Shades of Midnight

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “I do love you,” he said, reaching out to pluck a tortoiseshell comb from her hair. “I never stopped.” One by one he removed the combs that held her hair in place. When it was loose he ran his fingers through the thick, waving strands. He still touched her as if he were afraid she might break.

  “I’ve dreamed about this,” she whispered as he began to unbutton her blouse.

  “So have I.”

  “So far, having you here is much better than any dream.”

  He agreed with a hum as he lowered his head to kiss her exposed throat. His lips were gentle, arousing, and they were never still. A kiss, a gentle sucking, as if he were drawing a bit of her into his mouth, the teasing flick of a tongue… and he didn’t stop at her throat but trailed his wicked mouth downward.

  When he reached the lacy edge of her corset, he lifted his head. “What color is the corset today, Evie?”

  “White,” she said. “Just plain white.” White. The color of the bridal gown she didn’t buy two years ago, considering such a purchase too impractical. A bright pearly shade that symbolized purity and goodness and light. “But there is lace,” she said, in case he was disappointed. “And a pink ribbon.”

  As he began to unfasten the confining corset, his fingers nimbly working the hooks and eyes that ran down the front of the lacy undergarment, he brushed his fingers against the skin he bared. And every stroke, no matter how delicate, set her skin on fire. It was as if she were being touched for the first time. As if she had lived her entire life without human contact.

  “I have never wanted or needed anything in my life the way I want you now,” he whispered.

  When he lowered his head to kiss her throat again, his fingers never slowing in their work, she closed her eyes and savored the knowledge that he was telling her the truth.

  *

  Lucien drifted down, covering Eve’s body with his. Her honeyed strands were spread across the pillow, thick and silky, waving this way and that. His clothes were strewn across the floor and so were hers, so when he laid his body over hers they were flesh to flesh, heart to heart and thigh to thigh.

  A few minutes ago his heart had been pounding with fear. The fear of losing the woman he loved, the fear of facing a life without Eve in it. Now his heart hammered against his chest for another reason altogether.

  Her hands skimmed down his back, and she closed her eyes as she experienced the feel of his bare flesh, the length of his body along hers. Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaped. Her hands finally settled on his hips, where her fingers fluttered. She was shy and bold, perhaps wary of the joining that awaited her, but eager, all the same.

  He kissed her mouth. She had such a fine mouth, so soft and sweet and responsive. A man could get lost in a woman who kissed like Eve did, with her heart and soul, with sweetness and passion. With innocence and sensuality, rolled together for one perfect kiss.

  Her throat shuddered beneath his kiss. She was so sensitive. So ardent. And she loved him.

  Love frightened him more than ghosts, murderers, preachers, and secret societies, all rolled into one. Not because he doubted his love or hers, but because he was afraid he would fail.

  He wanted to give Evie everything. This night and every night to come, he wanted to make her happy. No, more than happy. He wanted her to be completely satisfied with her life, to never regret loving him, to close her eyes each and every night content.

  While he flicked his tongue across the hollow at the base of her throat, Eve’s legs fell a little farther apart. He felt her movement beneath him, felt the brush of her bare legs against his.

  Rising up, he watched the play of his fingers against Eve’s pale, rounded breasts. The coral nipples hardened as he watched; her perfectly curved breasts heaved as she breathed deep. There was not a more beautiful sight in the world, he was certain of it.

  He licked one nipple first, tasted it, flicked his tongue over the tip before taking it deep into his mouth. Eve arched beneath him, pressed her body more closely to his as he suckled her, one breast and then the other. She moaned, lost in sensation. Feeling and knowing and wanting nothing but this… the way they touched.

  He took her mouth once again, and she touched him, those soft fingers circling around his arousal, curious fingers testing him, learning his shape and size and heat.

  “Now?” she whispered against his lips.

  He was tempted, he was ready… he wanted her so badly, but… “No.”

  It wasn’t enough that he was ready and that Eve wanted him. This was her first time, their first time, and he didn’t simply want her to enjoy what was to come, he wanted her to scream, to shout, to find a pleasure more intense than any she had ever imagined.

  Such pleasure didn’t come quickly.

  *

  Everything throbbed in time with her heart; she was hot all over, and unexpected tingles worked their way through her body, one after the other. Her toes curled, her breath caught in her chest, and still Lucien kissed her. Everywhere.

  He held her wrists and pinned her gently to the bed while he kissed his way down her body. He started with her fingers, kissed his way over her wrists and down her arm until he reached her inner elbow, where he lingered over the sensitive skin. Oh, more of those unexpected tingles danced through her veins.

  She would never have guessed that someone who could forget to eat or catch a train or pack a nightshirt would be so incredibly detail-oriented when it came to making love.

  Lucien kissed his way over one breast and then the other, and released his grip on her wrists so he could move lower, to once again trail his wicked mouth over her torso, flicking that tongue around her belly button. This time he did not stop there, but continued downward. He kissed her inner thighs, parted her legs wider, and then laid his mouth on her in a way that made her arch up and into him.

  She couldn’t stop the cry that left her lips, the hungry moan that begged for more. He gave her more. His tongue worked magic, his fingers joined in. Sensations she had never known existed began to surge through her body.

  Ribbons of pleasure whipped through her, unexpected and so powerful she could think of nothing else. Her hips rocked, she quivered against Lucien’s mouth. His caress grew harder, faster, more ardent, until her climax hit her and she cried out, her hips coming off the bed as Lucien grasped her in his hands and tasted her response.

  She sank to the bed, shaking, exhausted, unable to breathe. No single part of her body was unaffected by the experience; she would never be the same.

  Lucien climbed up over her body like a cat, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “You’re completely and totally wicked,” she said breathlessly.

  “Thank you.”

  She rolled up, gave Lucien a smile of her own, and gently pushed him onto his back. “I want to be completely and totally wicked,” she said, reaching out to take hold of his erection. She didn’t know if she could ever be so bold, if she could ever be completely without restraint, as Lucien was.

  “In time,” he whispered.

  If she had learned nothing else, she had learned that to waste a moment of this life was foolish, the most foolish mistake of all. Her fingers tested and teased, learned the shape and size of Lucien with fingers much bolder than she had thought she could possess. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and she watched his face as she caressed his length.

  Heaven above, he was beautiful. Every desire, every emotion he felt, was on his face for her, and the world, to see. No wonder he didn’t like to lie. A simple falsehood would probably show on his face so clearly he couldn’t fool a child.

  He was honest and real, unlike anyone she had ever known. She saw so much, even now. She aroused him physically, with her fingers, with her kiss, but what they had was more than that. Deeper than flesh.

  Lucien reached down and manacled her wrist, pulled her hand away from him. “Enough.” He whirled her over and onto her back, and she laughed as they spun together and the bed bounced.

  “Enough
?”

  Once again Lucien hovered above her. His face was close, his body aligned to hers. “Tonight, I want to give you everything I have. I want to be inside you when I come. I want to feel you all around me, Evie, hot and wet and mine. All mine. I want to see your face, when that moment comes; I want to feel your legs around me and I want to hear you scream.”

  He guided himself to her, touched her, prodded at her wet entrance.

  Eve’s smile faded. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of Lucien entering her body, slowly, gently. Her body was untried, untested, and no matter that she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything… it took time for her body to adjust to his. She stretched, opened, dampened for him.

  When Lucien broke through the barrier inside her, making her his in the oldest possible way, she cried out. Not in pain, but in awe at the tenderness and pleasure and intensity of joining with the man she loved.

  There was more to this than a physical experience, more than pleasure. There was love, so deep and true that the room shimmered with it.

  She wrapped her legs around him, and he very tenderly rocked in and out of her, stroking, filling, testing the boundaries of their united bodies. She didn’t think it was possible to want more, not so soon, but as Lucien loved her she did want more. Her hips rocked up and met his thrust, her body and his swayed… joined and mated and screamed for more.

  She shattered again, with Lucien buried inside her this time. She screamed, clutched his body to hers, and felt her inner muscles clenching and unclenching around him. He drove deep one more time, harder than before, and moaned as he did, finally, give her everything.

  Depleted, completely exhausted, Eve melted into the mattress. With her legs wrapped around Lucien’s and her arms around his neck, she brought him with her.

  “Love is an amazing thing,” she said breathlessly.

  “Yes, it is.” Lucien’s breath was warm against her neck.

  “I will always love you,” she whispered, her eyes on the ceiling, her breath and heartbeat gradually returning to normal.

  “I’ll remind you of this moment and that promise when I forget an important anniversary or neglect to pack my socks or spend all night hunched over my equipment.”

  “As long as you never forget to come home,” she teased, threading her fingers though his longish hair.

  Lucien rose up and looked down at her, and the expression on his face was completely serious. “I will never forget to come home to you, or that you love me, or that I love you more than life.”

  Using great care, as if he thought she might break, Lucien rolled Eve onto her side and raked his loving hand down her spine. He laid his lips there, and she closed her eyes. He had the most wonderful mouth.

  “Are you starting all over again?” she whispered. “So soon?”

  “Not just yet,” he said, his hand working up and down her back. “Later.”

  In the dark, Eve smiled. Later and always.

  Lucien’s hand continued to caress her back. His fingers traced her spine, he feathered kisses on her skin. “When you were lying there,” he said, his breath warm against her flesh, “lying on the floor with Viola, I didn’t see her. I only saw you. You were lying there on the floor, and I watched while the knife went into your back. You screamed. You bled. And no matter how I tried, I couldn’t reach you.” His breath hitched. “I tried, I tried with everything I had, and I couldn’t get to you. It was without doubt the most horrible moment of my life.” He laid his lips on her shoulder. “You must promise not to take foolish chances with the life of the woman I love, with the life of the woman who will be mother to my children.”

  Eve sighed, smiled, and rocked her hips back so she rested against Lucien. “I didn’t intend to do anything dangerous. I was only trying to help Viola.”

  Lucien wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer, until they were again like one, curled and cuddled together. “Promise me, Evie,” he demanded.

  “I promise,” she whispered, and then she drifted into sleep with Lucien, the man she loved, her definitely not-ordinary man, holding her close.

  *

  Lucien opened his eyes to find Eve sitting on the edge of the bed, a tray in her hands and a wide smile on her face. She wore her wrapper and nothing else, and her hair was loose and falling over one shoulder. The very sight of her took his breath away.

  The light that illuminated her face so softly was morning sun breaking through the curtains; he’d doused the lamps downstairs hours ago, leaving a sleeping Eve just long enough to extinguish the lights, then hurrying back up the stairs to lie with her again.

  “I made you breakfast,” she said, setting the tray on the mattress beside him. “Biscuits, eggs, grits and coffee.”

  “And tea for you,” he said as he rolled up on one elbow.

  “Yes.”

  He wasn’t hungry, but he sat up and ate some of what Eve had prepared while she sat beside him, drank tea, and fidgeted.

  “All right,” he said, placing the breakfast tray on the floor by the bed and turning his attention to Eve—who continued to squirm. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He placed a finger on her face and made her look at him. “Are you sorry about last night?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! It’s not that.” She smiled. “Never that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She placed her teacup on the bedside table. “Are Alistair and Viola… gone?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “Things are not as they were. Viola knows Alistair didn’t kill her, but everything is not settled.”

  “The murderer is still out there, somewhere.”

  Lucien nodded.

  “Do we have to find out who the murderer is for them to move on?”

  “I’m not sure.” He wished he knew. “I don’t think they’ll relive the murder again. In fact, I’m almost certain they won’t. There’s no reason for it.”

  Eve leaned against the headboard, and the wrapper parted to reveal one leg. She seemed not to notice. “Viola didn’t visit my dreams last night.” She sounded disappointed.

  “It was a busy night for Viola.” Lucien laid his hand on Eve’s knee. “And for you. I’m sure that one day, before they move on, she will visit to thank you.”

  Eve’s head snapped around. “I don’t want her to thank me. That’s not important. I want to talk to her, that’s all. There are so many unanswered questions.” She reached out and caressed his cheek. “After last night, I know her so well. There are so many thoughts floating just out of reach, answers that are in my head, so close and yet…” She sighed. “Not close enough.”

  “I know what you mean. You have a little piece of Viola inside you now. Memories not your own might tease you, for a while. A few days, perhaps.”

  “And then they’ll be gone forever?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, but I want to know!”

  “What do you want to know, love?”

  Eve laid those curious green eyes on his face. “How could she let another man touch her that way, when she loved Alistair? How could she think it wouldn’t matter?”

  “We’ll probably never know,” he said. “We’re not meant to have every answer, Evie, only the ones we need.”

  “But…” She shook her head slowly. “Last night was so wonderful, so incredibly beautiful, but only because it was you here with me. How could Viola allow another man to touch her on the chance that she might find herself with child? For all she knew, she was the one who could not conceive. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “She was lonely. She made a mistake. Honey, I know you found a connection with Viola, and it’s because of that connection that we were able to reach her last night. You feel close to her, because you two formed a strong bond. You like her. That doesn’t mean she was perfect, that she only made good decisions in her life.” He leaned over and kissed Evie quickly. “She was a human before
she was a ghost, and trust me… both almost always come imperfect.”

  “But…”

  He untied her wrapper, slipped his hand inside to cup one bare breast. “I don’t want to talk about your ghosts right now.”

  “But I can’t just…”

  He flicked one thumb over a nipple that instantly hardened, and Eve muttered a surprised and soft, “Oh.”

  Lucien peeled the wrapper off of Eve’s luscious body. “I want to make love to you again, and then we’ll sleep a little more, and then we’ll go to town and celebrate Halloween with the rest of the Plummerville Ghost Society.”

  He pulled Eve down to lie beside him, and already her eyes were dreamy, her face slightly flushed, her lips parted.

  “Tonight will be for Alistair and Viola, if they need us. Today is for you and me. No one else.”

  She draped her arms around his neck and muttered a very uncharacteristically agreeable, “Yes, dear.”

  Chapter 18

  It was a lovely afternoon, the gentle breeze cool but not so cold that Lucien regretted leaving his overcoat behind in Wilmington. The sun shone, on occasion, but every now and then clouds blocked the sunshine and the air grew cooler.

  Eve was more beautiful than usual today. She wore a calico dress that was a lovely shade of blue, not too dark, not too pale. She’d rummaged in her wardrobe for much too long, sifting through dark and drab dresses to find this one. He had felt a touch of impatience, then, but she was definitely worth the wait.

  That chore done, she’d then spent longer than usual fiddling with her hair, which was pinned atop her head as usual but sported a number of soft curls around her face. Some of those curls had been there when they’d left the house, others had been added by the occasional gust of wind. He preferred to see those honey strands loose and spread across a pillow, but still… the hint of wildness was charming.

  Her shawl was cream-colored and fine, probably not warm enough for the day but lovely, and it did offer some protection from the cold.

  He and Eve walked, arm in arm, up and down the main street of Plummerville. They strolled around the square, stopped now and then to sit on the benches there, and ate ungodly amounts of pumpkin pie and apple cake. Children played games—organized and of their own making—while their parents and grandparents visited with their neighbors.