Virgin Promise

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.”