Love Lessons at Midnight by Shirl Henke

Author:Shirl Henke [Shirl Henke]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Published: 2010-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Rob spent a restless night filled with strange dreams that awakened him repeatedly. At one moment he would feel Fantasia in his arms as they glided in a waltz, the lights blazing all around them. Next, he would be loving Gaby in the darkness. Next he would light a candle and find Fantasia’s cherry-red hair spread across the pillows…as if they were the same woman. The images twisted and merged over and over until he finally tossed aside the covers and got out of bed. He paced across his large bedroom, naked in the moonlight that poured through the open draperies.

He had never slept without a nightshirt in his life until he made love to Gaby. Now he could not sleep with one. He pulled on a light robe and stood staring out at the small courtyard fountain in the rear of his city house. Combing his fingers through his hair, he cursed, trying to sort out the dreams. What the hell did they mean—if anything?

His French lover was nothing like the cool, calculating madam. Whatever her mysterious past, Fantasia was English to her fingertips, keen witted, practical, even lethal when the need arose. If she knew a word of French, she had most probably picked it up from that French courtesan he had encountered in “Sherwood Forest.”

Gaby’s French was far too natural for even the most exclusively educated English finishing school miss to emulate. Her gentle spirit had been grievously wounded, yet her inherent sweetness and honesty shone through. That could be no act. Fantasia parried every question he asked with another of her own. She traded barbs with him rather than exchanging confidences. On the other hand, Gaby invited open conversation, speaking of her tragic past and drawing out his own unhappy experiences. She healed. Fantasia, he was certain, could wound. She would fight like a wild creature and give no quarter if cornered.

Then why did he suddenly feel as if they were the same woman? How absurd to flatter himself by thinking a woman who had built such a lucrative business would choose to bed him when she had dozens of employees to perform the task. No, Fantasia had selected Gabrielle because he and the émigré had both been scarred by their first sexual experiences. He, not Fantasia, had proposed that the lessons be in darkness. She had only agreed that Gabrielle would probably be more comfortable that way, too.

He knew the scent of each woman intimately, Gaby’s soft lilac, Fantasia’s much bolder attar of rose. Even more primal, he knew the female essence that defined each, something intangible but most certainly distinct. It made no sense for Fantasia to perform such an elaborate charade. What possible motive could she have?

“None,” he muttered. “’Twas nothing more than the nightmare, making you muzzy-headed.”

Below the open window, the fountain tinkled musically, as if laughing at him.

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