Virgin Promise

“I did it!” she said triumphantly once she was on firm footing. “That’s the first time I ever climbed a ladder, other than a stepladder.”

“I hope that’s only one of many firsts tonight,” he said as he set her shoes down for her to step back into.

She laughed, a bit hysterically he thought, then reclaimed her shoes.

The rooftop was dark, and they could actually see a sprinkling of stars in the navy blue sky, despite the fact they were in the middle of the city. A few blocks away the lights of Oak Lawn Avenue’s late-night hot spots, muted through the treetops, provided a colorful backdrop. Farther into the distance, downtown Dallas’s artfully lighted skyline shone like a jewel in the night.

“Oh, it’s beautiful up here,” Angela said, almost reverently. “I’ve been living in that apartment four years and I’ve never been on the roof before. It’s isolated, but at the same time the city’s life is all around.”

Precisely why he’d chosen this environment. It was stimulating, yet still secluded. He took her arm and led her across the tar-and-gravel rooftop to a spot on the far side, where the branches of an enormous crepe myrtle tree brushed against the building, softening the harsh lines of the roof edge and gutters.

“Oh, my.” Angela stopped in her tracks, admiring Vic’s handiwork. A table covered with a white cloth bore two elegant place settings, courtesy of Vic’s grandmother’s dishes. He’d inherited them years ago, but they’d remained boxed up in his attic until today. Until now he’d never seen a need to go fancier than his sturdy stoneware and stainless.

The table was lit by a candle inside a glass, where the light breeze made it flicker. Off to the side was an ice bucket containing a good bottle of Chablis. Tucked under the table was a soft plastic container, similar to the ones the pizza delivery guys used to keep their pies warm.

“Sit down,” Vic said. “Do you want some wine?”

“I’d love some,” she replied, claiming one of the padded folding chairs at the table. “How did you get all this stuff up here?”

He’d about broken his back, that’s how, hauling it all up that ladder, terrified the whole time that Angela would hear him creeping around on her fire escape and call the cops. Or if not Angela, one of her neighbors. He’d made sure to bring his ID shield just in case. But no one had questioned him or tried to stop him.

“Magic,” he answered. He wanted her to think the task had been effortless.

As soon as he’d poured each of them a glass of wine, he went to the plastic container and began unpacking their dinner—first a small Caesar salad, then rosemary-tarragon breast of chicken, freshly grilled asparagus spears and crusty French bread.

“That smells wonderful,” Angela said. “Don’t tell me you cooked it.”

He was tempted to lie. But he felt he’d been dishonest enough as it was. If he wanted more than this one night with her, he was going to have to start revealing a little of the real Vic Steadman. She might be bowled over by this dangerous mystery man, but he had a hunch she might actually like the real Vic, if he introduced him slowly.

“No, I can’t claim cooking among my many skills. I got it from that gourmet-to-go place a few blocks from here.”

“Great! I love their food.”

She patiently allowed him to serve her. After Vic had filled their plates, and with mouthwatering aromas drifting up from the table, he took his own chair. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“To new experiences.”

She lifted her own glass and tapped it against his with a smile and a nod. But an uneasy expression crossed her face. He wondered what bothered her about his toast.

During dinner, Vic questioned Angela about her job, her family, her hobbies. She was relaxed enough that she answered without hesitation. Whenever she made an attempt to steer the conversation toward him, he provided glib answers, then deftly reversed the flow once again.

He was glad to see that she had a healthy appetite.

Nothing irritated him like a woman who picked at a good dinner. Vic made sure her wineglass stayed full, though he carefully monitored how much she drank. For what he had in mind later, he wanted her relaxed but with a clear head.

He drank a couple of glasses himself, hoping it would take the edge off his own nerves. Though he felt he was performing with admirable suavity, he was a bundle of tension. Tonight mattered, more than it should, probably. He’d been too long without a woman, he reasoned. That was all it was.

“It hasn’t escaped my attention that you don’t like to talk about yourself,” Angela said easily as he put away the leftovers.

He said nothing, hoping to distract her with his next assault on her taste buds, caramel cheesecake. Her eyes widened when he set the decadent wedge of dessert in front of her, but she didn’t immediately dig in to it.

“An hour ago, when I was starving, you might have succeeded in distracting me with food, but not now. I’ve told you everything but my shoe size, and the only thing I know about you is that you ride a motorcycle, fix cars and you know how to bowl a woman over.”

“What else do you need to know?” he said, shrugging playfully.

“Lots of stuff.”

Vic sensed he wasn’t going to wiggle off her hook this time. He sat down and took a bite of his cheesecake, savoring the sweet caramel flavor mixed with cool cream cheese. “My life’s an open book,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“How many questions do I get?” she asked warily, obviously skeptical of his sudden openness. And well she should be, he thought guiltily.

“One. No, wait, two—okay, three. But that’s my limit. I’m boring. Why would we want to talk about me?”

“What do you do for a living? Do you have a job?”

“That’s two questions.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave in.

“Okay, we’ll count it as one.” He paused, wondering if there was any way to make his job sound more mysterious. “Let’s just say I associate with some of the city’s less savory characters, and leave it at that.”

“You’re a criminal?” she asked, involuntarily pulling her chair back. Uh-oh. He’d gone too far.

“No, no. I’m a completely law-abiding citizen, I promise. It’s just that my work isn’t something a refined, beautiful woman such as yourself would want to hear about.” And that, he decided, was probably the truth. Rounding up drunks, breaking up fights, writing tickets, patrolling high school football games for extra money when he was off duty—it just wasn’t very glamorous. He was hoping to make sergeant soon, and he was fairly certain he would be assigned a detective position within the next couple of months. But he wasn’t there yet.

“But you’re employed? You’re a contributing member of society?”

“Yes.”

“You’re annoyingly mysterious. How do you know I’m not interested in your job? I have very wide-ranging interests.”

“Is that a question?”

“No. How many do I have left?”

“Two.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near White Rock Lake.” Which revealed very little. The old White Rock neighborhood featured everything from cramped apartments to mansions. “One more—make it a good one.”

She paused and licked her lips. He was breathless, waiting for her next question, wondering what answers he could provide that would keep her off balance. It was a game. She knew it as well as he, or he wouldn’t have continued with it.

When she finally voiced her next question, though, he was the one thrown off balance.

“Are you planning to make love to me tonight?”

Angela very nearly clamped her hand over her mouth. Where had that question come from? Some deep, deep part of her subconscious, no doubt. She’d been sitting there enjoying their banter, thinking what gorgeous blue eyes he had and how broad his shoulders looked in the tux.