Meet Me at Midnight (Romance, Completed)

Chapter 5

The next morning, I soaked my blisters in a hot bubble bath as I relived Midnight's visit with equal parts pleasure and embarrassment. Confessing I had no idea how to put on a condom? He must have thought I was a complete moron, but even then, he'd been so damn nice about it. And the sex? Honestly, I had no words. My thoughts were best summed up in a series of moans, grunts, and incoherent ramblings.

"Taking the day off?" Angie asked when I perched on a stool at the breakfast bar.

"I need to do one final read-through of the manuscript before it goes for editing." That was always the part I hated most—by that point, I'd read the damn words so many times I hated them, and I was racked with enough self-doubt I wanted to delete the entire book.

"I've got a video conference with the merchandise people at eleven. Did I tell you we got offered a deal for our own line of condoms? They want to print 'Meet me at midnight' on them with space for a phone number."

I spat my orange juice across the table. "No, you most certainly did not."

She threw me a roll of paper towel, and I blotted up the mess.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What do you think? Should we take it?"

"It hardly screams historical romance, does it? Besides, mother would have a fit." I had another thought. "Did they send any samples?"

Angie grinned at me. "Why? Do you want to use them with Gregory?"

I quickly shook my head, perhaps more emphatically than Gregory deserved. "Just curious."

"They're on my desk next to the mock-up of the masks from The Dark Night. Oh, and Petra called yesterday afternoon."

"What did she want?"

Although we'd self-published all our books, Petra, our agent, had helped to negotiate foreign translation rights and our two movie deals.

"She reckons you should write a contemporary version of Meet Me at Midnight. You know, update it for modern times with extra filth. Now, that would fit with the condom range."

Palms sweating, I gripped my thighs at the thought of publishing anything half as grubby as my adventures with my Midnight. Hang on—my Midnight? We'd done very bad things twice—that hardly gave me a claim on the man, did it? Although if I recalled my high school French lessons correctly, he did keep calling me "my heart," which made mine beat madly every time the words left his lips.

"I think for Mother's sake we'd be best sticking with the historical themes."

Angie pouted at me. "You're no fun. Get Gregory to give you a good roll in the sack, then you might change your mind."

"I'm not sure Gregory's that sort of man. He reminds me of Rupert a bit."

"But you loved Rupert."

"I know... It's just I'm not sure I want that kind of relationship again."

"What do you mean? You and Rupert were perfect for each other."

Yes, so everybody said. Eventually, we'd even believed it ourselves, hence the over-the-top nuptials in a marquee on the banks of the trout stream running through our estate. Rupert was safe. Rupert was dependable. Rupert was...quite boring, if I was honest with myself.

"I'm a different person now."

Inside, I longed for adventure, but every time I contemplated acting on my urges, I chickened out. Probably because my one and only attempt at being that carefree girl had culminated with six weeks in a Thai prison—an experience, yes, but not one I cared to repeat.