One More Sleepless Night (16 page)

‘Very possibly, nothing.’ He glanced up at the clock solemnly ticking away on the wall and gave her a faint smile that was most definitely
not
making the ice chips surrounding her heart melt. ‘But I still have three minutes left.’

She frowned, momentarily distracted by his mouth. ‘What?’

‘You gave me five minutes. There are three left.’

So she had. ‘Of course,’ she said with an airy wave of her hand. ‘Well, if you want to use them to talk about your plants, be my guest.’

Rafael tilted his head and stared at her for a few long seconds during which it seemed to Nicky that all she could hear was the apparently thunderous beat of her heart and the rasp of her breathing.

‘You were absolutely right, you know,’ he said eventually.

‘About what?’

‘Everything.’

Nicky blinked and went still because he’d suddenly gone all dark and serious and it was doing crazy things to her pulse. ‘Everything?’

He nodded. ‘Everything. I
do
back off whenever the going gets tough.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’ He rubbed a hand along his jaw but all that did was make her think about the times
she’d
run her hand along his jaw and how much she longed to do it again. ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I reckon I probably picked it up from my father.’

‘Your father?’

Rafael nodded. ‘It’s the way he deals with things. He’s an academic. Linguistics. Anyway, whenever things get too overwhelming he buries himself in his study with his books.’

‘I see,’ she said, although frankly she was struggling to see anything other than him.

‘And I have my roof terrace and my plants, my vineyard and my vines.’ He shoved his hands through his hair, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. ‘Remember how I told you about the time when I stopped letting my sisters bother me?’

‘Vaguely,’ she said, because she wasn’t about to confess that she’d been over every conversation they’d ever had so often that at times she’d wanted to tear her hair out.

‘Well, before that, whenever things got too much I used to run to the end of the garden and take refuge there. It was my sanctuary. I used to—ah—talk to the trees and make up imaginary worlds where girls didn’t exist...’ He winced and she couldn’t help melting just that little bit more at the way he was going through with all this even though it was clearly mortifying him. Then he took a deep breath. ‘I guess growing up as the only boy among four sisters taught me that emotion is a weakness and one that can all too easily be exploited.’ He gave her a faint smile and her stupidly fragile heart squeezed. ‘Certainly boarding school didn’t change that perception and in the end I became adept at not giving a damn. I told myself that life’s a lot easier if you simply don’t care about things. About people.’

Nicky swallowed hard in an effort to suppress all the emotions that were about to spring free from their confines, but she had the feeling that she was losing the battle. ‘Sometimes you don’t have a choice.’

He stared at her intently, his eyes burning into hers. ‘No.’ And then he shrugged. ‘So there you have it,’ he said with a small self-deprecating smile. ‘I
am
an emotional coward. When you told me you loved me it spooked the hell out of me. I’d just realised that you made me feel things I’d never felt before and hadn’t ever wanted to. We’d just had that conversation about Marina and all I could think about was how dependent on me she’d become, how manipulative she’d been and how horribly it all ended. I reacted horrifically and for that there’s no excuse.’

And he sounded so flat, so bleak and resigned that suddenly everything she’d been trying to hold down spilled over. ‘No,’ she said fiercely, her heart racing and her throat aching. ‘I was wrong.’

‘You weren’t.’ He rubbed a hand over his face and then his entire body shuddered. ‘But, God, Nicky, I’m sorry for letting you leave like that.’

And when his hand dropped and she saw the tormented expression on his face, the anguish in his eyes and heard the raw honesty in his voice, Nicky felt what was left of her pseudo-steeliness crumble. ‘No,
I’m
sorry,’ she said, her voice croaky and shaky with the rush of emotion. ‘I should never have said any of it.’

‘Yes, you should.’ He raked his hands through his hair. ‘I needed to hear it.’

‘I was out of line.’

‘You had every reason to be.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You did.’ He stared at her, his eyes suddenly clear and focused absolutely on her. ‘You don’t back down from anything, do you?’ he said with what sounded like awed wonder. ‘You face everything head-on.’

Nicky swallowed down the lump that had suddenly lodged in her throat. ‘I’ve never seen the point of not doing that.’

‘You know, you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.’ His expression softened and the look in his eyes made her heart lurch madly.

‘No, I’m not. I’m a mess. I can’t even bump into someone without going loopy.’ She unfolded her arms and gripped the edges of the desk just in case her knees actually did give way.

He began to walk towards her and with every step he took she became a little more breathless. ‘You’re beautiful.’

‘You’re insane,’ she murmured as he stopped just in front of her, overwhelming her senses and scattering her wits.

‘I’m certainly crazy about you.’

‘What?’ she breathed, her heart galloping and the awful tension inside her making her go a bit dizzy.

‘Nicky, I love you.’

And then the world shuddered to a halt and time stopped altogether because she’d wanted it so badly, had wanted
so
much for this to be why he’d come, and she’d tried so hard not to let herself hope, and now she didn’t have to.

‘Really?’ she said giddily.

‘Really.’

‘But I thought you only did lust.’

‘So did I.’ He put his hands on her upper arms and she felt herself tremble with longing. ‘But that was another thing you were right about. I’ve been stupidly deluded this past week because how could I not be in love with you? You’re incredible. Mind-blowingly gorgeous. Supremely talented and utterly fearless.’ He looked down at her, his eyes blazing so fiercely that she could barely breathe. ‘You completely dazzle me, Nicky. You make me want to experience every emotion under the sun. I’m sorry I’ve been such a thick-headed idiot for not realising it before, and I know how badly I hurt you, but maybe if you’d let me stick around for a while I could try and make it up to you.’

‘How long are we talking?’

‘Seventy years, give or take a few.’

‘That sounds like a long time.’

He frowned. ‘Too long for you?’

And then finally she let loose everything that had been caught up inside her and was suddenly grinning like a fool as love and heat and happiness poured through her. ‘Not nearly long enough because I love you too.’

He dragged her into his arms as if he never wanted to let her go and buried his face in her hair. ‘Thank God for that,’ he muttered. ‘Thank
God
.’

And then he drew back and cupped her face and kissed her until she couldn’t think straight. By the time he pulled back, his breathing was as ragged as hers and his heart was banging frantically against hers.

‘I know you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself,’ he said, keeping her wrapped in his arms as he looked down at her, the love shining in his eyes almost stealing her breath, ‘but do you think you might be able to lean on me from time to time?’

She tilted her head and grinned up at him as she pretended to consider. ‘I should think that could probably be arranged.’

‘And if you ever need advice or help or anything, in fact, might you think of asking me?’

‘Only if you promise to do the same.’

‘I do.’

She gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Good, because frankly you could do with the help.’

‘I know.’

Her smile wobbled for a second. ‘And actually I could do with some too.’

He held her tighter and she could feel his strength surrounding her. ‘Whatever you need.’

‘I just need you.’

‘You have me.’

Her heart swelled with everything she felt and her eyes stung. ‘You should probably know,’ she said shakily, ‘I’m hopeless at relationships.’

‘So am I.’

‘I haven’t even had a proper one.’

‘Well, I’ve only really tried it once and it didn’t exactly work out well.’

She shook her head in bemusement. ‘So what on earth do we think we’re letting ourselves in for?’

Rafael grinned and lifted her onto the desk. ‘I have absolutely no idea. All I do know is that I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you and I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.’

He looked down at her, his eyes shining with love and the promise of a lifetime of happiness, and somehow she knew they’d be fine. Smiling up at him, she wound her arms round his neck and pulled him down and murmured against his mouth, ‘Neither can I.’

* * * * *

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The Taming of a Wild Child
by Kimberly Lang.

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ONE

The only thing worse than waking up naked in a strange bed was realizing there was someone else sleeping in the bed, too.

Someone male.

The bright light on the other side of her eyelids sent pain streaking through Lorelei LaBlanc's head as she tried to piece together exactly what the hell was going on...and who she'd just spent the night with.

She forced herself to lie still; jumping right up might wake her companion, and she didn't want to get straight into a confrontation before she had a handle on things.

Think, Lorelei, think.

She had a hangover that would slay a mule, and it hurt to think. How much champagne had she consumed in the end?

Connor and Vivi's wedding had gone off without a hitch; all of the four hundred guests had had a fabulous time. The church had never looked better, and the hotel had outdone itself with both the decor and the food. She'd been at the head table for dinner, but once the dancing had begun and the champagne had really started flowing... Well, that was where things began to get a little fuzzy. She remembered having a small, good-natured disagreement with Donovan St. James over...

Her eyes flew open.

Oh. My. God.

Bits and pieces of the night before came rushing at her with distressing speed and clarity.

Carefully, so as not to aggravate her hangover, she rolled slowly to her other side. Sure enough, Donovan lay there on his back, bare-chested, with only a sheet covering his hips and one leg. His hands were stacked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling.

She swore under her breath.

“Right there with you, Princess.”

The amused sigh in Donovan's voice put her nerves on edge. “What the hell happened last night?”

He had the gall to look pointedly at the tangled sheets—which she was currently trying to pull over herself in a belated attempt at modesty—and raise an eyebrow. She really wasn't ready to go to the whole
we had sex
bit just yet. She cleared her throat. “I mean, how?
Why?
”

“How? Buckets of champagne. And there were tequila shots involved. As for why...” He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me.”

Tequila explained a lot. Jose Cuervo was
not
her friend.
I've done some stupid stuff in my life, but this? With Donovan St. James? And now?
A chill ran down her spine. If she'd
publicly
done something... Oh, her family was really going to kill her this time. Her sister would be first in line.

“Please just tell me we didn't make a scene at the reception,” she whispered.

“I don't think so. It's a little blurry, but I think the reception was pretty much over before...”

That alleviated a bit of her immediate worry; being stupid wasn't quite so bad as long as there wasn't an audience for the stupidity. Now, though, she had to face the fact she'd had sex with Donovan St. James.

No red-blooded woman would question her taste. Donovan had poster-boy good looks: deep green eyes, inky black hair with a slight wave that he wore long enough to look a little dangerous, and skin the color of the café au lait she desperately needed to combat this monster hangover. The high cheekbones and square jaw now shadowed with dark stubble spoke to a heritage as mixed as New Orleans itself—if one could pick the best bits and discard the rest.

Donovan definitely rated high on the
hummina
scale. Good looks, though, were pretty much all he had going for him, in her opinion. Why had he even been invited to the wedding? It must have been a professional or courtesy invite. At least a hundred of the guests had fallen into that category. But the St. James family was the worst kind of nouveau riche
—
using money to buy influence and respectability—and if Donovan had any class at all, he'd have RSVP'd
no
to what had obviously only been a polite gesture.

But money couldn't buy class, that was for sure.

And she'd
slept
with him. She must have reached an astonishingly new level of intoxication to completely lose all her self-respect.
I am never drinking again.

“Oh, don't look at me like that, Lorelei. I'm not real keen on this new development, either.”

Donovan sat up—slowly, she noted, implying his hangover was equally as miserable as hers—and reached for his clothes. Lorelei averted her eyes, but not before she got a good long look at broad shoulders, a trim waist and a very nice, very firm butt. Donovan ticked up another notch on that
hummina
scale before she noticed the red claw marks marring his back.

She'd enjoyed herself, it seemed. Pity she didn't have a better recollection of what had led to those marks. Although she felt like hell, underneath the hangover was a pleasant muscle soreness that spoke to a good time.

The silence felt awkward and uncomfortable. Despite her reputation, Lorelei wasn't an expert on morning-after protocols, but she'd brazen through this somehow. Clutching the sheet to her breasts, she let it trail behind her as she grabbed her dress off the floor and headed for the bathroom. She thought she might have heard a sigh as the door closed behind her.

The sight in the mirror was not pretty. Lorelei splashed water on her face and tried to wipe away the worst of the mascara circles under her eyes. Then she finger-combed her hair until it didn't look quite so wild and made use of the mini-bottle of mouthwash provided by the hotel. Feeling marginally human, she righted her dress and slipped into it.

She could only hope that no one would see her heading back to her room as nothing said
night of debauchery
quite like wearing a cocktail dress before breakfast. Six months of very hard work could be shot all to hell.

Of course she had a much more pressing—and disturbing—problem right outside that door which she had to deal with first.

“Okay,” she said to her reflection, “you need a dignified exit.” Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door.

Donovan stood by the window, looking out over Canal Street, but he turned once he heard the door open. He'd pulled on a pair of jeans—ending up in your own hotel room instead of someone else's had perks, like clothes—but he'd stopped before adding a shirt. Lorelei had a hard time keeping her eyes from wandering as he wordlessly handed her a bottle of water. She nodded her thanks.

“There's aspirin, too,” he said, dodging past her into the bathroom and returning with a bottle. “Care for a couple?”

He shook the bottle, causing her head to throb, and she was pleased to see him wince at the noise, as well.

Lorelei felt like she was in a bad movie. “Look, I think we would both agree that last night should not have happened.”

“That's for sure.”

She stamped down the remark she wanted to make at that insult.
Dignity.
“So we'll just pretend it didn't happen. I won't mention it to anyone and you won't write about it, okay?”

From the look on Donovan's face, he didn't like the implication, and Lorelei worried that she might have made a tactical error. Donovan had turned his high-school hobby of flaying people alive for sport into a profitable career. He destroyed careers, lives, families. Rumor had it that he was looking for another big story. People tried to avoid pinging onto his radar screen; no one with a shred of self-preservation would bait him intentionally.

“I limit myself to topics of public interest, and even if this fit the definition—which it doesn't—it's not something—
wasn't
anything—to brag about.”

Dignity be damned. She was
not
letting that slide by unchallenged. “I wouldn't know. Must not have been that memorable an experience.”

“Then forgetting it happened at all won't be a problem for you.”

“No, it won't.” That was a lie, but Donovan had no way of knowing better, so it was a safe lie. And it allowed her to hold her head up as she gathered the rest of her things.

Her small purse was upside down by the door, her phone, lipstick and room key spilling out. Not far from that was one of her shoes, then Donovan's tie and shoes, then her other shoe. It was a breadcrumb trail of shame that led straight to the king-size bed.

Lord, was there anything less dignified than searching for your underwear?
She picked up Donovan's jacket and gave it a shake. Nothing. Dropping to her knees, she looked under the bed. She found an empty condom wrapper, alleviating one of her fears, but finding two more had her cringing.

No sign of her underwear, though.

“If you're looking for these...” Donovan drawled. She looked up to see him dangling her panties from one finger. She bit her tongue and settled for shooting him a dirty look as she jerked them from his hand and tucked them into her purse. The addition of the undergarment, as tiny as it was, was too much for the little bag, and it refused to close. Heat flushing her face, Lorelei had no choice but to take the extra time to put them on.

Funnily enough, she felt a little less flustered once she had.
Underwear was a form of armor, it seemed.

Squaring her shoulders, she went to the door and examined the fire-safety map posted there. According to the red
X
marking her location as room 712, she could easily get to the fire stairs, go down one floor and she'd come out only a few doors away from her own room.
Excellent.
The chances of running into someone she knew had just decreased exponentially.
Something
might actually go her way this morning.

“Planning your escape route?”

She turned to see Donovan stacking the pillows on the bed into a comfortable back-prop, and then reclining, remote control in hand. He wasn't even looking at her, and, if anything, he now sounded bored. Obviously this was not an out-of-the-ordinary morning for him.
Why am I not surprised?

“Exactly. Goodbye, Donovan. I hope I don't see you again for a very long time.”

She didn't wait for his reply. Cracking the door, she peeked into the hall and found it empty. With at least a hundred of last night's guests having taken advantage of the location to enjoy Connor and Vivi's open bar, she just needed her luck to hold for a few minutes. The quick dash to the stairwell was no problem, and her stiletto heels clacked on the stairs as she moved as fast as possible in the tight skirt. At the door to the sixth floor she paused, took out her room key, and took a deep breath. Another peek showed two people in the hall, but neither of them looked familiar. Just to be safe, she waited until they were at the elevators before making the last break for her door.

Only to find that her stupid key didn't work.

* * *

Donovan was relieved Lorelei had left in a huff. He'd been awake for about fifteen minutes before her, and he'd spent that time anticipating a number of equally horrific and awkward scenarios.

But Lorelei had gone straight to indignation and huff—which, in this case, had been more than he'd dared hope for.

Of all the women who'd attended what was arguably the biggest society wedding of the decade, he'd managed to hook up with Lorelei LaBlanc. He'd known both Connor and Vivi at least tangentially since high school and, while they might not be close friends or anything, they were business associates and often traveled in the same social circles now.

He might be considered an interloper by some in those social circles, since his blood wasn't quite as blue as theirs, but no one had the courage to say that to his face anymore. And, while he might not have generations of Old South manners ingrained into him, even
he
knew it was bad form to bed the sister of the bride after the reception.

Yeah, pretending it had never happened was an excellent idea.

Another excellent idea was liberal quantities of aspirin and coffee until he felt human again. That might take days.

The little two-cup coffeemaker on the desk didn't have the best quality coffee included, but it would do for now. He set it to start and the smell of coffee soon filled the room.

The jackhammering behind his eyes had been honestly earned. He'd lost count of the tequila shots, but there might have been a bet involved about who could drink who under the table. He and Lorelei had never been friends, never hung out together, so how they'd got to that point last night was a mystery.

Lorelei had been a couple of years or so behind him in school—and they certainly hadn't traveled in the same circles in those days. St. Katharine's Prep was the school of choice for New Orleans's best families. A safe haven for their precious children from the riff-raff of society, with only a couple of charity-case scholarship students as a nod to “diversity.” The Lorelei he remembered had been spoiled, narcissistic and stuck up. Even when he'd morphed from one of those scholarship students to the son of a major donor by his senior year, Lorelei hadn't deigned to give him the time of day.

Oddly, he respected her for
that.
She might be shallow, but she'd proved herself to have slightly more depth than most of her socialite friends when the sudden influx of money into his family's bank account hadn't changed her attitude toward him at all.

Tequila had, though.

He had a few hours before checkout, and the need for a nap was nearly overwhelming, but if he headed on home he could nap in his own bed—a bed that did not now carry the scent of Lorelei's perfume. He might not remember exactly everything that happened last night, but he remembered enough that the light fragrance sent a stab of pure desire through him and made the scratch marks on his back burn. Lorelei certainly had stamina.

He turned on the TV for background noise and picked a news station to listen to while he waited on the coffee. He still had to decide on a topic for Monday's column, and...