At the Midnight Hour

by Alicia Scott

  “Picnic?” Richard frowned. “Do you have any idea how brisk it is out there?”

  She nodded, her face unperturbed. “Yes, we’re going to have a fall picnic, complete with soup and hot chocolate. It really is a beautiful day out. Did you notice how bright the sun is in the sky?”

  He scowled. She would notice such things. How bright the sun was in the sky. What did he care? He was a scientist, he had work to do, mysteries to unravel, data to calculate. Last night he’d decided he’d already lost way too much time thinking about the woman in front of him. He’d let her lead him astray, all that wild mahogany hair, those deep, midnight eyes. Well, not anymore. He’d been happy as a workaholic, he’d be happy again.

  So why in the world did just looking at her make his chest hurt?

  “I’ve got too much to do,” he said tersely, already beginning to shut the door.

  Her eyes opening in shock, Liz automatically stuck her foot in the way.

  “Wait!” she said hastily, her face unconsciously cajoling. “Really, I think this is a great opportunity for you to spend more time with Andrew. You know I’m trying to get him outside more, and I think he’d agree to go on the picnic if you came, too. And well, after yesterday, it would be a chance for you to make amends with him.”

  The words were seductive, he could feel the soft Carolina accent wrapping around him like velvet. Go on a picnic, Richard. Sit on a bright blanket next to this beautiful woman, Richard. Talk to Andrew about dielectrics and pretend, if just for a few hours, that life is warm and normal, Richard.

  He shook his head against the spell.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” he reiterated.

  With a deep breath, Liz straightened her spine, and willed herself to look in his eyes. “If this is because of last night,” she began, “well, I think it’s best if we left that behind us.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, because immediately his eyes darkened, raking over her with unconcealed desire.

  “Oh, of course,” he drawled darkly, “let’s just forget about last night. The way you melted against me, the soft sighs and your kisses. Even the way your breasts felt, heavy and full, in my hands.”

  Liz had to take another deep breath, feeling the impact of the words all the way to the pit of her stomach. Her knees were suddenly weak, and she had the overwhelming desire to step forward until she could feel the solid strength of his muscles, firm and hot against her. With grim determination, she willed the thoughts away. She was not some weak-kneed virgin. She was a grown woman with a job to do.

  Even then, her voice sounded raspy to her own ears. “Exactly,” she said. “We have to forget all that.”

  His eyebrow raised in mockery. “By all means then, consider it forgotten.”

  She should have been grateful, but the way he said the words made them cut through her instead. She steeled herself against the pain. She had no right to feel hurt, she was the one denying them both. It was her decision and he was going along with it. She should be grateful.

  But still...

  One last steadying breath. She composed her face into a calm, professional demeanor.

  “Then you’ll come today?” she persisted.

  His mind still told him it was a bad idea. He really should be working, he’d slacked off these past couple of days. But her deep blue eyes were so beguiling. Damn it, just looking at her made him ache with the sharp pangs of desire all over again. Then he was filled with another quite unholy thought. He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly deceptively relaxed.

  “I’ll come,” he said smoothly, “on one condition.”

  She nodded, looking visibly relieved. It was very important to her plan that he come. “And what is your condition?” she asked easily.

  “That you kiss me.”

  There was silence for a moment, his request catching her completely off guard.

  She looked at him warily, shifting from foot to foot. “I thought we agreed that was behind us.”

  He nodded, watching the play of emotions shift across her face. “I agreed to forget,” he said calmly, “which means I forsake the past. Since I can’t have the past, well then, I’d like a future moment or two.”

  She swore softly under her breath, seeing his trap too late. And for the first time, she saw him grin. A deep, easy grin of amusement as he, too, recognized that he’d caught her. And damn if the man didn’t have dimples.

  “This is blackmail,” she told him. But despite her words, she could feel the anticipation wash through her. She remembered last night too vividly. The way he made her feel, beautiful and desirable and passionate. She’d never realized just how lonely the past year had been until his lips had found her own.

  Still, she wavered.

  Richard’s face darkened slightly. Suddenly, the possibility she might refuse loomed in his mind. The grin was gone, his face suddenly completely controlled.

  “Those are the terms,” he said curtly. “Take it or leave it.”

  She nodded abruptly. “All right. I accept.”

  He relaxed, but only for an instant. Because then, her midnight blue eyes swept up to meet his own, and the blatant desire he saw there rocked him clear to his toes. Just as he was drawing in a badly needed lungful of air, she was rising and entwining her arms languorously around his neck.

  “I kiss you, right?” she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling only slightly. “So you can’t kiss me. I have to kiss you.”

  Feeling like a drowning man, he found himself nodding.

  “Good,” she whispered. She pulled herself closer, until he could feel her soft breasts against his chest, her warm hips against his own. Her lips were so tantalizingly close, he could feel every whisper of her breath on his lips. But she still didn’t kiss him.

  Instead, she turned her head slightly, landing the first touch on the square sternness of his jaw. Her lips felt like butterfly wings on his skin, light and sweet. Abruptly, her tongue came out to lick the spot, and the desire stabbed through him like a lightning rod. She moved, but not coming closer to his lips. Instead, her lips trailed to his ear, and the next thing he knew, she’d taken his earlobe between her lips and bitten him tenderly. He had to consciously fight back his groan.

  His overwound nerves leaped to life, and he could feel the passion so sharp it was almost painful. She seemed aware of it also, shifting slightly to cradle his growing hardness in the soft embrace of her pelvis. It was everything he could do not to grab her arms and crush her against him. He wanted her, soft and sweet and willing. He wanted to lose himself in her embrace, her taste, her touch. He wanted to be reborn in her arms, her name torn like a cry from his lips.

  He trembled, his eyes closing, but he kept his end of the deal.

  Her lips trailed back along his whisker-roughened cheek, nearing his lips. She reached the corner of his mouth, and her tongue tantalized the spot. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she dipped her tongue between his lips. She tasted him, reveling in the feel of his stubble against her cheeks, the flavor of his mouth on her tongue.

  She sighed softly, and kissed him with a slow tenderness that revealed more of her heart than she was willing to face. He’d always let her have control, she realized suddenly. He’d always let her pull back, no matter how fiery the burn of the passion. And now that he’d agreed it was her kiss, he let her have that, even as she felt his biceps bunch with the effort at restraint.

  She deepened the kiss, slanting her lips across his, dueling slow and elegant with his tongue as she thanked him for his gift, and wondered at the tightness slowly squeezing her chest.

  Such a dark, brooding man. Cold and controlled. But strong and protective, as well, with his own brand of caring. She’d seen it when Andrew had disappeared. And sometimes, by the midnight fires, she had seen him look at her with a slight shift in the depths of his eyes. He had so much to give, and yet he would never give any of it because he was so determined to keep it all locked inside. He didn’t believe in love.

 
Her hands trembling on his shoulders, her eyes squeezed against the pain, she softly, reluctantly, pulled away.

  Instinctively, his hands came up to pull her back, but after a long, frozen moment, they dropped back to his sides. When she opened her eyes at last, she saw something in his face that might have been pain. Then abruptly, harshly, his features froze over once more.

  “This picnic had better be good,” he muttered softly, “because the price is getting to be high.”

  She could only nod, not trusting herself enough to speak. She should never have gone along with his game, she knew. Except that she’d wanted to. Even now, she wanted to crawl back into his arms and find his lips once more. He was so warm and hard and masculine—strong and rough and dark, and she liked his touch, needed his touch.

  When had Nick gone so far from her mind? When had she begun kissing this man, without thinking of Nick at all? She didn’t know anymore.

  More and more, it was Richard who filled her thoughts, Richard who made her breathless with anticipation. Except Richard didn’t believe in the softer emotions. He just knew lust, and she couldn’t seem to convince him otherwise.

  She shook her head unconsciously, wondering at herself more than him, and the fool she seemed to have become. Then before he could ask any questions, she simply turned and walked down the stairs on unsteady legs.

  One of these days, she was going to have to learn his control.

  * * *

  Andy wasn’t Andy today, and it was beginning to worry her. His round blue eyes were nervous behind his thick glasses, and he was practically glued to her side all morning, seeming anxious to be near her. He was too agreeable, as well. She’d told him about the picnic, and he’d simply nodded. No statistics on the number of people who died of pneumonia each year, no thoughts on the number of colds inflicted on little boys forced to go outside by their dreadful nannies. Nothing.

  She’d even asked him to change from his suit into jeans and a warm sweater, and he’d simply nodded. His only condition had been that she come help him pick it out. Liz figured that request had more to do with the fact he couldn’t stand for her to be out of his sight. She’d asked him several times if he was all right, but each time, he would nod while his eyes darted around the room with renewed nervousness. Yesterday had clearly spooked him, and she was beginning to miss the old Andy.

  At twelve-thirty, he helped her pack the picnic basket with the soup, sandwiches and hot chocolate. Liz had even gotten old Dodd to throw in some rich homemade shortbread for dessert. Already, the anticipation of the picnic was making her feel better. She hummed a little as she and Andy tucked in the last of the silverware.

  Then, abruptly, she felt Andrew fit his hand into hers. She looked over to smile at the child, only to see his eyes riveted to the doorway. She turned, and sure enough, Richard was standing there.

  He’d also changed to a pair of jeans, coupled with a dark gray flannel shirt and wool coat. He even had hiking boots on his feet. From scientist to outdoorsman in thirty seconds or less, Liz thought dryly. But the thought didn’t stop her pulse from pounding at her throat.

  She swallowed heavily, and willed an easy smile on her face.

  “You look ready to go,” she said casually, hoping her own easygoing smile would transmit to Andrew. Ever so slightly, she felt the child relax.

  Richard was looking from Liz to Andrew, his eyes at last settling on the bright blond hair of the little boy. Richard frowned. The child looked downright spooked, as if he were looking at a monster. On the heels of that thought, came the guilt. He’d wanted to keep himself distant from the child, hadn’t wanted to hurt the boy. But it seemed he was failing miserably at both. He forced himself to appear more relaxed.

  “Is there anything you need me to do?” he asked in a low voice.

  Liz shook her head. “No, I’d say we’re just about done. Oh, wait, we need a blanket. Preferably something very warm in case the wind blows up.”

  Richard nodded, then paused. “What if we built a fire?” he asked casually.

  Liz looked at him, genuinely impressed. “A bonfire. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? How completely perfect. What do you think, Andy?” she asked, looking down at the little boy who was still clutching her hand.

  Slowly, his eyes never leaving the huge presence of his father, he nodded. “And marshmallows,” Liz thought out loud. “If we have a fire, we definitely need marshmallows.”

  The decision made, Liz untangled herself from Andy to search for marshmallows, while Richard went to steal a pile of wood from the library. Andy followed Liz into the pantry. Ten minutes later, they were ready to go.

  They walked out for about a half mile, trudging along the grass while their cheeks reddened from the crisp fall breeze. They stopped at the top of a low rolling hill and declared it the official picnic site. From that location, they could look around to the rolling hills of the rest of the kept grounds. Just beyond the grass, to the left, there was the tall fringe of a field and the thick pines of a forest were on the right. It was beautiful.

  Humming softly to herself, Liz laid the blanket down while Richard went about building a fire. Andy remained with his eyes fixed on his father in total concentration.

  After a moment, Richard looked up, noticing the child’s eyes on him. “Would you like to help?” Richard asked softly. Andy paused, the nervousness in his eyes warring with worship. Abruptly, he nodded. Richard handed the boy some of the smaller twigs for kindling, and explained how to arrange them all in the center. With serious eyes, Andy set about the task. Liz watched as discreetly as possible under her lashes, trying to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face. Perfect, it was all going so perfect.

  Perhaps that should have been her first warning of the trouble to come.

  Once the fire was going merrily, Liz dished out the tomato soup in the coffee mugs she’d brought along. They drank the soup in silence, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one. Liz was letting the bright sun beat out all the tenseness of the past few days, while Richard was content to watch the warm smile that spread across her face. Picnics and outings suited her. She was at home outside, and at home with Andy.

  In short, she was everything Alycia had never been—warm, vivacious and compassionate. He found the combination unsettling. How much easier to believe in the darkness, than in the light.

  He looked over to see Andrew watching him with his solemn blue eyes. God, the child looked so much like Alycia, sometimes it hurt to see him. And sometimes, when the child gazed at him with a look so somber and ancient, the pain in Richard’s chest had nothing at all to do with his past wife.

  He looked away, not knowing how to confront the child after all the years and not understanding the fierceness of the emotions ripping through him. Instead, he passed out the tuna fish sandwiches, grateful for something to do.

  Presently, as Liz was prone to do, she engaged them all in conversation. Having learned her lessons from the past, she didn’t even try small talk, but went straight to asking Richard about his work. Richard automatically began telling them about his newest experiments, mixing the mica with cyanide to see what kind of dielectric the combination would yield. Andrew sat and listened with enraptured eyes, occasionally throwing in a fact or two that revealed Winnie-the-Pooh wasn’t his sole bedtime reading. Liz brought out the marshmallows.

  “All right,” she declared, “time to roast marshmallows. We’ll need three twigs.”

  Andrew looked shocked, his blue eyes blinking. “What for?”

  “To put the marshmallows on, of course.”

  “But twigs have germs!” the child exclaimed. Liz smiled, the real Andrew was back. Funny how she had missed his academic prudishness.

  “We’ll brush off the twigs,” she assured him, already looking through the remnants of the woodpile to find suitable candidates. Andrew turned to his father. Surely this brilliant man wouldn’t let him down, the boy’s look said.

  “Wood has dirt,” Andrew reiterated to Richard.
To his relief, his father nodded.

  “It does,” Richard agreed easily. “But I’ll show you some tricks to take care of that.” Immediately, Andrew sat up straighter, obviously intrigued. His father was going to show him some tricks. So Richard did, teaching Andy how to peel back the bark to reveal the raw wood beneath.

  “But it’s still wood,” Andy said, his eyes visibly disappointed at this revelation. Richard nodded again, beginning to fully understand Liz’s point on Andrew’s needing to get out more. The child clearly had a one-dimensional understanding of life.

  “Once the bark has been pulled away,” Richard explained patiently, “the wood beneath is completely clean. Did you know that in earlier times, this would be used as a toothpick or a toothbrush?”

  Apparently more interested now, Andrew shook his head. “For that matter,” Richard continued, “the bark of some trees can be boiled into teas, like some Native Americans use to cure illnesses and aid healing.”

  Andrew looked at the remnants of the bark on the ground, his small face frowning as he was apparently trying to imagine this. “Have you ever done that?” the child demanded.

  Serious, Richard shook his head. “No, but I wouldn’t mind having the opportunity to try. There’s more about plants and animals that we don’t know, than we do know.”

  Andy was clearly hooked. “Where did you read this?”

  Richard shrugged, already knowing the reasoning behind the question. “You can find some of it in National Geographic, or in various books on herbal remedies. Not to mention the studies and stories on Native American culture.”

  Andy nodded vigorously, and Liz could see him making the mental list. “Great,” she told Richard. “Now you’re going to have to expand both your magazine and book collection to satisfy his curiosity.”

  Richard looked at her, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not a bad thing,” he said, “to want to read and learn like this.”

  “No,” she said softly, “it’s not.” She smiled at him, but he had to look away, not quite able to handle such warmth. He busied himself with putting a marshmallow on the end of his stick. Andrew watched intently, then followed suit. Andy, however, looked at the results with a more skeptical eye.