Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin (7 page)

And now, here she was faced with ultimate temptation.

No, she’d never have a real relationship with Ward. His heart belonged to another. Despite that, he desired her. His passion when they’d kissed had been unmistakable, even to a relative neophyte like her. Moreover, he’d stirred within her feelings that no one else ever had. If all she could have was his passion, then she’d make do with that.

She had no illusions he’d ever love her, but that was okay. As long as she kept her heart out of it, she could indulge her body’s desires. How could she resist? Geez, she figured there was even a chance he was experienced enough that he’d barely notice taking her virginity when the time came. At the very least, she knew the
passion between them would burn hot enough to make giving it up worth it.

As she slid behind the wheel of the Hornet, pure adrenaline shot through her. It was very likely that driving this classic muscle car would ruin her for other cars forever. She didn’t care. This was a once in a lifetime chance and she was going to seize it with both hands.

Dinner was a laid-back affair at a local diner wedged between a martial arts studio and a pub. It was enough of a dive that no one would just wander in off the street. Only a pretty adamant recommendation would get a newcomer through the door. But inside, it was clean and well lit. The owner—a boisterous Greek man—immediately came over to welcome Ward and clap him soundly on the arm. The other customers glanced in their direction, but otherwise ignored them, a sure sign Ward was a regular.

She couldn’t help but smile when Ward slid into the red Naugahyde booth and his bench scooted a few inches back. Apparently, the man just couldn’t sit down without moving furniture. Her amusement shifted to nervousness when she slid in opposite him and his legs brushed against hers. With his arm stretched out along the back of the bench, he seemed to fill the space so completely she could barely focus on reading the menu, let alone on making a decision about what to eat.

She allowed Ward to order for her and they feasted on spicy lamb hamburgers dripping with tzatziki sauce and served with fries and breaded zucchini. Over dinner, they spoke mostly of their plans for Hannah’s Hope and his work with CMF.

There was an intimacy to sharing food with Ward that unsettled her. She didn’t date much, having learned early in life avoiding romantic entanglements meant avoiding the physical advances that inevitably followed. So she wasn’t used to the experience of sitting across from someone in a cramped booth. Of having her fingers brush his when they both went for the same fry or having him reach across the table with his napkin to dab at the tzatziki sauce she dribbled on her chin.

It wasn’t until they were back in the car that she had the courage to ask the question she’d been plagued by ever since arriving in Charleston.

“Tell me something.” Her voice sounded strained, but she tightened her hands on the steering wheel and pressed on. “Cara died of breast cancer.”

She glanced in his direction, in the flickering light of the passing streetlight, she saw that he’d gone completely still. His expression was carefully blank.

She waited for him to respond, maybe to confirm what she already knew, but he said nothing, so she continued, “All the charities that the Cara Miller Foundation works with…none of them are cancer related. None for survivors or education or research—”

“That’s what she wanted,” he said abruptly.

Clearly, she’d crossed some sort of line. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t be. I—” Then he released a sigh of pent-up emotion. “I’m not used to talking about it.” Then he gave a wry chuckle. The kind without any humor at all. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I talk about her all the time. But I never talk about her cancer. She never wanted to honor the cancer. Didn’t want to give it an important place in her life. She figured it stole the last few years of her life, she wanted her death to be hers alone. She wanted her legacy to be helping children.”

Ana considered his words. In a way, it made sense. She’d known a makeup artist back in Hollywood, a cancer survivor who devoted all of her free time to volunteer work for the American Cancer Society. She did relays and fundraising. All her friends were people she’d met through support groups. They were an amazing and inspirational group of men and women. But cancer was like another member of their little group. A living, breathing entity that never left them. Honoring cancer. That was the perfect word for it.

So, yeah, Ana could understand why Cara hadn’t wanted that. Still, looking at Ward, she sensed he wasn’t wholly comfortable with his wife’s decision.

“But—” she prodded.

He slanted a look at her. “But what?”

“I just…” His gaze narrowed and she shrugged. “Yeah, that was her decision, but how did you feel about that?”

The second the question was out of her mouth, she regretted it. It was an intensely personal question. One she had no business asking and even less business knowing the answer to.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, but the car was too dark for her to gauge his expression.

“It wasn’t my decision,” he said. After a minute, he added, “Besides, I like working with kids. They make it worth it.”

As she pulled to a stop at a light, she glanced at him in surprise. A smiled teased at his lips. His hands rested on his knees, tapping out a silent tune. She’d had to move the bench seat of the car close to the dash in order to reach the Hornet’s pedals and now there was barely room for his long legs, making her profoundly aware of how much bigger he was than she.

“Do you work with kids often?” she asked because it seemed a safer question than trying to press him for more answers about Cara. Crossing that line once was enough for one evening.

“Not often,” he answered. “I travel enough that I don’t want any kid depending solely on me. But sometimes it just makes sense. Like with Ricky.”

He threw out the name like Ricky was someone she should know. “Ricky?” she prodded.

“He wandered into Hannah’s Hope the other day, during a school day. He’s—I don’t know—thirteen, fourteen maybe.” Ward paused to gesture toward the coming intersection. “Turn left here.” Then he continued his story. “Oddly enough, he wanted information about how to get his mother signed up for the new GED prep class that Omar is going to be teaching. He’s worried about his mother’s job prospects.”

“That’s perceptive,” she said, shifting the Hornet into lower gear to pull out of the turn. “On the other hand, a lot of boys with single mothers are very protective of their moms.”

“I know I was,” Ward admitted.

She was tempted to press him for more information, but knew she’d pushed too much into his personal life for one night. “So
you decided to mentor him?” she asked. “You were in town less than a week. When have you had time to mentor a kid?”

He chuckled. “I haven’t actually mentored him yet. I’ve only met him that one time. But I could tell he was going to be tricky. He was there on a Friday morning. I told him I could get his mother the help she needed, but he’d have to stay in school himself. To make sure he’s holding up his end of the bargain, he’s going to come to Hannah’s Hope when she does. But Ricky told me bluntly that he wasn’t going to waste time with some meddling do-gooder. So I told him I’d mentor him after school. I could tell if I didn’t hook him right away, we’d never see him again. So I agreed to meet him on Thursday afternoon. We’ll see how it goes.”

His admission grabbed at something inside of her and squeezed. Friday had been the day of the brainstorming session. He must have gotten in earlier even than she’d thought. How many men would voluntarily spend their evenings mentoring a troubled teen? Not enough, that was for sure. How many rich celebrities would do it? Almost none. At least none that she’d met.

“That’s very generous of you,” she said, her voice surprisingly tight.

Ward gave a little noncommittal grumble, as if uncomfortable with her praise. “We’ll see how it turns out. I think he only agreed because I happened to have Dave’s guitar with me and Ricky wanted to play it.”

Her head jerked around to search his face in the darkness. Which was about as futile as trying to understand him. “You had Dave’s guitar? Why?”

He gave a chuckle. “Not because I’ve been secretly recording a new album and was planning on using Hannah’s Hope to promote it. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

She felt her cheeks burning, suddenly aware of how ridiculous her accusations from that first day sounded. And feeling very much like he could see her better in the darkness than she could see him.

“Ward, about that, I’m—”

“I was joking,” he said gently.

“Oh. Okay.”

He gave another gesture toward an upcoming block and she maneuvered the car onto his street.

“Why not the Alvarez?” she asked tentatively.

“What?”

“If you are playing guitar again, then why not the Alvarez?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m really playing it.” There was a diffidence to his voice. As if he himself wasn’t sure how to answer the question.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asked as she steered the car into his driveway.

He didn’t answer, but pulled the automatic door opener from the glove box.

She waited while the carriage house doors cranked open and to fill the noticeable silence, she started talking.

“I started sewing because of my
abuela.
She could make anything, usually just by looking at it. Emma’s mother, Denise, had bought her these beautiful dresses. Spent a fortune on her clothes. Emma couldn’t bear to get rid of them after her mom died, so
Abuela
reworked them so Emma could wear them for years. Eventually, Emma started to bring her pictures of things she’d seen in a magazine and
Abuela
would make her clothes, too.”

Ana coaxed the car into its spot and cut the engine. Then she shifted in her seat, bringing her leg onto the bench beside her as she faced him. Opening the garage door had triggered an overhead light, which cast the hard planes of his face in interesting shadows, but did little to reveal more of his mood.

“She taught me to sew when I was ten. It was something we did together. Even now that she’s gone, I feel closest to her when I’m sewing. I still like to make my own clothes. It’s the one thing I miss about being a costume designer.”

Ward quirked an eyebrow. “That’s what you regret about leaving Hollywood? Sewing is the only thing you miss?”

She chuckled. “Well, that and the fact that I never got to wear any of those gorgeous clothes I made.” She held out the keys to
the Hornet and dropped them into his hand. “That’s why I was asking about the Alvarez. It was such an important part of your life for so long. I can’t believe you don’t miss it.”

He carefully reached up and set the keys on the dashboard and then grabbed her hand from where it rested on her leg. “I’m not really interested in talking about the Alvarez.”

She stilled instantly, her breath caught in her chest. His hand was warm, his fingertips rough as he ran them along her palm. Pressing her lips tightly together, she swallowed and forced her gaze from their joined hands to his face. “What do you want to talk about?”

A smiled played at his lips. “Maybe I don’t want to talk.”

He gave her hand a gentle tug. Heart pounding, she scooted across the bench toward him. Waiting for him to lower his mouth to hers, she felt as though she could barely breathe. And she was pretty sure that oxygen was overrated anyway. She didn’t need it. Not the way she needed him.

H
e’d meant to give Ana a quick kiss and then send her on her away. But the second her lips touched his, it was as though a fire had sparked between them. She met his kiss with the same vibrant passion she’d brought to each of their arguments. She was all heat and emotion. She tasted of the sweet tea she’d drunk at dinner and the salt caramel gelato she had for dessert.

Her passion was so intense, so ardent as to be almost clumsy. Her tongue met his boldly, stroke for stroke. Her hands cupping the back of his head as she angled her mouth over his. Her awkward fumbling aroused him far more than a skilled seduction would have. His blood pounded through his veins, stirring his erection. She shifted her body this way and that, as if desperate to rub against him but unsure how to negotiate around the confines of the front seat.

He reached a hand down to the lever beneath the bench seat, gave it a tug and pushed the seat back as far as it would go. Then he stretched his legs out in front of him. Hooking his hand behind her knee, he pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him.

She groaned in approval, rubbing the juncture of her legs
against his growing erection. She tore her mouth from his, throwing her head back and gasping aloud. Grinding her hips against his, she gave a visible shudder.

Combined with the delightful pressure against his penis, the sight of her arousal was so erotic, he nearly came right there.

Still struggling to rein in his growing passion, he watched helplessly as she shrugged out of her jacket. He nearly cheered when her fingers reached for the buttons of her shirt. But some tiny shred of sanity made him grab her hand to stop her.

As gently as he could, he pushed her off his lap, sprung the door open and climbed from the car.

“Ward, wait—” she gasped.

He leaned down to talk to her through the open door to the car. She’d scooted to her side, her back pressed against the driver’s side door. Clutching her jacket to her chest, she looked confused, delightfully rumpled, her arousal evident in her bruised, moist lips and wide eyes. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain control over his reaction, but unfortunately, the interior of the car was laden with her sweet scent.

“Get out of the car,” he said gently.

She hurried from the car, but he held out a hand to stop her from closing the distance between them.

“I don’t understand,” she asked, the confusion on her face taking on a hurt look.

He was tempted to reach for her again. To offer comfort. But if he reached for her again, he knew how it would end, with the two of them naked, upstairs in his bedroom. Or, hell, maybe they wouldn’t even make it that far. Maybe he’d take her up against the wall by his front door. Or just press her down over the hood of the Hornet, shove down her pants and plunge into her from behind.

As gut-wrenchingly tempting as any or all of those fantasies were, he didn’t want their first time together to be like that.

He wanted to savor her. To lavish her with attention. To spend hours learning her every nook and cranny. But he wasn’t going to do that tonight.

“I just—” he began, then broke off and sucked in another breath. “Let’s take it slow, okay? Like we agreed.”

“Okay.” She nodded. But then took another step toward him.

He held up a hand to ward her off. “Whoa.”

“I’m okay with slow,” she said.

“I meant, let’s take the relationship slow. Not, let’s slowly hop into bed.”

“Oh.” Comprehension spread across her expressive face. She frowned. “Oh,” she repeated, sounding miserable.

“There’s no rush. Tomorrow night, we’ll go back to Vista del Mar. We’ll see what happens there.”

Her frown only deepened. “I guess that’s okay.”

It would have to be. Despite her eagerness, he sensed that she wasn’t as experienced as she wanted him to believe. Which only made her more vulnerable to him. He didn’t want to rush into a sexual relationship that she wasn’t ready for. Moreover, he didn’t want her to rush into it and then regret it later. And she almost certainly would regret it.

Women who got involved with stars nearly always did.

Sure there were some women who could handle a one-night stand with a man they barely knew. He’d certainly been involved with plenty of those women. But Ana wasn’t that type. The fact that they would have to work together only complicated matters further.

Which was precisely why he wanted to take things nice and slow. There was a good chance she was going to see past his finely crafted layer of bull to the man beneath. When she did, he’d let her go. Maybe that would happen sooner rather than later, but whenever it did happen, he wanted her to have as few regrets as possible.

He couldn’t stand it if one more woman regretted being with him.

By the time she returned to Vista del Mar the following evening, Ana still wasn’t positive she’d made the right choice when she’d decided to date Ward. But after spending a day and
a half constantly in his company—after seeing firsthand all he’d accomplished with CMF, after having him escort her around Charleston, where he was universally treated with affectionate respect—after all of that, she’d definitely reached one conclusion. She may not have made the right choice. But she’d really made the only choice.

How could she turn him down?

It would have been impossible.

But she could certainly appreciate how tenuous their situation was. And for that reason, she told him on the flight home that she didn’t want anyone at Hannah’s Hope or in Vista del Mar knowing about their burgeoning—but still very undefined—relationship. Her trust that he would follow her wishes was absolute. That same stalwart honor that had made him warn her off meant he would respect her request.

Still, even though she was not yet ready to share their relationship with others, she couldn’t hide the improvement it made to her mood. She tried not to be too bubbly when she showed up at Hannah’s Hope the day after her return.

“So how was the trip with Mr. Fabulous?” Christi asked, hovering in the open doorway.

Ana ducked her head, trying to hide from her friend’s too astute gaze. “It was great. Charleston was completely charming.”

“Really?” Christi asked. “I thought you were dreading it.”

“Oh… Well, sure.” Of course she had been dreading it. Back when she thought that Ward was a class-A jerk. Back when she’d wanted to believe the worst of him. So now she was stuck wondering how to change her tune without revealing what had really happened in Charleston. Her gaze pinned to her keyboard, she said, “Great restaurants, lots of Southern charm, nice people, beautiful old buildings. What’s not to love?”

Christi’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m surprised. Last I heard you thought it was going to be… What was the phrase you used? A ridiculous waste of time. So was it?”

Ah. Finally, a truly safe topic. She launched into a detailed explanation of how the CMF office worked. That was stuff she could talk about until the cows came home. She just carefully
avoided saying anything about Ward. If she so much as mentioned his name then she might blush crazy red and embarrass herself.

After a few minutes of listening to Ana enthuse about CMF, Christi’s eyes started to glaze over. She edged toward the office door. “Hey,” she finally interrupted. “I think I’m going to run out for coffee. You want anything?”

“Nope.” Ana smiled, satisfied that she’d sufficiently thrown Christi off track.

At the door, Christi paused for a second. “You seem to be getting along better with Mr. Fabulous.”

Ana feigned a casual shrug. “He’s not so bad.”

Christi winked. “Glad to hear it. I thought for sure you’d go ballistic when you heard about that red carpet thing.”

And with that, Christi was gone and Ana was left staring at the open doorway with her mouth open. To the empty room she asked aloud, “What red carpet thing?”

The room did not answer.

She considered calling Christi back, but for what? She could only badger her employee so much and right now she feared coming off like a lunatic. If Christi had expected her to go ballistic over it, then it couldn’t be good.

She fished her cell phone out of her purse and called Ward, then left a message when he didn’t answer. After a few minutes of tapping her fingers on the desk and fuming silently, she dug out Jess’s number and called him, too.

“Great!” he said as soon as he answered. “I was trying to get ahold of you.”

He couldn’t have been trying very hard, since neither her cell phone nor her office phone had rung in the past thirty minutes. It didn’t seem wise to point that out. “Oookay,” she said blankly.

“Do you want the limo to pick you up at Hannah’s Hope or at your house?”

“The limo?” she asked.

“Sure, the limo.” Jess kept talking, oblivious to the warning tone in her voice. “Ward thought maybe it should pick you up at
Hannah’s Hope. Protect your privacy. And he was worried you wouldn’t have an appropriate dress.”

“A dress appropriate for what?” she spoke slowly, trying to rein in her temper. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Ward hadn’t called her himself to ask her out to this supposed red carpet thing, she had to hear about it from his assistant.

“The second annual Hudson Pictures Breast Cancer Research Fundraiser. Ward is going to have a dress sent over.”

“I…” She fumed, stumbling over her words in surprise. The Hudsons owned one of the most prestigious studios in Hollywood. They represented the glamorous world of old Hollywood. For decades, they’d hosted a Valentine’s Day ball. Lillian Hudson, the matriarch of the family, died a few years ago after battling breast cancer. Since then, the Hudsons had retooled the Valentine’s Day party as a fundraiser for breast cancer research. The invitations were highly coveted and almost impossible to come by. “Why would I need a dress for the Hudsons’ Party?”

Finally, Jess picked up on her shock and confusion. “Ward hasn’t talked to you yet, has he?”

“No.”

“Ah, crap.” Jess started talking rapidly. “I’ve bungled this. He intended to talk to you first. When you called me, I just assumed—”

“Stop,” she cut Jess off midbumbling explanation. “Why don’t you just tell me where I can reach him and I’ll talk about it with him.”

“I can’t do that,” Jess said meekly.

“You can tell me I’m being sent an appropriate dress for some event I’m supposed to go to with him, but you can’t tell me where he is?”

“Oh, I can tell you where he is,” Jess hastened to correct her, as if to prove his worth as an assistant. “You’re just not going to be able to talk to him.”

She blew out a long, frustrated sigh. “And why is that?” she asked slowly.

“Because he’s at the recording studio.” Jess’s tone sounded
sheepish. “Look, Ana, I know it’s awkward when you can’t get ahold of him.”

“Awkward. That about covers it.”

“But trust me,” Jess continued. “Ward is planning a very romantic evening.”

And that’s when Ana went ballistic. Quietly and internally, but still she went ballistic. Because not only was their secret relationship no longer secret, but it had gone from a passionate fling to something that included romantic evenings, limo rides and red carpets. Which felt like something much more complicated that mere sex.

By nine o’clock that evening, Ana was about halfway through her glass of wine and flipping through the channel guide on her television when she saw a VH1 program that would ruin her attempts to put Ward firmly out of her mind. If she tuned in she’d have the very surreal experience of watching on her flat screen a man she’d been kissing less than twenty-four hours ago.

She stared for a long minute at the name of the show on her screen. Instead, she found a movie playing, and settled down to watch that. Two minutes in, with a hefty gulp of wine, she changed the channel to VH1. Forty minutes later, she’d given up all semblance of being a casual watcher. Feeling voyeuristic and just a tad obsessive, she’d scooted to the edge of her seat and sat with her elbows propped on her knees. They’d already covered Ward’s rapid rise to stratospheric fame and were now analyzing his distinctive musical style, how his detailed fret work on an electrified acoustic guitar combined with his gravelly voice to create a sound unlike any other musician.

But honestly, she knew all that already. She’d been enough of a fan before he’d come to Hannah’s Hope that she knew much of his professional history. What held her riveted tonight was the footage of him on stage.

Of course, she’d seen him on stage before. Back when she’d been going to school in New York, she’d seen him perform more than once. But of course, things were different now. And the
focused, tight angle shot of him sitting on an otherwise empty stage gave her a perspective she’d never before seen.

Usually his band included a drummer, a percussionist and a bassist. However, he had a few signature songs that he played alone. Just a guy on a darkened stage making one guitar sound as complex and layered as a whole band. Watching that footage now, she was blown away—all over again—by his sheer talent. By the tremendous amount of work that it must take to master any instrument with such skill. And by the intense concentration and sheer joy on his face as he played.

He was a genius. A virtuoso. And he’d given it all up.

Why?

Why would a man who—

Her doorbell rang, shattering her concentration. She guiltily leapt from her spot on the sofa like she’d been caught peeping. Her remote went flying. She caught it midair and punched Pause on her way to the door.

She flipped on her porch light and threw open the dead bolt. Her neighbor, Marla, a student at the local college had a habit of locking herself out of her house. But the person at the door was not Marla.

In fact, Ana had to stare at him for a solid minute before recognition set in. “Ward?” She gaped stupidly.

He looked completely different than he had any other time she’d seen him. Gone was the casually elegant rock star. He now wore a scruffy cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. His cowboy boots had seen better days and his stained and ripped jeans were one step away from the trash heap. But more than just his clothes had changed. There was an air of beaten-down resignation about him. Like he was down on his luck and one kick in the teeth away from desperation.