Midnight Fantasies

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She hesitated to offer him her bed. Sure, they’d had sex, but somehow sharing sheets seemed more intimate. And there was that whole morning-after awkwardness to deal with. Better to part now during the afterglow?

  “I’ll drive you home whenever you’re ready,” he said through a yawn. “I’ll walk back to pick up my Explorer first.”

  She swallowed. “Michael, my apartment is upstairs. You…don’t have to go.”

  He shifted. “Are you asking me to spend the night?”

  Be breezy. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you having an accident on the way home.”

  He inhaled noisily. “I’m sorry, but this is all new to me. Again.”

  “Don’t feel obligated—”

  “I don’t. I mean, neither one of us—”

  “—is looking for—”

  “—a serious relationship.”

  “Right.” She bit into her lip. Good thing that was out in the open.

  A terrific crack of lightning lit the shop for a split second, and rolling thunder followed in waves, like fireworks.

  “Is that offer to stay still open?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I accept.”

  She sat up and pulled the bodice of the dress around her. He offered to zip her up, and when his warm fingers brushed her skin, Rebecca felt the first stirrings of trouble in her chest. No…she wasn’t falling for Michael. She was on the rebound, and he was still in love with his ex-wife. They had just made each other feel better, that was all.

  Yes, that was all.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Right behind you.”

  They felt their way out of the dressing room, and she rooted a flashlight from beneath the counter, along with the tin of Mrs. Conrad’s cream candy. She was starving. They were almost at the bottom of the steps leading up to her apartment when Rebecca stepped on something round and slipped. Michael caught and steadied her, then shined the flashlight beam at the floor.

  A foam peanut.

  Rebecca cut her gaze toward the supply closet. Mind your own business, Harry.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I CALLED YOU LAST NIGHT,” his brother said. “You screening your calls?”

  Michael squirmed in his desk chair. “No, Ike.”

  “What then? I’ve called every night this week.”

  “I’ve been busy with the restaurant. We’re reopening in a couple of days.”

  “I’ve been calling the restaurant, too, and Rico said that come six o’clock sharp, you’re outta there. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

  “You got a woman, don’t you?”

  In a previous life, Ike had been a bloodhound. “Don’t, Ike.”

  “I knew it, I knew it. Who is she?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Waitress? Customer? Somebody you picked up at a bar?”

  Michael remained silent, hoping his brother would wear himself out.

  “And I bet you feel a whole lot better about the divorce, don’t you?”

  “A little,” he admitted. Actually a lot.

  “I knew it, I knew it. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Yes, Ike, you told me.”

  His brother hooted. “Will I get to meet her at the reopening? I was calling to RSVP, by the way.”

  “We’ll see,” he hedged. “And I’ll put you down for two?”

  “Yeah, I can probably scare up a date within two days.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  “Later, bro.”

  Michael hung up, shaking his head. Ike meant well, but he was just so…base.

  Then he puffed out his cheeks—he was a good one to talk. For the better part of two weeks, he’d spent every evening with Rebecca under the guise of working. And true, they had made a lot of progress on plans for the reopening. More often than not, though, she’d try on one of the costumes she was making for his employees or she’d ask him to try one on, and things would…digress.

  Or they would accidentally brush against each other and…digress.

  Or she would drop a pencil and they would…digress.

  He wiped his hand across his mouth. God, sex with Rebecca was like salve to his soul. It was exciting and comfortable at the same time. He would lie with his head between her breasts, utterly sated, yet hours—sometimes minutes—later, he’d crave her lovemaking again. The incredible mix of tenderness and enthusiasm she exuded reminded him of younger days, when sex was new and wondrous.

  In fact, he decided, it was the mind-blowing sex that was messing with his mind. It was simply too soon to care about Rebecca—they’d never even been on a date, for heaven’s sake. She was getting over her fiancé, and he was getting over Sonia, that was all. Exorcising grief. Seeking comfort. Restoring confidence.

  The reason he and Rebecca could talk so easily, he reasoned, was that the situation wasn’t threatening—they both knew it was temporary.

  A knock on his door was a blessed rescue from the possibilities plaguing him. Of course for a second he entertained the hope that Rebecca had come to see him. Not a good sign.

  “Come in.”

  Rico stuck his head inside the doorway. “The director of the dance company is here…she wants to discuss Friday night’s lineup.”

  He nodded. “Let me grab a file.”

  The door closed and he thumbed through the stack of folders associated with the reopening—contractors, interior designers, ah…dancers. He glanced at the phone and wondered what Rebecca was doing for lunch. There was a place over on Shively Street that he’d always wanted to try, but never seemed to get around to it.

  Then he frowned. What if she construed the offer as a date, as an invitation to take their…liaison to the next level? And what if the next level led to another level, then another? When he looked to the future, he could picture Rebecca at his side. But start with slim odds for a successful marriage, and add his track record, and he was most likely looking at a second divorce down the road. Every time Ike met a woman, he was convinced she was “the” one. Now, his brother kept a divorce attorney on retainer.

  No, it was too soon to become involved with Rebecca, to drag her into the aftermath of his divorce. Best to keep things clear-cut. Untangled. Simple.

  That decided, he picked up the file and headed toward the front of the restaurant. Rico stood talking to an attractive middle-aged black woman dressed in a bright yellow dress.

  “This is Ms. Crema Carroll,” Rico said. “From the dance studio.”

  “How do you do, Ms. Carroll.” Michael shook her hand. “I’m—”

  The front door opened behind the woman and to his amazement, Rebecca appeared, then flashed him a secret smile across the room. His heart lifted crazily. She wore snug jeans and a red windbreaker and navy tennis shoes. Fabulous.

  “I’m, um—”

  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks were pink. Just looking at her made him think of spring. And bedsprings.

  “He’s Michael Pierce,” Rico explained to Ms. Carroll, giving him an odd look.

  Michael shook himself, then turned his attention back to the woman. “Yes, I’m Michael Pierce. Thanks for stopping by. Would you excuse me for just one minute while I speak with a vendor?”

  Ms. Carroll nodded, and Michael suggested that Rico show her the finished stage in the dining room. Then he turned to Rebecca, shamelessly pleased to see her. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she said, then nodded toward the parking lot. “I brought the costumes.”

  “You’re finished? Great.”

  “Yeah,” she said, then shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “And I was wondering…if maybe you had time to grab lunch.”

  At her hopeful expression, alarms sounded in his head. It was happening—complications. Today lunch, tomorrow, meet the parents. After all, she probably still had a wedding gown hanging in her closet. Panic reared.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” he said, altho
ugh he barely recognized that tinny, forced voice as his own. He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely after Ms. Carroll. “Last-minute details.”

  “Sure. Some other time, maybe.”

  “Hmm.” He jerked his thumb toward the dining room. “I have to run, but I’ll send Rico out to carry in the costumes.”

  “Okay,” she said with a little smile. “See you later?”

  More alarms. He pushed back his cap and scratched his temple. “I was thinking I might have to work late tonight, considering we’re getting down to the wire.”

  Another little smile. “I understand.” She lifted a hand and turned toward the door.

  His chest squeezed painfully. “But you’re still coming to the reopening party?”

  She opened the door and looked back. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  REBECCA UNLOCKED THE DOOR of her shop and removed the Back In One Hour sign. Her chest tingled from Michael’s rebuff—it was obvious that he didn’t intend to see her again. Their affair had run its course, as she’d known it would.

  They had an unspoken understanding, she and Michael. Help each other past the rough spot of a breakup. Indulge in great sex with no strings attached. Talk endlessly afterward because they weren’t trying to impress each other.

  She bit down on the inside of her cheek. Before their affair had even begun, she knew it wouldn’t last. So why did it hurt so much?

  A cleansing inhale put her mind back on business. She had to finish those nun’s habits by the weekend, and the costume she was going to wear to the reopening of Incognito. No matter how things had ended with Michael, she wished him well.

  Battling tears, she went to the cash register and broke open the coin wrappers of pennies and dimes she’d gotten from the bank. In the dimes compartment lay a foam peanut.

  Rebecca shot a glance toward the supply closet, then sighed. “Okay, Harry, you win.” She closed the cash register drawer, walked to the closet and dragged out the box Lana had sent to her. Harry had deflated a bit more, so, feeling like an idiot, she put her mouth over the air nozzle in the side of his head. He expanded appreciably as she blew several long breaths into him. Those darn peanuts were everywhere.

  The bell rang on the door. “Hidy-hoo.”

  She winced—caught. She replaced the rubber stopper and turned sheepishly.

  Quincy grinned across the showroom, his gaze on the doll. “I take it this is Harry, your good luck love charm.” His rich laugh rolled out.

  “Don’t rub it in.”

  He set a parcel on the counter, then walked closer. “Hey, he’s cool. But why the sudden change of heart?”

  She frowned. “Let’s just say he’s difficult to ignore.” She stood Harry against the wall and signed on the clipboard Quincy extended.

  “Everyone is all atwitter about the masquerade ball,” he said. “Looks like your little after hours project with Michael Pierce was a success.”

  Her heart squeezed, but she tried to look casual. “I guess we’ll know Friday night.”

  He angled his head. “You all right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Dickie been causing trouble?”

  She laughed dryly. “No. Dickie has moved on to his new life and new wife.” Everyone was moving on, it seemed. She blinked furiously to stem the tears that assailed her.

  “Oh, honey, what is it?” he asked, rubbing her shoulder.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, but her voice was clogged with emotion.

  He squinted at her. “It’s Mr. Pierce, isn’t it?”

  She sniffed mightily, afraid to answer.

  He sighed. “So, you took my advice, and now you’ve gone and fallen in love with the guy.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “I’m not in love with him. It’s just that…I thought our time together meant something, that’s all.” She wiped at her eyes and smiled. “Don’t mind me—I’m in a bit of a slump.”

  “If I thought it would turn out like this,” he murmured, “I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, pulling herself together. “Really. If nothing else, it helped me to put things with Dickie in perspective.” In short, Michael had likely ruined her for all other men. “I’ll be fine.”

  He nodded sympathetically, then snapped his fingers. “Hey—I need a costume for the masquerade party.”

  She smiled, glad for the change in subject. “That I can do something about.”

  “You’re still going, aren’t you?”

  “I told Michael I would, although I’m not so sure he really wants me there. It could be awkward, I suppose.”

  “I’ll bet you’re wearing something fabulous, aren’t you?”

  She walked behind the counter and uncovered a mannequin dressed in the silver beaded flapper gown and turban she’d spent hours making.

  “Wow,” he breathed.

  She was pleased with the outfit herself—she’d wanted to create something special to commemorate the occasion. And she’d wanted to look wonderful for Michael.

  The bell on the door rang and Rebecca turned to wait on her customer. But her feet faltered at the sight of Sonia Pierce, looking like a designer-clad lioness in all her blond glory.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THE TRIBUNE IS HERE,” Rico reported excitedly. He looked resplendent in a matador costume and red mask. “Everyone loves the new format.”

  Michael had chosen the Zorro costume for himself—it held good memories. He looked out over the dining room, packed with patrons dressed in elaborate costumes, their gazes riveted on the flamenco dancers on stage, swirling in colorful outfits and stomping to the rapid beat. “It looks like a success, all right.”

  “We’ve booked weekends for the next four months,” Rico said. “And the line on the sidewalk is a hundred deep just to come in and mingle.”

  He nodded. “Great.”

  Rico squinted at him. “Boss, you don’t look so good.”

  Michael rubbed his neck, which was sore from craning to look for Rebecca, which was ridiculous because he probably wouldn’t recognize her since everyone wore masks. “Rico, have you seen Ms. Valentine?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Is it possible she’s in the crowd outside?”

  “I gave her a VIP pass, sir.”

  Maybe she’d decided not to show after all. “Excuse me, I need a drink.” He strode over to the bar and signaled for a whiskey and Coke.

  He didn’t miss Rebecca—he couldn’t. He missed the sex, that was all, which he could get anywhere.

  You know better, his mind whispered, but he drowned the thought with a mouthful of the mixed drink.

  The performance ended, and the applause was thunderous. Gratification welled in his chest—if tonight was any indication, Incognito was on its way to recovery. Thanks to Rebecca.

  “There you are, little brother.” Ike came up and slapped him on the back. “Nice pants.”

  Michael glanced at his brother’s jeans and leather jacket. “Where’s your costume?”

  “This is it—I’m James Dean.”

  “Right.”

  “So where is she?”

  Michael took a drink from his glass. “Who?”

  “The girl. The hottie. The woman you’re screw—”

  “Shut up, Ike.”

  His brother’s eyebrows dove. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, no.” Ike laughed. “You didn’t go and fall for your rebound fling?”

  “Ike, please.”

  “My God, man, don’t you know anything about being divorced? The first woman you take to bed is a throwaway.”

  He frowned. “Gee, I can’t imagine why you’ve never had a relationship that worked.”

  Ike shrugged and said something, but Michael’s attention had gone to the back of the room where the crowd parted to make way for a woman wearing a magnificent silver flapper gown and a pink feathered mask that obscured most of her face. A silver turban covered her hair. It was easily the
most elaborate costume in the room and even garnered a smattering of applause. The woman panned the room, then stopped when she looked in his direction and made her way across the room.

  He smiled, not caring if Rebecca knew that he’d been waiting for her. The night now seemed complete somehow. She stopped in front of him and pulled up her mask. Michael’s mouth went dry.

  “Sonia.”

  Ike grunted. “I’m outta here.”

  Sonia smiled, gorgeous and golden. She’d painted a mole high on her cheek. “Hello, Michael, how are you?”

  “Fine,” he said stiffly. “I didn’t realize you were on the guest list.”

  “Michael, I couldn’t not come. You know that the restaurant was always more my pet than yours.”

  “It’s all mine now.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry the way it all washed out. I miss you.”

  His laugh was harsh. “Is your boyfriend out of town?”

  “Edward and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  A tiny sliver of vindication stabbed him and he took another drink from his glass. “What happened?”

  She shrugged prettily. “I guess the novelty wore off.”

  Meaning the attraction was purely physical, like his attraction to Rebecca, and vice versa.

  “Don’t you like my costume?” she asked, turning around.

  “It’s beautiful,” he agreed.

  “I went to the costume shop and told Rebecca I needed something special. She said a customer hadn’t needed this costume after all, so I bought it for a song.”

  “You saw Rebecca?” he asked carefully.

  “Yes.” She reached forward to pick something off his shirt—a favorite flirtation of hers. “You look rather fetching yourself, although that mask is a little fearsome.” When he didn’t respond, her mouth went contrite. “Michael, I know I handled things horribly, but I was hoping that you and I could give our marriage another try.”

  His heart pounded faster. Hadn’t he fantasized that Sonia would come back begging for forgiveness? Did he really want to see more than six years of his life go down the drain? These…feelings for Rebecca would probably wear off, so why would he let them get in the way of repairing his relationship with Sonia? Maybe he could salvage one failure from the Pierce brother broken marriage heap.