Midnight Fantasies

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “You’ve already drawn in the stage, I see.”

  He dragged his mind back to the matter at hand. “Yes. But we lost six tables, which took a chunk out of the seating capacity.”

  “Hmm. What if you try this?” She sketched an alternative table arrangement in pencil over the diagram. He was drawn into her enthusiasm, taken by her animation. She moved over the diagram systematically, making suggestions for color schemes and lighting. By scheduling carefully and streamlining the menu, two dinner seatings with floor shows could be accommodated on weeknights, three on Friday and Saturday nights.

  “But leave the artichoke salad,” she said with a smile. “It’s my favorite.”

  He leaned one elbow on the table. “You’ve eaten at my restaurant?”

  “Several times.”

  “When we reopen, I’d like to treat you and your fiancé to dinner.”

  Her smile faltered. “I’m not engaged, Michael.”

  “I’m sorry. Sonia told me—”

  “I’m no longer engaged.”

  The news made his gut clench. “Oh.”

  “He found someone else.”

  “Oh.” He studied the lines of her face, and her understated beauty hit him hard. And while his mind argued that her announcement changed nothing, his body knew different. It changed everything. “I guess we’re both on the mend.”

  “I guess.”

  “It’s hard, suddenly being single.”

  She nodded. “Everyone just expects you to move on to another relationship as if the last one didn’t exist.”

  “When you’re not even close to being ready for an emotional commitment.”

  “Right.”

  He pulled his hand down over his face and laughed. “My brother thinks I should have a fling to make myself feel better.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted them back. He hoped she didn’t think he was flirting or something.

  One side of her mouth pulled back. “I’ve been told the same thing.”

  As the silence stretched between them, his mind raced—it was his turn to say something. “Were you in love with this guy?”

  She looked away. “I thought so, but now I wonder how much of it was simply convincing myself that he was a good catch. I mean, I miss him, and it’ll take me a while to get over the hurt, but when something you were banking on gets snatched away, it makes you question if it was ever real.”

  He stared at her profile.

  She looked back and smiled. “I didn’t mean to get all sappy.”

  “No, it’s…fine.” Actually she could have been reading the words engraved on his heart. He looked into her brilliant green eyes and saw the same shadows of rejection he’d been wrestling with. “It’s nice to talk to someone who understands.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to compare my engagement to your marriage.”

  He made a rueful sound. “Things hadn’t been right between us for a long while, but my stubborn pride wouldn’t let me see it.” Then he clapped his hands together. “But now I plan to sink all my energy into getting the restaurant back up and running.”

  She smiled. “I’ll help all I can.”

  How many times had she smiled at him over the past few years, yet he hadn’t noticed how her entire face lit up, how the entire room lit up. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

  She inclined her head in that quiet, confident way that was so…comforting. So different from Sonia’s manic behavior.

  “Here are some sketches of what the staff might wear,” she said, passing him several sheets of stiff paper.

  Michael reviewed colorful drawings of a gladiator, an African princess, an Asian emperor, and numerous others, all elaborate and impressive. He was starting to visualize the sensory impact her ideas would have on patrons. “Did you draw these?”

  A blush tinged her cheeks. “I studied fashion illustration in college.”

  “They’re quite good.”

  “Thank you. Excluding the cooking staff, I figure you’ll need twelve female costumes and twelve male costumes to span shift changes, laundry turnover, et cetera.”

  “Can you have them ready in two weeks?”

  She nodded. “I have pieces of some of them on hand.” She stood and walked over to one of the racks and removed a high-waisted gown made of a pale blue iridescent fabric. “This…plus this.” She removed a cone-shaped white hat from a bin. “Equals a medieval maiden.” She grinned. “With a little work, and a few accessories. And every costume must have a mask, of course.”

  He stood and walked over to join her because he simply missed being close to her—red flags waved in his brain. He lifted the sleeve of the gown she held. “Nice. But I notice you didn’t include the vampire costume in the sketches.”

  “Because you said you couldn’t imagine a vampire costume being elegant or provocative.”

  He dropped the sleeve of the garment. “After seeing you the other night, I stand corrected.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered. “I was just fooling around.”

  Michael gestured toward the racks. “Do you fool around often?”

  Her tongue flicked over her lips, but she didn’t look away. She was probably trying to decide if he was making a pass at her. So was he.

  “I like the costumes,” she said softly. “They let me be anyone I want to be.”

  Michael planted one hand on the wall and leaned forward to whisper against her temple. “Who do you want to be tonight?” He heard her swallow, sensed her hesitation. “Tell me, Rebecca.”

  “Who would you like for me to be, Michael?”

  His sex stirred. “Surprise me,” he murmured, then gently lifted her chin. Their lips were so close, her breath mingled with his. He paused to give her a chance to pull away, but she didn’t. When her mouth twitched, he took it as a sign of acquiescence and lowered his mouth to hers. The unfamiliar textures intrigued him. Her mouth was plump and accommodating, and she tasted of sweet creamed coffee. Their warm tongues parried, and her enthusiasm evoked a rigid response from his body. Powerful.

  She tipped her head back and looked at him steadily. “Are we ready for this?”

  He inhaled sharply and brushed her hair back with his thumbs. “I can only speak for myself. I can’t stop thinking about seeing you the other night in that outfit. It took everything I had to walk out of here.”

  Her eyes glittered, then a slow, feline smile curved her lips. “I’ve been saving a costume that would be perfect for you.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded and wet her lips. “If we’re going to do this, let’s make it memorable.”

  Michael swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the thought of dressing up, but if it would excite Rebecca the way he’d been excited the other night, the way he was excited right now…

  “Show me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN THE RED DRESSING ROOM, Rebecca trembled as she dressed in a sumptuous off-the-shoulders black-and-yellow Spanish gown. She moved slowly, afraid that at any second Michael, who was next door, might abruptly change his mind about what they were planning to do. But the slide of his zipper both reassured and terrified her. What if he laughed? What if he thought she was strange? What if he were disappointed by her body or by her…performance?

  With her blood pounding in her temples, she lifted the lavish skirt and fastened the garters to her black stockings, then slipped her feet into heels. She pulled her hair up into a topknot, then fastened it with a Spanish comb and a black lace fall.

  Standing on wobbly knees, she smoothed a hand over the bodice of the provocative satin dress. Hadn’t she dreamed of this, of dressing up—and down—with Michael? What had Mrs. Conrad said? You have to take a chance. Well, no matter how scared she was, this was her chance, and she was taking it. They were both available, consenting adults—no one would get hurt.

  Physically.

  Her heart jumped wildly in her chest as she opened the curtain. Michael was waiting for her, leaning on the counter in near darkness, magni
ficent in the Zorro costume, just as she knew he would be. Snug black pants, black boots, white shirt with full sleeves, red sash at his waist. With the haunting Spanish guitar music as a background, he might have walked off the page of an adventure novel, except he was heartbreakingly real. And to her relief, he didn’t seem embarrassed or self-conscious. He straightened, then swept an appreciative glance over her costume, lingering on the slit in her skirt that was high enough to reveal a garter.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said.

  “Me, neither,” she murmured. “At least not with someone else.”

  Passion flared in his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said, reaching for her.

  She warmed, but dodged his arm playfully. “Where’s your mask?”

  He held up the black Zorro-style tie-on mask. “Will you help me?”

  Her chest swelled at the realization that he was enjoying the game. She dangled a similar mask from her fingertips. “If you’ll help me.”

  He stepped behind her, then lowered kisses on her bare shoulders and neck that sent shivers cascading over her. She groaned and arched into him as he wrapped the strip of black fabric around her eyes and temples, adjusting the holes before gently tying the ends. He splayed his hand over her stomach and pulled her against him. With his thumb he stroked the underside of her breast. His male hardness was evident against the small of her back even through the layers of their clothing. Her thighs quickened in anticipation of what was to come. She wanted the night to last and last.

  “Now yours,” she murmured, then spun around behind him. She situated his mask and tied it. His hair was soft beneath her fingers, his body still except for his chest moving up and down rapidly. She pressed her cheek into his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. With a delicate touch, she explored the firm contours of his chest through the thin fabric of his loose shirt. He moaned and covered her hands with his, sliding them down to his stomach, then to his waist, then lower.

  Rebecca sighed as her fingers closed over the bulge of his sex. She allowed him to guide her hand, massaging his arousal through his clothing. After a few seconds, he stopped her hand with a groan. Then he turned and drew her into his arms.

  “A dance, señorita?”

  Her mouth parted because the mask he wore took her breath away. “You dance?”

  “Nothing too complicated,” he said with a little laugh. “And I haven’t in years.”

  Still, she couldn’t have been more surprised—until she realized that he was a very good dancer. He waltzed her around the room, holding her tightly against him with a strong arm around her waist. She stayed on her toes to be responsive to his moves, but their bodies melded perfectly, curve to hollow. Rebecca had never been so in tune with a man physically, and the experience was heady.

  When the music slowed, he pulled her against him for a leisurely rasp of their bodies. She lifted her leg and hooked it around the back of his knee, exposing the garter he so admired. The mask made her feel mysterious and anonymous, as if they’d met at a Spanish ball a hundred years ago. Rain pounded the roof, cocooning them inside.

  He kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue against hers. The blood rushed to her breasts and loins, weighting them, whetting them. He unzipped the back of her dress, allowing the bodice to fall and expose her breasts. Rebecca closed her eyes and held her breath until a low growl of appreciation came from his throat.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered against a budded pink nipple before he pulled it into his warm, wet mouth. Desire shot through her and she encouraged him by holding his head.

  “Harder,” she whispered. He pressed her breasts together so he could move from one to another with a flick of his tongue. Then he drew upon each nipple, kneading with his hands, pulling as much sensitive skin into his mouth as possible. Rebecca threw her head back and murmured a long “ah” of delight.

  “I want you,” he breathed against her breasts. “Now.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  He lifted her as if she were feather down and carried her into the red dressing room. He pulled the curtain, and they were tucked away in a private nest, surrounded by mirrors. Seeing herself naked from the waist up while his gaze devoured her was rapturous. His hands moved against her skin, dark on light. His wide, long fingers circled the engorged skin at the tips of her breasts. She was mesmerized, chest heaving. And she was ready for him.

  Rebecca turned and loosened his waistband, allowing his erection to spring free into her hand. Slick moisture transferred to her fingers—he was ready for her, too. He pressed her back on the padded seat, pushing her skirt up to her waist. He knelt between her legs, kissing her thighs above the stockings. The mask he wore heightened her anticipation because it gave him a dangerous air—she didn’t know what he might do next. She closed her eyes and undulated her hips in time to the music around them.

  He flicked his tongue against her panties, then fastened his mouth over the mound that housed the sensitive bead of her desire. Through the skimpy layer of black sheer fabric, his hot breath scorched the vulnerable nub, sending her hips bucking. But the barrier of her panties diluted the pleasure of his tongue just enough to make her wild with frustration. “More,” she pleaded. “More.”

  He unhooked the garters and inched the tiny black panties down over her twitching legs. Then he lifted his shirt over his head and flung it off. He produced a foil packet, ripped it open and rolled on the condom in record time.

  Rebecca opened her knees shamelessly. His eyes were hooded with desire as he lowered his body over the length of hers. He guided the knob of his thick arousal up and down her wet channel, clenching his teeth in restraint as she moved in little circles against him. She clawed at his bare back as her release engulfed her and she cried his name. At her pinnacle, he entered her in one long stroke. The breath squeezed out of her lungs as her muscles contracted around him involuntarily. Their moans mingled and she wrapped her legs around his waist. They swayed in perfect rhythm, as if they’d made wild love together many, many times.

  Rebecca knew she would never forget their reflection—she bare-breasted with the dress rucked up to her waist, and he driving into her, shirtless and masked. He sheathed and unsheathed himself with increasing urgency until he stiffened and emitted a long, satisfied groan. He relaxed into her, breathing her name over and over.

  The only thing better than the sex itself was having the weight of his spent body on hers. So comforting, so erotic. Neither of them moved for several long minutes, recovering. Rebecca closed her eyes and let the wonder of what had just happened course through her. She hadn’t known it could be so utterly fulfilling, so completely draining.

  He roused and withdrew slowly, then rolled to her side. A chill ran over her body when the air hit her skin, moist wherever they’d touched. She held her breath—the moment of truth: Regret? Remorse?

  He lifted onto his elbow, propped his head with his hand and looked down at her.

  “It’s a good thing we got most of the business out of the way,” he murmured, pulling the mask off and down to his neck. “Because I’m exhausted.”

  Relief flooded her. Michael didn’t think she was strange.

  “You’re amazing,” he said. “I never imagined…did I mention that you’re amazing?”

  A flush of female satisfaction spread over her body. “I think it’s called chemistry.” She lifted her head and untied her mask.

  He gasped. “Oh my God, it’s the girl who runs the costume shop.”

  She laughed and propped herself up to face him. Thunder boomed overhead. “It’s really storming out there.”

  “The roof could have blown off and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  The lights blinked, then went out. Every electric buzz in the building fell quiet, increasing the volume of the rain pelting the building. “That old transformer is temperamental,” she murmured. “The generator will kick on in a few minutes.” They lay in pitch-black for a few seconds listening to the win
d howling.

  “Hell of a storm,” he said quietly. “I used to dig storms when I was a kid.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “South Side, rough part of town. You?”

  “Little town called Madison about a hundred miles from here.”

  “I’ve heard of it.” He shifted. “How did you get into the costume business?”

  She pressed her lips together, and the years melted away. “My mother worked most of the time, and my younger sister and I had to entertain ourselves. Meg read books, and I played dress-up.” She smiled in the dark. “I guess it stuck.”

  “No father?”

  “No. He split when we were little. But Mom still lives in Madison.”

  “Where’s your sister?”

  “She’s a schoolteacher in Peoria.”

  “I always wanted a sister. I have brothers. Three of them.”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough for her to pick up the glint of his eyes. “Are you close to your brothers?”

  “I suppose, as close as you can be after everyone grows up and has their own family, their own problems. They’re all divorced.” He made a rueful sound. “I guess we’re all divorced now.”

  A reminder why they’d done what they’d done—sexual healing. “How did you get into the restaurant business?”

  “It was my w—Sonia’s idea. I owned a small wireless telecommunications business, and a big company offered to buy me out. We took the money and sunk it into the restaurant.” He gave a small laugh. “I hated it at first, but then I grew to really like it. I think the place has a lot of potential now that…I have more control.” His mouth moved closer to her ear. “And with your help.”

  “You should call the directors of the dance troupes tomorrow.”

  “It’s on my list.”

  “And the invitations for the masquerade ball should go out immediately to everyone you know, and to the press.”

  “It’s on my list.”

  “And a graphic artist—”

  “It’s on my list.” He nuzzled her ear. “God, I wish we didn’t have to get out in that storm.”