That was the trouble. She felt too much where he was concerned. More than sympathy and admiration and compassion and lust. More.
“Are you all right?” Delta asked later that evening as they both stood behind the circulation desk and checked out books.
“Tired and stressed.” Ronnie finished checking out one student and turned her attention to the next in line. “Finals start soon.” She took a pile of books and flipped the top one open to the card pocket.
“Stress?” Delta gave her an I-don’t-buy-that look. “And here I thought you looked so uptight because you were mooning over a man.”
Try a ghost. “What makes you think I’m uptight?” She handed the stack of books back to the student.
“Well, you stamped the same book at least five times.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” But she did. She knew all too well and that’s what had her so freaked out. She was falling for Val.
“It’s okay.” Delta sighed and glanced at the empty spot where Professor Gibbons usually sat every evening, reading his cooking magazine. “I completely forgot to pocket five cards a few minutes ago. Men,” she muttered.
“Looks like Gibbons must be doing his reading at home.”
Delta shrugged and turned to the next student. “It’s a free country.”
“So he is at home?” Ronnie pressed, grateful to be off the subject of her own love life and onto someone else’s.
“I guess.” At Ronnie’s skeptical look, she shrugged. “Okay, he’s at home, not that I’ve been spying on him.”
“You drove by his house.”
“I would never do any such thing.” At Ronnie’s knowing look, Delta shrugged. “I phoned him. He answered and I hung up.”
“So how many times have you two gone out?”
“Four dinners and a lunch.” Ronnie smiled, and Delta added, “Not that I’m keeping track. I mean, it’s hard not to. The food is so memorable. Cass is a wonderful cook.”
“Cass?”
“If I can eat the man’s food, I can call him by his first name. It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, he would like it to mean something. He wants more than good food and a little conversation, of course, but I’m not about to get serious with some over-the-hill Casanova even if he does cook a really divine chicken cordon bleu.”
“So you’re snapping and growling because you miss the chicken, right?”
“I’m cranky because it’s eight in the evening and I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to eat. I need my nourishment, you know.”
“Come on, Delta. You like the guy. Admit it.”
“He’s not a guy. He’s a man. An old man.”
“Who’s really cute.”
Delta seemed to soften. “Well, he does make me laugh, and we do like to watch Ted Koppel. And Letterman. Most men Cass’s age like Leno: it’s one of those loyalty things having to do with Johnny Carson that I still haven’t figured out. But not Cass. He’s a Letterman man all the way. And he likes Audrey Hepburn movies and Elvis …”
Speaking of Elvis.
Ronnie’s gaze went to Mr. Heartbreak Hotel sitting in his usual spot in the reference section. He didn’t spare her a glance, not that she wanted one. She pulled the baseball cap even lower and hunched over the circulation desk.
“… and picnics and he’s a Democrat.” A big plus, Ronnie knew, because Delta’s late husband had been not only a saint, but a Democratic saint. “And he likes to dance and he has all his own teeth.”
“A definite plus,” Ronnie agreed. “So why don’t you like like him?”
“Because … Just because,” she huffed, stuffing a card into a slot and shoving a book back toward a startled young man. “He’s … old,” she finally finished, but she didn’t say the word with near as much distaste as she had before.
“From what you’ve told me, Cass seems very young at heart. In the prime of his life, teeth and all.”
“Well,” she conceded. “You’d certainly never be able to tell his age by the way he kisses.”
“You’ve kissed him?”
“Well, uh, yes. Just a little peck. Nothing to write home about.”
She grinned. “Admit it, Delta. You like him.”
“Okay,” she said with a deep sigh and a purse to her lips. “Maybe I do.”
“Maybe?”
“Oh, all right, I do. But obviously he doesn’t feel the same way.” Her gaze went to his empty chair. “We sort of had a fight last night.”
“Why?”
“Over the kiss. It surprised me. Not that he did it, but the fact that I liked it. A lot. Too damned much. Anyhow, I sort of threatened to chop off a certain part of his anatomy if he didn’t start behaving like a gentleman. But I didn’t mean it. I mean, I did at the time, but I didn’t really mean it. Men are just too damned sensitive when it comes to their doohickeys.”
“Did you tell him you were sorry?”
“Of course.”
“And what did he say?”
“That maybe we should let things cool down a bit.” She shook her head and frowned. “If he wants to cool down, fine, but this girl is not going to sit around waiting for him. I’m going out tonight.” She eyed Ronnie. “You up for some after-work dessert at Jake’s?”
Jake’s was as famous as the House of Pies in the South, and always more packed because the twenty-four-hour café specialized in gourmet desserts, and Ronnie wasn’t the only tired, overworked student who needed a daily sugar fix.
“They make a mean chocolate rum cake,” Delta said, trying to tip the scales in her favor.
Ronnie could feel the fat cells expanding at the mere thought and she shook her head. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do. I have to get home.” As the refusal rolled off her tongue, she thought about Val waiting for her, stretched out on the bed, so naked and handsome and tempting …
“Maybe one piece.”
Jake’s was packed, as usual. Ronnie and Delta took up residence at a table in the corner and shared their misery over two huge pieces of chocolate rum cake.
“Ronnie?” Danny’s voice carried through the crowd and Ronnie’s head snapped up to see him wind his way around several tables. When he reached their table, he exchange hellos with Delta, then turned to Ronnie. “What are you doing here?”
“Having dessert.”
“You? But you don’t drink.”
She shoveled in the last bite of cake and licked her fork. “I’m not drinking, I’m eating.”
He glanced at the second piece of rum-soaked cake waiting in the wings for her fork. “That definitely qualifies as both.”
She grinned and reached for plate number two. “Want a bite?”
He shook his head. “I’m driving.”
“You don’t have a car.”
“It’s Wanda’s car. She asked me to meet her here. We’re supposed to study back at her place.”
“Studying?” Delta raised her eyebrows. “Is that what they call it these days?”
“Unfortunately,” Danny grumbled.
“What happened to your date the other night?” Ronnie asked.
“It started out great, we ended up back at her place, and then one of her friends showed up. End of date.”
“Love sucks,” Delta said, pouring a raspberry liquor sauce over her own monstrous piece of cake before shoveling a forkful into her mouth.
“Yeah.” Ronnie took a bite out of her second piece of rum decadence. Or was that her third?
“Yeah.” Danny eased into a seat beside Ronnie and glanced moodily at a table near the doorway where Wanda sat with a group of her friends—a few cheerleaders and some grade-A-looking hunks from the football team. He glanced at his watch.
“Are you taking medicine?” Ronnie asked.
“I’ve got a test at seven a.m. and we still have our nightly tutoring session.”
“Then blow this off and go home without her,” Ronnie told him. “You have to think about yourself.”
&n
bsp; “But it’s calculus. Wanda’s weak in calculus. Besides, this was kind of supposed to be our second date. We were going to have dessert before the studying.”
“Here, honey,” Delta said, waving a forkful of cake dripping with liquor sauce. “This will help.”
Danny held up a hand. “I’m not really hungry.”
The woman shrugged and shoved the bite into her own mouth. “It’s not about hunger, sweetie,” she said after she’d swallowed with a satisfied gulp. “It’s about comfort.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said, taking another bite. Her taste buds chanted in satisfaction almost as loud as her grumbling hormones.
Another bite and she closed her eyes at the rush of sweetness, followed by a hazy warmth that uncurled in her stomach and seeped outward. It wasn’t as hot as the firestorm that had swept through her last night courtesy of Val, but at least she’d gone five minutes without wondering what he was doing.
Was he waiting for her?
Thinking about her?
She frowned and took another bite. A big bite.
Danny glanced behind him again, then turned back to his watch.
Ronnie pointed her fork at him. “Why don’t you just go over there and tell her you’re ready to go?”
“I don’t want to bother her.” He toyed with a napkin. “She’s busy talking to her friends.”
“She’s busy following them out the door,” Delta said, motioning to the front of the restaurant.
“What?” Danny’s head whipped around in time to see Wanda wave at him and mouth a pink, pouty, “Sorry” before she disappeared. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He shook his head and reached for Delta’s fork.
The woman raised her eyebrows. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not.” He shoveled in a forkful. “I’m miserable.”
“Welcome to the club.” Delta signaled the waitress and ordered another round of cake.
“Love sucks,” Danny said, and all three raised their forks in a heartfelt salute.
Love did suck, not that Ronnie had to worry about that. She wasn’t in love. She was in lust.
Lust, you got that?
No love. Not for this girl. No way, no how, forget it.
It was the cake making her think crazy thoughts like how she was actually anxious to see Val.
That’s what she told herself as she stumbled home, her head buzzing, her taste buds still tingling from the sugar overload.
Outside her apartment, she fumbled with her key, a giggle passing her lips as her heart revved in anticipation.
Anticipation? More like rum cake. Three slices. Or was that four?
“Darned key,” she mumbled, surprised at how thick her lips suddenly felt. And, geez, the floor had started to shake.
She jammed the metal into the lock. If only it would slide home. Then she could sit down, the floor wouldn’t tremble so much, and maybe she could blink away this blasted fog glazing her eyes—
“Yikes,” she shrieked as the door suddenly jerked open and she pitched straight into Val’s embrace.
Strong arms closed around her. The scent of raw male and leather and fresh, ripe water snuck into her nostrils and infiltrated her brain before she could catch her breath, much less hold it. Heat scorched her fingertips where she splayed her hands against the hard wall of his chest.
Her head snapped up, her gaze collided with deep blue eyes.
“I …” The words tangled in her throat.
“You’re all right.” Relief filled his voice. “I was terribly worried.”
“You were?” The very idea sent a spurt of joy through her. Her hands started creeping up, desperate to curl around behind his neck—
“The cake,” she muttered, jerking away before she lost her sanity completely. Because no way could a man feel so warm, so right …
His relief seemed to give way to anger as he stared at her. “Where the hell have you been?”
Even the sight of his wrinkled forehead and his narrowed eyes did funny things to her insides. Made her feel jumpy and nervous and … excited. She shook her head frantically. “This isn’t happening to me.” Her words slurred together and his expression darkened.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Hah! That shows what you know. I’ve been eating.”
A muscle ticked frantically in his jaw; his lips drew into a tight line. “I was here worried sick, while you were out getting drunk. Drunk,” he spat the word at her. “You’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not,” she protested, despite the sudden churn of her stomach. “Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just cake.”
“What?”
“Cake.” She pounded a finger into his chest. “That’s what’s making me feel this way because no way am I falling for you.” Was that her voice? Yes, it was, but it wasn’t the voice of reason. It was the voice of a frustrated, half-drunk—her stomach vaulted again—make that very drunk woman who’d just consumed thousands of calories that were now making their way to her hips. Her stomach. Her butt … “Oh, God.” Tears rushed to her already blurry eyes.
Valentine Tremaine had a surefire method for dealing with a crying woman. After all, he’d had years of practice at sliding his arms around a woman, soothing her, listening to her. Women loved men who kept their cool, stayed in control, and listened.
“I was worried!” he roared. “Do you not have one responsible bone in your body?” Before she could answer, he stalked her, backing her up until her back flattened against the wall. “Hours,” he growled.” I’ve been waiting up for hours. I thought someone had slit your pretty little throat, or run you over with some bloody automobile. I thought you were dead!”
“Good news.” She sniffled and gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m not.”
“Not yet.” He smiled, a dangerous, wicked smile meant to wipe the expression from her face. “I get the pleasure of seeing to that myself.”
Her smile faltered. “I …”
“Yes?”
“I …” She wet her trembling lips. “I—I think the rum cake is about to beat you to it.” Then she stumbled past him in her haste to reach the bathroom. A few steps shy, she swayed to the side, her knees giving way.
Val caught her before she hit the ground and though he wanted nothing more than to throttle the life out of her, the pained expression on her face, the desperate way she clung to his neck, effectively doused his temper. For now.
Later, he told himself. Later he would kill her.
“Hurry,” Ronnie managed to gasp before her stomach jumped and she clamped her lips shut against a wave of sickness.
The next thing she knew, she felt the cold tile of the floor beneath her legs. The cool rim met her fingertips.
It was a long while later, at least half a rum cake, before her stomach calmed down enough for her to wash her face and rinse out her mouth. Ronnie was this close to curling up on the floor rather than trying to get her trembling legs to cooperate, when Val picked her up and carried her to the bed.
He reached to help her out of her soiled T-shirt, but she slapped his hands away. He looked ready to argue, but then his gaze hooked on her lips, then her breasts, and he not only pushed her shirt back down, but yanked the cover up to add to her defenses.
Or his own.
“Go to sleep, Rouquin.” He killed the light. Leather creaked as he settled into the recliner, always so intent on keeping his distance.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her eyes closed as she snuggled down into the covers and prayed for her stomach to keep its cool. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“Just go to sleep,” he growled as if angry that she’d reminded him. But the fingertips that trailed over her cheek were anything but angry.
Fingertips? Yes, fingertips … He touched her softly, gently, and it felt so … right.
Her eyes snapped open, but she saw only the darkness hovering above her.
Imagination, she decided. That and all the rum-soaked cake she’d eaten
. She turned onto her side and buried her fuzzy head in the pillows. Because no way, no how could she have done something so stupid, so irrational as to fall in love with a ghost. To fall in love, period.
She’d fallen in love.
Ronnie fought the truth throughout the next week by keeping Delta company after work each night and indulging her taste buds at Jake’s. Danny joined them and the three drowned their troubles in virgin brownies and alcohol-free fudge cake.
Out of sight, out of mind, she kept telling herself. If she avoided Val long enough, she wouldn’t be so enamored of him.
Right?
Wrong. The distance only served to wind her tighter and tighter. Frustration, she told herself. Deprived hormones. She needed a man, man being the operative word. If she weren’t so sexually deprived, she wouldn’t be yearning for Val. So, acting on this logic, she set her sights on finding herself a prime, grade-A male to indulge her hormones.
The past few weeks of love lessons had taught her well—she had two hot date prospects by the time Friday rolled around. But no matter how good-looking, how nice, how real both men were, neither could hold a candle to Val.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t having the same thoughts about her. He rarely spared her a glance, as if he’d come to a few conclusions of his own about their relationship. Namely, that there was no relationship, and he intended to keep it that way.
Fine by her. She didn’t want him distracting her, interfering in her life, turning her normal routine upside down. No, she certainly didn’t want stubborn, egotistical Valentine Tremaine.
But need him … yes, she definitely needed him. Distracting her, interfering in her life, turning her normal routine upside down and inside out. She admitted as much to herself Tuesday night, a full week since she and Val had had their bathroom encounter, as she sat at Jake’s and passed on chocolate Fudge Extravaganza in favor of chicken salad and an apple. She’d had her fill of caffeine and chocolate—proving beyond a doubt she’d gone off the deep end and traded her sanity for the forbidden L word.
Love.
She still couldn’t believe it. She’d spent years avoiding love, intent on building something solid for herself. A successful career based on hard work because, in the end, just as she’d told Jenny, love wasn’t enough.
In the Midnight Hour Page 22