Midnight Craving (Contemporary Romance)

by Kimberly Ivey

  “What do you say, Armand? Want to continue our negotiations back at my hotel room? Or do you want to get in the back seat right now?”

  A shudder of disgust rippled through him. He had to get this woman off him…and free himself of this bloody seatbelt. “No, Tara. Our business dealings have ceased altogether.”

  “You’re making a mistake—the biggest one of your life.”

  He shook his head. “No, Tara, you’ve made a mistake. I am not the least bit interested in fucking you now, or ever. Now get off me.”

  “You stupid bastard,” she hissed as she scrambled to the drivers side and began buttoning her blouse. “I was prepared to hand you the world on a platter Armand.”

  “I already have the world on a platter,” he said as he finally freed himself from the wretched seat belt. “Now pop open the trunk so I might retrieve my belongings.”

  With much ceremony, she reached for the lever. He opened the car door, hurried to the back, lifted his bag and computer case, then slammed the trunk shut. After setting his things down, he returned to the passenger side and leaned on the car door. “I’ll honor my obligation to complete the novel for Devondale, Tara, but you, my dear have officially been fired as my agent.”

  Tara gunned the accelerator and spun out, spewing gravel on him. Sharp, hard pebbles pelted his face and arm. Insane woman!

  On the long walk back to the bed and breakfast he thought of Mira and the children all snuggled in their beds as he kept up a brisk pace along the side of the deserted highway. He hoped she was still awake when he arrived for he’d much to tell her. Perhaps if she weren’t too angry with him, she’d let him stay with her tonight—make sweet love to her until dawn.

  In the morning he’d cook the children funny bunny biscuits for breakfast with fresh strawberry syrup and whipped cream. Afterward, they’d go kite flying on the beach and with any luck tomorrow night, he’d propose marriage.

  Mira fed and bathed the children, scrubbing most of the beach sand from their hair. She doctored their sunburns with fresh aloe vera from the garden and sprinkled baby powder on the bed sheets for a comfy night’s sleep.

  After they were settled in for the night, she did the one thing she always did when her life was at low ebb. She unlocked the second closet in her bedroom.

  Opening the cedar chest within, she drew out a heavy garment bag and unzipped it. With trembling fingers she traced the intricate bead work on the beige satin wedding gown. Sequins and baby pearls had been hand sewn by her grandmother Ada. It was a beautiful gown—a vintage find in one of the mainland’s thrift stores. Her grandmother had put her special touches on it, letting out the seams to accommodate her pregnant form and making it a truly stunning wedding dress. But for all the love her grandmother poured into reworking the used wedding gown, she’d never forgotten the thoughtless remark Mira overheard Aunt Millie say to her father in the kitchen one day when they thought she was out of earshot:

  “Good thing I bought that beige wedding gown, Earl. It would be an abomination for that girl of yours to walk down the aisle in church pretending to be virginal. Why, she’s nearly eight months pregnant.”

  “I know,” her father had replied. “Grandma Ada was livid when she saw the dress, but I told her that Mira was my daughter and she had no say in the matter. Mira will wear a beige dress as is appropriate in her sinful situation.”

  Mira had hated the gown after that. Despised it actually. All that prevented her from ripping it to shreds—then, as well as now—was that her grandmother had reworked it with hundreds of hand sewn pearls and sequin embellishments.

  No longer wanting to dwell on the gown, she zipped the bag. There was one more memento she needed to touch and connect with, a yellow hand crocheted baby blanket, one grandmother Ada made also after she came to live with her, after the news of her pregnancy spread through town and shamed her into retreating.

  She held the blanket to her nose and breathed in hard. No sweet baby smell, no hint of the life that would have been. Only the smell of cedar from the chest. She sat down on the closet floor and cried into the damned thing. Not for Joel, the bastard. She was better off without him. No—she cried for the child she’d carried in her womb for eight months. And for the child she’d once been. For her loss of true innocence—the loss of herself so long ago.

  Once she’d had a releasing cry, she tucked everything back into the chest, closed the lid and locked it. Hopefully it would be a long time before she felt the need to open it again.

  In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, then went downstairs and set the dishes of food out for the cats. This was her life now—the Inn that Grandma Ada entrusted to her—the life she’d chosen years ago. She and Armand had shared a beautiful moment in time, but that’s all it was. Soon he’d return to his home in Los Angeles and she’d go back to doing what she did best—running the bed and breakfast. Alone.

  She took a cup of cocoa to the porch to listen to the lulling roar of the waves and thought about Armand, then quickly pushed all thoughts of him aside. She didn’t want to imagine him dining with Tara Carrington at the restaurant—or staying overnight with the woman in her hotel suite. Armand might be naïve about his agent, but Mira hadn’t missed the way Tara looked at him, nor the woman’s suggestive body posture as they spoke in the hallway. Tara was a she-cat on the prowl, and she’d set her designs on Armand.

  Not wanting to think about the day’s events, she laid her head back among the cushions and closed her eyes, letting the cool salt breeze soothe her nerves and the roar of the ocean’s surf lull her into a restful state.

  Mira awoke some time later, startled to discover she’d fallen asleep in the wicker porch chair. Groggy, she made her way into the darkened house. She’d just reached the second floor landing when she heard the door latch click downstairs.

  Armand? She hadn’t heard him drive up—she certainly hadn’t expected him back until morning.

  The lamp switched on in the foyer. Silence. She crept down a few steps, pausing when she saw him. His hair was wind-whipped, his clothes rumpled, his once polished shoes dusty. He looked as if he’d been tossed from a moving vehicle.

  “Mira,” he called out softly, his gaze lifting to meet hers. “Please come down.”

  Drawing in a steadying breath, she descended a few steps. “I didn’t expect you back tonight.” She hoped her calm voice masked her anger.

  “Sudden change of plans.”

  “So, how did the meeting go?” she asked, deliberately emphasizing the word.

  He set his bags down, but as she drew nearer, she noticed the top button on his shirt missing. A closer inspection revealed what appeared to be a smear of lipstick on his collar. She’d been right. He’d been off diddling that woman!

  She hurried back up the stairs, tears blinding her, aware that Armand was on her heels.

  “Leave me alone, Armand!” she cried. “You’re no different than Joel…a cheating, lying, womanizing bastard!”

  He caught her at the top of the stairs and swept her into his arms despite her flailing and kicking. “I’m no lying bastard! Can’t you see that I am sincere? That I’m in love with you?”

  “Put me down or I’ll . . . “

  She was about to take a bite out of his bicep when he tossed her over his massive shoulder. The breath whooshed from her lungs.

  He gave her light smack on the buttocks. “Calm yourself or I’ll use my bare palm on your pretty bum this time instead of the velvet paddle you enjoyed so much last night.” He charged up the next flight of stairs.

  “I’m warning you Armand. Put me down. Now!”

  “Keep your voice down, sweet Mira. The children might become frightened by such an outburst.”

  In his room he set her on her feet and shut the door behind him.

  “Was Tara Carrington worth it? Was she?” She watched his shoulders slump as if in defeat.

  “I fired her tonight.”

  “Before or after you screwed her?” Mira h
adn’t meant to sound so crass, but in her anger the words rolled out. She immediately regretted it.

  “I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “But you wanted to.”

  “Hell no I didn’t want to, although she made it damned clear that if I wanted her to negotiate the movie deal with Hartefilms, it was a requirement.”

  So she had been right about the woman.

  She watched as Armand stripped off his sweaty shirt, balled it up and tossed it aside. He slipped off his shoes, then unzipped his pants and dropped them. Slowly he lowered his black silk boxers. No erection, but still impressive.

  Mira crossed her arms over her breast. “I’m not going to sleep with you again.”

  He sighed and pushed his wind whipped hair from his face. “I am not looking for more than you are prepared to give, but I’ve walked several miles and do need a shower,” he said quietly. “Will you at least stay here in my room until I’m finished? We must talk.”

  Mira saw the pain in his eyes and knew that he was telling the truth about not sleeping with his agent. Her lower lip quivered as a fresh round of tears filled her eyes. She loved Armand so damned much at that moment that she ached all the way to her soul. She thought she’d loved Joel all those years ago, and perhaps in her youthful innocence she had. But Armand was different. She was different. And this entire situation was different. Was it true love? She wasn’t certain. Would he break her heart? Again, there was no guarantee.

  She sniffled hard.

  “Sweet Mira.” He pulled her against him. “Don’t cry, my darling.” He patted her back, his large palm warm and soothing.

  “I didn’t mean what I said about you and Tara.”

  “I know.”

  Once Armand released her from his embrace, Mira slipped her hand in his. “Can I join you in the shower?”

  He nodded.

  Her warm gentle hands lathered the creamy suds over his exhausted, aching body. Bracing his forearms against the tile wall, she pressed her body against his back, her arms reaching around to stroke his penis. One hand soaped its way up and down his lengthening cock, the other kneaded his balls. Pure heaven.

  Her wet breasts pressed against his back, teasing him, their erect tips rubbing excitedly against his skin as she stroked him to exquisite hardness. He knew she was enjoying this seduction as much as he.

  “I’m going to come too soon if you keep this up,” he warned.

  She released him abruptly and he turned to face her, his erection filling the space between them. Water from the shower head cascaded over her head and shoulders, making for a most stunning sight.

  He lowered his head and took a wet nipple into his mouth, rolled the pebbled bud over his tongue like a sun-ripened berry as he listened to her pleasured sighs.

  “Armand, I need you.”

  He gave the other breast equal attention until she grasped him gently by a hank of hair and forced him upright.

  “Now!”

  Lifting her, he backed her against the wall, then reached beneath her buttocks and lifted one leg, impaling her on his engorged shaft. She accepted most of him easily this time and as her body relaxed around him, he pressed more fully into her. The warm spray pelted his backside as she clutched at his hips. Soon he realized Mira didn’t want the loving slow and gentle. She bucked her hips wildly, meeting his deep thrusts. He sped up the pace. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she clung to him. He pounded her like an animal, hard and fast, their primal cries the only sound above the running water. But this position soon proved slippery and awkward.

  He withdrew, let her soft, shapely legs slide sensuously down his. Her face was flushed, her eyes misted with desire. He caressed her cheek. “You’ve turned me into a fiend, Mira. I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  Turning her around, Armand bent her forward and took her from behind, loving her cries of ecstasy as she came again and again.

  His balls tightened as his released neared. He willed himself not to come, deliberately slowing his movements to keep from climaxing. Quickly, he turned off the shower, lifted Mira into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

  The loving was intense. The four poster antique mahogany bed shimmied and groaned as their sweat-slick bodies slapped together in tempo. She came only seconds before he did, and he finished with a grand finale that ended with her sobbing his name.

  Spent, he eased from her body and propped himself up on elbow beside her to watch her drift down from her passion. Her face was flushed. A lone tear slipped from her closed eyes and splashed onto the pillow.

  “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head,” he said, reaching up to wipe away the tear with his thumb. “Why is my sweet lady crying?”

  She rolled away from him. “I’ve been a fool again.”

  Armand snuggled up to her back. Mira Reece was no fool, just a woman in love—perhaps for the first time in her life. “Why do you say such a ridiculous thing?”

  “Because I let myself get carried away.” She turned in his embrace. “Damn it, Armand . . . I think I’m in love with you.”

  She said it as if it was a ghastly thing, but he also realized it must have taken a good deal of courage on her part to admit her true feelings. Why was that a problem? He was not the abusive asshole jerk her former lover had been.

  He brushed the side of her cheek with his knuckles. “You sound disappointed.”

  “It’s all wrong.”

  “What? Making love? Spending time together? How can this be wrong?”

  “The last thing I was looking for was a relationship. I also don’t think you came to the island looking for one either.”

  Armand sighed and fell back among the pillows. No, he hadn’t been actively seeking a woman. Finishing his novel, Passion’s Storm on deadline had been paramount. But now that he’d fired his agent, he wasn’t certain where he stood career wise.

  Would Tara Carrington sue him for breach of contract? Would he lose this next book deal with Devondale? The impending contract with HarteFilms? So many aspects of his life hung in the balance right now. Honestly, the only one he truly gave a shit about was Mira and the children.

  He closed his eyes as his head swirled with a dozen questions. When he arrived a few days ago, his life was perfect and well-ordered. No, it was boring, but at least predictable. Now it had become chaos, and all because he’d fallen in love.

  And she was a beautiful chaos named Mira Reece.

  He looked at her. “No, I wasn’t looking for a relationship when I arrived, but from the moment I met you, I knew you were going to change my life forever.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “You’re so full of crap, Armand. Do you use that line on all the ladies?”

  He sat up. “No, it’s true, darling. My book wasn’t going well. Passion’s Storm was drivel at best. I’d been feeling the pressure for months, pressure from Tara and from my publisher. I’m tired of running like a caged rat on a wheel, feeling like I’m being forced to produce hack. My heart isn’t in Passion’s Storm, or at least it wasn’t until I met you.”

  He lifted a lock of damp hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I love my career as an author—don’t misunderstand. Writing is exhilarating, and I’m damned good at it if the reviewers aren’t lying.” He couldn’t help but break into a grin at his last line. “Until I met you, I didn’t realize what was missing in my life. In all aspects of my life.”

  Mira swiped at her eyes. Her lip quivered and he brushed his thumb across it. “Shhh, do not cry. The time for tears is over. These past two weeks with you and the children has liberated me. I feel like a new man, truly alive for the first time in years.”

  She sat up beside him and pushed back the damp hair from her face. “I feel the same way about you. I was dead inside until you came to the inn. I never knew lovemaking could be so pleasurable…or so beautiful. The truth is, Armand, I’ve never enjoyed sex before….not with Joel…anyway.”

  With
a lusty groan, Armand pulled her on top of him, then sat her upright. “We’re are meant to be together, sweet lady. We’re good together. Marry me.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “What?”

  “Marry me. Now. Today. Here.”

  “But … ”

  “Give me your heart. Pledge your love to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  A twinge of sadness struck his heart at her answer. “Why now?” he asked, not certain whether he wanted to know the truth.

  “For one thing I can’t give you children, and whenever you do find the right woman I want that to be an option for you.”

  So they were back to that. Shit. Was she using it as an excuse to keep him at bay? “I don’t care whether or not you can bear children.” He stroked her damp back with his fingertips. “We’ll adopt should we ever decide to have a family.”

  “No.” She eased off him, then climbed out of bed. “We won’t adopt. It’s not fair for you. Every man wants a child of his own—a son that bears his name and carries his genes.”

  She lifted her rumpled clothing from the chair and Armand closed his eyes. Fuck a nilly-willy duck! Her past had become between them once again, the magical spell broken.

  Armand watched as she dressed, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces. He fought back hot stinging tears. “Why are you leaving? I thought you’d planned to stay the night. That does not have to change.”

  “I just realized it makes no sense to prolong the inevitable. Soon, you’ll go back to Los Angeles, and I’ll be here, running the Inn just like I have for the past eight years.”

  “Don’t you mean hiding for the past eight years?”

  She turned, her eyes flashing daggers. “How dare you.”

  He came off the bed and faced her. “No, how dare you Mira Reece.”

  Taking three steps toward her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her so hard he feared he might have bruised her lips. She drew back, then raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist in his grip. “How dare you make me fall in love with you.”