Virgin Promise

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.