In the Midnight Hour

by Kimberly Raye

“I saved you from the worst kiss of your life.”

  “It’s a wonder your head isn’t as big as that bed. You’re so full of yourself.”

  Danny sang louder and Val barely suppressed the urge to cover his ears. “Actually, I’m not nearly as full as I usually am. Your friend is now enjoying my energy.”

  She cast another glance at the closed bathroom door, and a frown worried her brow anew when Danny launched into a very loud, very off-key version of George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” “So what’s going to happen to him?”

  “Well,” Val said, settling back in the chair, arms folded over his chest, a cat-who-got-the-canary smile on his face, “I’d say about three or four inches.”

  Ten. Danny shook his head the next morning and stared down at the monster erection that had greeted him the moment he’d opened his eyes. He was a solid six and a half after a really good wet Wanda dream, maybe seven after a few hours of sitting beside her and smelling her perfume. But ten? And after a night of sound sleep?

  He slapped the ruler onto the nightstand, grabbed the bottle of Excite and Energize, and stared at the ingredients. An all-natural herb and vitamin blend. No steroids or testosterone supplements. Nothing but good, old-fashioned Mother Nature.

  As happy as he was at this morning’s discovery, he was even happier when things calmed down a bit. After all, knowing the equipment worked properly and conducting a demonstration for his entire mechanical engineering class were two different things. It was enough to know he was capable.

  The knowledge made him stand a little taller and put some strut into his walk. Danny Boudreax strutting?

  Hell, stranger things could happen. Like Terry Lynn Wilhelm, the hottest babe in his physics class, could smile at him.

  She smiled at him throughout the entire lecture, and approached him at the end of class to ask him out for coffee at the Student Union Building.

  Coffee? Yes! No woman had ever asked him out for anything, except Bebe Larue, freshman year, who’d needed help on her biology project, then Janie Freeman, who’d asked him to be her lab partner in sophomore chemistry, and Wanda, who’d needed a tutor. But coffee? As in being seen together socially? As in date?

  “Maybe some other time,” he found himself saying, despite the sudden twitch in his groin area and his libido chanting Go for it!

  He would, but not with Terry or any of the other women who made a point of smiling at him or saying hi or accidentally brushing up against him.

  Tonight was his first date with Wanda. Probably a fluke on her part, but Danny intended to make the most of her moment of temporary insanity. As attractive as he found other women, as much as he enjoyed their sudden attention courtesy of his new vitamins, he only wanted one. Wanda.

  The question was, did she want him?

  She wanted his dessert.

  He sat by and watched as Wanda took a bite of his chocolate-covered cheesecake.

  “This is so good. I love cheesecake. Unfortunately, it loves me. My thighs anyway.”

  “I can see why.” His gaze traveled to her pink miniskirt, carefully molding to her sleek legs.

  “Are you flirting with me, Danny?”

  “I’m just telling the truth. You’ve got great legs. Almost as great as your eyes.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said you have really great eyes. They … sparkle.”

  She actually blushed. Confident, every-man-wants-me Wanda blushed. “Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. What I mean is, most guys don’t make it above the neck, if you know what I mean.”

  “I can’t believe that. You’re beautiful, but you’re also intelligent. That’s what shows in your eyes.”

  She smiled. “Say that again.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “No. The other part.”

  “Intelligent.”

  She closed her eyes as if savoring the word. “You know, I almost believe it when you say it.”

  “You should. It’s true.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I’ve always thought so. You’re smart, Wanda. You just don’t know it, and knowledge is power.”

  The smile she gave him was worth the hundred bucks he’d shelled out for dinner. It was worth the numberless nights he’d spent keeping his eyes open so he could drag himself over to her dorm room and play the devoted tutor. Just that smile, meant for him, only him, meant more than if she’d stripped herself naked, climbed onto his plate, and offered herself up as dessert.

  Okay, so he wouldn’t go that far. He was, after all, a guy, and he’d dreamt of her for too long to be content with a smile. But the night was young and Danny was determined.

  He wanted her to want him more than those thick-necked jocks she dated. More than his chocolate-covered cheesecake.

  More.

  Every woman wanted Valentine Tremaine.

  Val replayed that all-important fact throughout the evening while he waited for Ronnie to finish up her shift at the library. Last night, he’d managed to put off their first “touching” lesson thanks to her friend Danny, who’d been singing so loud that old Mr. Weatherby had knocked on the door to complain that the noise was making Pringles nervous.

  By the time his sweet Veronica had managed to placate the old man and send her jubilant friend home, it had been nearly three a.m. Val had made the excuse—a very real excuse, after the draining possession—of being exhausted, and so the lesson had been put off until tonight.

  He alternated between pacing the room, picking up after Veronica, and staring at the TV.

  Every woman, he told himself again.

  It was a fact of nature. Like the earth being round. The sky being blue. Ronnie’s interest in him shouldn’t be so … unsettling. Arousing. Exciting.

  He’d spent a lifetime being the object of female attention, the fuel for their desire, the star of their fantasies, and never once had the knowledge affected him as it did now.

  Of course, he hadn’t been celibate for one hundred and fifty years back then. He’d been used to women wanting him and was grateful for it, intent on using it to his advantage. To make a precious child. He’d been merely determined back then. Not desperate, and deprived.

  That had to account for his temporary memory loss, for the blurred images of his past. He tried to recall hot, erotic memories, and, while the situations came forth, he didn’t see the women with whom he’d shared the pleasure. He saw Veronica Parrish.

  In his bed.

  Down by his river.

  Stretched out on the velour seat of his carriage.

  Sprawled on a bed of soft hay in his barn.

  Standing in her miniature kitchen, eating an ice cream sundae as if she’d never tasted anything better.

  Desperation. That was it, because no way could Valentine Tremaine, a man who’d slept with … How many had he slept with again?

  A lot, he finally concluded after a few minutes of intense, futile contemplation. Numerous.

  And he had proof. Dozens of letters, written by women whom he’d bedded, faces he couldn’t remember, names that lingered just beyond his mind’s recollection.

  Still, no way could he, a man who’d shared pleasure with so many, be falling hard and fast, risking an eternity of peace, for one woman. One inexperienced, so-so attractive, infuriating as hell, stubborn as a mule, messy woman who actually thought ice cream a fitting substitute for pleasure.

  Even if she was smart and dedicated and he admired her.

  Even if she did have the touch with children.

  Even if she wrinkled her brow in that certain way that made him ache to reach out and soothe her troubled expression.

  Throughout many of his thirty-two years of life he’d been searching, planting his seed and perfecting his technique, and he’d never fallen in love with even the most generous of women, the most beautiful, the most seductive. There was no way he would accept that after a bullet and a century and a half
as a ghost, he’d find the woman to share his life, his bed, his future with.

  Not when he’d already lost two out of the three, and the bed he wouldn’t have for much longer.

  His sweet Veronica was on the trail to answering his last burning question, and as intelligent and resourceful as she was, he had no doubt she would find the answer. Then he would have freedom from the lust burning through him, making him think crazy thoughts.

  Like how Veronica Parrish was the most perfect woman he’d ever met. She was beautiful with her flame-colored hair, her soft, soft skin. But it was more than her outside appearance that drew him. She had a strength about her, offset by an incredible tenderness. While she looked after herself, she was never too busy to help someone in need, be it her neighbor’s cat, the twins. She was gentle, compassionate, caring … perfect.

  Preposterous.

  She was simply the last sip of brandy and he was a thirsty man. That was it, and as much as he wanted to take a great big gulp, he could limit himself to merely wetting his lips.

  Just touching.

  At least that’s what Val told himself.

  Now if he only truly believed it.

  Ronnie picked up her pace and rounded the corner. The streetlight cast flickering shadows on the pavement in front of her, but she wasn’t frightened. She was anxious, despite her aching feet and a load of homework. Tonight was the night.

  Ear nibbling and neck licking and then … down. The notion sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

  Tonight—

  Thunk.

  The sound shattered her thoughts and she stopped, ears perked as she listened for the strange sound. Nothing. Just the distant murmur of cars, the hum of the street lamp, the faint laughter from a nightly sitcom drifting from a nearby television set. Her imagination.

  She rubbed her arms to chase away the sudden goose bumps and started walking again.

  Thunk thunk … The sound followed her around the corner as she left St. Mary’s Street and turned onto University. Just a few more blocks—

  She came to a staggering halt.

  And so did the noise.

  She turned, but saw only an empty sidewalk. A car zoomed by, with music blaring, and she took a deep breath. She was overreacting. Jumpy. It was no wonder. The kissing bandit search had escalated, with the fraternities on campus trying to top one another with reward offers. She’d even come face to face with the actual reporter who’d broken the story and was now doing a follow-up. Thankfully, her hair had been stuffed up under the baseball cap and the description of the bandit had been so exaggerated that Ronnie felt certain she hadn’t aroused any suspicion.

  Or had she?

  She shook away the thought, gave herself a firm mental shake, and started walking.

  By the time she reached her apartment, she almost believed it had been her imagination. She’d made the two blocks without any more noises or that strange prickling awareness, as if someone watched her.

  The blaze of headlights caught her as a car veered into the parking lot across the street. She watched while Professor Guidry climbed from his Volvo, a stack of books in his hands, and headed for the front door of his building. Seconds later, he raced back out and headed for his car, undoubtedly on his way back to campus. Thursday nights were all-night grad sessions for the psychology department. Being the workaholic he was, he readily volunteered to supervise the various experiments, which covered topics ranging from sleep deprivation to hypnosis, and kept him out until the wee morning hours.

  Even then, without a good night’s sleep, he’d never been late to a Friday morning class. The guy wasn’t human.

  Ronnie caught the hello and goodbye before they had a chance to burst from her lips. She didn’t need to attract his attention any more than necessary, even by being friendly. Better to lay low and wow him with a great paper. She turned back to her door, fit the key into the lock, and went inside.

  Straight into an empty apartment.

  “Val?”

  “Okay,” he said, stepping forward from the shadows, completely naked and aroused, a fierce look on his face. “Take your clothes off and let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ah, victory! her hormones crowed as adrenaline zinged through her veins. A rush of heat skimmed her nerves, her nipples pebbled, warmth flooded her thighs, and her hands trembled.

  Or maybe the hand trembling was caused by the sudden fear niggling at her brain.

  Fear? Of Val? A ghost?

  He looked anything but a ghost standing not two feet away from her, his blue gaze burning like twin match flames, his tanned muscles bunched tight, rippling right before her eyes with every breath he took, every clench of his fists as he stood so fierce and warriorlike before her, his gloriously nude erection jutting out from a thatch of sand-colored hair.

  So powerful. Masculine. Huge.

  “Take off your clothes and let’s get on with it.”

  At the deep growl of his voice, her gaze snapped back to his face, to his expression that reminded her of a sullen little boy being forced to drink a bottle of cod liver oil.

  Or an experienced, sexy-as-sin lover about to settle for an inexperienced, so-so looking virgin.

  You know for a fact that he wants you. He admitted it last night, the voice of reason insisted, but suddenly Ronnie couldn’t hear anything above the frantic pounding of her own heart and Val’s deep, rumbling voice.

  “Go on. Take them off. Or would you like me to do it for you?”

  Victory wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. “Surely we can nibble ears with our clothes on.”

  “Yes, but it progresses from there.”

  Down. The word echoed in her head and her knees joined her trembling hands.

  “Uh, maybe tonight isn’t such a good night.” Was that her voice?

  “Take them off.” He moved closer.

  “No.” She scooted back.

  “Why not?”

  Good question. “I’ve, uh, been thinking about what you originally said.” Val stepped forward again and a picture of a lion stalking his dinner flashed in her head. She inched backward until her back flattened against the front door.

  “Yes?” he prodded, and she realized she’d completely lost her train of thought.

  “Well, I was, um, thinking about what you said … you know, that I should find a few subjects and try things out.…” Another step forward and she all but sank into the woodwork. “I—I think you’re right.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since, um, last night. I mean, you are the teacher and I am the student, and so we have a business relationship, despite the subject matter, and I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize that. So if you’ll, um, just write everything down.” Yes, writing was good. Great. “Like a study handout. I’ll give the list a thorough reading and find somebody to try things out on myself. Somebody who’s—”

  “Real?” he cut in.

  She’d been about to say “less intimidating,” as in inexperienced, like herself, but if he thought his ghost status was turning her off, she wasn’t going to argue.

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  “So it’s not that you do not wish to touch, you simply do not wish to touch me, oui?” The confusion on his face turned to displeasure.

  “Bingo.”

  “You expect me to believe such nonsense?” He actually smiled, a wicked, gobble-you-up kind of smile that sent a wave of panic through her. Followed by a burst of anger.

  The guy had such an ego, and no wonder, with his track record. But she wasn’t another face to commit to memory, another name to add to the list. No sirree.

  “You know, Val, I realize that you’re not used to being turned down by a woman. I mean, they probably rip their panties off the minute they lay eyes on you—”

  “Bloomers,” he cut in.

  “What?”

  “Bloomers,” he said again, the deep rumble of his voice effectively dousing her temper. “Not panties.”
<
br />   “That’s beside the point.”

  “Which is?”

  That he was standing too close, scrambling her thoughts, and she couldn’t breathe. “That I don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Want to rip anything off.” She inched to the side, creeping the few feet until her fingers closed around the bathroom doorknob as she sought the quickest escape from all that delicious male heat. “I’m going to take a shower.” A cold one. Ice cold.

  Before she could blurt out another lie, she bolted for the bathroom. Slamming the door, she slumped back against the wood and closed her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? He was ready, willing, and able, and this was what she wanted.

  What she’d dreamt of.

  Him. Her. The two of them beefing up Madame X’s personal account of life in the lust lane.

  But not now. She was too startled by the past few moments, the way his nearness seemed to overload her senses and make her feel so many things—desire, desperation, fear. Not of pain and suffering, but of forgetting herself. Forgetting everything except him.

  She forced the thought away, turned the shower on full blast, and started stripping off her clothes. Her T-shirt hit the floor, jeans followed, until Ronnie stood only in her panties and bra.

  The phone rang in the other room, but Ronnie had no intention of going after it. She couldn’t face Val again. A very naked Val.

  “… think about Sophie or Roger?” Jenny’s voice floated through the door. “Or Megan and Walter? Marcy’s still got the cold and we’re having a late night. Call me.”

  Ronnie checked the water temperature, turned the knob a notch colder, and reached for the hooks on her bra.

  You’re just tired, she told herself. He caught you off guard. The good old voice of reason. Always ready to jump in and save her when her heart started pounding a little too fast and her thoughts spiraled down the frantic drain. You were spooked from the walk home. It only stands to reason that you would be startled by a completely naked man—make that ghost. Which was the point exactly. He was a ghost. Just a ghost.

  Harmless. Temporary. Perfect.

  Her bra and panties hit the floor and she reached for the shower curtain.