At the Midnight Hour (9 page)

“But Liz, we have to make the brownies for today.”

She sighed, collecting her tired wits. “Andy,” she managed to say levelly enough, “you and I both know how much I love chocolate, but not even I make brownies at four in the morning.”

Andrew’s lip jutted out suspiciously. “You said you would help me,” he said with a small quiver in his voice.

“And I will, Andy. Around ten or so.”

“The brownies won’t be done in time!”

“Andrew,” she said, starting to lose whatever meager patience she possessed at four in the morning, “it only takes about an hour to make brownies. And we are not meeting your father until one. There is plenty of time, even if we start at ten. Now,
go to bed.
”

But he still wasn’t moving, and after one long, droopy-eyed moment, she realized he wasn’t going to. Good God, four-thirty in the morning and she had to deal with this? What in the world had possessed her to take this crazy job!

“Andy,” she started out firmly, mustering her small supply of energy. “Go to bed. Now!”

Once again, he simply stared at her. “I can’t,” he said after a minute, and this time the quiver in his voice was more noticeable. She looked at him carefully, by now fully awake in spite of herself.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him once more.

He shook his head, but his lower lip was still trembling.

“Andrew, if there is nothing wrong, why won’t you go back to bed?”

“There’s a ghost in my room,” he whispered softly.

She sighed. A ghost in his room. She should have known. Probably just the aftereffects of the memories Blaine had invoked. Well, at least this was more standard ground when dealing with six-year-olds. When she was his age, she had had her fair share of run-ins with a bogeyman or two.

“I’ll tell you what,” she whispered back. “Why don’t we go back into your room together, and turn on the lights, and look in the closet and under the bed. I’m sure that will scare the ghost away for good.”

“But she’ll come back.”

“She?”

He looked at her stubbornly, his face pale.

“She will.”

“How about we leave on one light?” Liz said slowly. In spite of her best intentions, she was beginning to feel a little bit nervous herself.
She?
Why had he called the ghost a she? She shook her head firmly to clear the thought. Andrew was a spooked child, they would turn on some lights, that would be the end of it. “What do you say, Andrew?” she tried again, keeping her voice confident and light. “Will that help?” He still looked less than certain, but finally he gave in with a small nod.

Throwing back the covers, she took his hand and led him to the door separating their rooms. She had to feel her way carefully in the dark, going around her bed, and then over to the wall. Suddenly, looking around, she began to understand just how scary the rooms might seem to a six-year-old boy. In the blackness, the ornate carvings of the armoire began to take on the twisted bearings of gargoyles and the floor of the old house squeaked beneath her feet, echoing through the empty old house.

Andy tightened his grip on her hand, and she squeezed his as much to comfort him as herself. Slowly, she pulled open the door.

Andrew’s room was even darker than her own, the curtains pulled tight across the window until only a sliver of light crept through. The dark closet seemed like some hideous, gaping mouth, and the table and chairs blended together into a hairy gothic beast. Suddenly, she wasn’t feeling so confident anymore and phrases she’d heard all too recently began to sound off in her head.

“Alycia was murdered.”

“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”

She swallowed heavily. It was just the house, she tried to rationalize. It was an old house, and with its creaky boards, vaulted ceilings and ornately carved trim, well...it fed the imagination.

But then something moved suddenly on the left, and she jumped, causing Andrew to yelp.

Their reflections. It was just their reflections in the mirror. Her nerves couldn’t take any more; she looked desperately for the light switch. Her hand found it and gratefully flipped it—nothing.

No light. Nothing. Oh, boy.

“What was that?” whispered Andrew shrilly. “What was that sound?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Liz whispered back, but in that instant, she did.

Something was scratching at the window. Or someone.

“Alycia was murdered.”

“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”

Oh, this was not a good time. Desperately, she flipped the switch again and again. And still the darkness reigned, still the scratching sounds whispered across the room.

Andrew whimpered slightly at her side, his grip on her hand now cutting off any hope of blood supply. Grimly, Liz swallowed and squared her shoulders. She did not believe in ghosts, and she was not going to let a creaky old house with faulty electricity get to her. Besides, Andrew needed her. That simple realization lent her strength.

“Stay here,” she said to him now. “I’m going to open the curtains.”

But Andrew shook his head frantically in the darkness, his grip on her hand tightening even more. “Don’t go,” he whispered desperately. “The ghost will get you. She will, she will, she will.”

“Andrew,” Liz managed to say calmly enough given the fact she was standing in a pitch-black room where the lights wouldn’t work and strange noises were coming from the window. “You read all the science books. You know ghosts don’t exist.”

“But they do,” he said softly. “
She
does.”

In spite of herself, she shivered in the darkness. She? Must he continue to call his fictional ghost a she?

“I’m going over there, Andy,” she said at last. “Now, you can either come with me, or stay here.”

There wasn’t much hesitation; he went with her. Together, hand gripped tightly in hand, they crept their way along the wall, Liz using her other hand to guide them.

The scratching grew louder.

“I want my dad,” Andrew whimpered, and quite honestly Liz agreed with him wholeheartedly.

“It’ll be okay,” she tried to reassure him, but was reaching the point where she could barely reassure herself.

“Alycia was murdered.”

“I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”

She was beginning to hate her own imagination. Ghosts do not exist, she tried repeating to herself over and over again. Not even in spooky old houses. But then the scratching grated across the window again, and her heart stopped beating in her chest.

They were a few feet from the dark hanging curtains and there was only one way to do it. Liz drew a deep breath, closed her eyes and yanked the curtain back.

Andrew screamed, she jumped, and came face-to-face with several long, ugly tree branches.

“Geez Louise,” she breathed, her heart coming back to rest in her chest, where it thumped madly. “It’s only a tree, Andrew. Only a tree.”

By the silver moonlight that was streaming in, she could see his face. It was chalk pale, his eyes the size of saucers. She shook him gently, and he immediately buried himself in her arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she told him in a soft Carolina voice meant to soothe his nerves. “Honestly, Andrew. Everything is all right. Now take a deep breath. Relax.”

But just as she said the words, the door banged open with a crash and both she and Andrew jumped once more in fright.

“What’s wrong?” demanded the unmistakable voice of Richard. Liz sagged against the wall in relief, Andrew still wrapped tightly around her.

“Good God,” she breathed. “Don’t ever do that again. You just gave me a heart attack!”

The candle he was holding flickered until it caught both her and Andrew in its wavering light. “I thought I heard someone scream,” Richard said tersely, his winter-blue eyes slicing through the darkness. “Is everything okay?”

Liz nodded, even though Andrew was still shaking against her. “A tree outside Andrew’s window just gave him a fright. But it’s all right now, isn’t it, Andy?”

The boy’s pale face turned to peer out from the comfort of her stomach. “I w-w-want the lights on,” he said tremulously.

Richard set the candle on the dresser, taking in the boy’s ashen features. The child was honestly terrified and it occurred to him all at once that this was the first time he’d seen Andy act as a child. The sudden urge to reach out, to stroke his hair in parental comfort was almost overwhelming. He fought it grimly, willing himself to keep his hand at his side. The boy didn’t need him. Richard could see just how tightly Andrew clung to Liz. The child trusted her, trusted her as absolutely as Richard had seen him trust anyone. And he also noted the way Liz reacted to him, one arm curved around his shoulders, offering him the comfort and security he needed in the jumping shadows.

He couldn’t quite take his eyes from the picture, even as he willed himself not to be affected by it.

“The electricity is out,” he said. “Will a few candles do?”

But the candlelight merely flickered across the room, casting light and shadows at random. It added to the spell more than it helped. Andy pressed closer to Liz. Her hand stroked the top of his head to soothe him.

Richard watched the motion, feeling raw emotion surge through him. Why did she look so right with the child? Why did she look as if she cared? Didn’t she know she was just a nanny? Didn’t she know she wasn’t supposed to belong?

He’d been avoiding her all day, trying to forget last night and the way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d looked at him in horror immediately afterward. He wanted her out of his dreams, out of his mind. He’d even avoided the library, determined to prove to himself that it didn’t matter. But he’d thought of her just the same. Hunched over his damn equations, it was her picture that burned into his mind.

And now she was here, standing just seven feet away with a terrified child wrapped around her leg and nothing but a thin T-shirt for cover.

His grip on the candle holder tightened.

“Are any of the lights working?” Liz asked.

Her hair was tumbling down, framing her face in sleepy disarray. He turned his face away. “I haven’t checked the whole house,” he said shortly. “But I assume the problem is with the power lines, and therefore, yes, the whole house is without electricity.”

“What if we go back to the library?” Liz suggested. “We could light another fire in the fireplace and sit down together there.” She looked at Andrew’s drawn face. “Would that make you feel better, Andrew? Maybe we could even roast some marshmallows.”

He looked uncertain, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right,” he said quietly.

She looked at Richard. “How does that sound?”

It sounded like a cozy domestic scene. It sounded like three souls huddling up together against the cold, dreary darkness.

It sounded like something he definitely shouldn’t do.

But he found himself nodding, anyway.

There was a small shift then, Andrew releasing his death grip on Liz at last. The boy walked forward tentatively, attempting to be brave. But with the shift, Liz became fully exposed to Richard’s gaze for the first time. Like a drowning man, he took in the sight, the short jersey T-shirt just skimming the top of her thighs, her legs, long and slender stretching out before him. He’d seen women in silk and he’d seen women in lace. But he’d never seen a woman as sexy as this.

He thought his knuckles might break with the effort at control.

“Couldn’t you at least put on a robe?” he managed to ask tightly.

Liz glanced down at her old football T-shirt, apparently just realizing how little she was wearing. “Sorry,” she muttered, heading for the door that connected her room to Andrew’s.

“In future,” Richard cut in, “perhaps you should consider more appropriate sleepwear when on duty.”

“You’re right,” Liz told him dryly. “From now on, I’ll sleep in all those lovely uniforms you purchased.”

She vanished into her room before he could reply, which was probably just as well. His nerves were wound impossibly tight, too tight, to deal with such things as Liz in only that T-shirt.

“Let’s go downstairs,” he said abruptly. Andrew nodded, but it seemed to Richard that the child’s eyes looked slightly accusatory, and he felt even worse. Then suddenly the little boy glanced at the jumping shadows, and stuck his hand tightly in Richard’s grip.

Richard nearly jumped himself at the unexpected gesture. Andrew had not touched him since his arrival. Richard had thought that it was best. But now, the little hand tucked so securely in his own massive grip, Richard felt something strange and tight grip his chest. It felt almost like pain.

His face grim in the darkness, Richard led Andrew downstairs in complete silence. With studied detachment he noted that the scared little boy disappeared with each step, until soon it was the somber child-genius that walked by Richard’s side.

It’s better this way, Richard reminded himself. Yet in his mind’s eye he could see the scared Andrew, clutching at Liz. Liz, in her simple T-shirt, holding the child, giving him the comfort he needed.

She was the first touch of warmth this old house had ever seen. But she was six years too late.

S
ometime shortly after six, the lights came on with a small flicker. Liz’s eyes had already drifted shut and Andrew was curled next to her on the leather sofa. Only Richard was still awake, sitting in the chair by the fire.

As her vision cleared, Liz had the impression of a lone man, his gaze dark and intent on the dancing flames. Even now, in the dawning hours of the morning, nothing gave him away. His features were as impenetrable as before, his hand tapping lightly on the arm of the chair to the silent rhythm of his own private thoughts. He glanced up only when she finally raised her head.

“The lights,” she said softly, her voice husky with sleep.

He nodded, his eyes skimming briefly over her bathrobed figure before returning once more to the flames.

“It’s morning now,” he said, his own voice quiet in the vaulted room. She and Andrew had been asleep for the past hour, curled together so softly and snugly it had almost hurt to look at them. How was it that one woman could integrate herself into things so quickly? Even looking at her now, her hair mussed, her eyes soft with sleep, he could feel his stomach tighten, his pulse leap.

He’d looked at her a hundred times in the past hour. And each and every time he’d thought of how her lips had tasted beneath his own. Sweet, lush and willing. His body hurt with the relentless ache, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not after the way she’d looked at him after that kiss, her eyes filled with such horror. He wouldn’t go through that again, he simply wouldn’t. Besides, now golden boy Blaine was back, and he’d seen how Blaine looked at her....

It would only be a matter of time. Not that he cared. The tenth sharpest mind in the country was much too smart for such emotional drivel as that.

“You should go back to bed and get some rest,” he found himself saying, his voice expressionless and curt.

She nodded, glancing over at Andrew.

“He almost looks like a six-year-old when he sleeps,” she whispered.

Richard could only nod his head in agreement. Lost in slumber, Andrew’s defensive posture was gone. Now he was simply a little golden-haired boy, worn out by the day’s activities. He was curled into a little ball, his glasses lying beside him. He looked...vulnerable. Once more, Richard felt his chest tighten. Once more, he steeled himself against the intensity of the emotion.

“Do you think you can carry him back to his room?” Liz asked, keeping her voice low. “It seems a shame to disturb him.”

He should have said no, but instead, he found himself nodding. He got up, and picked up the weight of the child easily. The boy barely stirred, his head falling soft and comfortable on the solid expanse of his father’s shoulder. Richard followed Liz out of the library, and willed himself to be strong.

Carrying the child, however, he felt himself assaulted by a thousand and one sensations. Years ago he had carried this same child, but then the small one-year-old frame had been a whisper against his chest, a tiny, fragile burden. Now the very same child was a solid weight against him, firm and warm with five years of growth. The smell of baby powder was gone, but the simple burden of a child’s trust remained.

They came to the bedroom. Liz smoothed back the rumpled covers of the twin bed, silently gesturing for Richard to lay Andrew down. As gently as possible, he complied, setting the boy down.

Abruptly he felt the loss, the warmth of his small charge replaced immediately by a rush of cold air. He’d come in as a father, but stood now as a lone man; he hated himself for noting the difference.

Andrew stirred, muttering in his sleep. But then, with a sigh, he rolled over and Liz pulled the covers snugly over him. Wanting to keep him warm, she tucked the edges of the blankets securely around his neck.

She glanced up in time to catch Richard staring at the child with the most intense look on his face. And for a moment, there was a flash of rippling emotion in his pale blue eyes that could only have been yearning.

Then suddenly it was gone, and once again his face was the smooth dispassionate slate of before. She still couldn’t stop herself from reaching out her hand and laying it on his arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His eyes fell to her hand, small and feminine on his arm. Emotion ripped through him once more and the temptation to take her into his arms, to hold her if only for a fragile moment, was almost too strong to resist. He steeled himself against desire willing the weakness away. He was a solitary man; it was the way it was meant to be.

Looking up, he met her expectant gaze with his own dispassionate stare. “For what?” he asked tonelessly.

“For coming to Andy’s room when you heard the commotion. For taking him down to the library for comfort. For carrying him back up to bed still asleep. He needs those things, you know.”

Her voice was beguiling, the soft, velvety drawl trying to penetrate his control to find the emotion she’d witnessed so briefly. But his control was too strong, and once more he was the cold, intimidating man she’d known before. He simply shrugged, looking at her with his wintry blue eyes. “You should get some sleep, too,” he said simply. “It’s been a long night.”

She nodded, letting her hand fall away. Whatever he had been thinking was lost. He’d already told her that his relationship with his son was not her concern, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. Still, she’d seen the look in his eyes. The man obviously cared for his son more than he was willing to admit. She just needed to show him the way, and he would come around. She was convinced of it. This night made it clearer to her more than ever just how much Andrew needed his father. And how much Richard needed his son.

“You should get some rest, as well,” she whispered, leading the way out of the room. “You work too hard, as it is, and tomorrow—well, today—is going to be a big day.”

“What time are you coming to the lab?” he asked.

“Let’s say two or so. And we’ll bring the promised brownies.”

She saw his face twitch into what might have been a wry smile. It made the remembered words of beratement for his earlier cold treatment of the brownies die on her lips.

“Yes, the brownies,” he repeated dryly. “See you then.”

She nodded, the words suddenly making her nerves tingle.
See you then.
They sounded so full of promise. His pale gaze was on her, and abruptly she became aware of the limited clothing beneath her robe. Unconsciously, her hand clutched the top of the terry cloth together, and his eyes looked at her with a knowing glint. She blushed, thinking she ought to disappear into her room now, but standing in the hall like an idiot instead. Then, without any direction from her, her own eyes settled upon his lips.

The air sparked, and a stomach-tightening burn of awareness filled the dimly lit hall. And just when she should have stepped back through her doorway, she found herself taking a small step forward.

An experiment,
the voice at the back of her mind whispered.
Just to see if two nights ago in the library had really happened.
Then his lips came down abruptly and she wasn’t thinking anymore.

His lips were as hard as she remembered, hungry and demanding. They slanted over hers harshly, demanding her participation even as they dared her to step back. His tongue plunged into the warm recesses of her mouth, caressing her deeply as she sagged against him. Her arms wrapped around his strong shoulders for support, her fingers finding the silky spikes of his midnight hair. He tasted like brandy, fiery and beguiling. She pressed closer, wanting to feel more, to taste more.

Dimly, she became aware of his hands on her bathrobe, pushing the terry cloth aside until his hands could plunder inside. They curled around the small of her waist, then caressed up her back to press her closer. She was still gasping from the impact, when his palm stole forward to cup her breast.

She gasped, her eyes turning black with desire as they fluttered open to meet his gaze. His eyes were no longer cold, she thought hazily, but seemed to burn with a fierce need that sent more tingles down her spine.

And she desired him with an intensity that suddenly scared her. She wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready to feel anything quite this powerful. But even as she began to draw away, he pulled her closer.

His lips claimed hers once more, but this time they were no longer demanding. Instead, his tongue delicately outlined the lush fullness of her lips as if it had all the time in the world. He tasted one corner of her mouth, and even as her lips parted with breathless anticipation, he ignored the offering with keen discipline. He dipped his tongue into the other corner of her mouth, hearing her light moan. She was sweet and exquisite, at once bold and bashful. Slowly, he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, tracing the line of her teeth, then finding her tongue to tangle with his own.

Her knees gave out under the slow onslaught, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer sensuality of his kiss. But he held her up easily, his fingers strong and warm on her waist. She had never felt so tiny and feminine....

His tongue probed deeper, and her arms tight around his neck, her breasts aching and heavy against his chest. He licked the inside of her mouth languorously, delving slow and sure, seeming to relish each voluptuous movement.

She moaned again and he felt it in every burning cell of his blood. Slowly, relentlessly, he pulled away.

It took her a good sixty seconds to realize he wasn’t coming back. She had to bite her lips to keep herself from moaning in loss. Her eyes fluttered open, the lids heavy with the desire. At once, she became aware of his gaze hard upon her face. His eyes no longer looked at her with raw passion. Instead, they glittered with a dark combination of rage and reluctant hunger.

“Do you want me to stop?” he growled softly.

The words doused her passion as quickly as a cold shower. She became aware of her compromising position, of how long they’d been kissing. A dull flush crept up her cheeks, and her hands scrambled to pull her robe back together. Richard watched her movements with cynical eyes.

“You’re too old to play the virgin,” he said mockingly.

She stiffened, and for one moment, she was tempted to hit the man. But then she tightened her robe with the rigid control and pride she’d learned from growing up with four mercilessly older brothers. She looked him straight in the eye, her midnight gaze not giving an inch.

“My apologies,” she said curtly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”

This time Richard stiffened, his pale eyes growing even colder as they homed in on her. Slowly, he reached out and touched her cheek, no expression crossing his face as she flinched.

“Only fools make promises,” he said softly. He knew why she was turning away, he remembered that look of horror in her eyes after their last kiss. She didn’t trust him, she was afraid of him. Fine then, he sentenced himself savagely. Perhaps it was better this way. God knows he would have done better with Alycia if she’d ever had the slightest bit of fear.

He let his eyes fall to her lips one last time, taking in the full, bruised softness of their form. Then his gaze swept up, full of mocking intensity.

She swallowed heavily under that stare, her mind filling with too many sensations—the feel of Richard’s kiss, the intensity of his gaze. Then she remembered Nick. Sweet Nick, down on the ground with so much blood—

Her control wavered, her shoulders folding forward as the first sliver of pain washed through her. For one instant, she swayed on her feet, the exhaustion and mental strain almost too much.

Richard saw her waver, and his eyes narrowed with new and sudden puzzlement. He’d seen the pain in her eyes, her face was so damn open. It was the same sharp sliver of emotion he’d seen that first day when she’d sat in his office. He didn’t understand it, and he didn’t like things he didn’t understand.

But that didn’t stop him from suddenly reaching out a hand to steady her elbow. Her midnight blue eyes swept up, and he saw gratitude. It made him feel like an absolute lout.

“You should get some rest,” he said forcefully, hating the way she tied his insides into knots when he knew better than to be manipulated by a woman. For all he knew, this was some grand charade on her part to keep him off balance. God knows, Alycia had performed similar tricks in her lifetime. Though, over time, he’d come to realize her China blue eyes never completely lost their hard, metallic glint.

Liz simply nodded, steadying herself. The worst of the anguish passed, as it usually did. Now she was just left with the feeling of emptiness and vulnerability. Sometimes, she hated that more, especially when looking at this dark, unreadable man before her.

“Thank you,” she whispered simply, and before her control completely gave out, she pulled away and disappeared inside her room.

Richard let her go, swearing one soft, succinct word under his breath. But it was aimed as much at himself as at the situation. He didn’t understand her. And he didn’t understand himself when he was around her.

He scowled as he stormed to his own room, and even in the light hours of the morning, sleep was a long time coming.

* * *

Liz rose at nine to the sound of movement from Andrew’s room. Rousing herself completely, she set about getting ready for what indeed would be a busy day. She didn’t allow herself to think about last night, or the kiss, or Richard’s reaction. She was attracted to the man, she would allow herself that much—even if it did fill her with a twinge of guilt. Sooner or later, this situation, her being attracted to someone, was bound to occur. All she needed was more time. And someone less formidable than Richard Keaton.

Well, she’d meant what she’d said last night. She had no business cultivating his kisses, not when she barely knew the man, and not when she still felt unsure about him. From now on, except where Andrew was concerned, she was going to stay clear of him.

She had no sooner stepped out of her room than she walked straight into Blaine, who was standing in the middle of the hall, still dressed in his clothes from the night before. He gave her a startled look.