Virgin Promise

“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?

She’d always been independent, had never let anyone lead her around by the nose. Maybe it was the novelty of surrendering control, she reasoned as she debated over what color hose to wear. Black, maybe. She started to grab some black panty hose. Then she spotted a pair of stockings that required a garter belt.

Feeling naughty, she pulled them out of the drawer, running the smooth silk over the back of her hand. She’d bought them on a whim and never worn them, but tonight seemed like a good time—they made her feel sexy. Not that she needed any artificial stimulation when Vic was around. She felt as if she could outsex Madonna when he looked at her with those electric blue eyes.

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.