The 39-Year-Old Virgin

“There?” Claire asked as Nancy shut the phone and put it back in her pocket. “Where’s ‘there’?”

“Home,” Nancy told her. “One of the twins ran into the refrigerator door just as the other one swung it open. She cut her lip,” Nancy told her, glancing around the floor for her purse. Locating it, she pulled it up and placed it in front of her on the table. “Patrick gets faint at the sight of blood.” She looked apologetic as she added, “I’m sorry to be cutting the evening short.”

Claire waved away the apology. This gave her an excuse to leave and she was grateful for it. “That’s okay, I think I’m really ready to go.”

Nancy looked at her in surprise, then realized the reason for the confusion. “Oh, no, I meant me. You stay, Claire.”

Claire said the first thing that came to her head. “You might need a nurse, and I do have a degree, you know.”

Nancy stopped for a second and smiled at her even as she shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, Claire, but after four kids, nursing has become second nature to me. Besides, we can’t both leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because Amy, Tess and Kelly will wonder what happened.” Her cousin rose and stood beside her for a second. “Look, I know you’re antsy, but just stay a little longer. At least until one of them comes back to the table.” She nodded toward the empty chairs. “Until then, you have to guard the purses.”

Claire sighed. She’d forgotten about that. “Okay, but the second one of them comes back, I’m leaving.”

“Whatever you want,” Nancy agreed. “Next time,” she promised, “you get to pick the place.”

Because she didn’t want to detain her cousin any longer, Claire nodded. But there wasn’t going to be a “next time.” Not for a while, anyway. After one venture, she knew she wasn’t ready for this. She needed to get used to the rest of her life first, get comfortable in her responsibilities and new routine. Then—maybe—she’d think about going to a place like Saturday Night and Sunday Morning to meet men.

And then again, maybe not.

Claire looked at Nancy as the latter pushed her chair in. “Give me a call and tell me how she’s doing when you get a chance.”

Clutching her purse, Nancy leaned over the table and gave her hand a squeeze. “Will do. And try to have a good time while you’re still here.”

Claire forced a smile to her lips. “I’ll do my best.”

“Do better,” Nancy instructed, then hurried off. And Claire felt very alone.

How long did these songs last, anyway? she wondered impatiently. Wasn’t it about time at least one of the girls came back?

“Looks like all your friends deserted you, little lady.”

Despite the noise, Claire heard the words clearly. Startled, she swung around and discovered a tall man standing directly behind her chair. And he was looking right at her.

“Not quite,” she replied. “Three of them are on the floor, dancing. My cousin had to leave.”

“Lucky for me.” He was good-looking in a non-rugged, stockbroker kind of way. If she were to judge, she would have put him in his early forties. You’d think after all that time, he would have learned not to go where he wasn’t invited. But instead, he dropped down into the seat beside her.

Nancy’s seat, she thought grudgingly. “So, what’s your name, pretty lady?”

“Claire,” she heard herself saying even though she had a feeling that she should have given him a false name, or, even better, none at all.

“Claire,” he repeated, nodding his approval. “Nice change from ‘Tiffany’ and ‘Britney,’” he commented. Putting out his hand, he grinned broadly. She couldn’t get the image of a shark out of her head. “I’m Bill.”

Not shaking his hand would have been rude and she didn’t want to be rude, so she shook it with no enthusiasm and murmured, “Hello, Bill.”

He kept his hand around hers. “I like the way you say that.”

Very deliberately, she withdrew her hand from his. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not here to mingle.”

“Oh?” Rather than put off, he seemed pleased. Before she realized what he was doing, he ran the back of his knuckles slowly against her cheek. Stiffening, Claire immediately pulled her head back. “A lady who wants to cut to the chase right off the bat. I like that.”

“I’m not here to ‘cut to the chase,’” she informed him. “I’m here with my friends to do a little catching up.”

Instead of backing away, Bill took hold of her wrist and then rose, pulling her up to her feet with him. “Why don’t we teach your friends a lesson and have them come looking for you? My car’s right outside.”

Obviously, the man refused to take a hint. There was no way she was about to go anywhere with this man. But she still tried to be polite. “No, thank you, I’d rather not.”

A flash of anger came and went from the dark eyes. His grip on her wrist tightened. “Don’t be a tease, Claire. Men don’t like that.”

She glared at him. Fear had left, replaced by anger. “And I don’t like being manhandled.”

“What are you, one of them?” he asked contemptuously.

She knew where he was going. It might be easier just to agree, to let him think her preference ran toward the softer gender, but that would have been an out-and-out lie. She preferred a shade of gray instead.

“What I am,” she informed him, tossing her head, “is a nun.” God forgive me for lying.

“A nun, huh?” The news did not have the desired effect on the man. Rather than release her and mumble an apology, Bill leered at her as he let his gaze travel over the length of her and then back up. “Never had a nun before.” His hand tightened even more around her wrist and he pulled her toward him. “Now you’ve really piqued my interest. C’mon, dance with me, ‘Sister’ Claire. Show me what you’ve got.” The leer deepened. “I bet you’re really starved for a little action.”

So much for being polite, she thought. “If I were, it wouldn’t be with such a Neanderthal,” she declared, trying in vain to pull back. She was no weakling, but he was far too strong for her.

“Not the right answer.” The warning came out like a half growl.

“But it’s the one you’re going to accept,” someone said directly behind her. “Now.”

Chapter Two

Caleb McClain ran his fingers along the chunky shot glass sitting on the slick bar before him.

He knew he should be on his way.

Hell, he wasn’t even sure what had made him stop here at Saturday’s rather than simply going to Lucky’s, the bar located near the precinct.

Maybe it was because he wanted the excuse of going to a restaurant rather than a bar. More likely, it was because he didn’t want to run into anyone from the station. Tonight of all nights, he didn’t feel like talking. Not that anyone would expect him to be talkative. Never one to shoot the breeze, the way his partner, Mark Falkowski, did, he’d become one step removed from being a mummy in the last year.

At least that was what Falkowski maintained. Ski was the only man who would attempt to broach the subject that had so viciously scarred him and even the six-foot-six vice detective didn’t venture very far into that territory. Ski knew better. Everyone knew better. Just like everyone knew the reason why he’d withdrawn so completely into himself.

One year. One year today.

How the hell did time go by so fast when it felt like it was standing still, when every second of every day seemed to pierce him with sharpened spears?

And today was the worst of all. Today marked 365 days since it’d happened. Since Ski had come to him with a long face and sorrow in his eyes to tell him what the beat cops in East L.A. had just called in.

Getting out of bed today had been almost impossible. He’d thought of calling in sick, but where would he go, what would he do? Everywhere he went, his mind went with him.