“You’re one of a kind, yourself.” She touched his jaw, traced the lines of his face, her breathing still raspy from their recent lovemaking, her body still buzzing from the flood of sensation. “I never thought I’d find someone that I would want to spend the rest of my life with.” She closed her eyes against a sudden blur of tears. “I was so determined not to find someone, so convinced I wanted a career more than domestic bliss.” She sniffled. “Now I’d sell my soul for a little house, a few kids, and a future growing old with you.”
He cupped her face. “Don’t think past this moment, chérie. I’m here with you now. I’m here.” His hands stroked her body as he sought to wipe the sadness from her face and give her as much happiness as he could. He parted her legs, sweeping a hand upward to cup her. “I want to be here,” he murmured, before he dipped his head and replaced his hand with his mouth.
A sob broke from her throat as he kissed and licked and tasted her sweetness. When Val slid up her body, her eyes were bright with passion rather than sadness. “Shall we have another lesson, Rouquin?”
She smiled. “I already know the fifty steps.”
“Then it’s time we moved on to the fifty positions. One down and forty-nine to go.”
“We don’t have enough time.” A stark expression gripped her face.
“Perhaps not, but we’ll enjoy the time we do have. Class is in session.” He rolled over onto his back, pulling her astride him. The tip of his staff probed her passage. Merde, she was scorching hot. Drenched. Eager for him. He gripped her hips and pulled her down, embedding himself in one smooth, upward surge.
Her breath caught. Her palms flattened against his chest. Her eyes closed and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her body shuddering at the pure pleasure of their coupling.
He reached up to graze the throbbing tip of her breast with his knuckle and her eyelids fluttered open. Gone was the sadness, the worry, the fear. Desire glittered in her eyes. And love, so fierce and consuming that it cinched the air in his chest.
“I’m waiting, teacher,” she breathed. “What next?”
“Ride me,” he said, his throat raw with feeling.
She started with a slow rise and fall that sent the blood pounding through his veins until he gripped her hips and urged her higher, faster, until she screamed his name, the tight muscles of her sheath convulsing around him. Val followed her, his release violent, potent, as he bucked beneath her, gripping her hips, anchoring her to him as he spilled himself deep inside her.
She collapsed atop him and he held her. And despite his fervent vow to hold the moment, he couldn’t help but wonder how he would ever find the strength to let her go.
And then he wept, because, strength or not, he would have to.
It was nearly time.
Val stood at the open French doors and stared at the darkened street. Just this side of three a.m., there was little activity. The occasional bark of a dog, the passing blur of headlights as a car sped by.
The clock tick-tocked away and Val closed his eyes. Anger welled up inside him. But far greater than his resentment at finding his one true love when he had but a few blissful moments to give her, was the gratitude he felt at having found her at all. A lifetime he’d lived, and he’d never known the joy he’d felt in the past few weeks, the past few moments.
“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” Ronnie’s voice whispered over his shoulder, and he turned to find her standing behind him, an oversized T-shirt molded to her lush, naked body. She sniffled and wiped at a tear that squeezed past her lashes. “I keep telling myself that.”
“It is true, chérie.” He pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, hungry kiss before settling her back against him, his arms circling her waist as they stared out at the street below.
Ronnie closed her hands over Val’s, holding tight. As if by holding on to him, she could keep him here, in her arms, her life, for a few minutes longer.
Forever, her soul cried. Forever.
The clock ticked away in the background, each second thundering through her head, taunting her. She fought against the dread welling inside her, the sadness, and instead relished the feel of Val’s warm arms, the solid strength behind her.
A blaze of headlights cut through the night as a car turned the corner and rolled down the street. Ronnie watched as Professor Guidry’s Volvo rolled to a stop in his driveway. He gathered his books and climbed out of the car. Obviously a late night at the campus. Very late, but then, he was notorious for his dedication to the Thursday-night experiments.
She concentrated on the slap of his footsteps rather than on the clock, anything to distract her from the time, to keep her from turning and burying her head in the crook of Val’s shoulder and begging him to stay.
It would do no good because leaving wasn’t his choice, and she didn’t want to make things any harder. He had to leave—
Cuckoo. The clock sounded just as Guidry’s voice split open the silent night.
“Damn it!” the professor bellowed as his foot slipped on the steps and he pitched forward. Papers flew as he scrambled to catch his balance.
Cuckoo.
He recovered himself and jerked upright. His head smashed into the doorknob, he grunted, and his knees buckled.
“Prof—” Ronnie started to cry out, her voice drowned in the third and final cuckoo.
The noise faded into quiet, and Ronnie realized Val’s arms were no longer around her, his strength was no longer at her back. She jerked around and saw nothing but her dimly lit apartment.
The clock had struck three a.m., and Val was gone.
Chapter Twenty-one
“No,” Ronnie breathed, fighting the truth. It couldn’t be! A coldness wrapped around her, tightened until she couldn’t breathe. She struggled for air; her fingers clutched at the door as her knees buckled. No! her mind screamed over and over. Don’t let this be happening. Don’t let it be real. Don’t let him be gone. Please!
She sank to the floor, her throat burning, tears streaming down her cheeks. No!
But all the denial in the world couldn’t change anything. Val was gone, and Ronnie was alone.
The sound of doors slamming finally penetrated her misery and she turned in time to see the lights flick on next door to Guidry’s house. Ronnie took one look at the professor’s limp body sprawled on the front stoop and panic bolted through her, shoving aside the anger and despair long enough to force her to her feet.
Nine-one-one, her brain screamed. Nine-one-one!
A half hour later, standing near the curb wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, Ronnie watched the paramedics load an unconscious Guidry into a waiting ambulance. He’d taken a nasty hit on the head and suffered a concussion, but at least he was alive.
The knowledge stuck in her mind as she walked back to her apartment. Once inside, however, she discarded any thoughts about Guidry’s welfare. She simply stood there, staring at the chaos. The rumpled bed. Her discarded clothes lying here and there. Her books in disarray atop her desk. The entire place was a mess, the way it had been before Val had come into her life.
She sank down on the edge of the bed and touched the indentation where he’d lain. She could smell him, see him, but she couldn’t feel him.
Her eyes blurred and she buried her head in the pillow. She wasn’t sure how long she cried, great big sobbing gulps that echoed from her heart and gripped her entire body. It could have been minutes, hours. She only knew that when she managed to focus again, the bright morning sunshine streamed through the open French doors.
Ronnie was about to yank the doors and drapes closed and cocoon herself in misery, mindless that she had classes and work waiting for her, when her gaze fell to her nearly finished term paper due first thing Monday morning. Fifty Steps to Ultimate Sexual Fulfillment by Veronica Parrish.
She closed her eyes and relived her last few moments with Val, the lovemaking they’d shared, the joy. A deep-seated, overwhelming, ultimate joy
that had little to do with sex and everything to do with the fact that she’d fallen helplessly, completely in love.
Before Ronnie could question what she was doing, she trashed her nearly completed paper, called in sick at the library, and sat down at her computer to write.
To set things right.
Ronnie spent all day Friday and Saturday writing and crying. She ignored the ringing phone, to the point that her answering machine overflowed and stopped picking up messages. The only person she talked to was Danny, and only to tell him she wasn’t in the mood to talk. By Sunday morning, however, she’d finished the writing, so she spent the early morning hours baking and crying. Then driving and crying as she headed out to Covenant.
Home.
When Ronnie pulled into her parents’ driveway, she killed the engine, took a deep breath, grabbed the still warm strawberry pie she’d made, and climbed out of her car.
Sometimes love isn’t enough. Her own words echoed back through her head. She’d been right. Sometimes love wasn’t enough. For her and Val, it hadn’t been, but that’s because forces much greater than stubbornness and fear had been calling the shots. Life-and-death forces that were beyond anyone’s control.
Things were different with her parents. They were alive and breathing, and they did love her. And she loved them.
And that meant there was hope, and that love could be enough.
She ignored the logical part of her brain, which told her this was useless. That her folks would disown her all over again. That she was just inviting heartbreak.
But her heart was already broken, crumpled in tiny little pieces, and there wasn’t too much that could make her feel worse.
Besides, she couldn’t forget what Val had told her. That the happiest person listened to both her head and her heart. While Ronnie wasn’t banking on happiness any time soon, she was through suppressing her feelings and running on reason alone.
She knocked.
A few seconds later, the door swung open. “Yes …?” Her mother’s voice faded. Shock chased surprise across the woman’s features as she stared at Ronnie as if she were seeing a ghost.
If only.
Ronnie cleared her throat and fought for her suddenly shaky voice. “Hi, Mom.”
“V-Veronica,” her mother stammered. “You’re here—”
“Janice? Who is it?” her father called from inside the house. “Is it Robert? I told him I would meet him at the golf course before ten o’clock tee-off.…” The words faded as her father appeared in the doorway. His expression went from exasperated to shocked as his gaze collided with his daughter’s.
“I brought a pie,” she explained after a moment of pressing silence. “A strawberry pie, made from the ones Mom sent me. Here.” She handed him the pie.
He stared at the dessert as if it sported eyes and wore a Devout Democrat button, but he didn’t chuck the pile of fruit and crust back into her face. Definitely a good sign.
“I’m graduating in a few weeks,” she rushed on, eager to say what she’d come to say before she lost her nerve. “At least, I hope I am. There’s one class that’s a little iffy, but if I don’t pass, I still have enough credits to go through the ceremony. Then I’ll make the class up during the summer, or fall—whenever it’s offered.” She pulled an envelope from her pocket. “I’d really like you and Mom to be there.”
He took the envelope, stared at it just the way he had regarded the pie. Then the door creaked and closed, and Ronnie found herself alone on the doorstep.
She simply stood there for a minute, marveling at how she didn’t feel the need to run back to her car, to crawl beneath it. She’d faced them, faced her past, and even if they didn’t come around right away, even if they never came around, at least she’d tried.
When she slid behind the wheel, she caught sight of her father through the kitchen window. He sat at the table, staring at the pie. Several seconds ticked past, but finally he lifted a knife and sliced into the dessert.
And for the first time since Val had left, Ronnie actually smiled. And then she cried.
“You look terrible,” Delta told Ronnie when she reported for her shift at the library later that day.
“I feel it.”
“Another flu bug.”
“Something like that.” Ronnie stashed her book bag under the counter and went to work behind the circulation desk.
She tossed the baseball cap she’d been wearing into a nearby trash can. The hunt was still on for the kissing bandit, but with the fraternities holding auditions for Miss Kiss of USL, there were plenty of women vying for the title and enough distraction that she could stop worrying.
Not that she even cared at the moment. The campus police could place her under arrest right now and she wouldn’t so much as blink. The worst had already happened.
“Since you’re sick, I won’t ask you,” Delta said.
“Ask me what?”
“To close up for me tonight. I mean, if you’re feeling poorly, you probably want to get right home. I’ll just tell Cass I can’t make it—”
“Cass?”
“We’re having dinner together.”
“As in, you two finally kissed and made up?”
“Actually, it went a little beyond a kiss.” Delta smiled. “For one who has so much snow on the roof, the man’s got an inferno blazing in his cookstove.”
“You sound happy.” Ronnie smiled despite the ache gripping her chest. Two smiles in one day. She might not wither up and die, after all.
“I am.” Delta’s dreamy expression faded as she cast another worried glance at Ronnie. “But I’m not placing any bets on you. I’ll close up.”
“You go on to dinner. I’m fine,” Ronnie said. At Delta’s doubtful glance, she planted her hands on her hips and growled, “Go.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Delta beamed. “You’re all heart, honey. Hi, Danny. Bye, Danny,” she said as she passed the young man.
“What’s gotten into her?”
“Love.” Ronnie sighed. “If I can’t have my own happy ending, it’s nice to see someone else get hers.”
“True, but I’d like to have one of my own.” Danny’s gaze followed Wanda as she exited the library with several of her friends.
“Move on,” Ronnie told him.
“Speaking of moving on, from the looks of you, I’d say Val’s gone.”
She sniffled. “That bad, huh?”
“Your eyes are red and puffy. Your face is pale. I’d say you’ve cried a few buckets since the last time I saw you.”
“More than a few. The only good thing is that I’m on the verge of dehydrating, which means no more tears.”
“Hang in there.” He touched a comforting hand to hers. “And if you need anything, you know where I am.” His gaze shifted to the library door.
She nodded and watched him walk away, and then she cried. Again. So much for dehydration.
“Wanda, wait!” Danny called out as he caught up to her outside the library. “You got a sec?”
She excused herself from her friends, who walked on ahead.
“What’s up?” she asked when he reached her.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“I thought … I thought maybe we—”
“Come on, Wanda,” one of the women called out, effectively killing Danny’s question. “The guys’ll scarf down every slice of pizza if we don’t get over there.”
“Hold on,” she called out. “Look, I’ve really got to go,” she told Danny.
“But I thought maybe we could—”
“Wanda!” the woman called again.
“This can wait, can’t it?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She simply smiled that enticing smile and turned away to join her friends.
He started to walk away.
There was always tomorrow. A new day and fresh hope. Another tutoring session, maybe a few stolen kisses during one of her weaker m
oments. Maybe even another date. If he lucked out.
But Danny Boudreaux had never been lucky. He’d always had to work extra hard for the things in his life. When he’d wanted that brand-spanking-new bicycle back in elementary school, he’d cut ten yards in one Saturday afternoon to earn the money. He’d spent all four years of high school studying to win a scholarship, and every year of college with his nose to the grindstone to keep his GPA perfect and his future bright. If he wanted something, he went after it. Really went after it.
This time shouldn’t have been any different, he admitted in a moment of staggering realization, as he watched the one woman he’d wanted for so long walk away from him. Again.
What the hell had he been doing all this time? He should have been pursuing Wanda with the same diligence he put into all his A’s. Instead, he’d been sitting around, waiting. Waiting for her to notice how much he cared for her, to notice what a fine boyfriend he would make—loyal and hard-working with six-figure earning potential. Waiting for a miracle, because Wanda couldn’t see past the surface—the not-so-muscular body, the glasses that made him look like a hoot owl. She couldn’t see and, other than his small, spur-of-the-moment attempt to make her jealous by claiming Ronnie was his still enamored ex-girlfriend, he’d never done anything to really open Wanda’s eyes.
Something snapped and he went after her. His fingers snaked around her wrist.
“It can’t wait,” he said, and then he hauled her into his arms and kissed her. In front of God and the overflow of students from the Student Union building. More importantly, in front of her friends, and he didn’t feel a moment’s hesitation. No fear that she’d slap his face and turn away, cancel their late-night tutoring sessions, and allow him no more contact with her whatsoever.
He didn’t want to be her friend or her study buddy or her sometimes lover when no one was looking and she was in the mood and the planets were in perfect alignment. He wanted to be more.
Danny was through dreaming. He was a man of action. He always had been, he just hadn’t realized it. But now … Thanks to Valentine Tremaine, he’d discovered a part of himself. His self-confidence when it came to women.
In the Midnight Hour Page 27
