The Determined Virgin

by Daphne Clair

  'You've been in a bad one? More than one?'

  She made herself look at him, only fleetingly. 'I just...don't have much interest in men.'

  Gabriel looked sceptical. 'You're a beautiful woman. There must have been men in your life...or at least men who were interested in being a part of it.'

  Rhiannon lifted a shoulder. 'I've been building up my business, there hasn't been time for much else.'

  The frown reappeared. 'So, the sixty-four-thousand- dollar question,' he said softly. 'Are you interested in me?'

  It was a moment of truth. Rhiannon felt herself go pale, her cheeks and temples cooling. Dizzy with fore­ boding and the now-familiar rush of adrenaline that she associated with Gabriel Hudson, she admitted, T...like you.'

  'Like?' His brows rose, and then he laughed.

  She must sound incredibly naive. He had no idea how difficult this was for her. Lifting her chin, she met his eyes with a hint of defiance.

  The laughter died and he stared back at her intently, his gaze not shifting from her face. Then he held out a hand to her. 'Come here,' he invited.

  Rhiannon swallowed, and her lips parted even as her eyes widened.

  He was asking her to make the first move. And after a second of stunned indecision she did, taking one hes­ itant step, then another, as if she were walking on the edge of a precipice, where a single slip might be fatal.

  Two steps away she brought up her hand and it found his outstretched one, his strong fingers closing about hers. And instead of panic she felt only a sensation of safety and warmth, almost shocking in its intensity.

  Half expecting to be hauled into his arms, she was surprised again. He slowly lifted her hand and bent his head to press a kiss against the back of it, then turned her wrist to his mouth and the tip of his tongue found the tiny, hurrying pulse.

  A shaft of pure heat arrowed through her body, and she gave a gasp.

  Gabriel raised his head, the glitter in his eyes making her pulses race even faster. Taking her other hand, too, he drew her inexorably closer, until their bodies lightly touched, his thighs against hers, her breasts brushing his shirt. Even through their clothes she could feel the heat emanating from him. She tried to breathe lightly, evenly, and didn't dare look at him, fixing her gaze on the Venetian blinds behind him that filtered the light from outside.

  'Rhiannon?' His breath stirred tendrils of hair at her forehead.

  Her eyes felt heavy-lidded but she made herself look at him—so close she could discern the light beard- shadow on his determined chin before she raised her eyes to his, and saw herself reflected in the dark centres.

  'Rhiannon,' he said again, 'would you like me to kiss you?'

  Alarm flared and died. She was suddenly very calm and sure. His mouth was close to hers, its contours beau­ tiful in a wholly masculine way, firm but not narrow, decisive yet promising tenderness.

  Scarcely above a whisper, against the thunder that was the sound of her racing heart, she said, 'Yes.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  It wasnt at all as Rhiannon expected. For what seemed the longest time Gabriel didn't move, just looked down at her as if making sure she meant what she said.

  He didn't wrap her in an embrace, but laced his fin­ gers through hers at her sides and bent his head again to touch her lips lightly, briefly, with his own, then drew back a fraction. She had time for a pang of surprised disappointment before he did it again, but this time he let his lips rest on hers for a moment, and when he lifted his mouth he returned it almost instantly to hers, a little more firmly, exerting just enough pressure to part her lips.

  She had never thought a man's mouth could be so soft, so tenderly nurturing, as if he wanted to give rather than take. As if her mouth was something delicate and precious that required a great deal of care and attention. As if she was...

  She had never been kissed that way before.

  When he raised his head again and looked down at her with a faintly quizzical expression, she could only stare back at him dazedly, until he loosed one of her hands and gently ran a thumb over her mouth. 'You could kiss me back,' he suggested, with a hint of amuse­ ment.

  Ashamed to admit she didn't know how, Rhiannon flushed. To hide it, she ducked her head and turned from him, pulling her fingers from his and pretending her hair needed to be smoothed into place. 'I have to go,' she mumbled.

  When he moved she shied away, but he was only going to the sofa to collect the bag she'd left there. He handed it to her, his gaze enigmatic. 'I take it you have things to do tonight.'

  'I promised to go grocery shopping with my flatmate.'

  'You have a flatmate? Another artist?'

  ''Janette's a nurse.'

  'Ah,' he said. 'Janette.'

  He saw her out of the building and into her car that she'd parked just across the street, taking advantage of a space left by a rush-hour commuter. Before closing the door he said, 'I'm due to fly to Australia tomorrow to visit our Sydney office, but when I get back I'll be in touch.'

  A breathing space, she thought, relief swamping a pang of disappointment as she turned the key in the ig­ nition.

  She could scarcely believe what had happened minutes ago.

  All the way home she kept remembering the kiss, re­ living it with astonished pleasure and a measure of de­licious disquiet, until an impatient motorist behind her reminded her a red light had changed to green, and she wrenched her mind back to her driving.

  Gabriel phoned her at the end of the following week, during a slack period at the gallery. 'I just got back last night,' he said, 'and my secretary's handed me a couple of complimentary tickets for the opening of the African dance spectacular tonight. If you're free would you care to join me and see the show?'

  'Tonight?'

  'I realise it's short notice. If you're busy—'

  'No.' Making a decision, her voice sounding as if it were someone else's, she said, 'I mean, that...would be nice. Thank you.'

  'Can I call for you at home?'

  'No, meet me here,' she said quickly. 'What time?'

  'How about seven fifteen? Then we'd have time for a snack before the show, and perhaps we can have supper afterwards.'

  As she put down the receiver Peri asked curiously, 'A date?'

  'The African dancers.'

  'Supposed to be a good show. Tickets are hard to get, I heard.'

  'Gabriel has complimentary ones.'

  'Gabriel Hudson?' Peri's brows rose. 'What are you going to wear?'

  She glanced down at her straight tan skirt and light green blouse. 'I won't have time to go home.'

  Peri looked disapproving. 'Sweetie, for Gabriel Hudson you need something special. Why don't you duck out at lunchtime and find yourself a glam outfit? Tell you what, why don't we both duck out? Left to yourself you'll get something boring that doesn't do you justice.'

  Rhiannon knew her clothes were boring. She didn't enjoy calling attention to herself. 'No,' she said. 'I can't do that.'

  'Come on, Rhee, there are a dozen boutiques within two minutes of here where we can find you some decent glad-rags. How many customers might we lose in half an hour? One? Two, maybe?'

  In the end she yielded, not admitting that the thought of shopping on her own for 'glad-rags' was a daunting one.

  Peri had a wonderful time, rejecting anything that lacked colour or style, and finally giving the thumbs up to a simple, short-skirted aqua silk dress that he said was 'gorgeous with your eyes' and a peacock-blue satin jacket. The finishing touch was a pair of dark blue, side- buttoned high-heeled boots with a Victorian flavour.

  'You look great,' he told her later when she had closed the gallery for the day, showered in the tiny bath­room attached to the office-cum-storeroom, dressed, and applied a little makeup, also bought under Peri's critical eye. He'd even stayed after locking up, ostensibly to view his handiwork but, she suspected, also to make sure she didn't chicken out and resume her everyday clothes.

  'I feel like Cinderella,' Rhiannon co
nfessed. 'This isn't me.'

  'Of course it's you,' Peri said. 'The true you, the very attractive feminine you. You've been hiding your light under a pumpkin for too long.'

  'A pumpkin?' Rhiannon laughed. 'That's a bushel, you idiot!'

  He grinned back at her, reaching out a hand to arrange a strand or two of hair over her forehead and cheek. Then a rap on the glass door signalled Gabriel's arrival. Peri dropped his hand, standing back to examine her with a satisfied air. 'Shall I let him in?'

  'Thank you.' Busy picking up the beaded satin clutch purse that Peri had insisted she needed, she missed the sharp glance and curt nod that Gabriel gave the other man as he entered, and when she turned was mystified at Peri's gleeful expression before he murmured, 'I'll leave you to it, Rhee,' and blew her a kiss, sauntering out the door.

  But she couldn't miss the comprehensive glance Gabriel swept over her, or the appreciative gleam that lit his eyes. 'Ready for me?' he asked.

  She nodded, wondering if she would ever be ready for this man. Tonight he wore a dinner jacket and dark pants with a dazzling white shirt, and he looked more hand­ some than ever.

  'Do many people call you Rhee?' he asked.

  'A few close friends. Does anyone call you Gabe?'

  'Only my family. Feel free.'

  'I'm not family.'

  He regarded her pensively for a moment. 'Shall I get a taxi?' he asked.

  'No, we can easily walk to the theatre.'

  'In those shoes?' He smiled, glancing at her feet in their buttoned boots.

  He had a point there. She didn't often wear such slen­der high heels, and it was quick of him to have noticed. Maybe he was experienced in the shortcomings of fe­ male fashion. The thought brought a renewed reminder of her own lack of experience with his sex.

  'I'll be all right,' she assured him, going to the door and snicking the lock.

  'Not that I don't like them,' he murmured, as he closed the door behind them.

  'I dressed up for...for this.' For you, she'd been about to say.

  Perhaps he guessed. 'It was worth the effort,' he said. 'You look stunning.'

  'You look good, too.'

  'Thank you very much,' he said gravely. 'I made an effort myself.'

  When they reached the theatre and walked into the foyer Rhiannon was glad she had taken Peri's advice. Some people wore quite casual clothes, but it was the kind of casual that cost, and others glittered in sequins and silk, even jewels.

  She and Gabriel attracted a few stares, she supposed because he was known to a lot of people, or perhaps just because he was so spectacularly good-looking. With his tall bulk beside her and his hand lightly encircling her arm she felt confident and safe as he guided her through the throng and, securing a small table for them, ordered wine and nibbles.

  By the time they entered the auditorium and took their seats, she was beginning to enjoy herself.

  At the end of the dynamic, non-stop performance of music and dance, her mind was filled with exotic images of colourful though often minimal costumes, beautiful human beings, and uninhibited, joyful and dramatic movement and sound. She emerged into the foyer feeling as if she had spent the last couple of hours in another world.

  Someone hailed Gabriel and he introduced her to a man and woman, but she scarcely caught their names and had to make an effort to smile and listen to a few minutes' small talk before Gabriel steered her to a nearby restaurant.

  The hostess pulled out a chair and Rhiannon sank into it as the woman promised a waiter would be with them in a minute.

  Rhiannon adjusted her chair and found a space on the table for her bag. When she looked up Gabriel's gaze was on her, almost meditative. 'Some of those dances were rather raunchy,' he said. 'And the costumes...or lack of...you didn't mind?'

  Rhiannon shook her head. 'Of course not. It was a wonderful show.'

  'I guess artists don't have much room for prudish- ness.'

  The wine waiter came and Gabriel asked Rhiannon what she'd like.

  'I'll just have a glass of house red,' she said. 'I'll be driving home later.'

  When the man had gone, Gabriel said, 'I was hoping you'd let me take you home.'

  'My car's in the parking building. I don't want to leave it overnight.'

  A faint scepticism flitted across his face but he seemed content to let her off the hook, talking of the show until their meals came, then switching to a discussion of other forms of art.

  When they left the restaurant the street was quieter, although there were still people around and a steady stream of cars passed by.

  As they walked over an uneven stretch of pavement her heel caught momentarily in a crack between flag­ stones and she stumbled, only saved by Gabriel's quick reflexes as he shot out a hand and gripped her arm, steadying her.

  For a half second she was held within inches of his body, breathing in the scent of him. Her palm was against his chest, the warmth of his skin coming through the fabric of his shirt before she snatched her hand away.

  Gabriel loosened his grip but retained a light hold on her arm. 'You okay?'

  'Yes.' Except that her heart frantically jumping about. 'Thank you.'

  'They might be sexy as hell, but those shoes are a hazard.'

  'Sexy?' Involuntarily she looked down at the ankle- high boots.

  'Sure. All those little buttons down the side... intriguing.' He cocked his head to one side. His eyes, lit by a nearby street lamp, teased. Then he sobered, search­ ing her face, and his mouth turned down in a wry, silent apology.

  Instinct urged her to duck the challenge, ignore the brief provocation and sidestep the incident.

  But another, less familiar imperative rebelled against a cowardly retreat. She took a silent, hidden breath and forced her eyes to meet Gabriel's, saying lightly, 'You're not a foot fetishist, are you?'

  It was worth it to see the flare of surprise in his eyes. Then he laughed delightedly, making her feel warm all over. 'Not a fetishist of any kind,' he assured her, sur­ veying her with veiled curiosity. 'I just happen to like...your shoes.'

  The pause, she knew, was no mistake. The crooked smile and the expression on his face told her so quite explicitly, stirring a whole pot full of mixed emotions— doubt, trepidation, but mostly a bubble of cautious eu­ phoria. She could do this. Just like any other woman who'd been taken out, wined and dined by an attractive man, she could make light conversation, respond to com­ pliments, exchange banter laced with subtle innuendo. All she needed was a bit more practice.

  Gabriel seemed willing to help her with that.

  When they resumed walking, his hand remained curled about her arm.

  Her car was only two floors up, and when she declined to wait for the lift he accompanied her without comment.

  Other motorists were slamming doors, starting motors, and heading for the exit. Gabriel opened Rhiannon's door as a carload of young men stopped behind them, yelling obscenities at someone too slow to get moving. Rhiannon flinched, and Gabriel urged her into the driver's seat, standing protectively by until the other car passed, belching exhaust fumes.

  Then he bent, and turned her face up with a hand under her chin, pressed a quick kiss on her mouth and straightened, shutting the door.

  The following morning he phoned her at the gallery. 'Are you busy tonight?'

  'I've promised to help with a concert at Dad's nursing home.' The residents who were able to take part had been preparing for weeks, and even though her father's reactions were hard to gauge, he seemed to enjoy listen­ ing to music.

  'Could we have lunch, instead, when you've finished at the gallery today?'

  Tempted, she hesitated. 'I really have to work on my church commission this weekend if I'm to finish it by the due date.'

  'Another time then,' he said after a moment.

  'I guess so.' She probably sounded distracted; the gal­ lery was buzzing with the largest Saturday morning crowd they'd had so far, and she was needed at the counter.

  'I'll hold
you to that,' Gabriel said. 'You'll let me know when you have some news about my mural?'

  'Of course.'

  She phoned him on Tuesday, saying, 'I have some sketches for you to see, when it suits you.'

  'How about tonight?' he said promptly. 'We can dis­ cuss them over that dinner I promised you.'

  Rhiannon hardly hesitated. 'All right. I'll be finished here before seven.'

  'Do you have a preference for a particular style of food? Seafood? Maybe something exotic like Thai or Lebanese?'

  'I'll leave that to you. I like them all.'

  'A woman who's easy to please,' Gabriel said, as if it was novelty.

  'That's not so rare, surely,' Rhiannon protested. 'I shouldn't think you'd have any trouble.'

  It was the literal truth, a thought voiced without re­ flection, but Gabriel was silent for a moment, and then he laughed. 'Thank you. I do my best.'

  Maybe she should have suggested a later time, Rhiannon thought, putting down the phone. She'd have to go in the clothes she was wearing unless she indulged in another hasty shopping spree. Today she'd put on a button-through, belted jade green dress with a stitched collar, and her shoes were medium-heeled moss green. A neat, smart outfit for business, and surely not unsuit­ able for dining out.

  Most of her eating out was with women friends, and price was often a major consideration. She had no idea what kind of place Gabriel had in mind for tonight.

  He arrived in a taxi, and ushered her into it. 'I hope you'll share a bottle of wine with me,' he said, 'and I don't want to risk driving afterwards.'

  'I'm not dressed for anywhere fancy,' she warned.

  'You look fine,' he assured her, his gaze making a leisurely survey. 'Quite beautiful.'

  Even though he had wedged his broad shoulders into the corner of the seat, leaving plenty of space between them, Rhiannon noticed a whiff of the scent she had come to associate with him. It woke a strange feeling in her, warm and soft and liquid.

  He asked after her father and Rhiannon said, 'He seems...contented.' Mostly he sat in a comfortable chair with a tiny smile on his face, his eyes innocent and empty. 'The staff are very good.'