Seduced The Unexpected Virgin

Nine


When she didn’t say anything about the dress, Ward wondered if she would wear it. So he was pleased when he stopped by her house to pick her up and found her dressed in it. She looked exactly as he’d imagined. And, yes, he’d even imagined the frown.

“I’m glad you wore the dress,” he said, leaning in to brush a quick kiss across her cheek. Of course, he’d seen her at the wedding just that morning. At the time it had been all he could do not to pull her fully into his arms and stake his claim on her where everyone could see. But he was trying to respect her wishes to keep things quiet.

Besides, stirring up gossip wasn’t the best idea at someone else’s wedding, when everyone was supposed to be focusing on the bride. The ceremony had been simple, yet lovely, as elegant as the bride herself. Ana had cried openly during the ceremony and the small reception that followed. Though he’d been curious about her parents, who’d also attended, he’d stayed firmly on the groom’s side of the celebration, well away from temptation. Even now, he had to force himself to put some distance between them.

Her frown deepened for an instant. “How did you even know about the dress?”

“I asked CeCe.”

“This wasn’t a Hudson Pictures movie. I’ve never worked for them.”

“True, but CeCe grew up in Hollywood. She knows everyone. She told me this was the most gorgeous dress she’d ever seen. She said this was the dress you’d want to wear at least once, even if you’d worked your fingers to bloody nubs sewing it.”

“Well, at least she has excellent taste.” Ana smiled a bit reluctantly. “And I’m glad you followed my advice and didn’t rent a limo.”

He guided her down toward his Lexus. “It’s an hour and half drive into Beverly Hills. If we were alone in the back of a limo, I couldn’t promise to keep my hands to myself.”


Ana didn’t know what she expected from the Hudsons’ bash. Obscene displays of wealth. Check. Obnoxious paparazzi. Check—though they were barred at the door. A dazzling array of stars. Check.

What she had not expected was to be blindly welcomed into their midst. As a costume designer, she’d mostly lingered on the fringes of Hollywood society. Tonight she was escorted into its upper echelons.

The Hudsons’ annual bash was held at Hudson Manor, a sprawling Elizabethan mansion that ate up acres and acres of prime Beverly Hills real estate. The entire first floor of the manor had been lavishly decorated in red hearts and pink ribbons. The kitschy decorations contrasted sharply with the elegant surroundings.

Ward fit right in among all the stars and seemed to know nearly everyone. She did her part to talk up Hannah’s Hope to anyone who displayed even the tiniest smidge of interest and she had several people who seemed genuinely intrigued. She found she was better at the schmoozing than she thought she’d be.

But she was nowhere near as good at it as Ward was. Listening to him talk up Hannah’s Hope was almost as impressive as watching him play on stage. He was a genius. And his passionate enthusiasm for Hannah’s Hope only made her feel more vulnerable. Why couldn’t Ward be shallow and self-serving?

Ana excused herself to find the bathroom while Ward was chatting with the star of a late-night show. As she left the bathroom, she ran into CeCe Hudson. Ana was surprised that the other woman even remembered her. Yes, they’d met only about an hour before, but surely she was just a face in the crowd of hundreds.

“How are you enjoying the party?” the petite brunette asked.

“It’s wonderful,” Ana enthused.

CeCe chuckled. “Liar. You’re miserable.”

“I—” Ana stammered.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” CeCe linked her arm through Ana’s and started to guide her toward the buffet. “I used to hate these kinds of things, too. But it goes with the territory, right? You date someone rich and powerful, you end up hanging out with the shallow and the vain.”

“I—” Ana fumbled for a response. Finally, she settled on, “Ward and I aren’t dating.”

CeCe slanted an assessing look at Ana. “Really?” She didn’t sound in the least bit convinced.

“Really. I’m only here to promote Hannah’s Hope.”

CeCe arched an eyebrow. “Naturally. Jack mentioned the benefit you’re thinking of throwing. Great idea, by the way.” They’d reached the buffet table and CeCe picked up a plate and pushed it into Ana’s hands. “Be sure to let me know if Hudson Pictures can do anything.”

“Thank you. That’s very generous.”

“Ward’s a good guy. It’s the least we can do for the woman he’s not dating.”

“We’re really not—”

But CeCe cut her off. “Hey, I’m all in favor of keeping things out of the press. Reporters can muck up anything, can’t they?”

“That’s certainly true,” Ana agreed. The press had a way of sticking their collective noses in at precisely the wrong time.

On the way into the party, they’d badgered Ward about whether or not he was returning to a musical career. They’d asked about the studio work he’d been doing and every time he’d tried to steer the conversation back to an up-and-coming musician whose album Ward was producing, they’d changed the subject. Nor did they let him talk much about Hannah’s Hope. Apparently, the media heard only what they wanted to hear.

The reporters’ persistence didn’t seem to bother Ward at all. He seemed oblivious to how invasive their questions were. Throughout the ordeal, he was as charming and relaxed as he was…well, at a party.

Almost as if she could read her thoughts, CeCe gave a little cringe. “Sorry about all the reporters outside the party. It used to be the Hudsons never allowed that. But now that we’re raising money for breast cancer research, we figure any press for the cause is a good thing. Besides, some people give more generously when it’s going to be on Entertainment Tonight.”

Ana and CeCe chatted for several minutes as they worked their way through the buffet line. Ana felt marginally more comfortable, but eventually, CeCe’s hostessing duties took her away and Ana was left on her own again.

She made her way back to Ward. Unfortunately, when she rounded the corner, she saw him talking to the one person she least expected. Ridley Sinclair. The supposed happily married star who had hit on her and then made her work life miserable.

Ridley Sinclair was a first-rate jerk. Her last job had been one misery after another because he was always on set. After all, his wife had been the star of the movie.

Ana never wanted to see him again. Yet, here they were. At the same party. And he was talking to Ward. And here she was, in the dress that had been made for his wife.

Annoyed, she ducked aside, standing on the outskirts of a nearby cluster of people, hoping to wait out the conversation before returning to Ward’s side. She didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but she could still hear their conversation.

“Hey, I noticed you were here with that costume designer,” Ridley slurred.

Ana gave a sidewise glance. Ward and Ridley were standing with their backs to her. They’d have to turn completely around to see her. She nearly left, but wanted to be nearby so she could sneak back to Ward’s side as soon as Ridley left.

Ridley held a drink in his hand, gesturing broadly and splashing the amber liquid. She wasn’t surprised that he was already drunk so early in the evening. What a jerk. How had she ever imagined Ward might be even remotely similar to him?

“What’s her name? Amanda something, right?” Ridley was asking.

“Ana,” Ward answered, his voice tight.

Ridley seemed not to hear the note of warning in Ward’s voice, because he kept talking. “Yeah. Ana. She worked on my last movie.”

The guy had maybe ten lines. He’d been cast only because his wife wanted him in it. And suddenly it was his movie. Ana smirked to herself. Thank God she didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

She should have walked away then. And nearly did. Ward could obviously fend for himself.

But then Ridley was saying, “Man, she is one tight little piece of—”

She was about one syllable away from socking the guy in the jaw herself, when Ward interrupted him.

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Ward said smoothly. His voice was calm. Completely rational. Containing none of the blustering indignation her own set-down would have.

She stilled, listening intently, but trying to hide it behind sipping her drink.

“What?” Ridley asked stupidly.

“I suggest,” Ward said politely, “that you speak about Ms. Rodriguez with more respect.”

“Or what?” Ridley scoffed.

“I have a lot of friends in Hollywood, Mr. Sinclair. Probably more than you do. Despite your wife’s success. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Ward left Ridley standing alone. The idiot seemed to have barely realized he’d just been threatened.

Ana slipped quietly away, all too aware of what had just happened. Ward had come to her defense. She hadn’t needed him to. If Ridley Sinclair had had the balls to say those things to her face, she would have socked him in the jaw. But he hadn’t. He’d said them to Ward. And Ward had stepped up to defend her. He’d calmly and effectively threatened the man’s career. For her.

She’d never wanted anyone to rush to her rescue. Had never needed that before. Somehow Ward’s behavior completely disarmed her. She dashed back down the hall leading to the bathroom. Finding herself suddenly alone, she leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to her stomach.

She hadn’t wanted to come to this stupid Valentine’s Day ball in the first place. She hadn’t wanted the dress. She hadn’t wanted the romance. And the last thing she needed was some romantic hero to sweep her off her feet.

No, her feet needed to stay firmly planted on the ground. If she stayed here at this party. Wearing this dress. With Ward here to gallantly come to her rescue. He wasn’t even going to have to sweep her off her feet. She was very much afraid her feet were going to float right off the ground.


After ditching Ridley Sinclair, Ward searched for Ana for several minutes before stumbling upon Jack, who he’d been hoping to find alone for most of the evening. Ward pulled him aside. After talking for a while, he quietly slipped an envelope into Jack’s hand, glad there was no one around to see the exchange. He’d made the check out directly to Jack, with the understanding that his friend would quietly shuffle the funds over to the charity. Every year he made a donation and every year Jack argued with him about it. But this was the first year he’d been able to do it in person.

Jack accepted the check without looking at it. “Are you sure you don’t want a receipt for your tax records?”

“If I wanted a receipt, then it would no longer be an anonymous donation, now, would it?”

“Good point.” Jack tucked the envelope into the interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “And since you seem determined that people not find out that you donate money to a good cause, who am I to dissuade you?”

They both knew the real reason Ward wanted the donation to be anonymous. Cara had been obsessed with distancing herself from any of the cancer charities. She’d been terrified of having her life’s work overshadowed by her death and had made Ward promise not to besmirch her legacy. He honored her memory by never letting the media know when he donated to the causes she’d so stubbornly ignored.

Before Jack could press the issue, CeCe walked up. Jack instantly pulled CeCe to his side. CeCe slipped her hand onto Jack’s chest with an easy familiarity that made something ache deep inside of Ward. He remembered, just barely, what it had been like to be as relaxed with another person. As comfortable.

But it had been a long time since he’d felt that. And even then, it had been more illusion than reality.

To distract Jack from the issue of the check—or perhaps to distract himself—Ward asked, “So where’d you ditch my date?”

“Ana?” CeCe asked with a frown. “Actually, she’s why I came over. She and I talked for a while, but as soon as I left her alone for a minute, I saw her heading for the door. Racing, practically. I think she must have seen someone she didn’t like.”

Ward smothered a curse of frustration and immediately excused himself. He hoped to catch up with Ana, but by the time he made it out to the valet stand, she was already gone. The attendant told him that a cab had dropped someone off just as she was rushing out.

Ward sent the man off in search of the Lexus and stood there alone, fuming. He’d left her alone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. And she’d ditched him.



Ana balked when she heard how much a cab ride from L.A. to Vista del Mar would cost this time of night. She might have been better off renting a car, if any car rental places had been open. She briefly considered getting a hotel room, but just now, she longed for the simple familiarity of home even if it was a house she hadn’t lived in long. With the taxi and the rental out of the question, she fell back on the reliable transportation of her youth. Public transportation.

Of course, taking the bus in a thousand-dollar evening gown was like begging to be mugged. So she had the cab drop her at a twenty-four-hour discount store, where she bought the cheapest sweater and pair of jeans she could find and a roomy bag in which she could carry the dress, neatly rolled up. She changed in the bathroom and used a damp paper towel to wipe off most of her makeup. Then she caught the bus to Union Station. Thank God for the ten-thirty train to San Diego. From there it was just a short bus ride back up to Vista del Mar. Still, it was after one by the time the taxi dropped her off in front of her house.

Climbing out of the cab, she stilled as she saw Ward’s Lexus parked in front of her house. The fact that it was empty offered her no comfort. Especially not when a glance at the front door revealed him waiting for her there.

She fed the cabbie the fee.

He followed her gaze to her doorstep. “Hey, you okay? You know him?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I do.”

The cabbie frowned. “You want me to drop you somewhere else? I won’t charge you any extra.”

She smiled, trying to look reassuring, but pretty sure her smile looked sad instead. “No. He’d never hurt me.” Not physically, anyway. Emotionally, that was a whole ’nother ball of wax. “I just didn’t want to face him tonight, that’s all.”

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.