Seduced The Unexpected Virgin - By Emily McKay Page 0,37
don’t you tell me your theory.”
She considered for a moment, gazing at the blank TV screen where his face had been just moments ago. What was it he wanted from her? She’d thought their relationship to be pure sex. She hadn’t expected him to show up on her doorstep in the evenings. She hadn’t expected romantic dates. She hadn’t expected to be telling him her theories about anything.
But since he’d asked for it, she found herself musing aloud. The idea had come to her as she watched the show. And now she couldn’t bring herself to swallow her words, even though she knew it would be easier to keep her opinions to herself.
“Well, I think that’s obvious. You don’t play anymore for the same reason you don’t live in the house in Harleston Village. You feel like your talent betrayed you. From the time you were a teenager, your talent got you everything you ever wanted. Fame, fortune, success. It was your path out of poverty. Not just for you, but for your mother, too.” She nodded toward the screen. “It even helped win you Cara’s love. But then, when you needed it most, it abandoned you. All the talent in the world couldn’t save her life. Your wealth didn’t matter. No amount of money could buy her a treatment, because nothing could cure her. Your gift betrayed you when you needed it most.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, but she could read the shock on his face, as if the idea were repugnant.
“Is it?” she prodded, trying to at least keep him talking so the idea would have a chance to sink in. “Stacy told me you haven’t even picked up the Alvarez since Cara died. Before she got sick, it never left your side. You traveled with it everywhere you went. You wouldn’t even leave it at the studio overnight. Now, you can barely even be in the same room with it.”
“You’re talking about it like it’s a person. It’s just a guitar. A piece of wood and some strings and a few electronics.”
“You don’t really believe that. It’s more than just a guitar. It’s the living embodiment of your talent. It’s the heart and soul of your success as an artist. And you’ve turned your back on it just as clearly as it turned its back on you.”
“I don’t think that.” His tone was quiet, but with so little emotion, she knew he had to be straining to keep it from his voice. “That’s completely illogical.”
“Of course it is. I’m talking about feelings, not logic. You’re the one with the soul of a poet. You know better than anyone that there’s no logic in the heart.”
He met her gaze for a second, unnerved by the understanding he saw there. Damn, but she was perceptive. She’d pegged him so easily, it unnerved him.
But she still sounded doubtful. And by the time he left, he wasn’t sure if she’d finally agreed because she really wanted to go with him or if the luster of dating a star was already starting to wear thin.
Ana knew she was in trouble the second the package arrived. No one had ever sent her a dress before. Still, she’d grown up watching old Doris Day movies and she’d seen enough of them to know that when a thirty-six by twenty-four inch box is couriered to your door, there’s a fancy dress inside. Or maybe a mink coat. But no one wore real mink anymore.
In the movies, the delivery of the dress always preceded one of those whirlwind dates, where the hero whisks the heroine off to some exotic locale with the intent to seduce her. Inevitably, he failed. She returned home, virginity intact, but her beauty and charm—and stalwart defense of said virginity—inevitably won the hero’s heart. That was the nice thing about being a movie heroine. You always came out on top. It was a good gig if you could get it.
But Ana had no illusions. She wasn’t Doris Day. She wasn’t even the Mexican-American Doris Day. And while she didn’t cling to her virginity with any particular sentimentality, she did have her standards. And the deep-seated fear that if she did let Ward sweep her off her feet, she might never again find solid footing.
And so when the dress box arrived on Friday morning, she accepted it with a grim smile, but resisted opening it. After all, she had a perfectly acceptable black dress hanging in her closet.
By the time she and Emma had