Seduced The Unexpected Virgin

Seven


He’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.

His transformation was just shy of miraculous. The first day they’d met, in his pricey cargo pants and five-hundred-dollar sunglasses, he looked like a star foolishly trying to blend in. Now, he looked like a different person.

“I…” she fumbled, still confused.

He said nothing, but his head gave a tiny nod toward her neighbor’s house and his eyes shifted in that direction.

She followed his gaze, only to realize Marla was walking up the path to her house—keys in hand, thank goodness—and was shooting curious glances their way.

Ward leaned forward slightly. “Repeat after me, loudly.”

“What?”

“This is very unusual,” he whispered. “I never see clients at my house.”

Like an idiot, she stared blankly at him. Then glanced at Marla again, who had stopped and was staring at them both with her head tilted to the side. Even though it was dark, Marla had left the porch light on, allowing Ana a clear view of the other woman’s expression of curiosity.

Abruptly, she repeated his words, her voice sounding stiff.

He gave a brief nod, then fed her another line.

“But under the circumstances,” she added more loudly, “you can come in. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

His lips curved into a smile, giving her the impression her clumsy acting amused him. Figured.

“Gracias, señorita,” he said. His Spanish had the flowing accent of a native speaker.

She swallowed her annoyance and stepped back to let him into her house. The moment when she could have refused to even let him in had passed in a blur of playacting and deception.

The second the door closed behind him, his shoulders straightened and the air of despair dissipated. He knocked his hat back an inch with his thumb and grinned like this was the most fun he’d had in months.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, annoyance struggling back to the surface like indigestion.

“You’re the one who said we should keep our relationship private.”

“You want to bring me to a red carpet event where there will be oodles of photographers, but you dress in this elaborate getup just to stop by my house?”

He shrugged as if admitting the absurdity. Still, he snagged her wrist and reeled her in close, then trapped her there with his hands on her hips. “At the Hudsons’ party, no one will think twice about us being together in a professional capacity. But I don’t have any excuse to be at your house after nine on a weekday.”

He plastered his lips to hers, gently invading her mouth with slow, even strokes of his tongue. His hand slipped up to rest on the bare skin of her back, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh he found there. Her resistance melted under his gentle persuasion.

She felt a groan of pleasure rising in her throat. He took one step, edging her back toward the sofa. And then abruptly lifted his head. “What’s that?”

Startled by his sudden absence, she blinked away her confusion. Then followed his gaze to where it rested on a giant close-up of his face. Her own face instantly flashed hot. Ah, crap.

“That’s, um…”

He pulled back and studied her face. “That’s me.”