Virgin Promise

Angela didn’t know what to do with her hair. Normally she wore it in a ponytail or braid, but that seemed too youthful for the way she felt tonight. She thought about pinning it up. Did guys ever really take a girl’s hairpins out one by one so her hair could tumble over her shoulders, all sexy and tousled? She was afraid it wouldn’t work in real life the way it did in movies, so she left her hair loose. She decided she liked the way the curled ends brushed her bare shoulders.

She was dressed and ready at ten minutes to ten. Since she hated watching the clock, waiting for a date to pick her up, she got to work on a neglected craft project, a cross-stitched pillow for a cousin who was getting married this summer. If Vic stood her up, at least she would have something to show for the evening.

The next time she looked up at the clock, it was ten-fifteen. She threw her needlework aside in disgust. The jerk had changed his mind!

It was for the better, she told herself. She had no business going out with a man like that. He was a threat to her well-ordered world, not to mention her sanity. She couldn’t think rationally when he was around.

Just when she’d decided to change into her nightgown, a knock came at the door. Her heart jumped into her throat. If it was Vic, he ought to be ringing her from the front security door.

“Just a minute!” she called out, sliding her feet back into her black flats and zipping up her dress. If it was Vic, she’d give him an earful. Twenty minutes late, and not even a phone call to let her know.

Full of righteous indignation, she threw open the door, and any lecture she might have delivered died in her throat. Lord, the man was gorgeous, but in a tuxedo he was incredible. He didn’t have that smooth, urbane James Bond look, but somehow he appeared oddly at ease in the formal wear. She wouldn’t have expected that.

“How did you get through the security door?” she blurted out in the way of greeting.

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Gibbons, let me in.”

Mrs. Gibbons? She was the old lady on the first floor who was terrified of burglars and muggers. She had three dead bolts on her door and required three pieces of ID before she’d let her own sister in. It was comforting to know that Angela wasn’t the only female susceptible to Vic’s charms.

“You look hot,” Vic added, his voice husky.

A surge of feminine pleasure washed through her. She murmured her thanks, then moved aside to let him in. He looked out of place in her fussy, feminine living room, and she decided right then and there to redecorate. It looked as if a spinster lived here. She would use Vic as the focal point of the decor.

“Sit down, and I’ll go change,” she said. “I hadn’t realized we were going formal.”

He grabbed her arm before she could make good her escape. “You look just fine for where we’re going.”

“Oh, but I have this little beaded vest….” She didn’t finish outlining her wardrobe possibilities to him. His hot gaze struck her absolutely dumb. Before she knew it he had his arms around her, and they were kissing.

It was a beautiful kiss, steamy, full of passion, yet oddly she knew it was just a kiss to be enjoyed for its own sake. This was a guy who knew how to kiss. He nipped at her lips, then moved in for the kill, covering her mouth with his, using a gentle but insistent pressure. He let his tongue flirt with hers, then just when she thought she was going to pass out from overwhelming sensations, he backed off to kiss her neck, her ear, her forehead.

He didn’t press his advantage, for which she was grateful. She had hours yet to resist him.

Chapter Three

Angela eased away from Vic. “Let me get the vest anyway,” she said. The husky breathlessness in her voice turned him on almost as much as the kiss had. “I want to look my best. Please sit down. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded, but he didn’t sit. He’d figured out one of Angela’s buttons—she liked to be in control. The less he allowed her to dictate to him, even with something as trivial as whether he should sit or stand, the more off balance she would be.

As she left the room, Vic contemplated her shapely legs, revealed to midthigh and encased in sheer black silk. He’d never seen her legs before, though he’d fantasized about them.

They were better than he’d dreamed, slender but with calf and thigh muscles clearly defined.

Vic had thought Angela looked quite sexy enough in her work clothes. There was something very sensual about her, a quality that would shine through even if she wore a nun’s habit. But Angela in a short, figure-revealing black dress literally made his mouth go dry.

He hooked his thumbs into his pockets and paced around Angela’s small living room, trying not to anticipate what the night might bring. Events were unfolding in surprising ways.

He hadn’t planned on moving in for a kiss quite so abruptly, but the gesture had seemed as natural as breathing. She felt good in his arms; she fit perfectly against him, and as he’d pulled her close, he’d experienced a little thrill of victory—like when he’d been a kid and found a missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle, only lots, lots better.

How could one woman, a woman he hardly knew, have such an exaggerated effect on him? It wasn’t just his body involved, but his mind, his spirit and, he was very much afraid, his heart.

Not that he was falling in love with her. He didn’t allow himself to do that, not since college. In Vic’s world, everything had its proper place. The problem with love was that it didn’t like to stay in its place. It liked to ooze all over everything, spilling onto other parts of his sturdy, well-organized life until nothing functioned smoothly anymore.

Kimberly Rose Mundy, a woman he’d loved as thoroughly as any college kid can love, had turned his life into a circus. His grades had suffered, he’d shown up for his campus bookstore job late and disheveled, he’d neglected his friends, he’d dropped out of intramural basketball. She had consumed him. Then, without preamble, Kimberly had dumped him for a med student.

He’d recovered quickly enough, pulling the shreds of his life back together before all was lost, mending fences and taking a hard look at the person he was before, during and after falling in love. After that, he’d managed to avoid the sticky emotion.

But Angela gave his heart palpitations nonetheless. He felt an undeniable, burgeoning affection for her, for her shy smile and the way she fought with herself over how to behave with him.

That was acceptable, he supposed. Affection was manageable. He wasn’t sure what he wanted with Angela. He was a normal guy, so sex had to be part of the recipe, of course. Still, a fiery fling sounded appealing but unfulfilling somehow. Too shallow and confining for a woman like her.

A long-term friendship, perhaps, that included sex? He’d tried that before, a couple of times. He’d discovered that sooner or later the woman grew dissatisfied with the status quo and wanted to either deepen things or end it. He supposed that was the nature of a woman, to move in the direction of marriage. It wasn’t, however, in his nature.

Did he need to know right now? He supposed not. He could wing this thing. That’s what he’d been doing so far and it had worked out okay.

Angela reappeared shortly wearing the sparkly vest and a pair of spike heels that did great things to her already fabulous legs. “I’m ready if you are,” she said breezily. “Unless you’d like a drink first? I have some box wine in the fridge….”

“No, I think we’d better go.”

She grabbed a small purse and started for the front door, but he snagged her by the arm. “This way.” He led her in the direction she’d just come from, where he assumed her bedroom was.

She dug in her heels. “What?”

“I’m not planning to drag you into the bedroom and ravish you, if that’s what you thought,” he said, smiling to soothe her expression of outrage. “A window in your bedroom leads to the fire escape. That’s where we need to be.”

She looked around, bewildered. “Why? Is the building on fire?” She smiled uncertainly.

Yeah, there was a fire, all right. Inside him. “All right, I guess I’ll have to tell you. The fire escape leads up to the roof. That’s where dinner is.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

In reply, he gestured for her to lead the way into her bedroom. “I’m completely serious.”

Bewildered but wanting to be a good sport, she preceded him down a short hallway and into a bedroom. “You’ll have to overlook the mess, okay?”

“I won’t notice a thing,” he promised.

But he did notice. Her double bed had been hastily made, with numerous fussy pillows with lace and satin trim heaped near the bentwood headboard. Several dresses and blouses were draped over a low chair, as if she’d tried on and discarded many outfits before deciding on the black dress. Instinctively he knew this was true, and the knowledge pleased him enormously.

Angela unlocked the window, but Vic stepped forward to raise it for her. It was large enough that they could step onto the tiny metal landing outside without contorting their bodies in undignified ways. Angela went first, sitting on the ledge, then swiveling those enticing legs through the opening. Her movements were graceful and feminine.

Vic followed, then closed the window. “After you,” he said, gesturing toward a ladder attached to the brick wall leading up to the roof.

She folded her arms and gave him a sideways look. “Now you have to be kidding. I can’t climb a ladder in this dress.”

“Sure you can,” he said easily. “Take your shoes off.”

She stared at him a moment longer, challenging. He could tell she wanted to see what surprises he had planned for her on the roof, but this went against her conservative nature. Finally she capitulated, kicking off her shoes. “Okay, fine. But you go ahead of me. I don’t want you looking up my dress. And you would, too. Don’t try lying about it.”

She was right. With a shrug he grabbed her shoes, stuck one in each pocket, then started up the ladder. When he reached the top, he climbed onto the roof and looked down. She was following, slowly, giving him a lovely view of her cleavage. It wasn’t until then that Vic admitted to himself how afraid he’d been that she would balk at this crazy idea of his. He was knocking down her barriers one by one, but her personality was strong enough that victory was by no means assured.

He extended his hand and helped her the last few steps.

“I did it!” she said triumphantly once she was on firm footing. “That’s the first time I ever climbed a ladder, other than a stepladder.”

“I hope that’s only one of many firsts tonight,” he said as he set her shoes down for her to step back into.

She laughed, a bit hysterically he thought, then reclaimed her shoes.

The rooftop was dark, and they could actually see a sprinkling of stars in the navy blue sky, despite the fact they were in the middle of the city. A few blocks away the lights of Oak Lawn Avenue’s late-night hot spots, muted through the treetops, provided a colorful backdrop. Farther into the distance, downtown Dallas’s artfully lighted skyline shone like a jewel in the night.

“Oh, it’s beautiful up here,” Angela said, almost reverently. “I’ve been living in that apartment four years and I’ve never been on the roof before. It’s isolated, but at the same time the city’s life is all around.”

Precisely why he’d chosen this environment. It was stimulating, yet still secluded. He took her arm and led her across the tar-and-gravel rooftop to a spot on the far side, where the branches of an enormous crepe myrtle tree brushed against the building, softening the harsh lines of the roof edge and gutters.

“Oh, my.” Angela stopped in her tracks, admiring Vic’s handiwork. A table covered with a white cloth bore two elegant place settings, courtesy of Vic’s grandmother’s dishes. He’d inherited them years ago, but they’d remained boxed up in his attic until today. Until now he’d never seen a need to go fancier than his sturdy stoneware and stainless.

The table was lit by a candle inside a glass, where the light breeze made it flicker. Off to the side was an ice bucket containing a good bottle of Chablis. Tucked under the table was a soft plastic container, similar to the ones the pizza delivery guys used to keep their pies warm.

“Sit down,” Vic said. “Do you want some wine?”

“I’d love some,” she replied, claiming one of the padded folding chairs at the table. “How did you get all this stuff up here?”

He’d about broken his back, that’s how, hauling it all up that ladder, terrified the whole time that Angela would hear him creeping around on her fire escape and call the cops. Or if not Angela, one of her neighbors. He’d made sure to bring his ID shield just in case. But no one had questioned him or tried to stop him.

“Magic,” he answered. He wanted her to think the task had been effortless.

As soon as he’d poured each of them a glass of wine, he went to the plastic container and began unpacking their dinner—first a small Caesar salad, then rosemary-tarragon breast of chicken, freshly grilled asparagus spears and crusty French bread.

“That smells wonderful,” Angela said. “Don’t tell me you cooked it.”

He was tempted to lie. But he felt he’d been dishonest enough as it was. If he wanted more than this one night with her, he was going to have to start revealing a little of the real Vic Steadman. She might be bowled over by this dangerous mystery man, but he had a hunch she might actually like the real Vic, if he introduced him slowly.

“No, I can’t claim cooking among my many skills. I got it from that gourmet-to-go place a few blocks from here.”

“Great! I love their food.”

She patiently allowed him to serve her. After Vic had filled their plates, and with mouthwatering aromas drifting up from the table, he took his own chair. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“To new experiences.”

She lifted her own glass and tapped it against his with a smile and a nod. But an uneasy expression crossed her face. He wondered what bothered her about his toast.

During dinner, Vic questioned Angela about her job, her family, her hobbies. She was relaxed enough that she answered without hesitation. Whenever she made an attempt to steer the conversation toward him, he provided glib answers, then deftly reversed the flow once again.

He was glad to see that she had a healthy appetite.

Nothing irritated him like a woman who picked at a good dinner. Vic made sure her wineglass stayed full, though he carefully monitored how much she drank. For what he had in mind later, he wanted her relaxed but with a clear head.

He drank a couple of glasses himself, hoping it would take the edge off his own nerves. Though he felt he was performing with admirable suavity, he was a bundle of tension. Tonight mattered, more than it should, probably. He’d been too long without a woman, he reasoned. That was all it was.

“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you don’t like to talk about yourself,” Angela said easily as he put away the leftovers.

He said nothing, hoping to distract her with his next assault on her taste buds, caramel cheesecake. Her eyes widened when he set the decadent wedge of dessert in front of her, but she didn’t immediately dig in to it.

“An hour ago, when I was starving, you might have succeeded in distracting me with food, but not now. I’ve told you everything but my shoe size, and the only thing I know about you is that you ride a motorcycle, fix cars and you know how to bowl a woman over.”

“What else do you need to know?” he said, shrugging playfully.

“Lots of stuff.”

Vic sensed he wasn’t going to wiggle off her hook this time. He sat down and took a bite of his cheesecake, savoring the sweet caramel flavor mixed with cool cream cheese. “My life’s an open book,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“How many questions do I get?” she asked warily, obviously skeptical of his sudden openness. And well she should be, he thought guiltily.

“One. No, wait, two—okay, three. But that’s my limit. I’m boring. Why would we want to talk about me?”

“What do you do for a living? Do you have a job?”

“That’s two questions.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave in.

“Okay, we’ll count it as one.” He paused, wondering if there was any way to make his job sound more mysterious. “Let’s just say I associate with some of the city’s less savory characters, and leave it at that.”

“You’re a criminal?” she asked, involuntarily pulling her chair back. Uh-oh. He’d gone too far.

“No, no. I’m a completely law-abiding citizen, I promise. It’s just that my work isn’t something a refined, beautiful woman such as yourself would want to hear about.” And that, he decided, was probably the truth. Rounding up drunks, breaking up fights, writing tickets, patrolling high school football games for extra money when he was off duty—it just wasn’t very glamorous. He was hoping to make sergeant soon, and he was fairly certain he would be assigned a detective position within the next couple of months. But he wasn’t there yet.

“But you’re employed? You’re a contributing member of society?”

“Yes.”

“You’re annoyingly mysterious. How do you know I’m not interested in your job? I have very wide-ranging interests.”

“Is that a question?”

“No. How many do I have left?”

“Two.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near White Rock Lake.” Which revealed very little. The old White Rock neighborhood featured everything from cramped apartments to mansions. “One more—make it a good one.”

She paused and licked her lips. He was breathless, waiting for her next question, wondering what answers he could provide that would keep her off balance. It was a game. She knew it as well as he, or he wouldn’t have continued with it.

When she finally voiced her next question, though, he was the one thrown off balance.

“Are you planning to make love to me tonight?”

Angela very nearly clamped her hand over her mouth. Where had that question come from? Some deep, deep part of her subconscious, no doubt. She’d been sitting there enjoying their banter, thinking what gorgeous blue eyes he had and how broad his shoulders looked in the tux.

She kept seeing quick images in her mind of her and Vic together—her fingers sifting through all that thick black hair, or slowly unfastening his bow tie and unbuttoning his shirt, then her kissing his chest.

Then her Question Number Three had popped out.

My Lord, she thought, I just propositioned a man. She’d never done that before, never even come close.

He didn’t answer her right away. He stared back at her, one eyebrow cocked and a look of pure deviltry on his face. At least she hadn’t shocked or disgusted him. Maybe she’d even excited him. Given her line of work, Angela knew a lot about body language. Vic didn’t look agitated, but his rate of breathing had picked up.

“I think that’s pretty much up to you,” he finally said.

Then his answer was yes, she decided. All she had to do was make one move in his direction, and he was hers.

But she didn’t move. A lifetime of caution kept her glued to the chair. What about pregnancy? she asked herself. She’d always thought that getting pregnant outside of marriage would be the worst disaster that could befall her. But the only thought that came to mind now was that it wouldn’t be so bad having his baby.

What about her other fears surrounding sex? Losing her independence. Opening herself up to being hurt. Feeling foolish afterward. Being taken advantage of. When it came right down to it, she’d always been a little afraid that she simply wouldn’t do it right, that her lack of experience would make her an inept, fumbling ninny.

Looking at Vic, she knew her independence was already at risk. He was quite capable of hurting her—all it would take would be for him to walk away after his conquest. She could feel more than foolish afterward.

But if anyone was taking advantage, it was Angela herself. And the way her instincts took over when she was with him, she couldn’t envision herself as a clumsy lover. She would know what to do when the time came.

She tried to draw together every sensible thought in her repertoire about why making love with someone like Vic was a bad, bad idea. But somehow, the only sensible thought she could grab on to was, There’s an all-night drugstore around the corner, and it sells condoms.

Without really meaning to, she pushed back her chair and stood. Her decision was made. And, really, it had been made the moment he walked in the door. She took a step toward him, then another; then she held out her hand.

She could have sworn his eyes sparkled with their own light. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, all the while staring into her eyes, mesmerizing her. He was magic, she decided.

Abruptly he stood up, so quickly that his chair fell back. Then she was in his arms again, her lips pressed against his in a kiss that caused her burgeoning passion to well up inside her like an overflowing well. Unlike the simpler kiss he’d bestowed upon her in the living room, this one was a prelude, brimming with promise. Vic held her face between his hands. She couldn’t escape—not that she wanted to. Her mouth was his to pillage any way he desired, and he tried them all—hungry, devouring kisses that involved tongue and teeth and, she’d swear, tonsils, then light, teasing nips that left her limp and almost begging for more.

His grip on her loosened as he moved his lips along her jaw, to her ear, down her neck and to the hollow of her throat. His hands, meanwhile, explored her back in a proprietary manner that thrilled her. She had committed to him—her body, at least—and he was taking possession. He cupped her bottom with one large hand. The intimate contact ignited a fire deep within her core. She wanted him to touch her there and everywhere. She wanted to shed clothing and feel skin against skin. Never had she experienced such a strong drive to join her body with a man.

He moved his hands to the top of her dress and eased her vest off her shoulders, then slowly lowered the zipper. Cool night air caressed her back, followed quickly by Vic’s touch against her bare skin, a new level of intimacy.

“I like your hair down,” he said. “I can bury my face in it, and it smells like flowers.”

“Thank you.” She’d been noticing the way he smelled, too, like soap and menthol shaving cream, starch, and…yes, baby shampoo. As he kissed the sensitive place between her neck and shoulder, she pressed her nose into his hair and inhaled deeply. The scent reminded her of childhood and, oddly, of safety.

On some instinctive level she knew she was safe with Vic, no matter what outward appearances told her.

His talented hands moved to her shoulders and eased the spaghetti straps of her dress down her arms. Yes, all right, she was standing on her roof with nothing on above the waist but a strapless bra.

“I think—” she began, but he kissed her again.

“Don’t think,” he murmured.

“I won’t change my mind. It’s just that…” She couldn’t articulate her thoughts into words when he laid those feathery kisses along her collarbone. She threw her head back and reveled in the new sensations, especially enjoying the feel of his soft lips on the tops of her breasts.

Her knees were getting weaker by the minute. She wanted to lie down with him, and if they’d been anywhere else but on the roof, she’d have given in to her impulse right there.

“Vic…”

“Mmm, what?” His words were muffled. He’d pressed his face against her breasts, teasing the cleft between them with his tongue. No one had ever done anything like that to her before.

“Um, uh, don’t you…think…we should go…inside?” She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.

“Uh-uh,” he said as he moved his hands around to her back, seeking the clasp to her bra.

“But we can’t…out here….”