Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin (5 page)

Stacy smiled ruefully. “Me, too.”

Ward kept his career and his talent behind carefully constructed glass, away from the dust, away from most eyes and away from any touch, especially his own.

Shaking off the sad mood, Stacy turned toward Ana and smiled. “So, did you decide the trip was worth it after all?”

Ana shot the other woman a surprised look. “Excuse me?”

Stacy smiled slyly. “When you first showed up, you seemed…hesitant. Or maybe suspicious.”

Ana had to smile in return. “I guess I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.” She brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen loose from the twist, and tucked it behind her ear. “Suspicious about sums it up. I’d been floundering a bit at Hannah’s Hope. I honestly didn’t believe coming all the way out here would help when there was so much work to be done back home.” And then she laughed at her own foolishness. “And I thought maybe Ward was just trying to get me out of the way so he could call a board meeting without me.”

Stacy shot her a confused look. “Why would he do that?”

Ana forced a rueful smile. “You’re going to think I’m being overly paranoid, but I’m not sure how to read Ward. I figured, if he thought I was doing a crappy job at Hannah’s Hope, he might decide it was just easier to get me out of the way and hire someone better qualified.”

She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder as they headed out of the lobby for the parking garage.

Stacy was quiet for a long moment and when Ana glanced over at her, it was to see the other woman frowning.

Stacy noticed and smiled brightly. “Well, at least I can put that concern to rest. He never would have flown you out here if he didn’t plan on keeping you at Hannah’s Hope for a long time.”

“Really? Isn’t this what CMF does all the time?”

“Yes and no.” Stacy bobbled her head from side to side to indicate her ambivalence. “Yes, we help other nonprofits. That’s one of our primary missions, but usually we do most of our work virtually, using videoconferencing and online classes. We consult via email and phone calls. Of course, all those resources will be available to you as well, but Ward arranged this for you as a sort of…crash course.” Stacy must have seen the consternation flicker across her face, because she rushed to reassure her. “Not because he doesn’t think you’re capable, but because he’s so enthusiastic about the work Hannah’s Hope is doing. In fact, when I saw him this morning he—”

“Wait a second,” Ana interrupted her. “You saw Ward this morning?”

“He was here early this morning and then left just before you arrived.”

“I see,” she muttered. Except she really didn’t. Her first meeting at CMF had been scheduled at nine. He’d have had to have come in at seven or seven-thirty to get in a meeting and leave before she even got there. “Is that normal for him? Scheduling meetings that early?”

“Thank goodness, no.” Stacy stifled a yawn. “Normally, he comes into the office about nine.”

“He must have had a busy day scheduled to make you come in so early.”

But Stacy shook her head. “No, that’s the weird thing. Jess always sends his schedule on to me when he’s in town. He didn’t have anything to do today. Normally, when he’s in town, he’s here at the office for twelve-hour days. I don’t know what’s up with this visit that he’s staying away. I mean—”

But then Stacy broke off abruptly, giving Ana an odd look. She tilted her head to the side as if Ana were an object of extreme curiosity.

“What?” Ana asked.

Stacy’s cheeks flushed red and she averted her gaze. “Nothing,” she insisted with sudden cheer. She clapped her hands together. “So, what sounds good for dinner? There’s a new Asian fusion restaurant that’s been getting great reviews. Or if you want something less formal, there’s a great burger joint just down the road. Or—”

“You know, I think I’ll skip it tonight.” Ana yawned, thankful she didn’t have to fake her exhaustion. “It’s been a busy few days. I think I’ll just head back to the hotel and make an early night of it.”

Stacy studied her, her keen gaze assessing. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Besides, I’ve got to be here first thing in the morning. I want to squeeze in a little more work before the flight out tomorrow afternoon.”

Stacy looked doubtful. Like she’d had very strict orders to
keep an eye on Ana and was afraid that letting her eat alone would offend the powers that be.

“And you’ve had a long day yourself,” Ana added persuasively. “You deserve the evening off. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll stay out of trouble. I promise.”

She smiled gamely, trying to inject her face with just enough fatigue to make her claims of exhaustion believable.

Stacy nodded, despite still looking doubtful. “Sure. Fine. Do you need directions back to the hotel or anything?”

“Nope. The rental came with GPS. I can get wherever I need to go.”

Which was useful, because she wasn’t actually heading back to the hotel. Nope, she was going to track down Ward Miller. It was time they had a nice long talk. Apparently, during those conversations they’d had about whether she had a problem with him, she should have been asking a few questions of her own.

A
few minutes later, she steered her car out of CMF’s parking lot, aware of Stacy’s car not far behind her. But as soon as Stacy’s car turned to get on the highway, Ana steered her own car into the parking lot of a nearby strip mall. Once she killed the engine, she pulled out her cell phone. She tried Ward’s number first, then left a message when it rolled over to voice mail. Since she didn’t hold out high hopes that he would call her back, next she dialed Emma’s number.

“Okay,” she grumbled, after they got the normal greetings out of the way. “What’s the deal with Ward?”

Emma let out a bark of laughter. “What do you mean?”

“I know he’s supposed to be one of Chase’s best friends, but I’ve got to say he’s being very difficult to work with.”

“What’s he doing? I mean, I know he has that artistic temperament argument to fall back on, but Chase swears he’s a perfectly sane, normal person.”

“Hmm,” Ana grunted thoughtfully. “So then it really is just me.”

“Just you what?”

“Just me that he doesn’t like.”

“No. I’m sure you’re imagining it.”

“I’m not,” she insisted. “Stacy, the director of CMF, said he normally comes in to work every day he’s in town, but he’s been avoiding the office since I’ve been there. I can understand him not coming out on the same flight, because of the board meeting yesterday, but—”

Emma interrupted her. “There wasn’t a board meeting yesterday.”

“There wasn’t? Because Jess said that was why he didn’t fly out when I did. That Rafe had rescheduled a board meeting for the morning.”

“Oh,” Emma said blankly. Even she had run out of arguments.

“Look, I want to talk to him. Apparently, he’s avoiding me like I’m some sort of crazed member of the paparazzi.” She’d almost said like a crazed fan, but that might be a little too close to the truth. “Can you ask Chase for his address?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Emma said with a sigh.

Ten minutes later, Ana typed a new address into the rental’s GPS. Following the gadget’s directions, she headed deeper into Charleston, to a neighborhood dotted with old houses and even older churches. The tourist map from the rental agency described the neighborhood as Harleston Village. All of the houses on the block had been painstakingly restored and maintained, like well-loved family heirlooms. The multistory homes were nestled close together with only the width of the driveway separating the various buildings. Ward’s house sat in the middle of the block with nothing to distinguish it. If she hadn’t gotten the address from Emma, she would never have guessed it was the home of a rock star.

She parked her car on the street, wedging it in the narrow space between two of the driveways. The house was right on the street and after quickly mustering her courage, she left the car and went up the steps to the front door. She gave the knocker a quick bang, then waited, her heart pounding in her chest.

A long moment passed during which she wondered if she was
making a huge mistake. After all, what did it really matter if Ward didn’t like her? If he wanted to go to great lengths to avoid her, why should she let that bother her? After all, rule number three of nonprofits was probably “if a billionaire donor wanted to act like a reclusive nutcase, let him.”

But before she could change her mind, the front door swung open. Instead of Ward, Ana found herself facing a thin middle-aged woman with a pinched, severe expression.

The woman scowled at her and pointed to a sign by the door. “No solicitation,” she grumbled, as if Ana couldn’t read.

“I’m looking for Ward Miller,” Ana explained.

The woman’s expression tightened. Then she schooled her features into strained blankness. “Who?”

“This is his house, isn’t it?” Ana asked.

“No solicitation,” the woman repeated, starting to shut the door.

Ana wedged her foot in the door, wincing as it slammed into her foot. “I got his address from Chase Larson.”

The pressure on her foot eased up a little, but the suspicion didn’t leave the woman’s gaze. “So?”

“I’m Ana Rodriguez. I’ve been working with Ward and CMF for a charity called Hannah’s Hope out near San Diego. He’s on the board.” The shrew seemed to be wavering, so Ana added, “I only need to talk to him for a few minutes. Why don’t you ask him if he’ll see me?”

“He’s not here,” the woman said reluctantly.

“But this is his house, isn’t it?”

The woman’s gaze narrowed, but finally she nodded.

“Can you tell me when you expect him back?”

“That’s easy,” the woman said with a faint sneer. “He’s not coming back.”

“What?” The woman’s smug tone grated on Ana’s nerves. She narrowed her gaze and edged her shoulders through the gap in the door, refusing to be bullied. It took more to intimidate her than a mere disapproving scowl. “Look, I know he’s in town. So you might as well tell him I’m here.”

The woman seemed to waffle, then released her hold on the
door so it swung open. Ana grabbed the chance while it was there and slipped through the front door.

The house was as lovely on the inside as it was on the outside. The foyer opened to a living area on one side and a dining room on the other. Directly in front of the door, stairs led up to the second floor. Dark hardwood floors gleamed underfoot. The walls were painted a rich cream that complemented the pristine ivory upholstery. All of which was the perfect backdrop for the stunning collection of abstract art that graced the walls. She tried not to gape. And she definitely didn’t ask about them. She didn’t really want to know if that was an original Kline. And she really, really didn’t want to know if that was a Pollock.

But she supposed this was what she got by invading the home of an icon.

There was only one thing in the foyer more shocking than the millions of dollars worth of art. Sitting on the console right beside the front door, nestled beside a three-foot-tall, orange glass vase, sat a pair of oversize Burberry sunglasses. Exactly like the ones Cara Miller had been famous for wearing.

As if Cara Miller had walked through the front door a few minutes earlier and dropped them there on her way past.

Ana looked from the sunglasses to the disapproving housekeeper, who returned her gaze with a steely obstinacy. Even if Ana hadn’t seen countless photos of Cara in similar sunglasses, she could have guessed to whom these belonged.

In general, housekeepers didn’t leave their sunglasses on the console by the door. And this was not the sort of woman to wear a two-hundred-dollar accessory.

The sight of those sunglasses sent a fissure of unease skirting down her spine. She shouldn’t have seen them. There was something far too intimate about seeing Cara Miller’s glasses. They were such tangible proof of Ward’s grief. She had invaded his privacy as clearly as if she’d walked in on him half-naked.

She shouldn’t have come here.

But damn it, this was his fault, too. If he’d taken her call earlier, she
wouldn’t
have come. If he’d had the common decency
to talk to her and explain what she’d done to irritate him, then this all could have been avoided.

She swept her gaze around the rooms once again, searching for any signs Ward might be there. She found none. The house was meticulously maintained, but there was a sterility about it. Other than the sunglasses, there were no signs that anyone might have been here in the past year, let alone the past few hours. There were no keys by the door. No half-opened mail. No dog-eared novel on the table beside the sofa. All the furniture sat at precise right angles.

Propping her hands on her hips, she turned back to the housekeeper. “I suppose you were telling the truth. Ward really isn’t here.”

The housekeeper shook her head and something sad flickered across her face. “He doesn’t stay at the house anymore when he comes to town.”

As the woman spoke, her gaze darted to the glasses by the door. It was enough. Ana could read between the lines. Ward may still own this house, but he hadn’t lived here since Cara died.

Ana nodded. “If you talk to him, ask him to call me.”

She’d climbed back into her car already and was backing up, when she happened to glance down the driveway that ran alongside the house. In the back, set away from the house, was a two-story garage. She would guess at some point in the house’s long history, it had been a carriage house. Now, it was a garage with an apartment above it.

“He doesn’t stay at the
house,
” Ana repeated the housekeeper’s words. Not, he doesn’t stay
here.
But he doesn’t stay
at the house.

On a hunch, Ana turned her car into the driveway and drove past the house. She parked her car in front of the broad carriage house doors and climbed out. A flight of stairs led up the outside of the building to a second-story door. She knew instantly her instincts had been right. She paused at the top of the stairs before knocking. Music drifted through the closed door. She recognized the sultry guitar of blues musician Keb Mo, an artist she started
listening to after reading an interview in which Ward listed Keb Mo as being on his current playlist.

She knocked. And then after a minute, knocked more loudly to be heard over the music. A second later, she heard a phone ringing and then the music was turned down. When Ward opened the door, he still held his phone in his hand. But she barely noticed that. Because he was shirtless.

His chest was lightly sprinkled with hair, his skin tanned and lean. Not bulky or over-muscled. Just… She blew out a breath. Just…yummy. There was no other word for it.

She knew plenty of men who waxed their chests. She’d lived in L.A., where every man strove to look like a Ken doll. Men took such pride in those perfectly smooth, almost boyish chests, seemingly unaware of how emasculated they looked.

There was nothing emasculated about Ward. Not. A single. Thing.

For the first time in her life, she understood the feeling other women had described of itching to touch a man’s chest.

Her fingers practically twitched with the urge to touch and explore. To taste. To lick. To…

Oh, crap. Was she drooling?

She clenched her hands tightly in front of her, choking back her more primitive urges.

Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how she looked at it—Ward pulled a sweater over his head and tugged it down, removing temptation. He gave a quick rub to his hair. Only then did she realize it was damp. Which explained why he’d been shirtless. Not that she’d been complaining.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said into the phone just before ending the call. He shot an exasperated look at her. “That was my housekeeper warning me you were here.”

He stepped aside to let her in. At least he had the good grace to look chagrined. As if he half expected her to give him a hard time for having his housekeeper give her the rigmarole.

But she figured she had enough to give him hell about without bringing that to the table. So instead she stayed quiet for a moment, taking stock of her surroundings.

From the outside, the carriage house was designed in the same style as the original house. Inside, however, they were completely different. The main house had been bright and well lit with a decor so crisp it bordered on institutional. As far as she could tell, the apartment consisted of a small living area and a tiny kitchenette. A hallway led to what she assumed was a bedroom and bath. A take-out box sat open on the kitchen counter, a bottle of Gran Patron Platinum and a tumbler next to it.

The furniture in the apartment was worn and a little shabby. The woods all exotic dark woods, the upholstery chocolate-brown and warm red batiks. Shelves lined the back walls, their surfaces stacked with books and knickknacks. Not the kind of things that a decorator would put out, but rather the sort that would be collected and displayed by someone who traveled a lot and collected memorabilia. Replicas of Greek Cycladic art sat side by side with bobble heads of famous musicians and composers.

There was little doubt. He may not stay in the house anymore, but he most definitely lived here.

As Ward shut the door behind her, she turned her attention back to him just in time to see him sliding his phone into his pocket. He was dressed in well-worn jeans and a gray V-neck sweater. The kind a woman automatically wanted to stroke and cuddle against.

He smiled faintly and, for the first time since she’d met him, looked a little self-conscious. “If he asks,” Ward said, “can you tell Chase I moved back into the house?”

His request was so unexpected, Ana could do little more than shrug. “I…sure, I guess. Is he going to ask?”

“He might. He gave me hell a year ago when he found out I’d moved out.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She’d never lost a spouse. So she could only imagine how he felt. How torn he must be, unable to move back into the house he’d shared with his wife, unwilling to sell it. Still, it wasn’t her business or her place.

“You should call me then.” He quirked an eyebrow in question,
so she explained. “I’m a horrible liar. If you call me now, then I can at least tell him that and pretend I was never here.”

Ward nearly laughed at Ana’s statement. Her words were so blandly practical, he couldn’t help but be amused. And yet, the sentiment seemed perfectly in-line with everything he knew about her. Once again, her stunning combination of exotic lush beauty and straitlaced practical clothing was a dichotomy he found all too appealing.

She wore a black-and-white houndstooth jacket cinched tight around her waist. She had an oversize leather tote slung over her shoulder. Once the door was closed behind her, she loosened the belt of her jacket to reveal slim black pants and a white business shirt that looked slightly rumpled after a day’s wear. He found himself wanting to unbutton it to see what she had on beneath it.

He wanted to close the distance between them and tug loose her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders. He wanted to run his hands through it and bury his nose in it. He ached to find out if her skin still held that intriguing combination of vanilla and cinnamon. If she still smelled like snickerdoodles.