Virgin Promise

“Do you promise to go slowly?”

“I haven’t had a ticket in years.”

“All—” Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to clear her throat. “All right. I appreciate it very much.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He gave her a long look before he climbed aboard the bike. She hesitated another moment, then took the extra helmet and set it on her head. He had to help her adjust the strap. His knuckles brushed against the ivory smoothness of her cheek, sending ribbons of warmth trickling through his body. Damn, if her cheek did this to him, imagine what her other body parts might accomplish.

No, maybe it was better not to think of that. He had no idea how far this would go, but he didn’t imagine Angela would invite him into her bed no matter how powerful the fantasy. He didn’t believe she was that impulsive.

After donning his own helmet, he extended a hand to her for support. She grabbed it and clambered aboard behind him.

That first touch of her hand to his jolted him to another level of awareness. He’d never been so conscious of the feel of a woman’s hand before, the smoothness, the soft pads of her fingers. She wiggled around, settling in, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was supposed to be the one in control, yet he was the one whose brain was short-circuiting. He imagined how her cute butt looked wiggling on the black leather seat.

She tucked her purse between their bodies, but there was still plenty of contact as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in a snug, warm embrace.

Vic could have sat there all night, just feeling her soft breasts pressed against his back. He could even smell her, and she smelled like coconut and almonds. As a massage therapist, she probably slathered scented lotions on her hands all day long.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Oh. On Seymour and Huntington, the Huntington Terrace Apartments. Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it.” And if he made a wrong turn by accident, well, a few extra minutes of this exquisite torture wouldn’t kill him. Maybe.

With a turn of the ignition key the bike rumbled to life beneath them.

The evening was beautiful, the air warm but still with the crispness of spring. The streets of Angela’s Oak Lawn neighborhood were filled with St. Patrick’s Day revelers, and he was glad she didn’t have to wander around by herself. Normally the eclectic area Dallas called Oak Lawn was pretty safe—he’d once ridden a beat here as a bicycle cop—but muggings and car break-ins weren’t unheard of, especially when so much drinking went on.

The roar of the cycle’s engine precluded talking, but Vic enjoyed the ride immensely. He was disappointed when he found her apartment building with no trouble.

The building was an old one, probably built in the 1930s, a humble, three-story brown-brick structure with an inviting front porch surrounded by mature trees. Small air-conditioning units protruded out many of the windows, so this wasn’t one of those luxurious renovations with sky-high rents. But it looked reasonably well taken care of. The walkway was lined with daffodils, and pots of orange geraniums decorated the front porch.

He pulled into a no-parking zone right in front and cut the engine.

Slowly Angela released her grip around his middle and eased herself away from him. “That wasn’t so bad,” she said, more to herself than to him.

He was a little surprised to hear her say that. Normally he was a very conscientious rider. Working the traffic division, he’d seen firsthand the devastation that could be done to the human body when it flew off a motorcycle at high speeds. But he’d driven a hair faster than normal tonight—nothing unsafe, but enough to get Angela’s adrenaline flowing.

Enough to add to the aura of danger.

She removed her helmet and handed it to him, her hands shaking slightly. “Thanks for everything. I’d have been in quite a mess if you hadn’t come along.” Her voice was a little bit breathless.

“No charge. I’ll see you to your door.”

“That’s not—”

“I know it’s not necessary. What if there’s a mugger waiting in the lobby?” He didn’t wait for her permission, but climbed off the bike, removed his own helmet and followed her up the steps to the porch. Her hand shook as she stuck the key in the front door lock. She pulled open the door a crack, then turned to face him.

“I’m in,” she said. “Thank you. And good night.”

He could see, now, that he’d made her uneasy. He hadn’t meant to. It was this new, dark and dangerous evil twin inside him that had done it by refusing to let her dismiss him. And it was the evil twin who leaned over and stole a kiss.

He didn’t touch her with anything but his lips. She could have backed off at any time, kicked him in the shins, screamed, whatever she wanted. But she just stood there, passively accepting the light pressure of his mouth against her soft, soft lips. Other than a telltale quiver and the flutter of her tentative hand against his chest, she didn’t react.

But he did. That dozing beast inside him opened both eyes wide and snorted to life. He felt the tightness in his groin, the pleasurable curls of desire warming his belly.

Suddenly Angela lost her balance. The door closed behind her, and she fell against it, breaking the kiss.

For a moment all she could do was stare at him, her eyes smoky with desire but wary as hell. Did he blame her?

“Please…” she said.

“Please…what?”

“I can’t ask you inside.”

He ran one forefinger along her jaw. “You could if you wanted,” he whispered, amazed at his own bravado. He was acting like one of those guys in the movies he hated, the ones who were so damn sure of their sex appeal that it never entered their minds that a woman might not be willing. He considered himself confident when it came to the opposite sex, but not pushy.

“I don’t even know you!”

“But you trust me just the same.”

Unwillingly, it seemed, she nodded. On some level she must have sensed that he was one of those serve-and-protect types, not a taker or a defiler of women, despite his cocksureness.

When she made no further move to escape, but just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read, he finally figured it out. She was his for the taking. She couldn’t ask him in, because she was a nice girl, and nice girls didn’t ask strange men into their apartments. But if he invited himself, she wouldn’t turn him away.

He’d accomplished Bobby Ray’s mission, and it had been surprisingly easy. She was his, at least for this night.

Somehow, that realization didn’t make him feel overjoyed. Yeah, maybe he could sweet-talk his way into her bedroom, and they could spend one awesome night indulging in mindless sex. But that would be the end of it. Instinctively, he knew that.

She deserved better than that. Much as it pained him, he would have to deny himself the pleasures of Angela’s body—for a while, anyway.

He cupped her face between his palms and kissed her again, as if he meant it. This time she was anything but passive. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, eagerly accepting the thrust of his tongue. She put her arms around him, drawing his body closer until they were hip to hip, chest to chest.

He wanted more than anything to remove the barrier of clothing between them, to lie beside Angela and feel her warm, smooth flesh all up and down his own body, to explore every inch of her with his hands and mouth. It took all his willpower to pull away.

She looked up at him, questioning, breathing hard.

He brushed one last kiss on her forehead. “I have to go. Good night, Angela.”

She swallowed. “Good night, then.”

He turned and walked toward his bike without a backward glance, though he ached from his toes to his scalp. Delaying gratification would make it that much better, he told himself, hoping he hadn’t messed this thing up royally. What if, by tomorrow, she’d come to her senses and wanted nothing to do with him?

But as long as he remained her dark and dangerous fantasy man, she would be interested. He was counting on that.

“Hey!” Angela called out, startling him. “You never told me your name!”

He waved goodbye, but he didn’t answer her.

Chapter Two

Angela walked to work the next morning. She could have called Phoebe or Victoria to give her a lift; both of them lived nearby. But she didn’t think she could face either of them just yet. What if they asked her how she’d gotten home last night when her car had broken down?

So she walked. The weather was cool and crisp, and the forty-five-minute “urban hike” helped clear her head.

She had no idea what had gotten into her last night. The moment she’d seen that dangerous-looking man approach, she should have run like a rabbit. She’d learned in a self-defense class that avoiding conflict was a woman’s first, best defense. But no, she’d stood there like a deer blinded by headlights.

Getting on the back of his motorcycle had been sheer insanity. She hated motorcycles. They were dangerous. Though she had to admit her mystery man was a good rider—he hadn’t lied about that. The large bike gave a surprisingly smooth ride, and once she’d figured out how to lean into the turns and move her body in sync with his, she’d found herself enjoying the trip.

That didn’t change the fact that she’d thought nothing of throwing her arms around a complete stranger, pressing herself against his back and inhaling that sexy, soap-and-starch smell of him. She’d almost been sorry when they reached her building.

By the time she climbed off the bike, her senses had been so full of him she could hardly stand up straight. And when he’d leaned down to kiss her, any semblance of control she’d maintained had faded into the warm spring night.

He never should have assumed she would be receptive to his advances just because he’d helped her out of a jam. Yet he had, and damn it, he’d been right. Any sane woman would have slapped him silly. But that reaction wouldn’t have made sense in her case, not when she’d been consumed with lust herself.

If he’d been a cad, he’d have taken advantage of the situation and had his wicked way with her.

“Oh, why didn’t he?” she asked, not realizing she’d spoken aloud until a woman waiting on the corner with her for the light to change gave her a funny look. The realization that she would have made love to a man after less than an hour’s acquaintance rocked her to her foundations. But she couldn’t deny the regret weighing down her heart.

She was so flustered she had to concentrate to remember the way to work.

When she reached the clinic it was still early, so she ducked into the doughnut shop across the street and bought a dozen glazed twists for the office. By the time she returned to the clinic, most of the office staff had arrived. Her pastries were greeted with enthusiasm and gratitude, distracting everyone so she could slip into her office.

But her luck didn’t hold out. She was just unlocking her office door when she was accosted by Phoebe and Victoria.

“Hey, Angie,” Phoebe said. “We were wondering where you were. We saw your car, but you weren’t here.”

“I ducked into the doughnut shop,” she said. “There’s a box of glazed twists in the break room.” She hoped they’d take the hint, but they followed her right into her office like a couple of puppies.

Phoebe found a perch on the edge of Angela’s massage table. “So, anything interesting going on in your life?”

Angie gave an indifferent shrug.

If they only knew! Did it show on her face? she wondered. Did her obsession with the mystery man ooze out of her pores? She studied her fingernails with casual indifference, then pulled out a nail file and went to work. Ragged nails were anathema to a massage therapist.

“When we saw your car,” Victoria said, “and the clinic was still locked, we were worried.”

Shoot. She might as well fess up, or they were going to pick the truth out of her. She’d never been much good at keeping secrets. “Actually, last night is when you should have been worried. My car didn’t start, and you two buzzed out of the lot so fast you didn’t even notice.”

In unison, they gasped melodramatically.

“Oh, Angie, honey, we’re so sorry!” Phoebe said. “What did you do?”

She took a deep breath. Confession was good for the soul, right? “A Good Samaritan gave me a ride home.”

Phoebe and Victoria exchanged a glance.

“You got into a car with a perfect stranger?” Victoria asked, sounding more intrigued than disapproving.

“He, um—”

“He?” Phoebe repeated, arching one suggestive eyebrow.

Angela ignored her. “He was riding a motorcycle, actually.”

“A motorcycle!” the two other women squealed together.

“Look, he was very nice, he dropped me off at my door and now I’m calling the motor club.” She stood and opened the office door, gesturing for her friends to beat it. “If you please? I have a client scheduled in ten minutes.”

They looked a bit bewildered, but they left. Angela closed the door and sank back into her chair. How could one—Okay, two little kisses completely destroy her composure?

God, those were the best kisses. They’d been not just a turn-on, they’d transformed her, melted her into an abject pool of acquiescence. What was she to do with a man like that? Not that she’d ever get a chance to do anything, she reminded herself. He was gone forever, and she hadn’t even gotten his name. He probably liked it that way. No telling how many foolish women he’d have trailing after him if he gave out his name and phone number like so much candy.

Maybe she should have invited him in. At least she would have been taking back some of her normal control. Last night she had felt about as far out of control as she could ever remember.

Wearily she dialed the motor club for a tow to her regular mechanic. When they asked for her license plate number, she couldn’t remember it.

“Um, just one second, I’ll have to look it up,” she said. She put the call on hold, then went to her window, which faced the parking lot. What she saw there took her breath away. The hood of her car was open, and a man was leaning over working on the engine, giving her a fabulous view of his butt. And what a butt.

Though she couldn’t see his face, she knew who her mystery mechanic was. Her heart leapt with joy. She was being given a second chance to be foolish, and she was deliriously happy.

She grabbed up the receiver. “Uh, never mind. The problem with my car seems to have taken care of itself.” She hung up and ran out of her office, not even bothering to explain to Terri where she was going in such a hurry as she sped past the receptionist’s desk.

Angela paused at the exterior door to catch her breath. What was she going to say? It might pay to be prepared, to have a plan so she wouldn’t fly by the seat of her pants like last night.

She would be completely in control this time. That was her plan. She wouldn’t let him lead her into anything she wasn’t ready for.

The question remained, though—what exactly was she ready for?

You’ve never felt carried away by the moment? Terri’s question at lunch the other day haunted Angela. She’d remained a virgin all these years because she’d never been faced with a compelling enough reason to change her status. Was this bad-boy Good Samaritan her compelling reason?

Maybe. But she absolutely was not going to rush into anything. She would get to know him first, find out exactly what sort of person he was.

Squaring her shoulders, she emerged from the building and walked resolutely into the parking lot. She approached the man quietly, because she wanted the element of surprise on her side, but somehow he sensed her sneaking up on him. He straightened and turned, a lazy smile brightening his foreboding features.

“Good morning.”

“Hi,” she returned. For the first time, she felt a bit irritated with his high-handedness. She hadn’t given him permission to work on her car. “How did you get my hood open?”

“I have my ways.”

Ye gods. Her stomach fluttered. He looked good this morning in black jeans and a dark green cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Overlooking that, it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to cease and desist, that she would take care of her own car, thank you very much.

But he spoke again. “I think I have the problem fixed. Want to give it a try?”

The driver’s door was already unlocked. As he closed the hood, she slid behind the wheel and felt around for the spare key she kept under the floor mat. Yes, there it was. She cranked the ignition, and the car started up immediately, the engine humming smoothly. In truth, it sounded a lot better than it had in months.

She shut it off and got out again. “What did you do to it?”

“Fixed the distributor. There were some, er, loose connections. Then I tuned it up. You need an oil change.”

“Thanks very much,” she said, meaning it. She’d had several unexpected expenses the past couple of months, and she couldn’t really afford a big car repair bill. “Can I pay you for your trouble?”

“Consider it a favor between friends.”

“We aren’t friends,” she was quick to point out. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Vic. Vic Steadman.”

Finally. She repeated the name several times in her head, trying to decide if it suited him. It was a sturdy-sounding name. What had she been expecting, something scary? Blade Black, maybe, or Dirk Danger?

“Okay, Vic.” She shook hands with him, which seemed silly after the steamy kiss they’d shared last night. Then again, this guy could make a handshake an erotic experience.

He gathered up a few tools he’d left on the ground and stuck them into the storage compartment on the back of his cycle. “If you really want to reward me for my hard work,” he said, “I can think of ways that don’t involve cash.”

She gasped at his audacity.

“Have dinner with me,” he added quickly before she could stomp off in a snit.

“I have to work late again,” she said, almost grateful for the excuse. She wasn’t ready for an entire evening alone with him.

“We’ll make it a late dinner.”

“How about lunch instead?” she hedged. Lunch seemed much less threatening. They could talk, get to know each other—

“I’ll pick you up at ten tonight.”

She would have protested, but he looked at her with such utter confidence that her objections withered. This was a man used to getting his way.

Without another word he left, climbing on board his cycle and rumbling off with a careless wave in her direction.

All right, so he was an alpha male. Such men made good leaders. They ran corporations and governments. They usually had all the women they could handle. One thing they didn’t do was make good husbands, not for a woman who believed in equality between the sexes, mutual sharing and all that.

“He doesn’t want to marry you,” Angela grumbled to herself. If she took this thing any further, she had to face the fact that this was a man to enjoy fabulous sex with. Any further expectations on her part would be ludicrous.

She wasn’t the type of person to have a fling. At least, she’d never been before. But maybe mind-blowing sex was something she ought to experience before she settled down to marriage, home and family, which she intended to do sometime in the next few years. Her friends certainly waxed enthusiastically about their various liaisons.

Talk about food for thought.

VIC HAD THE DAY OFF, but he stopped by the station to pick up his paycheck. Then out of habit he checked the bulletin board. The scores from the recent sergeant’s exam, which Vic had taken, were still posted. He’d made a ninety-eight out of one hundred, the highest score of everybody who’d sat for the test. Just seeing that score after his name gave him a lift.

After the test he’d gone in for a personal assessment, interviewing with various people, and apparently he’d aced it. Rumor had it he was number one on “the list.” Next time a sergeant’s spot opened up, the promotion was his. He’d been a senior corporal for almost four years, and it was about damn time.

His mood deflated somewhat when he ran into Bobby Ray, who’d drawn desk duty while he recuperated from his injuries. Vic hadn’t thought about what he would tell his partner about the previous night, but he doubted it would be the truth. He had no intention of turning a tomcat like Bobby loose on Angela. The woman was hot, in her own sweet way, and Vic intended to keep her all to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him hard just standing there looking at him.

“Hey, buddy!” Bobby called to him from the bullpen.

Damn. “I’m in kind of a hurry, Bobby.”

“Just tell me how it went last night. Phoebe said this woman was hot looking but a real prude. Well, she didn’t use those words, but I read between the lines.”

Vic hesitated, then walked over to Bobby’s temporary desk so everyone in the place couldn’t overhear. “She wasn’t bad.” He didn’t plan what he would say next. The words just poured out, seemingly of their own accord. “Her teeth were hardly noticeable as long as she kept her mouth closed.”

“Teeth?”

“Oh, I guess Phoebe didn’t tell you. Our gal’s got quite an overbite. But it’s kind of endearing, really.”

“What about the rest of her? I mean, there’s always a paper bag.” Bobby guffawed, but Vic didn’t join in.

“She’s okay. From what she tells me, the diet center she goes to has really paid off. She says she has twenty pounds more to meet her goal, but I thought she looked fine.”

“She’s fat?”

“No. Well, not really huge or anything. Just normal size.”

“Okay, okay, never mind that. What about her hands? How was her technique? I mean, she’s a massage therapist.”

Vic shook his head. “Her hands were fine, and I didn’t even mind the smell that much.”

“What smell?”

“It’s this special medicinal lotion she uses for massage. She’s allergic to the regular kinds. It smells kind of like mothballs, but it wasn’t that strong.”

Bobby’s eyes bulged, and his lips drew into a grimace. “Did she put that stuff on you?”

“No, of course not. The scent of the lotion sticks to her, she said, no matter how many times she washes. I could smell it just standing next to her. Anyway, there was no massage. I just took her home, like I told you I would do.”

“So you’re telling me you didn’t get lucky.”

“It all depends on how you look at it.” With that he left Bobby to mull over his own good luck. He felt only a twinge of guilt at the outrageous lies he’d told. Someday Bobby would probably talk to Phoebe and discover the truth, but Vic would deal with that when the time came.

A more immediate problem was what to do with Angela tonight—if she even let him through the door after the high-handed way he’d finagled a date from her. Ordinarily, for a late-night rendezvous, he would take a woman to a coffeehouse or sidewalk café for a bite to eat and some good conversation. But this situation with Angela demanded something unusual.

She definitely responded to an element of mystery. So he had to think of something unexpected, a little bit daring, a little risqué.

Did her building have a flat roof? he wondered.

ANGELA HATED EVERYTHING in her closet. Her clothes were so mundane, so ordinary, and much too conservative. Vic would be here in fifteen minutes, and she still wasn’t dressed.

Finally she settled on her all-purpose spaghetti-strapped black dress. She could snazz it up with a beaded bolero vest and heels, or dress it down with a funky hat and lace-up boots, depending on where they were going. Whatever their destination, she would insist on driving. She couldn’t negotiate the back of a motorcycle in a short dress.

She was ashamed of herself that she hadn’t even considered not going. She hated it when a man had to have his way, when they brushed aside her ideas and suggestions as insignificant. Why, then, did those habits seem intriguing and exciting in Vic?