Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin (15 page)

There were even several minutes of each day leading up to the festival during which Ana didn’t feel overwhelmed by the task ahead of her. Then she would remember the possibility that Ward would show up, and the panic would return.

But the night before she’d walked away from her job in L.A., her mother had reminded her that the things in life that most scared you were the only things worth doing. The street fair definitely felt like that. Terrifying, but worth the risk.

Midway through the schedule of events, Rafe was supposed to put in a brief appearance. Ana was glad of that. Before he left for Charleston, apparently Ward had done his best to convince Rafe to show up. Though Rafe’s secretary had confirmed he’d be there and even though Emma spoke to him the previous day, Ana knew she’d relax considerably once his appearance was done with.

Just knowing he’d be there ratcheted up her own tension. Which was already high enough that she could barely sit still and hadn’t eaten all day, despite the array of tempting treats the Bistro had provided.

Several local restaurants had set up booths on either side of the street where they were selling food. Naturally, all the proceeds would go to Hannah’s Hope. In addition to the food, there were half a dozen performers scattered up and down the street, all people Ana had known during her stint in Hollywood. A couple of jugglers and a clown. In front of the police station, a couple of stunt men were giving demonstrations on how to fake a barroom brawl.

Ana had also talked some of her friends who were makeup artists into doing face painting for the kids. Even Emma’s cousin, Becca Worth, had come down from Napa to offer up wine tastings. And all up and down the street, Christi, Omar and Lena were mingling, clipboards in hand, to recruit future volunteers and hand out pamphlets about the many resources Hannah’s Hope could provide.

Watching it all, Ana felt a deep sense of satisfaction that almost—
almost
—replaced her sorrow. She relaxed only margin ally when she saw Emma making her way through the crowd to her side. Chase was with her, a protective hand at her waist.

“This turnout is amazing!” Emma said loudly to be heard over the carnival atmosphere of the crowd. She leaned in to give Ana a hug of encouragement.

Ana returned it briefly and tried not to cling too long. “I know,” she agreed, pressing a hand to her belly to calm her nerves. “I don’t think I even knew there were this many people in town.”

Emma gave a little frown. “Well, I’m guessing not. Don’t you think a lot of people came in from San Diego? Even from L.A.”

Something about Emma’s tone sent Ana’s anxiety soaring. “Why would they?”

Emma blanched. “I thought you knew. Didn’t you see the paper today?”

“Which paper?” she asked, her dread tightening.

“All of them, I think.” Emma gave Chase a nudge in the belly. “Can you pull it up on your phone?”

A few seconds later, Chase handed over his cell phone. Ana turned the phone and the headline from the
Gazette
popped into view. Ward Miller’s Big Comeback, the headline read. She quickly scanned the article, which contained details about the new album he was recording. And about his appearance at the Hannah’s Hope street festival.

“It ran in the San Diego paper and the
Los Angeles Times
.”

After scanning the article, Ana carefully handed the phone
back to Chase. She resisted the urge to hurl it across the street. She thought that was quite mature of her.

“He shouldn’t have misled that reporter.” She pressed her lips together, trying not to say nasty things about Ward in front of Chase, who was, after all, his friend. And then she considered how this would make Hannah’s Hope look and she cursed him out loud, despite her good intentions.

Emma frowned in concern and Chase raised his eyebrows.

“He didn’t even consider how bad this is going to make the rest of us look when he doesn’t show up.”

“What makes you think he isn’t going to show?” Chase asked.

Ana rolled her eyes. “He left town on Monday. I haven’t heard a word from him since. If he was going to show, he would have said something.”

“Are you sure he didn’t?” Chase prodded.

“Yes! I’m—” Then she broke off, suddenly unsure. Because the last they had talked about the street fair had been before their big blow up. She had asked him to leave, but had never said anything about not coming here. “I don’t know.”

Suddenly all her nerves about the street fair crystallized into a big knot of anxiety. She wasn’t entirely sure if she could face him again so soon.

But before she could rally her defenses…or even better, leave…she noticed a hush falling over the crowd. Heads started turning and a murmur of excitement flowed up the street toward a spot across from the makeshift stage at the edge of the park. A few feet away from her, she heard a man mention Ward’s name and point toward the stage. She strained onto her toes, but couldn’t see anything over the crowd. If Ward was out there somewhere, she wouldn’t know it until he was right on top of her.

Omar had worked all morning setting up the PA system for the remarks both she and Rafe would make just after noon. Since that was his milieu, she’d left it in his capable hands and hadn’t given it a second thought. Studying it now, she had no way of judging if it was just a normal PA system or something more
devious. Like a sound system with which a famous musician might stage his comeback.

She had to stifle a growl of annoyance. How dare he show up here? After almost an entire week of silence? After breaking her heart?

But before the thought could even form in her mind, the frenzy of excitement in the crowd peaked. The masses parted and there he was walking toward her.

Not really walking toward her, of course, but rather toward the stage. Dressed casually in jeans and an untucked white linen shirt, he looked much the same as he had the first day they’d met. His sunglasses were up on his head. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal the tanned strength of his arms.

His progress through the crowd was slow because he stopped to talk to nearly everyone who greeted him. His smile was broad, his eyes crinkling with friendly laughter. There was an air of glamour and mystery about him, despite how casually he was dressed. Maybe it was the sheer magnetism of his personality. Maybe it was simply the way everyone he walked past responded to his presence. Whatever it was, she felt the tug of it herself, deep inside. Buried safe in her heart where no else would ever know it.

And she pushed that feeling even deeper, drawing on the nervous energy that had fueled her for the past week to muster up all the indignation she could.

She quickly excused herself from Emma and Chase and made her way through the crowd toward him. She was still too far away to overhear his words to the people who were stopping him—but she could all too easily imagine the fawning—when Jess stepped up beside him and spoke briefly into his ear. He nodded, then excused himself and made a beeline for the stage. She intercepted him at the steps.

When he spotted her, his expression shifted from the friendly, aren’t-I-a-nice-guy-even-though-I’m-a-star smile to something more reserved. More carefully contained.

She doubted anyone would even notice the subtle change, but it pierced her heart.

Well, two could play that game. She propped her hands on her hips and looked at him with a cocked eyebrow. She blocked his path and stood close enough to keep their conversation from interested ears. “What are you doing here?”

“I would have thought that was obvious. The article in the
Gazette
said I’d take the stage at eleven to say a few words and maybe play a song or two.”

She scowled. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

His lips curved in a smile that was gently chiding. “Apparently, you don’t read the papers.”

H
is smile turned dangerously cocky. Like he knew a secret that she didn’t. Like he still had some trick up his sleeve. It was an expression that made her very, very nervous. “If you don’t want to hear me sing, I suggest you go inside. There are a lot of other people who would be disappointed if I don’t. Besides, it’s great publicity for Hannah’s Hope.”

She scanned the crowd, assessing the mood of all the people around her. He was right. Of course he was. Besides, every dollar people spent here today was going straight into Hannah’s Hope’s coffers. And whatever problems she may have with him personally, she knew he’d do a fine job of getting out the right message about the charity.

Still it was with grim resignation that she stepped aside and let him take the stage.

He trotted up the steps and raised a hand to wave at the people on the street. The crowd went wild, energized with sudden excitement. His stride was long and confident as he walked across the stage to the microphone. The very air around him seemed to vibrate with excitement.

She felt the pull of his allure deep in her gut. Was she crazy? There was something so…magnetic about him. For a second, watching him on stage, she honestly couldn’t remember any of the reasons why they’d fought.

So what if he’d never really let her into his heart? So what if the lion’s share of his affection was permanently locked away in his grief? What did any of that matter if she got to be with him?

And then she felt a curious little tug in her heart and she knew that it did matter. She was already in love with him. Time would only make it worse. Her decision may have been cowardly, but it was the only one she could make.

She forced her attention back to the stage, forced herself to listen to what he was saying. He’d already welcomed the crowd and made a laughing promise that he would play a new song—after he said a few words about Hannah’s Hope.

“By now you all know that Hannah’s Hope is about providing basic adult education for the people who need it most.” His voice resonated through the crowd. He was a powerful speaker, giving the impression that his attention was focused on each and every member of the audience. “While Cameron Enterprises is fully committed to funding Hannah’s Hope financially, this is not a problem money alone can solve. Funding can only do so much. We’ve got the money and the resources. Now we need your help.”

He went on for several more minutes, delivering a rousing speech about the need for volunteers to mentor people and, more important, the need for clients to step forward and use the resources that Hannah’s Hope could provide.

Despite that concern still nipping at the back of her mind, it was hard not to catch the excitement coursing through the crowd. She could tell from the expressions on the faces around her. Ward wasn’t just drumming up interest in Hannah’s Hope, he was inspiring commitment. He was convincing people of what she’d known all along. For Hannah’s Hope to work, the entire community had to step up, together, to invest in their own future.
Today was the start of that. And together they would all make a difference.

“Hannah’s Hope,” he was saying, “is really about hope.” His gaze seemed to search her out, meeting hers despite the distance and the hundreds of people around. “The hope that we can have a future together. If only we’re willing to work for it.”

Her heart tightened in her chest and she found herself blinking against the sting of tears.

“There’s one person I met here in Vista del Mar that helped me learn that lesson in a very personal way. I’d like that person to join me up on stage for a minute.”

Her breath caught in her throat while she waited for him to say her name. But it wasn’t her name he called out.

“Ricky Cruz. Ricky, can you come on up?”

In a flash, Ricky dashed up the steps. He was dressed more nicely that she’d ever seen him, having abandoned his baggy faux gangster clothes for chinos and a dress shirt.

Ana cocked an eyebrow. Obviously, this had been staged.

“I’ve been mentoring Ricky here for the past couple of weeks. Not only has he made a commitment to me to stay in school, but he’s personally taught me a lot. He even helped me work out a few kinks in this song I’m about to play.” The crowd gave a laugh, clearly charmed by the way Ward was humoring Ricky. “So I can personally attest to the benefits of being a mentor.”

Ward continued talking, explaining that the song he was going to play could be downloaded from iTunes and that all the proceeds from the sale of the song would go to Hannah’s Hope. As Ward talked, Ricky pulled a stool forward from the corner of the stage. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out a guitar and handed it to Ward.

Ward settled onto the stool, his left foot still on the ground, his right foot on the lowest rung of the stool. He slung the guitar strap over his shoulder, resting the guitar on his right knee.

She felt as though her heart had stopped beating.

It was the Alvarez.

She would have recognized its worn golden cedar anywhere.

She squeezed her eyes closed, emotion suddenly choking her.

A hush fell over the crowd. She wasn’t the only one who recognized the famous Alvarez, but she may have been the only one to fully understand how difficult this was for him. Then she noticed Chase giving Emma’s shoulder a squeeze, so maybe she wasn’t the only one.

He reached up and adjusted the microphone so it was right next to his mouth. He barely had to look up to speak into it. “How’s that sound?”

The crowd roared its approval.

He played a couple of notes, then twisted the tuner. Repeated the procedure. A few notes, an adjustment. Another few notes. Just a guy sitting on a stage with a guitar. Then he slipped seamlessly into the melody of the song.

He played for a few minutes without singing. His fingers moved easily over the strings of the guitar, coaxing out the song. The tune was complex and layered, full of yearning and emotion. If you weren’t watching him play, you’d never guess it was just one guy, with one guitar. Somehow he made that Alvarez sound like an entire band.

Ana watched his intensity and concentration. Her heart was in her throat. This was what he was meant to do. What he was created for. Everything else in his life was just biding his time until he could get back to the guitar.

The song he played was a new one. Completely unfamiliar to her, and she’d heard every one of his songs at some point or another. A preternatural hush had fallen over the audience as they listened to the haunting and lovely melody.

Then his finger slipped and he played a wrong note.

He tilted his head just lightly so the audience could see his grin. “Sorry. Bit out of practice.”

Everyone chuckled.

He slipped so easily back into the song, she wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Still playing, he starting speaking into the microphone. Just chatting as his fingers continued their complex fret work the way another man might drum his fingers on the table.

“When I was writing this song,” he said, matching the rhythm of his words to the natural rhythm of the song. “I got some advice from my friend, Ricky. You remember Ricky, right?”

Ricky had moved to sit on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling off.

“Ricky asked, ‘It isn’t gonna be cheesy like your other songs, is it?’” The crowd groaned in response. Ricky gave a little wave to go with his sheepish smile. Ward mocked an expression of shock. “‘What?’ I said. And then he said, ‘Dude, you sound like a—’” Ward broke off, gave the crowd a scan and then added, “Well, I’m not going to repeat the word he used. But then he told me, “You’re a guy. No wonder she didn’t believe you loved her if you talked like that.’”

Another laugh went through the crowd and Ward gave a little self-effacing shrug. “So here it is. A love song. Written by a guy. Just trying to convince a girl he really loves her. Here it is. ‘Not Enough Words.’”

The haunting and lovely melody was in such sharp contrast to its simple words. There was a playfulness to the song, a humor his earlier songs had lacked. And still, there on his expression was the pure joy at playing.

The song was about how difficult it was to describe love. The lyrics were remarkably unfussy, a little self-deprecating. As if he couldn’t really believe himself worthy of his shot at love. They lacked the poetic grace of some of his earlier songs, but she got the feeling that was intentional. Over and over again he repeated the refrain:
If I could tell you how much I loved you, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.

The song trailed off. For a moment, every person within earshot seemed to be holding their breath. And then the crowd went wild with approval.

Despite her own stunned and battered emotions, Ana found herself clapping along with everyone else. How could she not? The song was brilliant. It would be a hit. It would make so much money for Hannah’s Hope, they may never need Rafe’s support again. They may not even need the fundraiser, even though the planning for it was well underway. Besides, when it came to
charitable foundations, there was no such thing as too much money.

On the other hand, the money from this song would trickle in for the rest of the time she worked at Hannah’s Hope. It would always be there. A constant reminder of the love she’d turned away. Not that she needed reminding.

It took Ward thirty minutes to even get off the stage. Another twenty to make it out onto the street. Reporters were snapping pictures. People wanted autographs or just to shake his hand. He felt like he heard five hundred people say, “Great song, man,” while he shook their hand. He didn’t begrudge them—how could he?—and he appreciated the positive feedback. But in truth, there was only person he wanted to talk to. Only one opinion that mattered.

He knew she’d heard the song. After he’d taken the stage, she’d moved to a spot maybe thirty feet into the crowd. He met her gaze over the sea of people and it had been all he could do not to leap down off the stage and go to her. Screw the public performance. Forget the big gesture. But he needed her to hear the song. Needed her to know how he felt about her. Moreover, he needed her to have this experience. If he could win her back—and he hoped to God that he could—if they were going to be together, he needed her to know what it was like to have their relationship paraded about on the stage.

So despite how desperate he was to know how she felt, he didn’t rush to her side, but slowly made his way through the crowd. He kept an eye on her though as she muttered a few words to Emma and Chase and then excused herself. She wended her way through the throng of people, and then disappeared through the front door of Bistro by the Sea, which was where Omar had told him they’d set up command central for the fair.

When he saw her slip through the door, he picked up the pace. He didn’t want her getting out the back unnoticed.

He was relieved to find the restaurant largely empty. Faint sounds of cooking and cleanup drifted into the front room from
the kitchen, but Ana was the only one in the dining room. She sat at a table, stacks of flyers spread out in front of her.

He waited until she looked up and then asked, “So what’d you think?”

Ana’s gaze darted away from his and she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think you—” Then she broke off and gave a little laugh. “I think you can write a good song. But you already knew that.”

“Ana—” he took a step toward her, but she kept talking, warding off his approach.

“Donating the proceeds is incredibly generous. I’m sure we’ll do so much good with the money. I’ll make sure we do.” Finally, she looked up at him. “But this changes nothing. You have to know that.”

He bit back a curse.

“But I am glad—” her voice broke and she swallowed before continuing “—that you’re playing the Alvarez again. It was time.”

A sudden rush of anger hit him. “You know, Ana, all your theories about the Alvarez and the house…you know that’s all crap, right?”

She blinked. He barely registered her surprise before charging on.

“And to be honest, I’m a little tired of you making unilateral assessments about my life, about my emotional state and about our relationship without even discussing them with me.” He softened his harsh words with a smile, making sure she heard the gentle teasing behind them.

“What are you saying?” she arched a brow.

“I’m saying maybe you’re not always right. Maybe the fact that I didn’t play the Alvarez or sell the house had nothing to do with how I felt about Cara. Or whether or not I was over her death.”

Her chin came up defensively, but she replicated his chiding tone. “Okay then, here’s a shocking suggestion. Why don’t you talk about your emotions for a change? ’Cause unless you tell me how you’re feeling, it’s kind of hard for me to know.”

He flashed her a smile. “Didn’t you hear the song? I’m a guy. We don’t talk about our emotions.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “So that’s your excuse?”

Okay, apparently the charm wasn’t going to work here. “No,” he admitted, suddenly serious. “It’s just always been easier with music.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, there are millions of men all around the world who manage to communicate their feelings just fine and they don’t have the benefit of being world-renowned songwriters. So, dig a little deeper, okay?”

Damn it. He shoved a hand through his hair. He knew he needed to say this, but that didn’t make it any easier. “No one has once bothered to ask me why I haven’t sold the house.”

She straightened, surprise flickering over her expression. “Why haven’t you sold the house?”

“Honestly? I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I…what?”

“You want the truth? That’s it. I have no idea how to get rid of it. You’re so convinced I’m not over her death. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know how to get over anyone’s death. I don’t know how people just pick up and move on.” He tipped up her chin, making her look him in the eye.

Because if he was going to do this, he was only going to do it once.

“You want the God’s honest truth about my relationship with Cara? I loved her. I really did, but she didn’t love me. Sure, at first, she did. She fell in love with the rock star. Ended up married to a mere man. An imperfect, completely human guy. At first, she didn’t mind so much. We made it work. But once she was diagnosed, the illusion crumbled. She pulled back from the relationship. We never recovered. Why do you think she devoted so much of the last years of her life to charity work? Being married to me just wasn’t enough for her.”