Virgin Promise. Kara Lennox

her?

      “Please…” she said.

      “Please…what?”

      “I can’t ask you inside.”

      He ran one forefinger along her jaw. “You could if you wanted,” he whispered, amazed at his own bravado. He was acting like one of those guys in the movies he hated, the ones who were so damn sure of their sex appeal that it never entered their minds that a woman might not be willing. He considered himself confident when it came to the opposite sex, but not pushy.

      “I don’t even know you!”

      “But you trust me just the same.”

      Unwillingly, it seemed, she nodded. On some level she must have sensed that he was one of those serve-and-protect types, not a taker or a defiler of women, despite his cocksureness.

      When she made no further move to escape, but just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read, he finally figured it out. She was his for the taking. She couldn’t ask him in, because she was a nice girl, and nice girls didn’t ask strange men into their apartments. But if he invited himself, she wouldn’t turn him away.

      He’d accomplished Bobby Ray’s mission, and it had been surprisingly easy. She was his, at least for this night.

      Somehow, that realization didn’t make him feel overjoyed. Yeah, maybe he could sweet-talk his way into her bedroom, and they could spend one awesome night indulging in mindless sex. But that would be the end of it. Instinctively, he knew that.

      She deserved better than that. Much as it pained him, he would have to deny himself the pleasures of Angela’s body—for a while, anyway.

      He cupped her face between his palms and kissed her again, as if he meant it. This time she was anything but passive. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, eagerly accepting the thrust of his tongue. She put her arms around him, drawing his body closer until they were hip to hip, chest to chest.

      He wanted more than anything to remove the barrier of clothing between them, to lie beside Angela and feel her warm, smooth flesh all up and down his own body, to explore every inch of her with his hands and mouth. It took all his willpower to pull away.

      She looked up at him, questioning, breathing hard.

      He brushed one last kiss on her forehead. “I have to go. Good night, Angela.”

      She swallowed. “Good night, then.”

      He turned and walked toward his bike without a backward glance, though he ached from his toes to his scalp. Delaying gratification would make it that much better, he told himself, hoping he hadn’t messed this thing up royally. What if, by tomorrow, she’d come to her senses and wanted nothing to do with him?

      But as long as he remained her dark and dangerous fantasy man, she would be interested. He was counting on that.

      “Hey!” Angela called out, startling him. “You never told me your name!”

      He waved goodbye, but he didn’t answer her.

      Chapter Two

      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