Midnight Fantasies

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She stepped back a pace. “I didn’t. Not really. I just wanted to make sure, because—”

  “Because you don’t want anyone to know you stooped so low?”

  She gasped. “I would never think that.”

  He glanced down the hall toward the kitchen and lowered his voice. “Seems like it to me. You were never planning to tell me, or anyone. I figure that’s because you’re ashamed of having had sex with me.”

  Having had sex. “You make it sound so cold.”

  “Wasn’t it? Two strangers in the night seems pretty cold to me.”

  She clenched her hands in front of her. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then tell me what it was like.”

  Her heart beat like crazy. He was pinning her to the wall, and she didn’t know how to get away. “Don’t make me humiliate myself even more.”

  His lips thinned. “Just as I thought. You’re humiliated that you let yourself get so carried away. You’re better than that, right? You’re not like me, a real sex maniac. Sure, you had your fling, but now you’re going to put it behind you.”

  As she gazed at him, his tone of voice finally penetrated her anguish. He sounded angry, sure, but underneath that anger was something else, something more vulnerable. He was hurt. She looked past him to the duffle open on his bed, clothes hanging out of it as if he’d stuffed them inside without caring what he took.

  He was trying to get away. Slowly she went back over their heated exchange from the night before. She’d told him she’d never meant for him to know she was his mystery lover. Apparently he’d interpreted that to mean that she was ashamed of their time together.

  She could let him continue to think that and save her pride, or she could admit her feelings and take away his pain. In the end, it was no contest. She loved him, and she didn’t want him to hurt.

  “Jonas, I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to be another one of your discarded girlfriends.”

  He stared at her for a long time, a muscle working in his jaw. “Is that how you think of me?” he said at last. “An insensitive guy who loves ’em and leaves ’em?”

  “You have to admit there have been quite a few—”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I was extremely choosy, and although I kept trying, I could never find exactly the right woman for me?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “And let me assure you, I agonize over the breakups each and every time.”

  “Maybe you do, but you still manage to break up with them. And I didn’t want to be part of that scene.”

  He paused and his gaze flicked over her. “Who says you would be?”

  “Are you kidding? Look at me. I’m a cowgirl, just like the ones you said never could hold your interest. There’s nothing unusual about me.” She noticed his expression change as a smile tugged at his mouth.

  “Well, there isn’t! I’m good old B.J., who can fix the thermostat on the tractor—”

  “Yeah, and you sure fixed mine.”

  “Jonas, pay attention. I’m trying to tell you that while I may be able to throw a decent rope—”

  “You tie a mean velvet rope, too.”

  “—and ride a cutting horse without falling off—”

  “You can ride me anytime, sweetheart.”

  “Listen, don’t get me confused with that woman at Sarah’s house, because I’m not that woman.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  “I could have sworn you were. Come here and let me get a better look.” He took her arm and pulled her inside his bedroom.

  “Wait a minute. You have the wrong idea.”

  “You don’t even know what my idea is yet.” He closed his bedroom door and twisted the lock.

  Her pulse raced at the look in his eyes. “Listen, Jonas, this isn’t the time or the place. In fact, we should probably get that straight. What happened between us can’t happen again.”

  “Oh?” He walked her backward toward the bed. “Why not?”

  “I’ve told you. I won’t be toyed with.” The backs of her knees came in contact with the edge of the bed.

  “Damn. That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  “See, now that you know I’m not ashamed of what happened between us, you think you can make it go on some more, but it won’t, because—oh!” She lost her balance and fell across the bed.

  He followed her down. “Yes, it will.” He slid his body over hers. “It’ll go on constantly. It might go on right now.”

  “Jonas, no.” She had to protect herself, even though her body was warming up beneath his. In salvaging his feelings, she had set the stage for sacrificing hers.

  He looked into her eyes, and his tone was gentle. “I guess you’re going to be one of those women who holds out for a wedding ring.”

  “I suppose you think that’s funny, considering what we did together.” Her breathing quickened. God, how she wanted him, but she had to be strong. “Yes, I’ve decided the next time I get involved with a man, that’s what I want. A ring, marriage, kids, the whole works.”

  “I can handle that.”

  She figured he still didn’t understand. He wanted to continue the fun and games until that potential husband came along. “The thing is, until then, I’m not having any more flings, no matter how much fun I had this time.”

  “No more flings? That would be a crying shame, Belinda June. That feather-duster routine needs an encore, and I’ll bet you have more of that flavored oil, too.”

  She wasn’t going to make love to him again, but knowing he remembered her whole name made her feel all mushy inside. Okay, so she was also getting hot, and wet, and achy. Once she escaped from this bedroom those feelings would ease up a bit.

  “Have a fling with me, Belinda,” he murmured. “It’ll pass the time until the wedding.”

  “What wedding? I’m not even dating anybody.”

  “Our wedding.”

  She lay very still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Surely she hadn’t heard him right.

  He brushed his forefinger over her mouth. “I can see from the total disbelief in your expression that you’re either horrified by my proposal or you don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “But if you did believe me, you’d accept?”

  “If I did believe you, I would, but I don’t, so I can’t.”

  He chuckled softly. “Let’s see if I can say the right things to convince you.” He cupped her face in both hands and gazed at her earnestly. “I feel like an idiot, because if you hadn’t seduced me in that cave, we might still be stumbling around this ranch, so close and yet so far from each other. I’ll always be grateful to that rainstorm for showing me what’s been right in front of me. I guess I had to be blindfolded to really see you for the first time.” He rubbed his thumbs caressingly over her cheekbones. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve decided I love the Hawthorne place. Maybe we’ll buy it and live there.”

  Oh, God. He was serious. He was proposing. Little white specks flashed in front of her eyes. “You have to let me up,” she said, gasping. “I think I’m going to faint.”

  Immediately he rolled off of her. Then he sat her up and pushed her head down between her knees. “Deep breaths. That’s it. Deep breaths. Better now?”

  Gradually her head stopped spinning, but she still couldn’t seem to breathe normally. She looked at him, sure he’d vanish in a puff of smoke.

  “You still don’t believe me, do you?” he said, concern etched on his face. “Honey, what I’m trying to say is, I love you!”

  The room began to spin again and she ducked her head between her knees while he rubbed her back.

  “Look, you’ll have to get used to hearing it, because we can’t have you passing out every time I tell you I love you. That would be very inconvenient. Besides, I’m not into making love to an unconscious woman.”

  For some reason that struck her as funny, and she began to giggle. Sh
e wasn’t a giggler, but that’s exactly what she was doing.

  “Lord, now you’re hysterical. I hope the shock wears off soon, because I really, really want to start the kissing part.”

  So did she. Still grinning, she lifted her head and gazed at him. “Okay, I believe you.”

  “Glory be.” He guided her back down to the mattress. “So the fling’s on?”

  “It’s on.” Her heart swelled with more happiness than she’d known it could hold.

  “Followed by the wedding?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hot damn.” He eased over on top of her again. “How are you feeling? Dizzy again?”

  “A little, but it’ll pass.” She gazed up into his eyes. Next time they made love, she’d be able to see them. She could hardly wait.

  “How come you feel like fainting when I tell you I love you and I want to marry you?”

  “Because I’ve wanted that since I was four years old.”

  His eyes widened. “Get outta here.”

  “It’s true. I’ve loved you ever since I can remember, Jonas.”

  His gaze warmed. “I think the same goes for me. Only I didn’t have sense enough to know it.” He shook his head. “Which makes me a real fool, but I plan to spend a lifetime making up for that, starting now.” Propped himself on one elbow, he started unbuttoning her blouse. “It’s fling time.”

  “Jonas! Right here?”

  “Why not? Don’t start in on that I’m not the woman you think I am routine. It won’t wash, not with me. I know you’re one hot little number when you want to be.”

  She laughed with delight, because he did know that about her. And he was the only one who did. “But it’s broad daylight, and—”

  “Oh, hey, I’m glad you mentioned that.” He scrambled from the bed and hurried over to open his top dresser drawer. “I can take care of the daylight angle for you.” He dangled a red silk scarf from one hand. “My souvenir.”

  She clapped a hand to her mouth. She’d never missed it.

  He approached the bed holding the blindfold. “I’ll tie this over your eyes and you can pretend it’s dark out. I don’t have a feather duster, but I’m sure I can round up something to tickle you with. I think I still have that old toy headdress in my closet.”

  She smiled at him. They were going to have such fun being married. “Let’s play with the blindfold later, Jonas. This time I want to look into your eyes when we make love.”

  He tossed the blindfold aside immediately. “Works for me,” he said softly.

  Jonas loved her. That was enough to make her bolder than brass. She unfastened the remaining buttons on her blouse.

  His gaze drifted to her lace-covered breasts. “As for me, I want to look…everywhere. I’ve been through some serious sight deprivation recently.”

  She unfastened the front catch of her bra and arched her back. Then she lowered her voice to the sultry murmur she’d used at Sarah’s house. “Then be my guest.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s the woman I was looking for.” He grinned as he came toward her. Then his grin faded as he gazed into her eyes. His voice grew husky with emotion. “You are the woman I was looking for,” he said. “All my life.”

  AFTER HOURS

  Stephanie Bond

  CHAPTER ONE

  “DON’T WORRY, MRS. CONRAD, the loincloth is definitely machine washable.” Rebecca Valentine juggled the phone so she could talk while pinning a floor-length velvet cape hanging on a dress form. Her mind wandered to accessories she’d have to pull together—jeweled sash, vampire teeth, thigh-high boots.

  “And the ankle cuffs, too, dear?”

  She spoke around straight pins clamped between her lips. “Um, yes, the ankle cuffs are washable, too.”

  “Oh, that’s grand! I was afraid we’d have to order another outfit for Marty, and this one practically brand-new. I mean, the fantasy weekend brochure mentioned mud games, but I didn’t realize it would be a pit of mud.”

  Rebecca normally humored the woman as much as her modesty could withstand, but today she wasn’t in the mood to hear about the Conrads’ sensual adventures, not after another sleepless night pondering her own hapless love life. A bell chimed, and her shoulders fell in relief. “There’s my front door, Mrs. Conrad. I have to go.”

  “Okay, dear, thanks for the information. And call me as soon as the harem costume arrives. I have a surprise planned for Marty’s birthday.”

  “Er, I will. Goodbye, Mrs. Conrad.”

  “Toodle-loo.”

  Rebecca returned the receiver, marveling that a grandmother who wore tweed skirts and brought homemade cream candy every time she visited Anytime Costumes, could have such an erotic relationship with her husband of thirty years. People weren’t always what they seemed.

  As she headed toward the front of her shop, she smirked. Take Dickie, for instance. From all outward appearances, he’d been the perfect fiancé, not the kind of man who would elope with his pregnant mistress while his clueless bride-to-be fretted over a china pattern. And his pregnant mistress couldn’t be just any boyish shopgirl, noooooo—she was a former Miss Illinois, 38-24-36.

  “Hidy-hoo!” a deep melodious voice called from the front of the shop.

  Rebecca smiled in spite of the tightness that had seized her chest, and rounded the corner as fast as she could in the nun’s habit she wore. Quincy Lyle, deliveryman extraordinaire, stood in her showroom with a large box at his feet, shaking rain from his buff brown arms. He scanned her head to toe. “Sworn off men altogether, Sister Rebecca?”

  She laughed and touched the stiff headdress. “I’m testing a design. The village playhouse needs twelve nun costumes for a musical. But now that you mention it, maybe becoming a nun isn’t such a bad idea.” The celibacy vow would not present a problem.

  “Pshaw, you’re too beautiful to be a nun.”

  Sigh—if only the man wasn’t gay. “You’re such a sweet liar, Quince.”

  “Hey, in case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, you’re Audrey Hepburn reincarnated.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Ah, but I can’t twirl a baton.” Since Quincy knew practically everyone in the North Chicago business district, and since Dickie’s law firm was only a few blocks away, the deliveryman knew all the sordid details of her jilting.

  He rolled his eyes. “Please. The man’s name is Dickie, for heaven’s sake. He has issues.”

  “I know,” she said, wondering why it was easier to commiserate about the foul ordeal with a casual acquaintance than with her close friends, or even with her sister. “I’m over him.” And her voice cracked only because she was probably coming down with a cold. She expelled a tiny cough. Yes, a cold.

  “Sure you’re over him,” Quincy said cheerfully, then leaned on her counter and flashed a devilish smile. “Which is why you should treat yourself to an incredibly irresponsible fling with an incredibly irresistible specimen.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Sounds fun, but it’s not exactly my style.”

  “Styles change, honey.” He lifted the edge of her voluminous black sleeve. “And you’re crying out for an emotional makeover.”

  Rebecca bit into her lip. In truth, over the past two weeks, the urge to retaliate against Dickie’s betrayal had sometimes overwhelmed her. Lying in bed late at night, listening to sad songs on the stereo, hadn’t she wished she had the nerve to engage in a relationship for pure physical pleasure? To prove to Dickie, to prove to herself that what was good for the gander was good for the goose? Just the thought of an illicit affair made her burn with sweet revenge. Yet inevitably she would concede that even if she decided to do something so uncharacteristically wicked, how would she go about finding a…specimen? The only other man in her life, pathetically, was a mouthwatering customer she’d secretly fantasized about for years, and he was married.

  Quincy clucked. “Just promise me that if someone suitable happens by, you’ll be open to a little flirtation.”

  “I will, but he won’t. Ha
ppen by, that is.”

  “You never know. It’s the lousy weather that’s making you blue.” Quincy glanced at the heavy gray clouds that had taken up residence over the city, then gestured to the area above the counter where some of the most colorful costumes were displayed. “If this keeps up, I’m going to need one of those mermaid costumes of yours just to make deliveries.”

  She smiled at his lame attempt to lift her spirits, and nodded toward the box. “What do you have for me?”

  “Don’t know, but it’s as light as a feather.” He squinted at the label. “Lana Martina Healey, Lexington, Kentucky.”

  “Lana Martina Healey? Oh—Lana Martina!”

  “Customer?”

  Her troubled thoughts were instantly replaced with fond memories. “No, she was this genius my sister and I knew in college. Wow, she must be married now.” She walked around the plain cardboard box measuring about three feet square, marked with the words Do Not Cut Open. “What on earth would she be sending me?”

  “A wedding gift?”

  Rebecca frowned. “I don’t see how Lana could have known about the wedding. We really haven’t kept in touch. Can you give me a hand with it, Quince?”

  “Sure.” He made short work of the strapping tape and stepped aside.

  Rebecca pushed back the cardboard flaps, exposing a sea of foam peanuts.

  “Whatever it is, it must be breakable,” he said.

  Her curiosity piqued, she stuck her hand into the packing material, sending peanuts everywhere, and found an envelope. She slid her finger under the flap and withdrew a brightly colored note card with a picture of a cup of coffee on the front.

  “The suspense is killing me,” Quincy said, motioning for her to hurry.

  “Dear Rebecca,” she read. “I got your business address from the Alumni directory. Believe it or not, I’m also an entrepreneur.” Rebecca pursed her mouth—Lana, Little Miss Corporate, had struck out on her own? “I gave up the accounting gig and opened a bohemian coffee shop in Lexington—which doesn’t sound nearly as interesting as owning a costume shop. I just married a yummy attorney I met through the personal ads, although neither one of us placed one.”