Virgin's Lust

by Kayla C. Oliver

  Despite the bitterness that was crawling up my throat, I forced a smile at Liz. Then I held up my glass to her. “You’re right. To organic relationships,” I toasted.

  “To man haters, the only ones who have it figured out,” she countered.

  I laughed, and then we downed our drinks. A moment later, the waiter came with our refills. Liz told him to keep them coming. We were going to get completely trashed. Liz gave the waiter a card with the number of her preferred taxi and said that when we were ready to go, he should call them. The waiter easily agreed.

  Then we drank.

  Chapter Four

  Trent

  I tapped a pen idly against the edge of my desk as I reclined back in my chair. I was trying to think of what greatness I was supposed to bring to life on my computer today. Unfortunately, I was drawing a blank. Ideas might as well have been raindrops in the damn Sahara. Few, far between, and evaporative as hell. There was no inspiration that morning, which was why I was thinking of Courtney Hughes, sexy secretary.

  Or maybe there was no inspiration because all I could think about was Courtney Hughes. Either way, she was on my mind.

  I slumped forward and put my hands on the keyboard. Words flowed from my fingertips at a hearty eighty-eight words per minute until I had half a page full of them. Then I decided they were complete crap and erased the whole damn thing.

  “Fuck,” I muttered to the screen.

  I tried again, my fingers hesitating for a moment before the words started to come.

  Her eyes were cold, guarded, but I knew that warmth lay beneath them. I’d seen it before. Warmth that turned into fire as she opened up to me. Heat spilled from the ruby-red plumpness of her lips, slipped from her pink tongue, until she was breathing fire. A fire that consumed me. I watched as that fire slipped down her slender throat, over those delicate shoulders, and down. Down beneath the fabric of her dress, dipping between her breasts to form that line of cleavage that led to the promise of spicy sweetness.

  I longed for a taste of that—

  My fingers paused on the keyboard as I realized what I was doing. My novel wasn’t really a romance. There were a few spicy moments for the sake of character development—and because a little fucking never hurt anyone—but it wasn’t about love. It was a murder mystery about a guy dealing with an existential crisis as he considered the possibility that his father was a serial killer.

  Not exactly the kind of novel that needed extended details on a woman’s cleavage.

  What was worse, I knew that the woman I’d described wasn’t Kelly, my female love interest. No, the woman I’d just been writing about was Courtney. Her perky breasts. Her full, red, red lips. Her ice-cold eyes.

  “Damnit.”

  I deleted the whole section, knowing I wouldn’t be able to use it. Worse, knowing that it was going to give me a raging hard-on that I wouldn’t be able to make go away without envisioning her in some compromising positions.

  Sighing, I shook my head and got up. I needed a break from that damn computer.

  Stretching first, I tried to figure out what I was going to do. Not about the novel—that would either come together or it wouldn’t, just like always—but about her. She wanted to meet, but if I let that happen, she would not be happy. She was expecting Malcom Resner, but she was going to get Trent Harvey. But I couldn’t leave things as they were either. She wanted more. I could practically taste it in her text messages.

  And honestly, I wanted more, too. I wanted to touch her and taste her and feel her in my arms. I was a physical person, and it was killing me to do this through text messages. Especially when I knew what she looked like.

  Fucking sexy.

  What am I going to do?

  I paced around my office, trying to come up with a solution to the mess I’d created. But I had nothing. There was no getting out of this short of a face transplant, and I didn’t think I wanted to try that John Travolta movie thing anyway.

  I slid my hands over my smooth head, trying to come up with an answer.

  If she would just give the real me a chance, I know I could win her over.

  At least, I thought I could. There was a part of me that acknowledged that her hatred for me seemed to run pretty deep. But I was confident. She obviously liked my personality, or she wouldn’t still be texting Trent.

  I was thinking myself into circles, and it was exhausting. Deciding that I needed a break—from thinking about Courtney and from working on my damn novel—I headed downstairs in search of coffee and food. Maybe I’d go to that café I liked.

  Or, well, pretended to like. It was more for show than anything else. It was one of those hip places that authors like me were supposed to be into. And I knew that sometimes the best way to sell yourself was image. Look the part. Cafés helped me look the part.

  I grabbed my phone as I headed downstairs. Rule one of writing: turn off or silence all electronic devices that weren’t actively being used for writing. Meaning my phone was not in the picture when I was working.

  As I turned it on, it told me that I had several missed calls. They were all from Marnie.

  I didn’t bother to listen to the voicemails. I could guess.

  “What’s taking so long?” and “Do you take anything seriously?” and my personal favorite, “Get the damn manuscript done or it’s your ass.” All in that lovely tone of pissed-off redhead.

  No, I definitely didn’t need to listen to the messages.

  Once I sifted through the missed calls, I noticed that I also received several text messages. These I was much more invested in. They were from Courtney.

  Two in the morning, she texted me this:

  Fuck off.

  Two after two in the morning, I got a second one.

  I don’t need your stupid ass.

  Five after two in the morning, I got a third message.

  If you aren’t interested in a piece of my lovely self, then I don’t need you.

  And finally, eight after two in the morning, I got a final message.

  Did I mention I don’t need you? ’Cause I don’t.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  I had a feeling she’d been drunk when sending those messages, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t meant every one of them. Especially the not needing me part. I felt panic well up inside me, and it was that panic that had me dialing her number before I could talk myself out of it.

  The phone rang twice before I heard her pick up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded gruff, sandy. Like she had just woken up or was still hungover.

  Before she could say anything else or hang up on me, I launched into the fray. “First, we’re going to fucking meet. For real this time. No bailing, no jokes, no sometime in the fucking futures. I want to see every bit of you, damnit, and I’m tired of waiting. Second, you have to stay for the entire date. You owe me a favor, and I’m cashing in on it.”

  That favor was going to be my salvation—and probably get me fucking killed at the same damn time, but I didn’t care. It was my only shot, and I’d make it work.

  It had to work.

  There was a long stretch of silence, and I almost thought she’d hung up on me. Then, I heard her answer. “Fine. Don’t fuck this up.”

  She hung up before either of us could say anything else. But I didn’t care.

  She’d stay for the whole date, meaning I had one night to convince her that Trent Harvey was the man she was falling for. Somehow, I knew this was a recipe for disaster.

  Chapter Five

  Courtney

  My date with Malcom was set for that Friday and I asked Marnie beforehand if I could leave a little early.

  “Early? Are you feeling sick, or have you just lost your mind?” she asked incredulously.

  I hadn’t so much as shown up five minutes late in the years I’d worked for her. I could see why she was a little surprised.

  I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. It was Monday, so I was giving her as much notice as I could. If Malcom had set up thi
s impromptu date a little earlier, I’d have let her know then, but I decided a week was plenty of time to let her know I was getting off a little early. Seriously, she could live without me for a couple of hours.

  “I have a hot date,” I informed her with a smile.

  Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Seriously? When the fuck did this happen?”

  Marnie knew tentatively that I’d been in contact with Harvey’s agent. She didn’t outwardly disapprove, mostly because I didn’t think she knew how serious it was. Hell, I didn’t know how serious it was anymore. And since Harvey was working for S&W Publishing now, it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or anything.

  She never needed to know that I’d been planning on still talking to Malcom even if Harvey decided to go with Tarvish.

  “It’s actually been going on for a while,” I informed her. “We’ve been talking and texting and—”

  “Wait, so is this a real date or a virtual one?”

  I shot her a glare. “A real one, thank you very much.” Finally, I thought but didn’t add. I didn’t need to tell her that the guy had only just manned up enough to meet me in person.

  Marnie considered me for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  For once, she sounded a little hurt, and I felt bad. For about 2.5 seconds.

  I gathered up my papers and shoved them into the oversized tote bag that could have fit a body if I chopped it into pieces first. “Oh, please. You had already slept with Callum by the time you told me about what was going on.”

  She winced. Point to me. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things, you know? We’ve been friends for ages.”

  I softened slightly, then nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t keeping this a secret—I just wasn’t really sure where it was going. I didn’t want to be the asshole who thought the marriage was around the corner when I didn’t even have a first date secured.”

  Marnie grinned at me. “Good point.”

  “And speaking of friends for ages, Liz missed you last night.”

  Another wince and another point for me. “Shit, I’m an asshole.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Especially since you bailed for a little sexy time with Callum.”

  She scowled at me. “I did not.”

  All I did was raise a single eyebrow at her in skepticism.

  Sighing, she half nodded. “Okay, fine, sort of. I just needed to talk to him, and one thing led to another. I didn’t mean to bail on you guys for sex. It just sort of happened that way.”

  I actually laughed at her. “That explanation totally wins you points. Accidental sex excuse. I like it. I’ll use it sometime.”

  She shoved playfully at my shoulder. “Oh, shut up.” She glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist. “Are you headed to lunch?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to take some work with me and make a few calls, because some of your clients have gotten it into their head that if I’m at lunch, they can dodge me.” I waggled a finger at her. “Such is not the case.”

  She grinned at me. “This is why I love you.”

  “What would you do without me?”

  “Crash and burn, I’m sure.”

  I waved goodbye, and she headed back into her office.

  ***

  Friday rolled around at what felt like a snail’s pace. I didn’t want to admit how excited I was about my date, but the truth was it had been a long time. A long time since I’d had much of anything in the form of a social life, much less romance. Marnie was my best friend, meaning work and social went hand in hand. And forget about dating. I’d sworn off guys since the last asshole in my life. Malcom was the first chance I’d been willing to take in years.

  Which was why I wasn’t just excited, but anxious, too.

  What if things went wrong? What if he was a dick in real life? What if I met him and I just wasn’t attracted to him?

  I didn’t think of myself as overly shallow, but there was no denying that physicality was an important part of my personal relationships. I didn’t need Brad Pitt, but I needed someone that pushed the right buttons and set off the right signals in my body. Sure, I was all about this guy’s personality, but what if we just didn’t mesh physically?

  Worse, what if he decided I wasn’t the right physical type for him? Not every man appreciated a short chick. And while I wasn’t fat, I was curvy. What if that wasn’t his thing?

  Doubt ate at me steadily throughout the day, despite my attempts to quell it. I put on a good front, enough that even Marnie didn’t know how nervous I was, but it didn’t do anything for how I felt on the inside.

  When three thirty rolled around, I knocked on Marnie’s door and poked my head into her office. “Hey, it’s that time.”

  She glanced up from her desk—she looked a little stressed, so she was probably looking over something from Harvey—blinked twice, then glanced at her wristwatch. “What? That late already?”

  “I’m leaving early, remember? Hot date?”

  It took her several seconds before it clicked for her. “Oh! Right, your date. I totally spaced it. But go, you’re good. Definitely. Be sure to tell me everything that happens afterwards.”

  “I will,” I promised, grinning.

  “And Court?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to have a good time.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  I grabbed a few things from my desk to work on over the weekend, made sure my computer was off, and grabbed my cell. Then I headed out.

  When I got home, the first thing I did was shower. I wanted to be as clean as a whistle and as bare as a newborn baby, not a hair in sight. So I took a little longer than usual and shaved all my lady bits until I was smooth. When I got out, I put that soft vanilla-smelling lotion on, then went to work getting dressed. I’d pulled aside several viable options for that evening, but I still had to decide which of them was the best of the bunch.

  “Something sexy, something sexy,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the five dresses I’d laid out on my bed.

  One was a deep burgundy thing that went past my knees. Not quite a pencil, but it cinched tightly at the waist and emphasized my hips. The neckline was modest enough for public and a nice restaurant, but showed a hint of cleavage just the same.

  Two were blue, which I quickly dismissed. Blue was a cold color and more appropriate for work, dealing with people I didn’t like, and the occasional perfect spring day for whatever reason.

  I’d been pissed at Malcom when I’d picked them out, debating being an asshole to him.

  That had changed, so now I was debating between the burgundy, the pink, and the red with black, lacy overlay.

  The pink was cute, but I quickly decided I didn’t want to be cute. I wanted to wow him. To lure him in with sexiness and the promise of more. Which was why I ended up dismissing the burgundy, too. It was pretty and even a little sexy, but it was too modest. I needed to reel him in, not leave him guessing.

  “Red and black it is,” I muttered.

  Which was how I picked my underwear. Lacy black seamless panties coupled with a plunging push-up bra that did wonders for the shape of my large breasts.

  I wiggled into the dress, then threw a T-shirt over the top to finish up my makeup and hair. I painstakingly curled my silky tresses, then put them mostly up in an elegant twist. Shaking my head a little, I loosened some of the curls until they fell naturally down the nape of my neck and framed my heart-shaped face.

  Perfect. Or as close to perfect as any woman got.

  I checked the time, then grabbed my clutch. It was just big enough for my ID, credit card, some cash, a compact, and a condom. Just in case.

  I headed out the door, hoping tonight was going to be as good as my mind was building it up to be.

  About forty-five minutes later—thanks a lot, Seattle traffic—I got out of my car and walked the half block to the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Malcom. He’d te
xted me the details the day after asking me out, and that was about all I’d heard from him.

  I told myself it was because he was trying to build up the suspense to meet me.

  It was a sit-down restaurant, a nicer one that required reservations, and I hesitantly went up to the host to ask if my party had arrived yet.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t see a reservation under that name,” he said, doing his best to not look down his nose at me. He failed miserably. “Perhaps you have the wrong restaurant.”

  I lifted a single eyebrow at him. “Check again. Malcom Resner.”

  The man pursed his lips but did as I asked. After a quick perusal of the names, he looked up at me again and smiled thinly. “I’m afraid I don’t see a Resner anywhere.”

  My shoulders slumped, but I forced myself to thank the man. He was an ass, but he was probably paid to be that way. I turned and headed back out to wait at the front.

  Had I gotten the wrong restaurant? Or did Malcom not realize it was the type of place to need a reservation?

  I checked my phone and the message he’d sent me. Shay’s, 6:30pm Friday.

  Glancing up at the sign, I confirmed that this was most definitely Shay’s. The corners of my mouth tugged down into a frown. Because suddenly there were only a few options of what was going wrong. Either he didn’t realize this was a reservation type of place, this was the wrong place, or… he forgot.

  That last one sent a cold chill down my spine.

  Had he seriously forgotten? I was halfway through a very angry text about leaving a woman waiting when I heard someone call my name.

  “Courtney!”

  It sounded familiar. Instantly, my shoulders relaxed. I turned toward it as I said, “Malcom.”

  Except when I caught sight of who it was, it wasn’t Malcom at all. I froze. It was Trent Harvey. I felt tension crawl across my body again. He was sexy, dressed in fitted black slacks and a silky, deep-burgundy button-down. Its colors shifted subtly in different lighting, and it suited him wonderfully. His body was well-defined, and he was tall. Tall enough that I would have to look up at him if we were standing any closer.