Best of Penny Wylder: Virgin Romance

by Wylder, Penny

  I’m going to think about it though. Think about him and all the non-existent possibilities. Think about what it would be like to be wanted by someone like that. Someone powerful and sexy and totally unashamed. Think about him thinking about me, and what that means.

  Believe me, I will too. His words echo in my mind and far too many fantasies spring to life in my mind. I squeeze my thighs together under the desk and press a cool hand to my hot cheek.

  Man, am I in trouble.

  2

  For the third day in a row I wake up flushed. Damn dreams. Damn Andrew.

  It feels like he’s made it his mission to run into me whenever possible at the office—and every time he does, all I do is trip over myself. His winks and smiles and innuendos almost make me question whether or not my uncle is right and he’s just using me. But that moment in the copy room is still there. I can’t pretend that wasn’t real.

  I’ve kissed people before. Okay, fine, I’ve kissed one person before. And it was nowhere near as hot as those few moments when it felt like we connected.

  Now my brain won’t leave me alone. It’s constantly finding ways to imagine what would have happened had that moment continued, what might have been if we hadn’t been interrupted. I imagine him closing that gap and pressing his lips onto mine, and together we move backward, hands tearing at each other’s clothes, until he’s pressing me up against the wall.

  My fingers find my way into my underwear as I imagine his lips tracing down my throat. His lips are soft and his tongue is teasing me. His hands are undoing the buttons of my shirt and he doesn’t miss a beat moving down to my breasts, tracing my nipples through the fabric. I imagine my fingers fisting in his hair, pressing his head closer to me, urging him to touch more of my skin.

  My body heats up and I can feel myself getting wet under my fingers as I let my imagination run wild. He’s kissing me again and our bodies are pressed together, and even through our clothes it feels so good. Then his hand is on my skin, sliding down my stomach and under my waistband. His fingers are touching me there and he dips inside me at the same time he plunges his tongue into my mouth. My body arches, and I can see myself gasping, relishing the sensation of being caught up in him.

  I move my fingers faster, and I can feel myself getting closer. I open Andrew’s shirt and envision his beautiful chest, his hard abs. His pants are unbuckled and he lifts me off my feet, my legs wrapping around his waist. With one strong, deep plunge, he glides inside me and it feels amazing. I imagine what it’s like to feel that full, to feel pleasure radiating out from every stroke. He locks eyes with me as he thrusts into me again, and again, and I can feel that I’m on the edge—

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  I roll over into my pillow and groan as my alarm clock erases what was sure to be an amazing orgasm. Damn. Fantasy sex is all I have and I can’t even get all the way through that. Now I’m sweaty and horny and unsatisfied. I tap my phone to stop the screeching, and resist the urge to throw it against the wall. Not even eight a.m. And the day is off to a great start. At least I don’t have to go to the office for long.

  I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, mentally ticking off the things I need to do before I leave. Today I’m moving…well, temporarily. My uncle’s current—and biggest—case is the Sterling murder. Timothy Sterling, a self-made software millionaire is accused of killing his wife. She was found dead in their home. There were no witnesses and he can’t provide a credible alibi. My uncle and the firm are defending Mr. Sterling. He was released on bail, but given the high profile nature of the case, the court commanded that he remain on his estate. That makes it hard to meet with him as his estate is two hours outside of the city.

  So, as of today, my uncle is moving into Mr. Sterling’s guest house for the duration of the defense. This is so that Uncle Roger can have immediate access to his client, but also to make sure that Sterling doesn’t do anything stupid. And also as of today, I’m going there too. My uncle needs a go-between for the office and he can’t ask his assistant to stay at the guest house. That leaves me, the niece. Go figure. Nepotism for the win.

  I need to pack my clothes and toiletries, and then go to the office and pick up a truly impressive number of file boxes to bring with me to the guest house.

  While I’m packing my clothes I turn on the bare track of a song I’ve been working on in my spare time. It has a pretty melody, even though I don’t have words yet. But there’s a little counter melody in my head, just a few chords. I grab a piece of paper and quickly write the progression down. Actually, I have a couple of minutes and would really like to know what that sounds like.

  I sit down at my computer’s keyboard and open up my music making software. When I input the chords, it sounds good. But not perfect. I think I should add this here, and an E chord there. It feels so natural to be making music that I don’t even notice the time. When I next look at the clock an hour has passed, and I’m still not finished packing. Shit.

  It’s a good thing that I don’t have to see my uncle until tonight, because he would kill me for being late. I throw the rest of my clothes into my suitcase and grab my make-up and toiletries. It’s not neat, but it will have to do. It’s a guest house, right? If I forgot anything they should have it, and if not then I’ll be coming back to the city soon. It’ll be fine.

  It’s hot. I mean, this is Florida, so that’s not really surprising. But I’m still used to Los Angeles weather. When you live with seventy degrees and low humidity year round, Florida’s climate feels like living in a sauna full time. Especially in July. Even wearing short sleeves and a skirt it’s nearly unbearable, and by the time I reach the office I’m once again covered in sweat and I haven’t even started lugging the boxes yet.

  There are twenty-one file boxes. Twenty-one. If my uncle weren’t endlessly practical I’d swear he was making me haul these as some sort of punishment or else a test of my ability to do this job. Well…I guess it could be that last one. But it’s probably better not to dwell on it for too long…

  I get all the boxes into the car—it takes forever because they’re bulky and heavy, and I can really only carry one at a time. A couple of times I managed two, but I have to unload all of these, and I need to save my hands. The only bright side is that I don’t see Andrew. Even if it’s never going to happen, I’m glad that he doesn’t have to see me sweaty and exhausted from the humidity and manual labor.

  The air conditioning in my car has never felt this good, and I’ve used it a lot. I love road trips, and I drove both ways when I moved from coast to coast, so my car has become a mini-sanctuary for me over the years. Today is no exception. I turn on some music—not mine this time—and enjoy the ride.

  That is, until I pull up to the Sterling estate. Holy crap. I knew this guy was loaded, but whoa. I’m greeted with tall black iron gates and a curving driveway that leads to one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen. It looks like a castle, and I think there might actually be a spire off the back, but it’s hard to tell from this angle. Who even needs a guest house when you have something that big? Then again, he probably likes his privacy.

  The driveway curves around the main house and down past a swimming pool that is a perfect blue, and gardens that look like they’re a spread in Travel & Leisure. Is that a hedge maze? Seriously, I really hope this guy is innocent, because we need to be friends. I’ll house-sit for him any time.

  I pull up to the guest house, a villa situated behind some tall trees that keep it somewhat hidden away. It has its own garden and small pool, and even without being attached to the mansion next door it’s gorgeous. It’s a white creation in the Spanish style, with red tiles on the roof and blue shutters that make it look cheery.

  I take it all in with an appreciative sigh and then get out of my car and stretch. I guess I’d better get to unloading. The faster I get it done, the faster I can get a shower and a cold drink. I grab a box and the keys my uncle gave me and let myself inside. It’s blessedly cool. The first
floor is breezy and open with the entryway flowing into an open living room, small dining room, and galley kitchen. Natural light is pouring into the space from what seems like a hundred windows. I could learn to like it here, I think.

  I put the first box on the floor in the dining room. My uncle wants that space to be the primary office area of the house, so all the boxes will go there for now. We agreed that we’d find a better set-up once we were both settled into the house.

  Trudging out to the car again, I decide that I’m going to try to get the boxes into the house in as few trips as possible. Even if that means nearly breaking my back by carrying multiple boxes. I stack three on top of each other. It’s a stretch, but these are the lightest ones, and no one’s here to see me if I drop them.

  I have to use my butt to open the door—no hands—and I nearly trip over the threshold. I steady myself and make a mental note to only bring two next time. I’m halfway to the dining room when I hear a sound, like someone else is in the house.

  “Hello?” I can’t see over the boxes, but I’m almost there. But as I turn the corner I collide with something and I hear a grunt of pain. I stumble back, keeping my grip on the boxes even as I blurt out an apology. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”

  The mystery person grabs the top box off my pile and suddenly the other two boxes go crashing to the floor, because standing in front of me is Andrew Finch. And he’s smiling.

  3

  I think that my mouth is on the floor along with the boxes. “What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing that you’re doing here.” He takes the box he rescued into the dining room and adds, “I’m living here for the next couple of months. Roger didn’t tell you?”

  “No,” I say, picking up a sheaf of papers that spilled from one of my boxes. “My uncle forgot to mention that detail.”

  “I’m not surprised.” I pile my two boxes on top of the rest. “Did you get all these into your car by yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  He scoffs, “I’m sure there are plenty of guys at the office that could have been persuaded to help you.”

  I feel myself bristle. “I’m not made of glass, it’s just boxes.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he says, mouth sliding into a smile. “You’re perfectly capable of carrying boxes. But in case you haven’t noticed, it’s hot as hell outside, and you didn’t need to do it all yourself.”

  “It was really fine.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it was. Why don’t you get some water and then grab your suitcase? I’ll take care of the rest of the boxes.”

  “Mr. Finch, you really don’t have to—”

  He cuts me off. “First, please don’t ever call me Mr. Finch. It makes me feel like a fossil. Second, you already carried all those file boxes once. I can take it from here.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look and I change my mind about finishing the thought. Instead I say, “What should I call you, then?”

  “Andrew is fine.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over one of the dining room chairs.

  I wander into the kitchen and poke around in the cupboards looking for a glass. I find one and get some ice and water, and then I go back and get another glass for when Andrew is finished with the unloading. It’s the least I can do.

  He’s already back with another box, and I try not to stare. It’s not like he’s naked, but that shirt fits really well and he definitely fills it out. He doesn’t even hesitate before going out for another box, and I follow him. I grab my stuff from the back seat of my car, and I hear his voice behind me. “There are a few empty rooms upstairs. You can choose whichever one you like.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and I make a beeline for the stairs.

  No, Naomi, you will not think about the fact that you’re alone in this gorgeous house with your current crush. You will think about that later. Alone. After dark. Under the covers.

  I find a corner room that overlooks the garden, and immediately know it’s the one I want. A queen size bed with crisp blue linens dominates the room, with a desk and a reading chair tucked along one wall and an actual armoire and vanity on the other. I drop my suitcase by the armoire and head back downstairs.

  The pile of boxes in the dining room is growing, and Andrew walks by with another as I come down. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?”

  “Very sure,” he says, disappearing out the door again.

  I take a sip of the water. It feels weird just letting him do all the work. I mean, he is technically my boss. But he also volunteered.

  The more I watch him go in and out, the more I’m glad I’m standing in the kitchen. Mostly because it’s cool and not at all because Andrew is sweating through his shirt and making it easier to see even more of him.

  Finally, he comes through the door and says, “This is the last.” He puts the box down with a sigh.

  I push his glass of water across the counter toward him. “Here.”

  He grins, tugging at the open collar of his button down shirt and exposing just a flash of that smooth, perfect chest. “Thank you. Did I mention it’s hot as hell outside?”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I say, smiling into my glass.

  “Definitely.” He unbuttons his shirt and takes it off before reaching for the glass, and even though I know I shouldn’t stare at him, I can’t look away. The v-neck T-shirt he’s still wearing is soaked through, and I can see everything. If there were wet T-shirt contests for men, he would win. Hands down. The man is cut like a diamond. I can count his abs through the shirt, and my eyes drift down to where it’s ridden up and showing skin that’s perfectly tan.

  Suddenly I realize that I’m staring, and he knows it too, because he’s staring at me. He’s not smiling anymore. Instead he looks…curious. I feel myself blush from head to toe. Yes, I swear even my toes are flushed at the thought of what that body could do to me. My imaginings haven’t been doing him justice. I’ll need an upgrade.

  I clear my throat and say, “I should go unpack, since we’ll be here for awhile.”

  I don’t actually run, but it feels like it. I retreat into my pretty room, and attempt to take a breath. Cool down. I get my suitcase open and start sorting through the mess that I made this morning when I was late. I jump at the sound of a floorboard behind me, and turn to see Andrew at the door. He walks over to where I am, and I can feel his eyes on me. I try not to look, because if I look again I’ll stare, and the staring will lead to wanting. Instead, I start to talk.

  “I know, this is totally a mess. I got really distracted this morning by this song, and then I ended up not having much time to pack.” I yank the suitcase over to the wall next to the armoire, and Andrew follows me. “Now I’ll have to organize everything. Re-fold, re-hang, re-wash, whatever. I’m not usually this disorganized.” I find my bag of toiletries in the wreckage of my suitcase and grab it. I turn to go and put it in the bathroom, and Andrew is there. “I should put this away,” I blurt, holding up the toiletries.

  He stretches out his arms on either side of me, blocking the doorway with his perfect body. “It’s not a crime to look, Naomi.”

  My eyes snap to his, really looking at them for the first time since we bumped into each other in the hallway. “I wasn’t.”

  His mouth quirks up. “You were. I don’t mind. If I didn’t have other things on my mind I’d let you look at me all day.”

  “What other things?” My mouth has gone entirely dry, and I find it hard to speak. He’s so close, and every nerve in my body is begging to find out what it would be like to have him touch me.

  He leans forward until our faces are almost touching. “How much I want you. I told you in the copy room I would think about you. I did.”

  Oh god. My heart is beating so fast now, I swear I can hear it pounding. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I think I make some sort of sound though, because he smiles again. “What was that?”


  “It’s not real. Not true, I mean. You have no reason to think about me.”

  Our faces are still close, and his cheek presses against mine as his lips brush my ear. “I promise that when I am with you I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And I want you.”

  His words make me shiver. He takes a step back and peels his T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside. I let myself look at him. Like he said, it’s not a crime. His body reminds me of a surfer’s, long and lean with unexpected muscles and definition, all leading my eyes down to his belt. His face is all mischief as he moves back toward me. “Now that you’ve finally seen me without a shirt on, don’t you want to see the rest of me?”

  The familiar feeling of my blush hits, and I don’t have time to answer because he kisses me. His lips aren’t on my mouth by next to it, barely a press against my skin. The sensation travels across me and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

  “Naomi, tell me if you want me to stop.”

  I swallow, find my voice. “No. Don’t stop.”

  “Tell me what you want.” He pulls back to look into my eyes, and I am stunned by his gaze. His eyes are so blue, and I can see the earnestness pouring out of them.

  I’ve never been here before. I don’t know what to say, only that this is everything. I swallow again. “I want you.”

  It’s soft, barely audible, but a smile slowly spreads across his face, and then his mouth is on me again. He moves along my jaw to below my ear, and I can hear him whisper, “I’ve wanted to taste your skin since that first day.”

  He traces down the line of my neck, sucking gently on my skin, and I gasp. I can feel myself trembling every time his mouth touches me, trying not to move, not to break the moment. This is everything I wanted, and I don’t want it to disappear. His hands are on my waist, pulling me closer as his mouth dips lower to the hollow of my breasts. I can feel myself getting wet, and I close my eyes, letting myself feel every last thing. First his lips touch my skin, then his tongue, moving upward, drawing a line of fire from between my breasts and back to my neck. “I told you I’d find something to clean you with, and I want to lick every inch of you.”