Seduced The Unexpected Virgin - By Emily McKay Page 0,36

a client,” Ana said in her most reassuring voice.

“But you never see clients at the house,” Marla protested.

“True. I haven’t seen clients here. But…”

Just as she was fumbling for a reason, Ward leaned forward and waved to get her attention.

“My son is the hospital,” he whispered.

“But his son is in the hospital,” she repeated. Then she added, “He doesn’t speak much English. The staff has him scared, even though he has nothing to be afraid of. It’s complicated.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She glanced in Ward’s direction only to once again find him watching her. To hide her discomfort, she rolled her eyes. “Thank you for checking up on me. And I’ll even call you tomorrow if it’ll make you feel better.”

“First thing in the morning. Promise?”

“I’ll call you at seven.”

“Hmm,” Marla paused. “Nine would be better. I mean unless you need something. No, seven’s fine. I mean, whenever.”

“Thank you, Marla,” Ana said before disconnecting.

“Your friend seems very…safety conscious.” Ward chuckled.

“She’s a good neighbor.” She propped her hands on her hips, feeling suddenly protective of Marla, who, despite being a kook, was the best kind of neighbor and the first new friend she’d made since moving back to Vista Del Mar. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Ward held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I didn’t say there was. It’s nice. Refreshing, actually, to know there are still places where people watch out for each other.”

Which was exactly how she felt about Vista del Mar. But even as she was considering launching into yet another lecture about the importance of Hannah’s Hope, he nodded toward the TV. “So, you learn anything new?”

“Not much. They weren’t very thorough. They didn’t even mention Orange Kitty.”

His eyebrows shot up. “How’d you know about Orange Kitty?”

“I lived in New York during college. I made it to a few Orange Kitty shows.”

That had been the height of his career. Before Cara got sick. He’d toured most of the year, and split the rest of the time between their home in Charleston and their apartment in Manhattan. Whenever all the band members were in New York at the same time, they’d play in local venues, to small audiences under the name Orange Kitty.

He shook his head ruefully, a surprised smile on his face. “You must have been a hard-core fan to actually get out to an Orange Kitty show.”

The Orange Kitty shows had never been publicized, being spur of the moment. And that wasn’t the point, anyway. People either showed up by accident or heard about them by word of mouth.

“I once spent an entire night hitting bars all over Lower Manhattan because my friend had heard Orange Kitty was playing.”

There was a hint of nostalgia in his smile. “And were we?”

“Not that time.” Suddenly, her embarrassment spread and she felt as though she’d revealed far more than she’d meant to. She busied herself putting her remote away and fluffing a pillow. “I bet half the people in New York have stories like that.”

He grabbed her hand and tugged her closer. She found herself looking at the topmost button of his ragged shirt, with far more intensity than such a bland pearlescent button deserved.

Slowly he tipped her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Until now, you’ve acted like you weren’t a fan at all. Why?”

She wanted to pull herself out of his arms, but instead forced herself to look him fully in the eyes. “That’s obvious, right?”

“Not to me.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think I was just some desperate fan-girl. That’s…” she searched for the right word “…creepy.”

“It’s never creepy knowing someone has enjoyed my music.”

There was a quiet sincerity to his voice. And she found herself pouring out the question she’d been holding back since Charleston. “So why don’t you write music anymore? Why don’t you play?”

He dropped his hand and leaned back, his expression suddenly distant.

“How do you know I don’t?”

His tone was as cold as his gaze, but she pressed on. She was too far past the line for it to matter now. “I saw the Alvarez. At CMF. It’s the only guitar you ever composed on. You may have been carrying around your friend Dave’s guitar, but I can’t imagine you composing on it.”

He turned away from her and scrubbed a hand through his hair. For a moment, she was certain that he was either going to lie outright or tell her to mind her own damn business.

Instead, he leveled an assessing gaze at her and said, “Why

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