A Virgin For A Vow. Melanie Milburne
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person he should be thinking about. She was after the feel-good fairy tale. He still couldn’t get over the fact she’d been pretending to all her readers and followers she was engaged to someone who didn’t exist. Who did that? It took perfectionism to a whole new level. There wasn’t a man on the planet who could fulfil her checklist. And he was the last man on the planet who would even try.
He wasn’t going to try because he’d already been down that road and it had only ended in tragedy.
Abby began fiddling with the catch on her evening purse. ‘Luke?’
‘Yes?’
‘There are a few things you need to know about our relationship...you know, stuff I’ve told my readers about you.’
Luke flicked her a glance. ‘Like what?’
She nibbled at her lower lip for a moment. ‘Like how you proposed.’
Shoot me now. He could just imagine what her wacky imagination had cooked up. ‘How did I—?’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the word.
‘You took me to Paris for the weekend and checked us into the penthouse suite of a ridiculously expensive hotel where you had organised fresh rose petals to be scattered all over the bed and flowers all over the suite,’ she said. ‘And you had champagne on ice and chocolate-dipped strawberries in a crystal bowl by the bed.’
‘And?’ Luke suspected he wasn’t going to get off that lightly. Paris and champagne and strawberries and rose petals were within reason. But nothing he knew about Abby was within the realms of reason.
‘We—ell...’ The way she drew out the word made the back of his neck start to prickle. ‘You got down on bended knee and told me I was the only one in the world for you, that you loved me more than life itself. You took out a ring box and asked me to marry you.’
Luke couldn’t imagine ever saying something like that to anyone, but still.
‘You had tears in your eyes,’ she said. ‘Lots of them. In fact, you cried. We both did because we were so happy to be—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ He made a choked-off sound. ‘I can’t remember the last time I cried.’
‘I know some men find expressing emotion really difficult, but what about when you lost Kimberley? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘No.’
She gave a concerned frown. ‘Oh...’
Luke had been so guilt-ridden he couldn’t access any other emotion. When he’d been told the news of Kimberley’s accident he had felt completely numb. It didn’t seem possible that the woman who had been in his house only a couple of hours earlier was no longer alive. He’d put the phone down after that ghastly phone call from her parents and picked up a glass where Kimberley’s lipstick was still visible on the rim. How could she be dead? For the sake of her shattered family he had swung into action, helping to organise the funeral and dealing with the distressing task of informing people outside the family of her death. He had done it in an almost robotic fashion. He’d said all the right things, done all the right things, but he’d felt like there was a thick glass wall between him and the rest of the world.
It was still there.
‘Her family was having enough trouble dealing with her death without me adding to their distress,’ Luke said. ‘I had to hold it together for them.’
He felt Abby’s gaze resting on him as if she was trying to solve a Mensa puzzle. ‘But what about when you were on your own? Didn’t you cry then?’
‘Not every person cries when sad stuff happens,’ Luke said through gritted teeth. ‘There are other ways to express sadness.’
‘But it’s really healing to have a good howl,’ Abby said. ‘It releases hormones and stuff. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of crying just because you’re a man. That’s a ridiculous myth that harms men rather than helps them. Everyone should be able to cry regardless of their gender.’
Luke pulled up behind the queue of cars waiting to be parked by the valet team at the entrance of the premier hotel where the ball was being held. ‘Okay, Cinderella. Anything else I should know about myself before we make an entrance?’
Her cheeks went a faint shade of pink. ‘Erm... There is one other thing...’
The prickle moved from his neck to his spine. ‘Go on.’
The tip of her tongue swept over her lips, making his groin tighten. ‘You tell me you love me all the time. In public.’
Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d told his mother and sister he loved them, let alone anyone else. He wasn’t a wordy guy. He did rather than said. His father was the opposite—lots of words and empty promises and nothing to back them up. ‘O-kay.’
‘And you use a lot of terms of endearment. Like honey, and baby, and sweetheart.’
That was another thing he wasn’t big on, dropping cutesy endearments into every conversation. But a man had to do what a man had to do. ‘Got it.’
‘And we kiss. A lot.’
Luke’s groin was asking for more room. Urgently. Just looking at her mouth made his blood pound and head south of the border. What would it do to him to actually kiss her? ‘I’m not big on public displays of affection.’
‘You are now.’
Freaking hell. What had he got himself into? ‘Will you be okay with me kissing you?’ Luke asked, frowning.
Her gaze kept flicking back and forth from his mouth to his eyes. ‘Maybe we should have practised a bit first, you know, so we don’t look stilted or awkward together.’
Now he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. Imagining how it would feel against his. ‘Where do you suggest we practise? Here in the car?’
‘We have time before the valet guy gets to us,’ Abby said, glancing at the line of cars waiting to be parked. ‘The queue is long enough.’
But was Luke’s self-control strong enough? He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years. Not unless he counted his mother and sister but clearly a peck on the cheek wasn’t going to make the grade here. ‘You really think this is necessary?’
She was already over his side of the car, her face so close to his he could feel her breath on his lips. ‘Kiss me, Luke.’
Luke slid his hand along the curve of her cheek, his blood pumping so hard he could feel his erection pressing against his zip. He brought his mouth down to hers in a soft touch. Just brush her lips and get the hell out of there. He lifted off but her lips clung to his and something inside him gave way like tectonic plates shifting during an earthquake. He went back down again, breathing in the scent of her, relishing the fresh fruity taste of her. Her lips were soft and pillowy and tasted of strawberries or was it cherries? She made a little whimpering sound and opened to the stroke of his tongue, her tongue dancing with his, making his blood throb all the harder.
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