Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin (11 page)

The cabbie looked from her to Ward and then back again. “Hey, that isn’t—”

“No, it’s not.” But she slipped the cabbie another twenty just to be sure he believed her.

He drove away, hopefully tipped into silence. She could only wish she were as easily satisfied. But of course, if money was all she needed to find happiness, this would all be much easier.

When she walked up the path to the door, Ward stood, blocking her way. “Where the hell have you been?”

She elbowed him aside as she pulled her keys from her beaded clutch. “Why does it matter?” she asked, as she slid the key into the lock. “You weren’t interested in me being there at all. I was just a pretty accessory for you to have on your arm.”

“That’s not true,” he growled.

“It is true.” She stepped inside, knowing better than to try to keep him out. But of course, it wasn’t true. Not even close. She wished it had been true. She wished that he’d treated her badly, because then at least she’d have a legitimate reason to be furious with him. As it was, she could hardly criticize him for being too charming. Too protective.

She would sound like a crazy woman. And she was starting to wonder if that wasn’t too close to the truth.

She dropped the bag containing the dress on the floor by the front door, too exhausted to hang up the dress and care for it as it deserved. She sank to the edge of the sofa.

She’d had plenty of time to think on the long train ride home. It was a trip she was all too familiar with after her years working in L.A. when she’d made frequent trips home to visit her family and Emma. There was something soothingly familiar about taking public transportation.

It was such a nice reminder of what her life was all about. Helping people who’d had fewer advantages than she’d had. Hard work. Making a difference. Those were the things that mattered.

She didn’t need grand romantic gestures or fancy dresses.

“I didn’t fit in with those people,” she said, knowing that she was stretching for a viable explanation. “Look, it’s late. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

If he pressed her for an explanation, she was afraid that she might end up telling him the truth. She was perilously close to falling in love with him.

Stifling his annoyance, Ward paced to the far side of the living room, rounding the end of the sofa. It helped him resist the urge to shake some sense into her. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” he bit out. “We both know you’re just grasping at straws trying to find some reason to be mad at me, when you know you’re the one at fault here.”

“I’m at fault?” she asked in outraged indignation.

“Yes. You’re the one who walked out on me. And didn’t answer your phone any of the fifteen times I called you.”

“My—” she broke off in genuine confusion. “Oh. My phone. I put it in the bag with the dress.” She shrugged. “I guess I didn’t hear it ring.”

“You
guess
you didn’t hear it ring? For four hours? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

She at least had the sense to look embarrassed, but it seemed to annoy her and she shrugged it off, casually saying, “I’m sorry.”

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around so she faced him. “You’re sorry? You pull a stupid, reckless stunt like that and the best you can come up with is ‘I’m sorry’?”

She jerked her arm away from his hand. “Yes. I’m sorry you were worried. But the stunt was neither stupid nor reckless.”

“Then where have you been for the past four hours?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever taken buses all over L.A. and then picked up the late-night train to San Diego? Public transportation is slow.”

“How is riding buses and trains around L.A. in the middle of the night not stupid?”

“I’ve been riding buses and trains around L.A. since I was a child. I may talk and dress like a rich white girl most of the time, but I’ve been in and out of just as many poor neighborhoods as I have rich ones. I know how to handle myself.”

“It may be true that you know how to handle yourself.” He grabbed both her arms now and didn’t let her go. When he spoke his voice was low and laden with all of his pent-up fears. “But
I don’t know how to handle having you out there on your own without knowing that you’re safe.”

“Oh.” Her brow furrowed in delightful confusion.

“Just—” He pulled her close, bumping his head against hers, relief that she was safe finally flooding through him. “Don’t do that again.”

“Okay.” She nodded, seeming to melt against him. When she spoke, her voice sounded tight. “I didn’t know you’d worry.”

She sounded so genuinely confused, he couldn’t rail against her again, even though he wanted to. He had to remind himself that she wasn’t used to living in the limelight as he was. She could truly pick up a train in the middle of the night and no one would know or care. She could disappear in a crowd. Something he hadn’t done in over twenty years.

“I really am sorry.” Her words came out in a rush. “But that party, that just wasn’t my thing. I can’t imagine why you wanted me there.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that I just wanted to be with you? That I just wanted to impress you?”

She threw up her hands in obvious frustration. “Because you’re the most impressive person I’ve ever met.” Her expression softened and she inched closer to him. “Without introducing me to famous people I don’t care about. You and you alone are impressive.” She reached for him then, twining her arms around his shoulders. “Your total dedication to CMF. Your amazing talent as a songwriter and musician. Those are the—”

He wrenched himself from her arms and turned away, unable to even look at her. Wishing he’d pulled away sooner, before she’d spoken of his amazing talent. And don’t forget that dedication.

Right. His amazing dedication to a charity he didn’t really believe in. In honor of a wife he’d failed miserably. And his amazing talent that hadn’t meant jack when push came to shove. But it was nice to know that those were the qualities Ana most admired.

She must have read the tension in his posture, because she walked up and ran a hand along his back.

“Is it so hard for you to believe that none of that stuff matters
to me? That when I want to be with you, it’s with you alone. That I don’t want to be with you in a crowd of people. I just want to be with you.”

“We’ve been over this before. I can’t be alone with you, without wanting to strip your clothes off and—”

But she interrupted him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

She didn’t have to ask twice. She didn’t really expect to. The words were barely out of her mouth before he’d pulled her to him and molded her body against his. His mouth was hot and hard over hers as the last of his anger melted into desire.

Yes,
her entire being seemed to sing in response.
Finally, inevitably, yes.

Every cell in her body seemed to call out to his. Her very blood pounded in rhythm with her need. This was what she wanted from him. What she needed. And if he just gave it to her, maybe her heart would forget all the stupid things it wanted.

His hands seemed everywhere at once, hot and needy. Slipping up under the edge of her shirt. Skimming over the backside of her jeans. Pulling her hips against his.

And everywhere he touched her, she was aware of the roughness of his fingertips. Of the mastery of his hands. Burning his mark onto her skin. Onto her very soul.

She trembled under his ministrations, all too aware of how clumsy she felt. How every aspect of this was new for her. And despite that, how right it felt to press her body against his. As if this was what she’d waited for all her life. As if this was what she was meant for.

She arched against him, unable to get close enough. To touch enough of him. And then he backed her up one step. And another. And another.

Finally, she realized his intention. Nodding toward the door, she wrenched her mouth from his. “Bedroom,” she panted. “That way.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, but swept her up into his arms and carried her there, as smoothly and as easily as the heroes from the romantic movies she’d watched as a girl.

He kicked the door open with his foot and strode into the room, then laid her gently down on the bed. Her room was relentlessly feminine, with it’s brightly colored quilt and sunny yellow throw pillows. Suddenly, she was aware that no man had ever been in this room. Not just this room, but any of her bedrooms.

But before she had a chance to feel self-conscious about that, he’d stepped back. She watched, fascinated as he stripped off his tuxedo jacket and let it drop on the floor. As he started on the shirt buttons, she rose up on her knees to help him. As each button slipped free, her pulse quickened and with it, her desire. She felt her blood roaring through her veins, her need thundering through her. Frustrated by his slow progress, she dropped her hands to his belt buckle. Her fingers trembled as she flicked it open, unfastened his pants and tugged his shirt free. She tugged the belt from his pants and then sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork.

Standing there before her, with his hair tousled and his shirt hanging open to reveal a narrow swath of skin, he looked like something from a fantasy. Or maybe an ad campaign for high-end cologne. In comparison to the other half-naked men she’d seen—entirely in a professional capacity—Ward’s body was stunningly masculine. The hair on his chest was sparse and dark, his muscles defined without being sculpted. This was the body of a grown man, fully in his prime. As sexual as it was powerful. Able to protect and provide.

But it was the expression on his face that sent shivers of pleasure through her. He gazed at her with such intensity, such powerful longing that she knew she’d made the right choice. It was as simple and as powerful as this: she wanted him. Desperately. And for once, she was going to give herself what she wanted.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Ward ordered, his voice rough with desire.

Ana’s gaze darted to his. “Like what?” Her voice was breathy.

“Like I’m a five-course dessert.” He flicked off his cuff links,
letting them fall into his open palm and then pocketing them. Slowly, he shucked his shirt, letting it fall, unnoticed, to the floor.

He moved with precision and control. His expression taut and hungry, gazing into her eyes as if he had to cling tightly to the last shreds of his control or lose it completely.

C
losing the distance between them, he cupped her cheek with one hand. With his other, Ward carefully plucked out the bobby pins holding back her hair. Once the silken waves were free, he brought them to his face and inhaled deeply, drinking in Ana’s intoxicating scent. Then he poured all of that desperate need into his kiss. Her mouth was warm and inviting. A tempting buffet of textures and sensations.

There were so many things he wanted to say, so much emotion he needed to express. So many things he didn’t even know how to tell her. All his life, he’d used words to seduce. But that only worked when he had a guitar in his hands. When he could coax out a melody to create the mood, to entice a woman into feeling what he wanted her to feel. Kissing Ana now, he felt vulnerable. Woefully inadequate. Barely up to the task of making love to her.

He had no way of knowing what was going on in that stubborn brain of hers. No way of judging if she wanted him with the same desperate neediness that he felt. All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before. Not even with Cara.

With Cara, everything had been right on the surface. There’d never been any deeper meaning, no hidden indecipherable emotions. No need to take things slowly. And no desperation.

With Ana, everything was different. More intense. And his innate talent with words failed him.

In the end, all he could do was worship her with his body. With reverent hands, he pulled her sweater up over her head. Her breasts were bare beneath it. Perfect. Lush and inviting. Begging to be kissed, lathed and lavished with attention. Which he did with complete devotion.

But still, the rest of her body beckoned, tempting him farther down. She shimmied out of her jeans and he quickly stripped her of her silken underwear. When he slipped his hand between her legs there was an instant of resistance before her thighs fell open to his touch. But once he eased open her lips, she was delightfully moist and hot enough to burn him. All but trembling with need, he dipped his fingers into her over and over again as his thumb found the nub of tender skin at her entrance. A groan pulled from low in her throat as she bucked on the bed. He felt her muscles clench around his fingers as the very first tremors of an orgasm coursed through her. He couldn’t resist tasting her then, suckling the sweet honey of her arousal as he pushed her over the edge into oblivion.

Ana was trembling, drifting slowly back to earth, feeling as though all the molecules of her body had been scattered and were only now pulling themselves back together.

She was only vaguely aware that Ward’s warmth had left her. She shoved herself up onto an elbow to watch as he stripped off his pants and boxers.

“Condoms,” she said with a nod toward the bedside table, surprised by how breathless she sounded.

She’d bought them just last week. Her first ever condom purchase. Terrified she’d fumble and embarrass herself, she’d sat in her bathroom for an hour one evening practicing with a banana. Ward never gave her the chance to show off her fledgling skills,
but rather extracted one from the package and quickly put it on. A moment later, he was above her again.

He thrust into her. Pain seared through her as her virginity was ripped away. She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath.

It hurt. Worse than she’d expected. Worse than the novels she’d read had led her to believe. She seemed stretched. Too full. But as she breathed out, slowly, the tightness eased.

Only then did she open her eyes. He’d stopped moving completely. His eyes were wide in an expression of surprised confusion that made her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

She squeezed her eyes closed again. So much for him not noticing.

“Ana,” he gasped.

She forced herself to look up at him, taking in the grim set of his lips as he sucked shallow breaths.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“It’s not.”

She felt him pulling away from her. “Oh, no you don’t,” she ground out. The pain was nearly gone now and she brought her legs up to hook behind his buttocks. Twining her hands through his hair, she pulled up to press herself against him. She kissed him, pouring into it all of the things she should have said before, but hadn’t. How much she wanted this. How much she wanted him. She’d been waiting for this her whole life.

Every other woman she’d known had carelessly tossed aside her virginity while still a teenager. But not her. She’d waited. Not just because she was pressured to succeed by her parents. That was the excuse she’d always given herself. But the truth was, deep in her heart, she’d been waiting. Waiting for him. Waiting for the man she loved.

She tried to say all of that with just her kiss. Either he understood her unspoken message or his restraint finally snapped. Because slowly, as if he were fighting it with every fiber of his being, he began moving again. He slipped his hand down between her legs and began stroking her again, slowly edging
her closer to another climax. The pressure inside of her built. The burning need to be full of him, finally met.

By the time he thrust into her one last time—his head thrown back, her name a prayer on his lips—she was right there with him as pleasure rocketed through her body.

Ana had heard plenty of her friends complain about their boyfriends and husbands falling asleep immediately after sex. It wasn’t a good sign that she was hoping Ward would follow in the footsteps of his maligned gender and do the same.

He didn’t keep her in suspense for long, but almost immediately rolled off her, to sit on the side of the bed, his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. She pulled the sheet up almost to her chin and then laid there, heart pounding, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

As a girl, she used to fantasize about this moment. About giving herself to the man she loved. It always involved him loving her back. For years now, she’d told herself that she hadn’t been saving her virginity for any particular reason. That it was more inconvenience than anything else. But the flood of emotions she’d felt just now showed that particular disillusion for the lie it was. Though she hadn’t actually had time for her fantasies to catch up with her emotions, she didn’t exactly need Dr. Phil here to tell her this was not going to play out like some schoolgirl dream.

Even if she hadn’t already known the truth about Cara and those damn sunglasses, one didn’t need a lot of experience to know that a man who’d just had sex with a woman he loved wouldn’t sit on the side of the bed, head in hands as if he were miserable. No, these were the actions of a man racked with guilt. A man who—dear God—was ashamed of his actions.

Which meant in his eyes, she’d just gone from a desired woman to a burden.

Crap, crap and double crap.

How was she going to fix this?

Ward had had sex with a lot of women over the years, but not a damn one of them had been a virgin. Until now.

Didn’t it just figure that Ana would be the one to slip past his defenses?

His mind raced, reviewing every moment of their time together, looking for clues. At times, she’d seemed so worldly. So confident and savvy. She’d worked in Hollywood, for goodness’ sake. How did a beautiful, sexy woman like her work in Hollywood—where sex was practically a currency—and stay a virgin?

But of course, she hadn’t
stayed
in Hollywood, had she? Maybe that should have been his number one clue. But he never suspected that she was a virgin. And she’d never told him. Damn it.

He didn’t know who he was madder at. Himself for not guessing or her for not telling him.

He was still debating that point, when he felt her roll to her side and reach out a hand toward him. “Ward—” she began.

He shot to his feet. “No,” he said instinctively. Though what exactly he was protesting, he couldn’t say. Maybe the whole damn situation. He searched the floor for his boxers and pants and quickly pulled them on.

His shirt lay on the floor a few feet away and he went to retrieve it.

“Ward—” she called again, the distress in her voice more apparent now. “Don’t go!”

He paused in the act of bending down to pick up the shirt. Christ, did she really think he was going to walk out on her without even talking about this? What kind of selfish SOB did she think he was?

He swiped the shirt off the floor and shrugged into it as he strode back to the bed. She’d risen onto her knees and still held the white sheet clutched to her chest. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, a luxuriant tumble of dark waves. She couldn’t have looked more exotically sexual if she’d been posed for a photo shoot. The image was all the more enticing because he knew she was naked beneath that sheet. Because he now knew every luscious curve of her body, every fragrant hollow, every sensitive valley.

He tried to pull his attention away from her and button his
shirt, but he couldn’t pull his gaze from her and the buttons kept slipping out of his fingers. Sitting like that, she looked fit for a pinup poster.

And she was a virgin. Or rather, she had been.

Apparently, his brain could handle only one complex task at a time, and deciphering the motives of one obstinate female was taxing his limited abilities. He gave up on the buttons and thrust his hand through his hair instead.

Finally, he forced out the question that was choking him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She blinked, either surprised by his query or by the fact that he was still there. “About…” It seemed like the word was on the tip of her tongue, but she pulled it back, finishing with mulish stubbornness. “About what?”

So, she was going to force him to say it. Did she really think there was any chance he’d missed the obvious? Of course, he had missed all the signs of the obvious. Or misread them.

“About. Being. A virgin.” He bit out the words not bothering to keep his frustration from his voice.

Her chin bumped up defiantly and when she spoke her clipped tone echoed his. “Because, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big—” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. Again. And sucked in a deep breath. Again. And tried to speak more calmly. Again. “You were a virgin. You’d never had sex before. Ever. There’s no way that’s not a big deal.”

He studied her expression as he spoke, taking in every nuance of her expression. He saw the uncertainty that flickered across her face. The moment of doubt. Saw her mustering her defenses. And even saw what might have been a faint sheen of tears before she blinked them away.

“Christ, Ana, I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she ordered, whatever vulnerability he’d seen in her gaze was instantly gone. She climbed from the bed, giving the sheet a vicious tug to free it from the bottom of the bed so it came with her.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

She didn’t give him much of a chance to reply, but carefully
draped the sheet around her body and stalked off toward the bathroom. He made a step to follow her, only to find the door soundly slammed in his face.

He scanned the room in which he’d been left alone. He hadn’t exactly been in the mood to notice the decor before now. Art deco–style furniture—the kind that could be bought inexpensively at antique stores—had been sanded down and painted a funky bold palette of sunny-yellow, lime-green and bright turquoise. There was a headboard, a dresser and a wardrobe. The linens were a creamy white with colorful throws. The overall effect was somehow a perfect reflection of her personality. Bright, determined, with a depth and complexity that stemmed from its very simplicity.

The one thing he didn’t see was a closet door. Which meant it was probably on the other side of the bathroom. She’d have the chance to get dressed, as well as time to leap to all sorts of conclusions about his emotional state.

He crossed to the door and rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “Come on out, Ana.”

There was no response.

“We need to talk about this.”

Again, there wasn’t the faintest rumble of an answer.

His frustration ratcheted up by several degrees. “You might as well come out, because I’m not leaving. Not until we talk about this, damn it.”

He bit back the string of curses he wanted to hurl at the offending door. He wanted to kick the damn thing. Or better yet, to kick it down. But what he really wanted to do was apologize. Which she’d ordered him not to do.

But of course he was sorry. But at the same time, he’d experienced exquisite pleasure in her arms. So was he sorry he’d made love to her? No. And he didn’t exactly regret the fact that she’d been a virgin. The opposite in fact. The thought of her being with another man filled him with a primitive and very uncivilized rage. So, no, he wasn’t sorry about that, either.

He just wished…

He sank to the edge of the bed as a realization washed over
him. He wished she’d told him herself. He wished it had been a big deal to her. Because it sure as hell had been a big deal to him.

Even without knowing she was a virgin, making love to Ana had been a big deal to him. Hell, this was the first time he felt like he had been
making love
to a woman since Cara had died.

That summed it up perfectly.

He’d had sex with women since Cara. But he hadn’t made love. He hadn’t really cared about any of those other women. He hadn’t felt so much as a scrap of real emotion until Ana.

And that was the way he’d wanted it. Cara’s death had been brutal on him. Worse, still, was the way she’d pulled away from him. From the moment she’d been diagnosed, she’d started pushing him away. Suddenly, the woman with whom he’d once shared everything couldn’t even talk to him about the disease that was tearing her apart. Even in the beginning, when her prognosis was good, she’d distanced herself. Thrown herself into her charitable works. She’d given so much of herself to others, there was nothing left for him.

Talk about a complaint you can’t even voice aloud. What kind of jerk complains because his dying wife is spending too much time helping the needy children of the world? At first, he’d thought it was because she feared not accomplishing all the things she wanted to in life. For a long time he wondered if she just couldn’t stand to be close to anyone. By the end of her life, he realized the truth. She’d fallen in love with a rock star and ended up married to a mere human. She just didn’t want to spend her dying days with someone who’d been such a disappointment.