Seduced The Unexpected Virgin

Six


Kissing Ana was as close to heaven as a man like him could get. She smelled like snickerdoodles and tasted like his favorite tequila. Unless her skin was actually sprinkled with sugar, he just didn’t see how she could get any better.

Her mouth was hot and moist and after an instant of surprise, unbelievably pliant and responsive. The purse she’d been holding slid off her shoulder and hit the floor and then her hands crept up around his neck to weave through his hair. She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth beneath his and boldly stroking her tongue against his teeth. His hand automatically sought her bottom, lifting to press her against his growing erection.

She tilted her hips forward, rubbing herself against him in a way that sent fissures of pure pleasure shooting through his body.

He hadn’t meant for the kiss to get out of hand. Hell, he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all. If she’d shown even the slightest resistance, he would have instantly let her go. But she melted against him, and so he clutched her to him even tighter and felt her shudder in response. He shoved her jacket off her shoulders and down her arms. Turning them around, he backed her up a step and then another, until her back was pressed to the wall beside the door. Her hips were anchored against his, but he wedged his hands between their bodies to flick open the buttons of her shirt, one by one. The shirt fell open to reveal a flesh-colored lacy bra.

He slipped his hand inside her shirt to the silky skin beneath. When he cupped her breast in his hand, she broke her mouth free, gasping in obvious pleasure. She threw back her head. With her mouth parted and damp, her eyes half-closed, and her breath coming in rapid bursts, she was the very picture of eroticism. Sex personified. Arousal in pure human form.

Her tongue darted out to lick her top lip and his erection leapt in response, straining against the zipper of his jeans.

If she was this turned on by such a little harmless groping, he couldn’t imagine how she’d respond to all the things he wanted to do to her. He could almost imagine that the passion between them surprised her.

Then again, maybe it had. Just a few moments ago, she’d thought he didn’t like her. She’d thought he was avoiding her.

Instantly, two parts of him were at war. One part that wanted to strip her pants from her body, pull her panties down around her knees and plunge his fingers deep inside of her. He wanted to find her *oris and stroke it until she was mindless with passion. He wanted to suck it into his mouth and drive her mad.

But the other part of him—the last few shreds of his logical mind—knew that this wasn’t the time. For any of that.

Ana was no cheap shot of…no, he stopped himself mid-thought. It felt wrong, somehow, to think of Ana in the same way he’d thought of Cara. They were too distinct. The comparison served neither of them well.

Ana was her own woman. Completely different from Cara. If Cara had been fine tequila, crafted, elegant and expensive, then Ana was…maybe the perfect margarita. A little salty, a whole lot of sweet and plenty of tart to balance it out. None of it hiding the drink’s powerful punch. All of the ingredients working in harmony to produce a whole that was nearly irresistible.

But still the fact that he would even think of both women in the same thought made him distinctly nervous. Cara had held his heart, his career, hell, his entire life in her hands. And look how long it had taken him to get over that. No way was he ready for that again.

Nevertheless, Ana deserved more than a quick coupling against the wall. She certainly deserved the truth.

He stepped away slowly, waiting until her feet were firmly back on the ground, before turning away and plowing a hand through his hair. Christ, how had he lost control so fast?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he finally admitted the truth. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t like you, I avoided you because of this.”

He looked back over his shoulder and took in the sight of her. She still stood with her back against the wall. Her breasts were rising and falling with each labored breath she pulled into her lungs.

With her shirt hanging open to reveal her perfect breasts encased in skimpy lace, she looked like his wildest fantasies come to life.

Her gaze still looked dazed and unfocused, proof that she didn’t yet comprehend what he was saying.

“I was afraid of this,” he admitted. “I knew the chemistry between us was palpable. I didn’t want to come on too strong. To ruin our working relationship.”

“Oh.” She seemed to realize suddenly that her shirt was still unbuttoned. Her fingers went to work fumbling on the problem, but her breath still came in rough drags and her normally quick mind seemed to be working at half speed, which was still faster than his tequila-addled one.

He was lucky he’d been able to stop at all.

He crossed back to the kitchen, emptied his tumbler into the sink and then got himself a fresh glass of ice water. Since she looked about as befuddled as he felt, he got her one, too.

She followed him into the galley kitchen and accepted the glass, shaking her head as if to clear it. “So you’ve been avoiding me because you like me?” Then she held up her hand to ward off some protest she imagined he was about to make. “Forget I said that. That presupposes that affection and lust are somehow tied together.”

“Ana—” he started to protest.

“No. It’s okay.” She smiled in a wobbly I’m-a-brave-little-trouper sort of way. Then she raised the water glass and drank it in quick, successive gulps. Like she needed to be doused with something icy. “So you want me, but you don’t want to want me. Do I have that right?”

“Let’s just say, yes, I want you. But sex complicates things. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

She set the glass down on the granite counter with a thud. “You’re assuming you could hurt me.”

Her naïveté was charming. “Yes, I am assuming that.” Maybe he should feign modesty, but in truth, he knew her emotions would have little to do with the man he really was. “I’ve been a celebrity a lot longer than you’ve been dealing with celebrities.”

“That’s not true,” she argued vehemently. “I dealt with all kinds of celebrities when I worked in Hollywood.”

“How many did you sleep with?”

Her cheeks turned a fiery red. “That’s none of your business!”

So the answer was either a lot, or none. He’d bet none. “My point is, celebrities are very easy to fall in love with, but very difficult to love.”

He wasn’t a particularly likable guy. He didn’t know if he ever had been, back before Cara got sick, but he certainly wasn’t now. It was a common malady among the famous. People fell in love with their fantasy rather than the person who was standing right in front of them, making their life miserable.

When she looked ready to protest again, he pressed his finger to her mouth to quiet her. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you falling in love with me and then one day waking up and realizing that I’m not the man you really wanted me to be. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

She frowned, her gaze a little too insightful. “It sounds to me like that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“You’re a sweet kid, Ana. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her gaze narrowed at his use of the word kid. He’d known it would. She wasn’t a woman who took well to diminutives. There was more than one way to drive a woman away.

She jerked away from his touch, her gaze blazing and went to swipe her jacket off the floor. “So where does that leave us?” she asked, her tone tinged with defiance.

He shrugged. “We still have to work together for Hannah’s Hope. Right now, while we’re starting up, the board’s involvement is pretty heavy. I don’t see any way around that. But once things are underway, it’ll slow down. In a year or so, I can step aside and you can find a new board member.”

But her expression slowly darkened as he spoke and by the time he finished, he knew she was going to make this harder than it needed to be.

She shoved her arms back into the sleeves of her jacket, and slowly stalked toward him. “I meant, where does that leave us. Personally. You’re convinced I’m some kind of delicate flower who can’t handle being involved with you. But you’re wrong. I can handle anything I want to handle.”

He couldn’t help smiling at her bravado. And her choice of words. He should probably walk calmly away from that innuendo, but, damn it, he just couldn’t. “Am I to assume you want to handle me?”

She arched an eyebrow, opened her mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. After giving him an assessing stare, she admitted, “I don’t know.”

That careful consideration made him nervous. A quick yes, he could have easily dismissed. That need to pull her into his arms and devour her still pounded through him, but the cadence of it had slowed a little. It was controllable now. Gazing deep into her inky eyes, he could read nothing in them except the lingering traces of her passion.

She pressed her fingertips to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Like she was trying to block out the chatter of her internal debate.

A second later, she opened her eyes, her expression just as confused. “I know I don’t want to walk away from this. I don’t want to walk away from you.”

“Hey,” he said trying to keep his tone playful. “It’s not every day a celebrity saunters into your life, right?”

The hard edge in his voice surprised him. He’d long ago gotten over any annoyance over the nail-a-celebrity scorecard some women seemed to keep. And he didn’t really think Ana was that kind of woman. But apparently, he still needed to hear that straight from her.

“It’s not that.” Annoyance flickered across her face. “Which you know.”

And to be fair, he did know. It wasn’t about that for her. Obviously. She’d worked in Hollywood. Met plenty of stars bigger than him in her life before Hannah’s Hope. He didn’t know how she’d managed to escape male attention in Hollywood. Thank God her figure was lush and curvaceous. Maybe in the land of skinny starlets the men there were all too stupid to appreciate Ana’s figure. Though it was the spark of passion that really spoke to him. Her devotion to Hannah’s Hope. He was less confident about what attracted her to him.

“Then what is it?” he pressed, surprised by his desperate need to hear her voice her attraction. He wasn’t generally the kind of guy who needed to have his ego stroked.

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. But would it be so bad if we let it run its course? If we waited to find out?”

He let out a low grumble of displeasure. Again, he shook his head. “I’m not going to risk your heart out of curiosity.”

“It’s not your heart to decide.”

He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Here’s the thing. Celebrities are very easy to fall in love with. But we’re almost impossible to love.”

Sadness flickered across her face. For an instant, he thought it was because she thought he was blowing her off. But then her lips curved in an almost smile and he realized he’d mistaken sympathy for sorrow.

“Yes. You said that already.” She bumped up her chin and met his gaze boldly. “But I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

Despite his grim mood, he found himself smiling. “You’re not?”

“No. Not even a little bit.”

“You promise?”

Her smile turned a little mischievous. “Cross my heart and lock it with a padlock.”

He still knew he should say no. He should push her out the door. Shut it behind her. Put her on a plane back to San Diego and never see her again.

This instinct he had to possess her, to keep her with him…it wasn’t good for her. And he was a selfish bastard for giving in to it.

But what could he say. He wanted her, plain and simple. And it had been too long since he’d wanted anything. He’d grown greedy during his emotional abstinence and if she didn’t have the good sense to leave, he didn’t have the strength to make her.

“Okay,” he agreed.

She smiled broadly, as if she’d won some kind of prize. Like she was the lucky one here, when in reality he was the one who would walk away the winner. He would inevitably disappoint her and she’d be lucky if she didn’t get crushed.

She rose up on her toes, her hand sneaking around his neck, but he carefully dodged her grasp.

“But we take it slowly,” he explained. “I may want to take you to bed and do all kinds of sinful things to your body. But we’re not going to do that now.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. And then a blush streamed up her cheeks.

Either he’d shocked her with his bluntness—which was entirely possible—or she genuinely hadn’t considered the possibility that if he started kissing her again, he might not be able to stop.

She went rapidly from confusion to surprise to embarrassed satisfaction. She didn’t quite meet his gaze as she nodded. “Okay. So where do we go from here?”

“We go to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door. He snagged a set of keys from the console. “Neither of us has eaten. Public is much better. I don’t trust myself alone with you.”


Ward let her drive to dinner. Though he’d only had two shots, it had been on an empty stomach since he hadn’t yet dug into the take-out leftovers. And she’d only had a sip of her drink. His sensibility on the subject impressed her. A lot of men viewed asking someone else to drive as an affront to their masculinity. Not Ward.

He let her choose which car she drove, offering up one of his instead of her mild-mannered rental. Standing in the bay of the carriage house garage, she considered her options. A bright Tesla—a powerful, all-electric sports car. Another Lexus hybrid, identical to the one he drove in California. And a fully-restored Hudson Hornet, all patent leather and gleaming chrome. Its sleek lines both elegant and powerful, giving the impression that it was a wild beast, poised to pounce on some prey.

She’d probably never again have the opportunity to drive a machine like this. Only an idiot would choose her rented sedan under the circumstances.

In many ways, this thing with Ward was just like that. All her life, she’d put off getting involved romantically. She’d held herself aloof. Made the sensible decision. In short, she’d been driving a sedan her whole life.

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.