Best of Virgins Bundle

by Cathy Williams

  “What about you?” she asked as casually as she could manage. “Are you married? Have a girlfriend?”

  He shook his head. “Neither. I work too much.”

  His gaze was as soft as a caress. He was still stroking her finger, as if stoking a gently burning fire. She swallowed and said, “You must meet tons of women at the bar. It seemed like the place was really hopping.”

  “I don’t typically date women I meet at the bar.”

  “Typically?”

  “There’s an exception to every rule.”

  He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She, apparently, was the exception. It was enough to make her smile inwardly and out. He let go of her finger. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t eat anything at the bar.”

  Right. She had spent her dinner money on cocktails. And she didn’t regret her decision. Not one bit. After all, she reasoned, a girl had to have priorities. “A little.”

  “Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

  She followed him into a large and sparkling galley kitchen. Every appliance was top of the line. “Nice dishwasher,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said, with mock sincerity. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

  “My dishwasher just died,” she said. “So I’m particularly sensitive right now.” Her dishwasher had joined a long list of dead appliances—her toaster oven, her cooktop and her washing machine. She looked around the kitchen. “The people who own this nice dishwasher, where are they?”

  He looked at her and hesitated. “Standing in front of you.”

  “What?”

  “I own this boat.”

  She started laughing. So he was funny, too. Smart and funny. A nice combination. “So you probably cook a lot in this kitchen.”

  “No,” he said. “Usually my chef cooks for me.”

  She laughed again. When was the last time she had had this much fun? She couldn’t remember. It had been a long time since she and Oliver had enjoyed each other’s company. But it wasn’t always that way. They had grown up the best of friends, enjoying the beautiful town they lived in. In the winter they went ice skating and in the summer they fished and swam in the creek.

  Oliver had proposed while they were still in high school and she had accepted. But after Oliver started college, he changed. It was subtle at first. He was no longer satisfied to make a quiet dinner and stay in. Only an expensive restaurant would suffice. And that was not the only change. The boy who had grown up in jeans and a T-shirt began wearing designer clothes and getting manicures. His conversation always returned to money: who had received what job offer with what benefits, who was driving what new car.

  Her grandmother had defended him. “He’s growing up,” she’d said. “Every man goes through it.”

  But it was more than that, Cassie realized now. They had been growing apart. And the distance had not been entirely due to Oliver.

  She still cared about him, of course. She always would. But her love for him was that of a sister toward a brother. She had been more than happy to accept his distance, more than happy to date like a couple from the eighteen hundreds. Social calls that consisted of a glass of iced tea or two in the backyard.

  At one point she questioned their youthful decision to marry. But Oliver had been adamant. He persuaded her they were destined to be together, that their decision to marry was still sound.

  In retrospect, his were the words of someone who was desperately trying to convince himself. But at the time, she agreed to go ahead with their plans. After all, her grandmother was counting on it. Perhaps, Cassie thought, things between Oliver and her would improve after their marriage. But she was wrong. When Oliver had canceled their engagement, he had done her a favor, however brutal it had been.

  “Hey,” the bartender said. “Sad again?” And then he touched her.

  It was an intimate touch, a hand to her cheek. A lover’s touch.

  She glanced at him, trying to read his eyes. Still looking at her, he let his fingers trail down her cheek. It had been a long time since a man had touched her like that, and the intimacy was enough to cause her emotions to flood to the surface. No, she thought. She could not cry. Not now.

  “He was a fool,” he said, obviously assuming she was lamenting the loss of her fiancé. “You deserve better.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m here with you right now,” he said. “And that’s all that matters.” He removed his hand but continued to stare at her tenderly.

  How could she be sad when her Prince Charming was standing before her? She only had one night before she turned back into a pumpkin. “So,” she said brightly, “what does your chef usually cook in your kitchen?”

  He shrugged and opened the fridge. Inside were ready-made bowls of pasta, some delicious-looking London broil and twice-baked potatoes. “Something I can heat up quite easily.”

  “You’re getting into this ownership bit,” she said. “Are you sure the owners won’t mind if we eat their food?”

  When he turned and glanced at her, she added, “I just don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  He leaned forward. “I guarantee it.”

  “Guarantee you will get into trouble or you won’t?”

  He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. His touch sent another tingle down her spine. “Are we talking about dinner?”

  She swallowed.

  He smiled and winked, then turned back toward the food and finished heating up the dishes.

  When it was ready, he prepared the plates and lined them on his arms like a professional waiter.

  “You’ve obviously had experience,” she said, nodding to the way he was carrying the plates.

  “Years,” he said with a smile.

  She grabbed the dinner plates and silverware and followed him to the table, which faced the sea. He lit the candles.

  She sat, glancing back to shore. The docks were empty and the beach had emptied out, too. It was as if they were alone in the world. “Where is everyone?”

  “It’s a private marina.”

  She took a bite. The food was delicious. She suddenly realized how ravenous she was. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Distracted by the dinner, she didn’t even realize her host was barely eating, until she glanced up. He was leaning back in his chair, smiling at her. There was something regal about him, as if he really were a prince.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “My manners. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

  “You have perfect manners.” He picked up the champagne and refilled her glass.

  “Where are you from originally?” she thought to say.

  “I was born in Maryland. But when I was ten my father lost his job and we moved to a little island not too far from here.”

  “It seems like paradise.”

  “It can be. But it wasn’t quite paradise when I was growing up. It’s hard to make a living as a fisherman—especially when you have no experience.”

  She nodded. “You’re an only child?”

  “Yes. My mother died when I was young. It was just my dad, my grandmother and me.”

  “Your grandmother?”

  He nodded. “My dad thought I needed a mother figure, so he moved her here from France. She never learned to speak a word of English.” He smiled as he remembered her. “I can still hear her now, yelling, ‘Ne t’assois pas sur le canapé avec ton maillot de bain mouillé.’”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t sit on the couch in your wet suit.” He smiled at her. He took a sip of his champagne and said, “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m an only child, as well.” But growing up she had never felt alone. Shanville was a small town filled with quaint Victorian houses, the occasional country store and a small Main Street that seemed to have most everything a person could desire. Nearly everyone who didn’t work on Main S
treet worked for Demion Mills. Cassie still lived in the house where she had grown up, several streets away from Main Street and a short trip through the woods to the mill. She felt as if her co-workers and neighbors were her family. People who had known her since she was born. People who had supported her through the good times and bad. People who, like her, worked at the mill.

  They tended the old looms with care and love, producing fabrics that sold for up to $1,000 a yard. They were proud of their work, proud to have covered not one, but three presidential chairs in Demion fabrics. But it wasn’t only presidents who had benefited from their expertise. Their fabrics had draped the homes of the rich and famous, the kings and queens around the world. And even, Cassie thought, a millionaire’s yacht in the Bahamas.

  “Are you done?” he asked quietly.

  She suddenly realized she had once again been staring morosely at her plate. He was probably anxious to get rid of her. Cheer up, she commanded herself once again. Stop thinking about the mill. “Yes,” she said.

  He held out his hand. “Follow me. It’s time for dessert.”

  Two

  Cassie accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. But he did not let go. He led her off the boat and back down the dock.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to give you a truly tropical experience.” When he reached the end of the dock he said, “Take off your shoes.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  She wasn’t sure why she needed to take off her shoes, but she kicked them off and followed him onto the beach. He walked over to a palm tree and shook it. “What are you doing?” she asked as a coconut fell to the beach.

  He picked it up and said, “I know how much you like piña coladas.” He knocked the coconut against the side of the tree, revealing the nut inside. Taking out his tool knife, he used the corkscrew to make a hole in the end and offered it to her. “Take a sip.”

  She put the brown, hairy shell to her lips and drank some of the sweet, clear liquid.

  “Do you like it?”

  She nodded and handed the coconut back to him.

  “You can finish it if you like.”

  “No,” she said. It was good, but it would taste even better with pineapple juice and rum.

  He accepted the coconut and drank the rest of the liquid. Then he cracked it and used his knife to carve out a piece of the meat. “Dessert,” he said, holding it to her lips as if he were feeding her candy.

  She smiled and bit off a small piece. The whole experience was so sensual that she almost forgot to taste it.

  “Well,” he said, taking a step toward her. They were so close she could feel his breath on her forehead.

  She glanced up at him. “It’s wonderful. But why did I take off my shoes?”

  He took her hand once again and led her along the water’s edge. The warm, sandy water slid in between her toes.

  “So you could feel that,” he said, nodding toward her toes.

  She laughed. She took the coconut out of his hands and held it up to the moonlight.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I think this would make a great picture. The coconut blocking out the moon. The light radiating behind it.”

  “Do you want me to get your camera?”

  “No,” she replied. For once she did not want to see life from behind the sanctity of her lens.

  He set the coconut on the beach, then took her hand and said, “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Absolutely nowhere.”

  They moved together as one, their arms wrapped around each other. Every now and then they would pass another couple and smile. It was easy to believe, she thought, that they were like them. Husband and wife, honeymooners, lovers.

  “My hotel is just up here,” she said.

  “But your shoes and your camera are back at the dock.”

  She smiled. “Right.”

  He stopped walking and she turned back toward him. “Ready to turn around?”

  But he didn’t answer her. He was staring at her intently, his eyes full of fire. He said, “My God, you’re beautiful.”

  She felt the color rush to her cheeks as she swallowed hard.

  He took a step toward her. He towered over her, still staring into her eyes. She couldn’t look away. She stood there, hypnotized, completely under his spell.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked softly.

  She nodded and tilted her head toward him. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. He pulled away and hesitated, as if waiting.

  She responded instinctively, reaching her hand around his neck and steering him back toward her lips. He responded with a kiss that took her breath away. His tongue was inside her mouth, exploring the recesses. Deep and sensual, it was unlike any kiss she had ever received.

  Only when she thought she might faint from lack of oxygen did he pull away. He stood there for a moment, resting his forehead against hers.

  Finally, in a raspy voice, he said, “Let’s head back.”

  He pulled her close to his side, resting his hand on her hip.

  It was an intimate gesture, one that intimated ownership. She was his…for the moment. She reciprocated, looping a finger around his belt loop.

  What was she doing? She barely knew this man. This…interlude was a fantasy, nothing more. Where could it possibly lead?

  But she couldn’t think about that right now. She wanted to just close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of a handsome man holding her close, the feeling of being desired.

  Before she knew it, they were back at the dock. She sighed, sad that their time together was at an end.

  She picked up her shoes. “I need to get my camera before I leave.”

  “Okay,” he said. He almost sounded disappointed as well.

  They walked down the dock without touching. He climbed aboard and once again held out his hand. She accepted it and jumped on. But this time he didn’t let go.

  She knew it was time to go home. Their night together was over. But before she could speak, he had taken a finger and delicately trailed it around her face. “Don’t go back,” he breathed, as if desperate for her to stay. Without even questioning her response, she leaned forward and kissed him.

  He responded slowly and softly, as if he had been waiting for her an eternity. As if they had kissed a million times before. His hand slid around her waist as he pulled her in closer.

  She felt as if the world was spinning away. All that mattered was the energy they alone were creating.

  She pulled back and took several deep breaths. Another kiss like that and she would be physically incapable of going anywhere. She needed to leave. Now. “I…I have an early flight. I really should be—”

  But she didn’t have a chance to finish. He kissed her again, harder this time. All her senses spun to life. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her all night. She wanted to feel his lips on hers for the rest of her life.

  Finally he stopped and said, “At least finish your champagne.”

  She glanced toward the table. The champagne bottle sat in a bucket of half-melted ice. “It seems a shame to waste such good champagne,” she said finally. She would have a drink, and that was all. She would go home with her virginity intact.

  Smiling, he led her back toward the table. Once she was seated, he dragged his chair closer to her and sat down. He took the champagne out of the ice bucket and refilled their glasses.

  They sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Finally Cassie said, “If this was my boat, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

  “No?”

  “No. I can’t imagine a place more beautiful than this.”

  “Especially tonight,” he said. He took her hand and held it. “I’m not often by myself on this boat but when I am, I love to sit out here at night and look at the stars.”

  She said, “I once tried to photograph the night sky.”

  “But?”
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  “I decided some things in life are just too perfect to capture.”

  He touched her cheek, directing her face back toward him. He kissed her and said, “Stay with me tonight.”

  She asked the first question that popped into her mind. “Where?” After all, this was not his boat. Was he even allowed to sleep here? She needed all the facts before she made her decision.

  “Right here, on the boat. No one else will be here.”

  It was tempting, but…

  “Nothing has to happen,” he said, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face. “I’m just…I’m not ready to say goodbye,” he said.

  Neither was she. “Okay,” she heard herself reply.

  He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.” Standing up, he offered her his hand.

  As she stared at his hand, panic welled up in her throat. She knew that by accepting it, she was embarking on a journey unlike any other.

  She glanced at him, hesitating. His eyes glowed with a savage inner fire.

  As if hypnotized, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. As she followed the bartender toward what she assumed was the ultimate destination, a bedroom, she couldn’t help but remember two previous scary moments. As a child, she had once watched a frightening movie her grandmother had forbidden her to see. That night she had lain in her bed, certain that every creak was a ghost with an ax. She had been so terrified she had awakened her grandmother and confessed her sin.

  The other time was when Oliver asked her to marry him. She’d had a sudden sick feeling that had taken away her voice, as though a golf ball was being jammed in the back of her throat. Her heart had begun to beat fast and her stomach had tied in knots.

  But, she reminded herself, both those times she had recovered. And she hadn’t been harmed. Not physically, at least.

  Not that she was worried about being harmed. She looked at him once again. He seemed so kind, so gentle.

  And she had no doubt he was experienced. He had probably done this a million times before.

  Done what? What was she worried about? Hadn’t he said that nothing had to happen?