At the Midnight Hour

by Alicia Scott

  But the restlessness gnawed at him even as he put the probes in place. The emptiness hammered in his stomach even as he adjusted the last dial, flipping the switches on. Abruptly the graphs appeared on the LRC meter, readings registering as he selected the appropriate settings. But there was no satisfaction in looking at these numbers, he realized suddenly. No sense of urgency, no glow of intrigue.

  There was nothing but the restlessness, the emptiness and the lonely cry of the raging wind.

  The numbers were just numbers. They didn’t smile or laugh or tease.

  And they didn’t look at him with midnight blue eyes.

  The thought came from nowhere, and he quashed it instantly. He would not think like that, he wouldn’t. He had a life here, damn it. He’d been to hell and back and it was this one room, this lab, that had kept him sane. The lab was his sanctuary, the one place where his brain did not make him a freak, but a master.

  Even as he thought this, however, the grandfather clock in the foyer struck midnight. He could feel the chimes reverberating up the spiral stairs until they rang deep and true through his tower, drowning out even the wind.

  And with every reverberating bong, his restlessness grew.

  His feet moved before he had given them a conscious command to do so. They simply started walking, and before he knew it, he was rounding the long spiral stairs. He never actually formulated a destination in his mind; that would have been too much like granting conscious permission. He just let the restlessness move him forward.

  He came to the library as the last chime of the old clock faded into the distance. Already he could see the golden glow of the fire. And there on the couch pulled closest to the flames was Liz.

  He went in.

  Her head came up as he entered, her long mahogany hair falling away from her face. Myriad emotions flickered across her face to vanish before he could capture even one of them. Still, he could see the quick rise and fall of her chest as her breath quickened.

  She was wearing a terry-cloth robe this time, the navy blue color accentuating the deep mysteriousness of her eyes. The robe belted at her waist, pooling around her tightly curled legs. Even from this distance he could catch a glimpse of a gently curved calf.

  The muscles in his stomach tightened once more, and this time it was his breathing that accelerated.

  God, she was beautiful by firelight. Open and honest and with a glance that caressed a man like warm velvet.

  He crossed over to the safety of the bar, moving away from the heat of the flames.

  “Brandy?” he asked at last, refusing to look at her.

  “No, thank you.”

  Perhaps she remembered what had happened the last time she’d accepted. He sure as hell did.

  Taking a steadying sip of brandy, he walked to the fireplace. Maybe the heat from without would cancel the heat from within.

  Liz watched him approach, her eyes drawn to the breadth of his shoulders, the trimness of his figure. She shouldn’t be noting such things, she thought in a distant corner of her mind, but she couldn’t quite keep her eyes away, either. Once more it struck her how he moved, with such firmly restrained power, with such complete and utter control. He sat down now, just ten feet away in the supple leather of the deep chair. Looking down at her lap, she could see her hands tremble. The whole atmosphere of the library had become charged with his presence, she realized suddenly, as if before it had been merely waiting, and now, it was alive.

  Remember last night. She forced the thought through her mind. Remember how he mocked you and how you swore to keep your distance. She had no reason to get involved with this man. She was here for Andrew, nothing more.

  But her hands still trembled on her lap, and she couldn’t stop herself from recalling the feel of his lips upon her own.

  “How...how did this evening go?” Liz asked shortly, her drawl more pronounced with her nervousness.

  “The same,” Richard answered tautly, keeping his eyes on his glass.

  “Did you make any progress?”

  “No.”

  The conversation stalled, and in the silence, she could feel the tension tightening her stomach. A log popped in the fireplace, and she jumped nervously. With a self-conscious smile, she curled her legs inward even more, adjusting her robe around her.

  From the chair, Richard stole a short glance. The flickering flames cast her face in shadows, darkening her eyes, and her hair looked on fire as it tumbled down her back. He could follow its line all the way to the graceful curve of her waist.

  He wanted to follow his gaze with his touch.

  He took another deep swallow of the brandy, willing it to burn the thought away.

  It didn’t help.

  “Andrew was very excited about your lab,” Liz said at last. “He did nothing but talk about it during dinner.”

  Richard’s face froze for an instant, and she could practically feel him come alert.

  “How was dinner?” he asked slowly.

  Liz shrugged. “The same, I suppose. Dodd prepared poached salmon, it was excellent.”

  “And Blaine? Did he like the salmon, too?”

  “He ate it,” Liz supplied, puzzled by the question. “I don’t recall his commenting on it one way or the other. Though Jillian claimed she’d had better in Seattle, and Parris told her she wouldn’t know good salmon if it swam onto her lap. Or something like that.”

  “I see. And after dinner, what did you do?”

  Liz frowned slightly at the curtness of his questions, but gave in with a small shrug. Perhaps he was finally becoming interested in the household, she couldn’t complain about that. “I convinced Andy to play dominoes with me,” she said. “He complained that it was all a matter of luck, but I think that’s because I beat him two out of three times. He did very well, though, for his first time.”

  “Did Blaine play?”

  This time she could hear the cold suspicion in his voice. Obviously the rift between him and Blaine was larger than she suspected. She tried to keep her voice light.

  “Actually, Andy and I were too boring for the Gang of Four. They decided to make a field trip into Manhattan. I imagine they’ll be out all night again.”

  Richard nodded, sinking back slightly against the chair. So Blaine had gone out for the evening. The thought made him much happier than it should.

  “What else did you and Andrew do today?” Richard asked shortly. He could feel her gaze upon him, and it filled him with a mixture of anticipation, desire and denial. He’d thought earlier that if he could simply take her, that would ease his relentless hunger. Now he sat immobile, half-afraid to even touch her. What if he did possess her and that didn’t ease the ache at all? He hated the doubt, he hated the confusion.

  And he wanted to reach over and grab her for another burning kiss.

  He took a deep swallow of the brandy.

  “—visiting your lab, I took Andy outside for a bit,” Liz was saying, startling him back to attention. “It really was a beautiful day out, though it was chilly. We walked around, looking at all sorts of things.”

  “A walk?” The disbelief was obvious in his tone as his hands began their familiar rotation of his brandy glass.

  Liz followed the motion with her eyes, feeling the nervous restlessness again. He had such strong hands. She could still feel those fingers tangling in her hair, arching her head back to deepen the kiss. She could still feel how that palm had felt, cupping the weight of her breast. What would it feel like to have those fingers warm upon her breasts, rolling her nipples with his strong, callused fingertips?

  She licked her lips and had to take a deep breath to regain her scattered thoughts. “Yes, a walk,” she answered faintly. She swallowed, and tried again, with her voice louder this time. She still couldn’t match the curt coolness of his own, however. “I told you I wanted to get Andrew out more. We went around the grounds, mostly, visited the stables.”

  He digested the news in silence. Stables? He hadn’t been out to t
he stables for over a year. In the beginning, he’d ridden with Alycia. But then she’d taken to riding on her own, or with Blaine. After a while, he’d stopped asking, and he’d stayed clear of the stables altogether. Some habits died hard. But, of course, the stables were still there. Blaine and his friends still used them, so the bill was paid accordingly.

  “What did you think?” he asked after a bit.

  “You have some beautiful thoroughbreds,” Liz told him honestly. “Whoever selects your stock has done an outstanding job.”

  “Do you ride?”

  “I used to. It’s been awhile, though. My parents sold their own horses a few years ago. The upkeep was too much for them.”

  “You can ride the horses whenever you like,” Richard offered.

  She looked at him speculatively. “What about you? Do you ride?”

  “I don’t have the time,” he began, but she dismissed what she knew was an excuse with a wave of her hand.

  “What’s the point of maintaining such fine stables if you don’t take the time to enjoy them?”

  “I’m not that good with horses,” he told her.

  She leaned forward, intense now. “You can learn, though. I can show you, if you don’t mind. In fact, why don’t you come out some day with Andrew, and all three of us can go riding together? We’ll just walk around some of the hills, take it nice and easy.”

  The enthusiasm was welling up in her voice, the freshness returning to her eyes. He wondered dimly if she was even aware of the transformation. When he’d first entered the library, her uncertainty had made her mysterious and beguiling. Now, her energy made her fresh and invigorating.

  He wasn’t sure which woman was more dangerous to him—the vulnerable one, or the enthusiastic, energetic one. Once more, he wanted to kiss her relentlessly. He wanted to hear her moan against his lips, he wanted her arms curled around his neck. He wanted to know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  He stood abruptly, and walked over to the far corner of the fireplace, as if that would put enough distance between them.

  “Does Andrew ride?” he asked tightly, trying to keep his mind off her body and on the conversation.

  She tilted her head at his question, hit once more by his apparent lack of knowledge about his own son. But then she shrugged, her eyes lingering on his tall frame instead. “No,” she replied. “Andy gave me some song and dance about all the people that were killed in horseback-riding accidents.”

  “And yet you plan on taking him riding, anyway?”

  “I think it would be good for him,” she said honestly, wondering why he insisted on keeping his back to her. “I assure you, I’ll take all the necessary precautions such as insisting that he wear a riding helmet and the proper gear, but sooner or later Andy needs to learn that statistics aren’t real life, and that enjoyment is as much a deciding factor as anything.”

  “Enjoyment, Liz?” He turned, and the dark glow she saw in his wintry eyes made her catch her breath. All of a sudden, he didn’t look cold at all. Instead, as his heated gaze swept over her curled form, she felt all the breath leave her body. “Do you know what I would enjoy right now, Liz?” he asked intensely.

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his face as her mouth went dry.

  “I would enjoy kissing you, Liz. I would enjoy tasting your lips once more. I would enjoy hearing you whisper my name while your arms wrapped around my neck.” He took five steps toward her, until he could peer down at her with glittering eyes. “Would you enjoy that, too, Liz?”

  She shivered, feeling her throat work even as she fought the answer. She’d promised herself she would keep her distance after last night. He was too dangerous, this man leaning over her like a predator sighting its prey. And he knew more about kissing than any man had a right to know. She shivered again, and closed her eyes.

  “What do you want?” she managed to say.

  He leaned even closer, until she could feel the whisper of his breath against her lips. One inch more, and the rough burn of his whiskers could caress her soft cheek. She had to clench her fists to keep from closing that inch.

  “Why do you close your eyes, Liz?” he quizzed softly. “Why do you turn away when we both know what’s going on here? Are you afraid of me?”

  Barely, just barely, she shook her head.

  “Do you find me cold?”

  Once more, that near-imperceptible motion.

  “Is it Blaine?”

  Her eyes flew open with shock, then jolted as she became fully aware of just how close he stood. “No,” she whispered firmly. “This has nothing to do with Blaine.”

  “Then what, sweet Liz. What?”

  She floundered, not knowing what to say when he remained so close she could smell the scent of fresh soap and spicy after-shave on his cheeks. She wanted to feel that five o’clock shadow, rediscover the soft fullness of his knowing lips. She wanted her arms around his shoulders, her breasts flat against his chest.

  “I don’t think,” she said, then licked her lips nervously, feeling the heat of his gaze following the motion. She took another breath and tried again. “I don’t think you really know me at all.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked levelly.

  She flinched at the words, looking down at her hands on her lap. She felt the sting of tears against her eyelids. She should have seen that coming. There were times when she liked to think there was someone real beneath his granite exterior, someone who had danced and romanced and delivered a single yellow rose every day. But that person seemed to be gone, and the Richard she knew was a dangerously attractive man who seemed just as hard on the inside as he appeared on the outside.

  She was out of her league. And even knowing that, she still wanted to kiss him.

  She drew herself up. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” she said softly, forcing her midnight eyes to meet his own glittering gaze. He frowned at her words, and she could see the first glimmer of frustration in his eyes. Once more, he dropped his gaze to her lips, and once more, she felt herself hold her breath in anticipation.

  “I take it back, then,” he said, low and sure as his gaze swept across her face. “If it makes such a difference, I do know you, even better than you think. I bet you believe in happily-ever-afters. I bet you believe in knights on white horses, and endless love like in Wuthering Heights. I bet you drink fresh-squeezed lemonade in the summer, and daydream in clover fields of discovering true love. You find the silver lining in every cloud, searching out more and more adventures because you honestly believe they will all end well. Am I right, Liz? Tell me that I don’t know you.”

  His eyes burned into hers, daring her to deny his description. But if he thought she would surrender, or even be outraged, he was wrong. Instead, he found a deeply troubled face looking back at him, emotions flickering across her eyes faster than even the fire’s shadows.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, you don’t know me at all.”

  Her hands revealed her agitation, twisting the robe’s belt over and over again. He watched the motion, then glanced back up, trying to find her eyes.

  She turned away sharply, but not before he had seen. The impact of the sight floored him, and he felt a sudden coldness in his chest. Twice before he’d seen that look, that sliver of deep pain and raw anguish.

  “Did you love him that much?” he found himself asking, the words harsher than he’d intended. It had to be a man. Only something as cruel as love could strike someone that deep.

  She looked at him slowly, nodding her head. He could tell she was trying to remain calm, but she certainly hadn’t had the practice he’d had. Her face was too young to hide its mysteries. Instead, the pain flickered through in open revelation.

  He found, this time, he was the one that had to look away. He straightened, giving them both the distance they suddenly needed.

  “He was my husband,” Liz volunteered finally. She took a deep breath, willing away the tightness. Her co
mposure came back faster this time, practice in the Keaton household, she thought hazily, was bound to make the exercise a success.

  “You’re divorced?” Richard asked sharply. He didn’t like this topic. She’d come here alone, and he liked to think of her that way: as belonging to only him and Andy.

  Liz shook her head. “No. Nick died. There was a bank robbery a year ago, one Sunday when we were going to a matinee at the local movie theater. The police arrived and all this gunfire broke out.” She smiled a faint, wry smile. “It was just like some scene from a bad Western. Except Nick was the one caught in the crossfire.”

  Sometimes the memory was so sharp it seemed like yesterday. She was down on the pavement again, all the sirens wailing in her ears. And Nick was sprawled on the ground, blood seeping everywhere. She was crying, but she couldn’t feel the tears streaming down her face. She just knew that she had to stop the bleeding, and so her hands raced across Nick’s neck and chest, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But no matter what she did, it kept running right through her hands as if she was no better than a human sieve. And then he was dead.

  She twisted the belt of her robe, wringing it with the useless hands that couldn’t save her husband’s life. Richard watched the motion, feeling the uneasiness grow inside of him. He’d been harsh on her, and now he’d learned she was a widow. Funny, that in some areas he could be so blind. Did he really think he held a monopoly on pain? The expression in her eyes that first day should have been warning enough. He should have handled her more gently, he shouldn’t have pushed her so hard.

  And yesterday, just yesterday he’d mocked her for not pursuing their kiss. He winced, and hated this feeling of regret. Damn fool, he was a damn fool.

  He wondered if he should offer her comfort, but he realized that after all these years, he simply didn’t know how.