongue. Veronica Parrish wanted nothing except an accounting degree and a successful career. />
  Usually.

  But at that moment, she wanted something entirely different, and, for the first time, she couldn’t deny what she felt, no matter how much she suddenly wanted to.

  “Tell me,” he urged, his voice so compelling it overrode her defenses.

  “To be touched,” she admitted, licking her lips. “To be tasted, just like in the dream. I want it so much. I…” Her words drowned in his sharp intake of breath. Banked tension held his body tight.

  His voice, usually so deep and smooth and seductive, came out raw and ragged. “Open your eyes.”

  Her gaze collided with his in the mirror and she saw the heat in his eyes, the desire so fierce it took her breath away.

  “Look at yourself.”

  Her gaze went to the woman staring back at her, and this time she didn’t notice the ugly dress, but the woman beneath it. Her eyes appeared heavy-lidded, her lips parted, the bottom slightly more prominent and slick from the slow glide of her tongue a moment ago. She looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed after a night of …

  Dreams. Delicious, intoxicating, erotic dreams.

  “See how your mouth quivers, how the blush colors your cheeks. Feel how your nipples press achingly against the dress. You’re beautiful, Veronique,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Desirable. Sexy.”

  And for the first time in her life, Ronnie felt sexy, and it was okay. For the first time in years she stopped worrying about burying her sexuality where it couldn’t interfere with her career plans. The knowledge made her stand a bit taller and forced her gaze to meet his.

  “You must recognize the passion in your soul before you can share that passion with someone. You’re a woman, an Eve in the Garden, a gift to mankind. The most precious, passionate, delectable gift a man could receive.”

  Desire blazed in his eyes and she felt the tension rolling off him, as if he fought hard to keep from reaching out.

  She turned to face him. “So now are we going to kiss?”

  “Mmm,” he murmured as his head dipped toward her. He stopped a fraction shy and she parted her lips, begging him forward.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  “Ronnie! Are you home? I really need you!”

  Muscles rippled, his mouth drew into a firm, stubborn line, and Val pulled away.

  Disappointment spiraled through Ronnie, a strange sensation to a woman who’d spent eight long years avoiding men and romantic entanglements because they were too distracting.