Virgin Promise. Kara Lennox
in case. But no one had questioned him or tried to stop him.
“Magic,” he answered. He wanted her to think the task had been effortless.
As soon as he’d poured each of them a glass of wine, he went to the plastic container and began unpacking their dinner—first a small Caesar salad, then rosemary-tarragon breast of chicken, freshly grilled asparagus spears and crusty French bread.
“That smells wonderful,” Angela said. “Don’t tell me you cooked it.”
He was tempted to lie. But he felt he’d been dishonest enough as it was. If he wanted more than this one night with her, he was going to have to start revealing a little of the real Vic Steadman. She might be bowled over by this dangerous mystery man, but he had a hunch she might actually like the real Vic, if he introduced him slowly.
“No, I can’t claim cooking among my many skills. I got it from that gourmet-to-go place a few blocks from here.”
“Great! I love their food.”
She patiently allowed him to serve her. After Vic had filled their plates, and with mouthwatering aromas drifting up from the table, he took his own chair. He lifted his glass in a toast.
“To new experiences.”
She lifted her own glass and tapped it against his with a smile and a nod. But an uneasy expression crossed her face. He wondered what bothered her about his toast.
During dinner, Vic questioned Angela about her job, her family, her hobbies. She was relaxed enough that she answered without hesitation. Whenever she made an attempt to steer the conversation toward him, he provided glib answers, then deftly reversed the flow once again.
He was glad to see that she had a healthy appetite.
Nothing irritated him like a woman who picked at a good dinner. Vic made sure her wineglass stayed full, though he carefully monitored how much she drank. For what he had in mind later, he wanted her relaxed but with a clear head.
He drank a couple of glasses himself, hoping it would take the edge off his own nerves. Though he felt he was performing with admirable suavity, he was a bundle of tension. Tonight mattered, more than it should, probably. He’d been too long without a woman, he reasoned. That was all it was.
“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you don’t like to talk about yourself,” Angela said easily as he put away the leftovers.
He said nothing, hoping to distract her with his next assault on her taste buds, caramel cheesecake. Her eyes widened when he set the decadent wedge of dessert in front of her, but she didn’t immediately dig in to it.
“An hour ago, when I was starving, you might have succeeded in distracting me with food, but not now. I’ve told you everything but my shoe size, and the only thing I know about you is that you ride a motorcycle, fix cars and you know how to bowl a woman over.”
“What else do you need to know?” he said, shrugging playfully.
“Lots of stuff.”
Vic sensed he wasn’t going to wiggle off her hook this time. He sat down and took a bite of his cheesecake, savoring the sweet caramel flavor mixed with cool cream cheese. “My life’s an open book,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“How many questions do I get?” she asked warily, obviously skeptical of his sudden openness. And well she should be, he thought guiltily.
“One. No, wait, two—okay, three. But that’s my limit. I’m boring. Why would we want to talk about me?”
“What do you do for a living? Do you have a job?”
“That’s two questions.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave in.
“Okay, we’ll count it as one.” He paused, wondering if there was any way to make his job sound more mysterious. “Let’s just say I associate with some of the city’s less savory characters, and leave it at that.”
“You’re a criminal?” she asked, involuntarily pulling her chair back. Uh-oh. He’d gone too far.
“No, no. I’m a completely law-abiding citizen, I promise. It’s just that my work isn’t something a refined, beautiful woman such as yourself would want to hear about.” And that, he decided, was probably the truth. Rounding up drunks, breaking up fights, writing tickets, patrolling high school football games for extra money when he was off duty—it just wasn’t very glamorous. He was hoping to make sergeant soon, and he was fairly certain he would be assigned a detective position within the next couple of months. But he wasn’t there yet.
“But you’re employed? You’re a contributing member of society?”
“Yes.”
“You’re annoyingly mysterious. How do you know I’m not interested in your job? I have very wide-ranging interests.”
“Is that a question?”
“No. How many do I have left?”
“Two.”
“Where do you live?”
“Near White Rock Lake.” Which revealed very little. The old White Rock neighborhood featured everything from cramped apartments to mansions. “One more—make it a good one.”
She paused and licked her lips. He was breathless, waiting for her next question, wondering what answers he could provide that would keep her off balance. It was a game. She knew it as well as he, or he wouldn’t have continued with it.
When she finally voiced her next question, though, he was the one thrown off balance.
“Are you planning to make love to me tonight?”
Angela very nearly clamped her hand over her mouth. Where had that question come from? Some deep, deep part of her subconscious, no doubt. She’d been sitting there enjoying their banter, thinking what gorgeous blue eyes he had and how broad his shoulders looked in the tux.
She kept seeing quick images in her mind of her and Vic together—her fingers sifting through all that thick black hair, or slowly unfastening his bow tie and unbuttoning his shirt, then her kissing his chest.
Then her Question Number Three had popped out.
My Lord, she thought, I just propositioned a man. She’d never done that before, never even come close.
He didn’t answer her right away. He stared back at her, one eyebrow cocked and a look of pure deviltry on his face. At least she hadn’t shocked or disgusted him. Maybe she’d even excited him. Given her line of work, Angela knew a lot about body language. Vic didn’t look agitated, but his rate of breathing had picked up.
“I think that’s pretty much up to you,” he finally said.
Then his answer was yes, she decided. All she had to do was make one move in his direction, and he was hers.
But she didn’t move. A lifetime of caution kept her glued to the chair. What about pregnancy? she asked herself. She’d always thought that getting pregnant outside of marriage would be the worst disaster that could befall her. But the only thought that came to mind now was that it wouldn’t be so bad having his baby.
What about her other fears surrounding sex? Losing her independence. Opening herself up to being hurt. Feeling foolish afterward. Being taken advantage of. When it came right down to it, she’d always been a little afraid that she simply wouldn’t do it right, that her lack of experience would make her an inept, fumbling ninny.
Looking at Vic, she knew her independence was already at risk. He was quite capable of hurting her—all it would take would be for him to walk away after his conquest. She could feel more than foolish afterward.
But if anyone was taking advantage, it was Angela herself. And the way her instincts took over when she was with him, she couldn’t envision herself as a clumsy lover. She would know what