In the Midnight Hour

by Kimberly Raye

  “You’re a poor liar.”

  She whirled, fingers clutching the plastic shower liner. Rings snapped, the shower rod groaned, and the curtain collapsed at her feet.

  Val, wearing only a sinful, heart-stopping grin, stood inches away, his presence taking up every ounce of oxygen in her tiny bathroom. His expression had changed from stubborn acceptance to cool, wicked determination.

  “I am not lying,” she managed, despite the fact that she couldn’t breathe.

  “You do want to rip your bloomers off.”

  “Panties, and what makes you so sure?”

  “Your body, chérie.” His gaze zeroed in on her traitorous nipples like twin laser beams looking for a target.

  She quickly folded her arms over her bare breasts. “Get out of here.”

  “Not until we finish our lesson.” He stepped forward and she backed up.

  “There is no lesson, I don’t want you—”

  “Didn’t your maman worn you about telling lies, chérie?” He backed her up against the wall, pinning her in place by planting muscular arms on either side of her, his body blocking out everything save him.

  “What are you doing?” she blurted when he dipped his head, his lips going to the sensitive shell of her ear.

  “Step twenty-four.”

  “But I’m naked.”

  “And so am I.”

  “But …”

  “Just relax.” The words whispered over her ear and sent a wave of heat pulsing through her.

  “What if I say no?”

  He pulled back. His gaze locked with hers for a long, heated moment that made her tremble even more than his nearness. “I shall stop.” He dipped his head again and this time she felt more than a warm rush of tingling breath. Warm lips nibbled and suckled at her ear, and fear bolted through her.

  No! The word was there on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth, but all that escaped was a breathless, “Ahhhhhhh …”

  “Does this please you, chérie?” drifted into her ear on a wave of sizzling breath and mind-blowing sensation.

  Oh, yes. It pleased her, indeed. That was the problem. His tongue traced the outer shell of her ear before moving lower, to lave a tender path down her neck. He suckled a tiny bit of flesh into his mouth, teeth nipping just enough to send a shiver wiggling down her spine. She groaned.

  Problem, a small voice reminded her. Houston we have a big problem.

  Her eyes opened briefly as she felt the hard length of him nudge her stomach. Definitely a big problem. Huge.

  The trouble was, Ronnie’s body had overthrown her brain, and she was already in countdown mode. Short of something vital malfunctioning, she couldn’t push Val away and murmur the one word that would put a stop to this … this … this.

  “Twenty-seven,” he murmured, doing the neck nibble/lick before he moved on, down to a tantalizing sweep of hot fingers around the tender sides of her breasts, his palms cupping their fullness—twenty-eight and twenty-nine.

  Strong thumbs tweaked her nipples, rolled and massaged and brought them to painful awareness—thirty-one.

  Wait a second. What happened to thirty?

  Oh, yes. Thirty had been the delicate brush of fingertips against the budding crests, softly and reverently, as if Valentine Tremaine had never seen anything so beautiful, felt anything quite so soft, treasured anyone so much.…

  As if.

  He was Super Lover. The Doctor of Delight. Lord of Lust.

  And she was losing it.

  Get a grip, she told herself, fighting for her last ounce of control. Just say no—

  Her denial disintegrated as warm lips closed over her aching nipple and sucked. Soft and teasing at first, then deep and insistent and oh so pleasurable.

  “… thirty-three …” came the deep, rumbling murmur from far, far away as he licked a path to her other breast to deliver the same sweet torment.

  Her frantic heartbeat pounded in her ears, accompanied by the zing of blood through her veins, the chanting of long-deprived hormones. More, more, more!

  Just touching, her brain reminded her. That’s all they were doing. And quite well, she admitted as he suckled her long and hard and fierce, so fierce her entire body shook with the force of it.

  “I … What step is this again?” She tried to remember, to slow her pounding heart by taking mental notes of every movement, from the tease of his fingertips up and down the sensitive sides of her breasts, to the way his long hair brushed across her in a sensual caress that prickled her skin and made her breath catch.

  “Thirty-two?” she mumbled. “Or did we pass thirty-two?

  He pulled away and her eyes snapped open to see him drop to his knees. His gaze burned into hers for a long, breathless moment. Her heart hit a speed bump, then revved forward, faster and faster, out of control.

  It was the fire that danced in his blue, blue eyes that caused the reaction and promised more to come. More.

  His eyes closed and his tongue flicked out as he traced her belly button before licking a delicious path lower. Down. Purposeful hands swept up the inside of her thigh as he lifted one leg and hooked it over his shoulder. One delicious fingertip grazed her slick, sensitive folds of flesh, and a strangled cry broke from her throat.

  “Bon Dieu, but you are perfect.” His raw, gravelly voice filled her ears, rumbled over her ultrasensitive nerves. “So warm and wet and tight.” The discovery seemed to anger almost as much as it delighted him.

  She could feel the turmoil raging inside him, then he slid a long, lean finger inside her slick passage and a moan curled up through her, from her belly to her throat, vibrating from the tip of her tongue.

  A second finger joined the first, pushing deep, so deliciously deep. Her insides tightened in response, grasping at him, drawing him more fully inside as she marveled at the feel of a man’s touch.

  Her neck strained and her head snapped back as a tremor worked its way through her body. She caught sight of her reflection in the small bathroom mirror and felt a twinge of embarrassment at the provocative picture she made leaning against the wall, Val’s strong, powerful body kneeling between her legs, his tanned skin a stark contrast with the paleness of her thigh draped over his broad shoulder.

  Her lips were parted, her eyes at half-mast. Her breasts heaved with each frantic breath, her nipples still wet and ripe and red from his mouth.

  Then Val rasped his tongue along the heart of her and she gasped. Her eyes shut as he murmured how sweet she tasted, the warmth of his breath stirring her before his lips joined in the loveplay.

  “What number?” she managed to croak, doing her damndest to hold on to her last bit of sanity. Lessons, she reminded herself. This was a lesson in touching. Nothing more.

  A warm chuckle teased her quivering flesh. “Thirty-six,” he murmured. “I think.” Then he proceeded with a very thorough demonstration and Ronnie’s mental note-taking faded as sensation after sensation rocked her.

  Her body arched against his mouth, begging for more. More than his mouth and his tongue driving her wild. She wanted him. Strong and powerful, thrusting deep, deep inside her …

  The insistent ring of the phone pushed past the pounding of her heart, the rush of blood through her veins. The sound continued, louder with each ring, before the machine finally picked it up.

  “Hello. This is Veronica …”

  Her voice on the machine faded into its boring monotone as the pressure in her body built. Heat spiraled inside her, hotter, hotter, fueling the want, the need, until she grasped Val’s shoulders and begged for release.

  “Please. I need you, Val. Over me, around me, inside me. Please.”

  From the far-off distance, she heard Harvey Moulet’s voice over her answering machine.

  “… I’ve got good news. Emma Wilbur married Michael Warren, of the Heaven’s Gate Warrens.”

  Emma.

  The name whispered through her head and quickly faded in the bam, bam, bam of her heart as the pressure built. Higher
. Hotter—

  Val stopped. He didn’t move, didn’t pull away, he simply stilled, anchoring her just this side of ecstasy.

  “Please.” She couldn’t help herself. With his hot breath fanning her tenderest of spots, his hands burning into her bottom, holding her in place, his whisker-roughened face rasping the tender inside of her thigh, she was a slave to what she felt. To the man holding her. “Please,” she said again.

  “No.” His voice was raw, pained, as if it took every ounce of control to deny her. It did. He trembled beneath her hands, his muscles bunched tight, as tight as she felt inside, like one of those windup toys coiled as tight as she could go with someone still holding the handle, keeping all that energy locked inside. If he let go, she’d go spinning off.

  “Ma douce amie,” he growled. “I can’t.”

  He let go and stood, putting his back to her, his hands clenched at his sides, as if he fought so hard to keep from touching her.

  But it wasn’t the sight of him that sent a bolt of panic through her and forced her quivering legs to move. It was what he’d said. Ma douce amie. My sweet love.

  She fled to the other room, grabbed a robe off a nearby chair, slipped into it, and, with trembling fingers, called Harvey back. Anything to distract and keep her from facing Val.

  “I didn’t make it to the phone in time,” she explained, praying her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

  “Did you hear the message? I’m sorry to call so late but you said to call as soon as I found any new information.” he said.

  “It’s okay but I’m afraid I didn’t hear your message.”

  “Your Emma is Emma Warren. The Emma Warren. She’s famous in Heaven’s Gate.”

  “So it shouldn’t be any trouble discovering the identity of her father, right?”

  “Wrong, but at least we have several possibilities now. Emma Warren was a prominent figure in the community. Chances are, she’ll be listed in lots of the local records. Then there’s the cemetery, the museum, the old newspaper archives. When can you drive up?”

  “Let’s see, it’s Thursday. I’ve got class tomorrow, then work, but I could get away first thing Saturday morning.”

  “I’ll meet you at eight a.m., and I’ll do a little more checking between now and then.”

  “Thanks, Harvey.”

  “What are local historians for?”

  She hung up and turned to find Val standing behind her. He’d put on his clothes, thankfully, but the fire still burned hotly in his blue eyes, mirroring her own raging feelings.

  Lust … But it went beyond that.

  Way, way beyond, because even more than Ronnie wanted him to make love to her, she wanted him to simply hold her in his arms and whisper those sweet words again and again.

  Ma douce amie.

  And that scared the daylights out of her.

  It was all Val could do not to touch her, not to take her and finish what they’d started.

  He licked his lips, savoring the ripe essence of her, prolonging the pleasure for just a few more moments. Enough to make him burn hotter, throb harder, not that he would act on any of it, no matter how he wanted to.

  Or how much she wanted him to.

  Despite the fear in her eyes and her sudden withdrawal from him, she still wanted him. She sat at the kitchen table, furiously documenting tonight’s lesson as if she had no purpose, no desire, but to write.

  Ah, but she wanted to do much more.

  He could see it in the insistent push of her nipples against the fabric of her robe, in the flush that colored her pale skin a bright pink.

  He felt it, an energy that crackled in the air, as fierce and potent as his own, drawing him to her.

  He closed his eyes, his body trembling at the memory of her in his arms, the strength it had taken to pull away, to stop, especially after she’d asked him, begged him …

  Peace, he reminded himself. He wanted an eternity of peace far more than he wanted Veronica Parrish.

  The trouble was, with her so close, filling his nostrils, wetting his lips, her soft breaths echoing in his ears, her troubled frown stirring a tenderness he’d never known he possessed, it was all too easy to forget that all-important fact;

  Even with his soul hanging in the balance.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Wanda’s silky voice whispered over his skin and Danny smiled, staring down at her through the darkness. Despite the lack of light, he could still see her, her sweater pushed up, bra unsnapped, pale skin glowing in the moonlight.

  “It’s instinct.” He wasn’t sure why, but he knew every place to touch her, just how much pressure to use. He just knew.

  Undoubtedly because he’d dreamt about this moment for so long. The two of them. On her couch. Doing more than simply sitting side by side, studying chemistry.

  This was chemistry, and it was more potent than anything he’d ever imagined, and much, much easier.

  “Say it again,” she whispered, arching her full breast into the heat of his palm.

  “You’re smart,” he murmured, punctuating the declaration with a reverent kiss to one tight nipple. “And beautiful. And God, you taste so good—”

  “Wanda!” A loud rap on the door shattered the moment. “It’s Tanya. I’ve got major trouble.” She sniffled. “I’ve got a big date with Michael in a half hour and I can’t decide between the red mini or the white sundress, and since you’re so good when it comes to clothes …”

  “I—I’m really busy,” Wanda called out.

  “With Danny?” A bubble of laughter followed. “Get real. You two can study later.”

  “But we’re not …” For all her passion a moment ago, he saw the indecision on her face, the push-pull that he always sensed, as if she felt trapped between her friends and what they expected of her, and what she wanted. “Uh, yeah. Right.”

  “So pull your nose out of those books and answer the door. This is important.”

  “I’m coming,” she called out, but she didn’t move. Her anxious gaze went to him as if she waited for him to try to change her mind.

  He could. He saw it in the longing in her soft blue eyes. Tonight he could have her, her friends be damned.

  But tomorrow?

  Danny gathered his self-control, marveling that he actually had any, pulled away, and righted her sweater. “Answer the door,” he said when he’d slid the last button into place.

  He turned the light on and reached for a nearby book.

  Long, willowy fingers touched his arm. “Why?”

  “I don’t want you to lose face with your friends.”

  “Why?”

  His gaze collided with hers. “Because it’s important to you. They’re important to you. When, if, it happens between us, I don’t want you to have any regrets.” And she would. Maybe not now, but later.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered before bolting off the couch, righting her clothes and finger-combing her hair before pulling open the door. Though the apology was little consolation for the erection throbbing in his pants, hiding beneath an open chem book, the words eased the ache in his chest because he knew she meant it.

  And that meant things weren’t over between them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “And there you have it, class, the phases of preorgasmic male stimulation.”

  For a lesson on male stimulation, Ronnie herself was quite stimulated.

  Her gaze went to Guidry as he flipped on the lights and walked stiffly back to the podium. With his hair slicked back, his beady black eyes, his stern expression, and a necktie that appeared to be choking off the blood flow to his brain, he looked so sour it almost succeeded in dampening her inflamed senses. Unfortunately, the dream she’d had last night, preceded by a great big dose of reality, was still too vivid in her mind. Even the sight of unhappy, stuck-up Iron Ball couldn’t cool her down.

  “A reminder, people. Papers are due on the last day of class, two weeks from today. If I do not have your paper in my hand at the beginning
of class, you automatically fail. No exceptions will be made.”

  Short of death, most professors would have said, but not Guidry. He, no doubt, would expect any student with the nerve to drop dead to have the hearse stop off on the way to the cemetery and deliver the treasured assignment, on time, into his cold hands. The guy needed a heart.

  And Ronnie needed … Val.

  Now where had that come from?

  She certainly needed no such thing … person … ghost.

  But somewhere along the line, Valentine Tremaine had turned into more than a ghost. She saw a man, felt a man. In her mind, he was a man. A man who took care of her when she was sick, who taunted and teased and kept her company. A man who scrambled her thoughts and made her yearn for marriage and babies and …

  What the hell was she thinking?

  She didn’t want marriage and babies, and she certainly didn’t want a man in her life. She was too busy studying, working, surviving.

  Too afraid.

  Who said that?

  She forced the thought aside. She was not afraid of men.

  Not of men. Of falling in love, stupid.

  She stiffened. That either. Especially that. She simply didn’t want to fall in love. She wanted a career first, foremost. More than she wanted Valentine Tremaine.

  Her face heated at the thought of him and she clamped her legs together. Suddenly as determined as she’d been to seduce Val, she was even more hell-bent on avoiding him for the next two weeks. No more lessons. Madame X was only a few steps shy of the fifty. Ronnie could make up the rest. She would keep her distance, finish her paper, find out the truth about Emma, then give Val his walking papers. In the meantime, she had to concentrate.

  She turned her attention, or at least tried, to school, and spent the rest of the morning rushing from class to class. After lunch, she headed to the accounting firm and spent four hours filing and answering phones. Then she headed back to campus for her shift at the library.

  Not once did she think about Val, or what had happened.

  No, it was more like a dozen times. Maybe two dozen. Just when she managed to forget him, his image popped into her head, his blue eyes vivid and intense, stirring so many things she’d never felt before.