I

’d fantasized about a lot of words coming out of Rose’s perfect mouth. Harder. Faster. Right there.

But never, and I do mean never, would I have imagined she’d say, “I’m a virgin.”

It was impossible in all imaginable ways.

I was baffled by it more than I wanted to admit. And I was already having a hard time not thinking about sex. Now it was all I could think about. Well, Rose’s lack of sex. The fact that she’d never been with anyone that way.

Fuck.

I couldn’t decide if I was a jackass because I was almost more turned on by that fact or if I was just human.

Regardless, it changed everything.

Or nothing.

Same difference, I suppose.

I knew Rose would take some cajoling to get her to even consider going on a date with me. And I’d be lying if I said one of my goals was to get her into bed. But this was a giant red flag. An obstacle of epic proportion.

“So, and you can totally tell me to shut the hell up if this is too personal, but I’m really interested in your predicament.”

“You just couldn’t help yourself with that one, could you?”

She must have noticed my confused expression because she elaborated.

“Pre-dick-a-ment?”

“It’s almost funnier because I didn’t even realize I was saying it.”

She rolled her eyes and it made me want to grip the back of her neck and kiss the fuck out of her, but I held back. For all the bravado she exuded and impenetrable force field she had around her—pun intended, that time—it was becoming clear to me that Rose was more fragile than I could have ever imagined.

“What’s stopped you in the past? I mean, if you’ve had physical relationships before, why stop before you get to the really good stuff?”

She shrugged. “I never even got to the kind of good stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve always been under the impression that being with a man intimately is supposed to feel good. And it never did. It was awkward and sometimes painful, but never sexy. Eventually, after giving it a good eight years of trying to find someone who could make it worthwhile, I just realized I was never supposed to be a sexual person.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, you’re wrong. You’re entirely sexual. And don’t hate me for saying that. I’m not trying to objectify you, or get in your pants, or do anything except explain to you that you are the epitome of sexy. You obviously haven’t found the right person to experience that with, but it doesn’t mean you’re incapable.”

I watched as she digested my words, and then the wall she was so good at wielding fell back in place.

“Well, regardless, it’s a non-issue. So, while I appreciate your interest, there’s no need to pursue further. And if you want Riley back on your account, that’s fine. No harm. No foul.”

I watched her as she inspected her wine. She may have thought she was good at hiding her emotions, that I wouldn’t be able to tell what she was thinking, but I could.

She wanted me to agree, to go back to having Riley plan the event, because that would confirm what she already thought about me; that I was only interested in sleeping with her. And sure, there was a part of me that had walked into that restaurant hoping dinner would lead to something else, but I wasn’t by any means giving up on Rose simply because she’d never had sex before.

There was obviously more to Rose than I’d imagined, and this new twist made her all the more intriguing. And sure, maybe I wanted to show her that not all guys were only about one thing. I mean, I was definitely about sex, just not all the time. I could show her that. Spend time with her. Try to get her to open up a little instead of immediately putting up a wall of ice between us.

“You had some really good ideas for the event, and I liked your vision.” All of that was true. “If you’re still up for it, I’d really like you to plan the fundraiser.”

“That’s fine with me,” she said as she shrugged just one shoulder, trying so hard to act as though my decision to work with her didn’t affect her at all. “It’ll be nice to get back to planning a bit. I’ve been behind a desk a lot lately.”

Our food came then, giving us a good reason to not talk about anything super heavy, like virginities.

“This is a really excellent salad,” she said after a few dainty bites.

One side of her mouth tipped up into a grin as she tried desperately to hold it back.

“I told you. Best salad I ever had. Something about the croutons.”

“Here,” she said, forking a few of them onto my plate. “I’ve had all the carbs I can today already. They’re all yours.”

My right eyebrow reached for the roof. “You counting calories, sweetheart?”

She poked at her salad, but her cheeks pinked a little. I wanted to see other parts of her blush, too. But I kept that tidbit to myself.

“I watch what I eat, yes. Diabetes runs in my family, so I am trying to beat the odds.”

“Well, I think trying to be healthy is great, but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with your figure, so I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten that crazy notion in your head.”

I didn’t even pause before I took a healthy-sized bite of my calzone, which was filled to the brim with anything and everything. I was not watching my carbs, but there were worse things I could have been eating. Truth of the matter was, I needed to start watching what I ate too. Since I’d taken on more of a supervisory role I hadn’t been getting as much of a workout every day as I used to. In the past, building houses and hauling materials was enough activity to keep me in pretty good shape.

“It’s not a crazy notion. Lots of women have parts of their bodies they hate, things they’d like to change.”

Lowering my fork, I looked at her, wondering what the next best thing to say would be. I wanted to shake her, make her believe the fact that she was perfect. Granted, I hadn’t seen all of her—yet—but I knew even without laying eyes on her there was nothing about her that needed changing. The idea that she thought something was wrong with her body made me angry, but I figured she probably didn’t want to hear me harping about it. Especially if she wanted to keep our relationship somewhat professional.

“Be that as it may, my unbiased opinion is that you have nothing to worry about. That’s all I’ll say.”

“Well, I’ll admit the feeling is mutual.”

Had she just complimented me? It was all I could do not to sit up, push my shoulders back, and preen for her.

She quickly changed the subject.

“So, tell me how you became so philanthropic.”

“I wouldn’t consider myself philanthropic,” I hedged.

“No? Donating to good causes? Generous? Benevolent? You wouldn’t describe yourself that way?”

“I mean, on paper, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “But I wouldn’t characterize myself that way.”

“Not many good-doers would,” she noted, taking a sip of her wine.

My eyes, no longer under my control, watched as her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass. Never had I ever been so attracted to a mouth before.

“But why? Lots of people make good money and don’t choose to give it away.”

“I remember wondering some nights where my mom and I were going to sleep,” I said, deciding to throw caution in the wind and open up to her. She wanted to know why I did what I did? Then I’d tell her. “There were a few good steady months where we had an apartment, but most of the time we either lived in her car or a rundown trailer we’d park in front of people’s houses. Not until I was older and could literally build my own home did I ever know what it was like to have a place to come home to.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” she said on a breath, leaning toward me so slightly, she might not have even realized it was happening.

“Don’t get me wrong, my mom did the best she could. My dad skipped out on us before I was even born, and my mom worked sometimes four jobs to keep our heads above water. I always had food in my belly, but after we fell behind on rent so many times, it was hard for her to find a steady place for us to land.”

“That must have been really hard for her.”

The sincerity in her words hit me with the force of a brick wall. It wasn’t usually sympathy I heard for my mother when discussing my childhood. Lots of people, including teachers and other adults I’d come into contact with during my youth, assumed my mother did drugs or was an alcoholic. That the reason we bounced around so much was because she was spending her money on substances. In reality, having a baby at seventeen meant she never finished her education and then she lost a lot of jobs due to having a small child and very little help with daycare. Kids got sick. There was no one to help my mother when I caught a cold or got the flu. So, she’d miss work and get fired.

It was a cyclical pattern. And it sucked. But my mother never gave up and I always knew she was trying her hardest to give me the best life she could, even if it was lacking.

“It was, but we made it,” I replied, forcing a smile. I didn’t like to think about how much my mother had sacrificed for me. “Anyway, since I’m in a position to help, I do what I can.”

“Well, hopefully, we can raise more money for the foundation. That will raise awareness too. It can have a snowball effect,” she said, bringing another bite of her salad to her mouth, once again drawing my attention to it.

“Anything helps,” I managed.

The rest of the meal was comfortable. Well, it was fine. I wanted to reach out and pull her closer, feel even the slightest part of her against me, but we sat there, completely and irritatingly platonic.

I picked up the tab, only to have her argue with me. But all I had to do was level a stern glare at her and she piped down. Date or not, I wasn’t about to make the woman pay for a meal I practically dragged her to and ordered for her. I may have had caveman-like tendencies, perhaps I was a bit rough around the edges, but I wasn’t an asshole.

We arrived at her door and I kept my distance. I wanted to make sure she got in all right, but I didn’t want to crowd her and make her uncomfortable. Rose reminded me of a green horse. She needed to get used to me, to be tamed, so to speak. I’d just bring her an apple and some sugar cubes every now and then, so she could see I didn’t mean her any harm.

“Thank you for dinner, again. It really was one of the best salads I’ve ever had,” she said with a laugh as she pushed her door open.

“Anytime, Rose.” I smiled, then took a few steps backward. “Have a good rest of your night. I’ll be in touch about Tuesday.”

Confusion passed over her face. “Tuesday?” 

“Our lunch meeting. Noon. I’ll pick you up at your office.”

“You still need to have a lunch meeting with me? Even after the last few hours?”

“Indeed. See you then.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, let out a huff, then disappeared into her condo.

Yep. I was going to wear her down, all right.