In the Midnight Hour (20 page)

Veronique walked out of the bathroom at that moment, wearing a long nightgown buttoned up to the throat. An innocent’s nightgown. But as concealing as the white cloth might be, it didn’t hide the dark shadow of her nipples, the enticing swell of her hips, and it didn’t come anywhere close to covering her mouth. Full, sensuous lips made for kissing and other pleasurable activities.

She cast another searching glance around the room, climbed into bed, and curled beneath the blankets. Val simply sat nearby and watched her and for a few blissful moments, that was enough. Just to know she was there, nearby, and he had the pleasure of drinking his fill with his eyes, contented him and he felt a moment’s reprieve from the lust gripping his soul.

That is, until her breathing grew deep and even and her clenched fingers abandoned the edge of the sheet. Relaxed in sleep, she rolled onto her back, her arms thrown over her head, her lips parted. A soft smile curved her mouth and he knew she dreamt of him.

She touched her nipple through the fabric, her fingertips working at the delicate tip until a soft, mewling sound crawled up her throat.

Lust speared through him. Powerful. Consuming. And he couldn’t help himself. He inched closer to her and reached out to stroke her nipple himself. One touch and he could sate the desire scrambling his control. Just… one … touch…

His fingers stalled midway and curled into a fist.

Mon Dieu
, hadn’t he learned anything from that bullet?

Chapter Ten

This was not the film for Ronnie to be watching this early in the morning, not after the night she’d had.

“… notice the heightened skin color as the stimulation increases…”

She’d had the dream again. The same exciting, infuriating dream that had haunted her as diligently as the ghost himself.

Her skin prickled as she remembered the slow glide of Val’s hands on her body, skimming away clothing until she lay naked and panting and wanting. So much. Too much. But then, he was just a ghost, and it was just a dream.

Her nipples pebbled in memory of his fierce suckling, the playful nips of his teeth, his rasping tongue.

That’s when last night’s dream had taken a sharp detour from the orgasmic fantasy she’d come to expect and anticipate. Val had abandoned her nipple to lap at her skin, his tongue licking a sensual path
up
rather than down.

To her mouth.

He’d kissed her then, the taste of whiskey and warmth intoxicating her more than a dozen of her Aunt Mabel’s rum balls. Her heart had revved like a race car at the starting line. His warm, rich scent had filled her nostrils. His muscles had tightened, rippling and flexing beneath her clinging hands. His hair-dusted chest had grazed her bare breasts.

Then she’d opened her eyes and seen …
Danny
.

Danny?

In the dream, she’d felt Val, but she’d seen Danny.

Okay, so last night had turned into more of a nightmare. An erotic, intensely arousing nightmare.

Now if she could just wake up.

“… the increase in blood flow causes the preorgasmic flush…”

She tried to concentrate on taking notes. Calm, cool, indifferent notes about the various stages—countdown, as one of her classmates had dubbed it—that a woman’s body goes through as it prepares for blast-off.

“… breaths come more rapidly, more shallow, as excitement increases, accompanied by a feeling of lightheadedness, shivering…”

You ain’t just whistling Dixie
. Her pen shook from her trembling grip and she tightened her fingers.

Concentrate!

“… the heart accelerates, pumping blood to the highly sensitive tissues, making them swell and blossom …”

And how
, she thought as she shifted in her seat, fighting for a more comfortable position.

It’s just a
film
and last night was …

What the hell was last night? The dream had been just a dream, but what about the part before that? The kiss where she’d felt Val, yet kissed Danny?

“There you have it,” Guidry finally declared, flipping on the light switch and saving Ronnie from her disconcerting thoughts. “The levels leading up to sexual climax for the female. I hope everyone made adequate notes.”

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart and overly sensitized tissues. She wasn’t sure about notes, but she’d just gleaned some firsthand knowledge.
Five, four, three, two
…
Houston, we have a problem
.

She drank in another deep draft of air that finally succeeded in calming her down. Geez, it was bad enough to get so excited over a dream, but to actually… to blast off… right here in the classroom … She might be a little sexually deprived, but she hadn’t sunk that low.

Yet.

“We will have a quiz the next class period,” Guidry went on in his boring, no-nonsense voice, despite the flushed faces of some of the females—stimulation level two, for the record—and decidedly stiff movements of the men—Ronnie wasn’t sure about the level, since they hadn’t reviewed male response. At least Ronnie wasn’t the only person affected by the subject matter.

“The quiz will be followed by a film depicting the stimulation levels for the male.”

“My kind of film,” the woman next to Ronnie declared as she slapped her notebook closed and started packing away her things.

Guidry, who’d been busy working the projector, turned. His hard black gaze zeroed in on the woman. “Did you say something, Miss Wright?”

“I, um…”

“Do speak up.” He waved his arms in a motion for her to continue. “And enlighten us all.”

“I said I, um, am really looking forward to the film.”

“And why would that be?”

The woman grinned. “Well, I’ve always been particularly interested in male stimulation.”

“Have you, now?” Her enthusiastic nod met with several chuckles and a glare from Guidry. “Then you’ll be more than eager to write a twenty-page study on the male sexual organs during each level of stimulation.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open. “
Twenty pages?
”

“Due at the beginning of the next class, and if you choose to argue the point, I will give you a demerit for every word that comes out of your mouth. Ten demerits equals an F for the semester, need I remind you?” The woman shook her head and Guidry snapped, “Class dismissed.”

“The guy has no heart,” the woman grumbled as she gathered up her book bag, “and no sense of humor, and a stick shoved so far up his butt, it would take a specialist to surgically remove the damned thing.”

“They don’t call him Iron Ball for nothing,” a guy wearing blue jean shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt offered. “Cheer up, honey.” The guy winked. “At least the subject matter’s interesting, and I’d personally be willing to help you study.”

“I bet you would. …”

The banter faded as Ronnie grabbed her book bag and hightailed it to her next class, pausing to lose two quarters in a vending machine in her search for a diet soda. Finally, sitting in the ice-cold lecture hall without any visual reminders of last night, she managed to calm her body down completely. No pounding heart, no rushing adrenaline, no tingling skin. Now, her mind was a different matter altogether.

She couldn’t stop thinking, replaying the kiss, the dream, the Val fantasy versus the Danny reality.

Danny?
Could she really and truly have been turned on by her buddy? Her pal? The closest thing she had to a brother?

Uh-uh. No way. No how.

Love-starved. That’s what Ronnie decided by the time she reached the library for her evening shift. She’d ignored her social life for so long that when she’d finally taken the time to kiss a guy, even Danny, she’d been knocked clear out of her socks.

Any guy would have had the same effect and, just to prove it, Ronnie intended to conduct a few quick experiments. In the interest of science—she needed to try out Val’s kissing techniques and accumulate documentation for her paper—and her own sanity.

Now all she needed was a few single males between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.

She grabbed a cart of returned law books and headed for the second floor, her gaze scanning the aisles. No hot prospects. Just a gray-haired gentleman she recognized as one of the math professors, two female students, and an entire group of sixth graders on a field trip.

Oh, well. She had over four hours until her shift ended.

Two long, futile hours later, she shoved the last book into place, pushed her empty cart down the P aisle, and ran smack-dab into a prime specimen.

He was tall, with short dark hair and brown eyes, and no wedding ring, she quickly determined after a glance at his left hand. So far, so good. Dressed in jeans, an oxford shirt, and loafers, he was college preppy all the way and not a day over twenty-five. Probably a law student, judging by his taste in books. She’d definitely hit pay dirt.

“Just relax, man,” he told his companion, a long-haired
Wayne’s World
reject dressed in worn jeans and a T-shirt. “I’ll only be a minute and then we’ll head on over to the wet T-shirt contest at the Keg.”

Wet T-shirt contest?

He quickly slipped from top-grade soil to the smelly stuff her grandmother used to put on her roses, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. While Ronnie might be insulted at his choice of leisure activities, she wasn’t going to marry him, or anyone for that matter. She was just going to kiss the guy.

“I have to get this book for my contracts class—Umph!” His words ended in a grunt as Ronnie’s cart hit him in the midsection with a little more force than she’d meant.

Okay, so she’d meant it.

“I’m so sorry,” she purred. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” She bent down, picked up the book he’d dropped, and handed it back to him.

“I think I’ll live—” His words broke off as she planted one squarely on his surprised lips. His surfer friend let loose a loud wolf call and Ronnie blushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, but she’d come too far to pull away before she’d proven her point.

“Wow,” the guy blurted when she finally ended the kiss. “That was something.”

Nothing was more like it. No tingling or toe-curling or goose bumps dancing down her spine. A big fat zero.

“If that was your way of saying I’m sorry,” he told her, “I’m up for another apology.”

“Uh, no, I—I was just testing a new brand of lip gloss for the, um, engineering department.” She smiled. “Yeah, that’s it. Engineering. Special project. It’s strawberry-flavored, all-natural, long-lasting, guaranteed to take a licking and keep on ticking.”

His gaze narrowed and zeroed in on her mouth. “It doesn’t even look like you’re wearing lip gloss.”

“It’s one of those ultrasheer things you’re not supposed to see. Just taste. It’s going to revolutionize the cosmetics business. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Gotta go.”

“Hey, don’t you want to know what I think? If I’m part of the sample, shouldn’t you ask me questions or something?”

“Questions? Oh, yeah. Sure. So, um, what did you think?”

He grinned and licked his lips. “I’m not sure. Try me again.”

“I’ll take that as an undecided.” She whipped the cart around and hightailed it around the corner. Lip gloss testing? Geez, you’re a genius on your feet, Ron.

“What’s wrong with you?” Delta asked when Ronnie burst into the snack room much later, after three more attractive, single, twenty-something guys and an equal number of kisses. “Are you coming down with something?”

“No.” She retrieved a diet soda from the minifridge and tried to drown her disappointment in a rush of caffeine. Two long gulps and her heart was still pounding, her mortification factor at its peak, and disappointment… well, she’d shot clear off the scale on that one.

Chocolate. She needed chocolate.

Her fingers dove back inside the fridge for a piece of the fudge cake Delta had brought yesterday. She sliced off a hunk and grabbed a fork. Her taste buds launched into the “Hallelujah Chorus” at the first bite, temporarily easing the awful truth.

She’d fallen for Danny’s kiss.
Danny
, of all people.

She inhaled several more bites.

“You look flushed,” Delta pointed out as she stabbed a bite of the delicious-smelling food on her plate. “You’re not catching the flu, are you?”

“I wouldn’t be that lucky.” If she’d been sick, she could have blamed some nasty little bacteria for sapping her common sense. A fever-induced delusion. She touched her forehead. Lukewarm. “Someone Upstairs is definitely out to get me.” She eyed Delta. “Did you ever think you knew how you felt about someone, only to discover that what you thought you felt isn’t even close to what you really feel?” She shook her head. “Am I making any sense?”

“Actually,” Delta said, eyeing the plate in front of her, “you’re making perfect sense.”

“I am?”

The woman nodded and indicated her plate. “Chicken Florentine, courtesy of Cassius Gibbons.” She took a bite and frowned.

“That bad?”