Page 51 of Taking The Virgin

My god, I’m truly falling in love with him, but his troubled past is still a closed book to me. I know something happened to him to make him so closed off, but I’m hesitant to ask him again to share it, and he never volunteers anything.

When the night of our dinner with Dr. and Mrs. Earl finally arrives, I’m a mess of nerves. As we wait at our white linen covered table in the very swanky Le Bernadin, I keep smoothing down my navy open back designer gown and toying with the subtle organza bow at my neck. I’ve worn my hair up in a bid to look sophisticated, but I’m not sure I own thepart.

Hostess. Girlfriend. Significant other.

Right.

But Owen can’t take his eyes off of me. He’s got that look again—almost tender and definitely attached in someway.

I don’t get him atall.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says smoothly.

I whisper across the table. “They’re definitely going to know that I’m not actually your girlfriend.”

“Willthey?”

His cryptic words give me pause, and when he stands from his chair in a formal manner, I look toward the distinguished couple coming toward us, escorted by the maîtred.

“Dr. Gregory,” says the fortyish man with the big grin and prematurely silverhair.

“Dr. Earl.” After they shake hands, Owen greets Mrs. Earl, who’s already smiling atme.

She’s much younger than I expected—possibly in her mid-twenties—and she’s blond and slim in her own designer dress. Owen introduces us, and she takes my hand as if we’re already old friends.

“Please tell me you’re into the theater,” she says as she sits down next to me. “I was hoping to see at least one Broadway show while I’m in town, and that silver fox workaholic across the table couldn’t careless.”

Oh, so she has a workaholic, too. We’re going to get along justfine.

“I’m on board with that,” I say, totally relieved that she’s so open andfun.

She starts talking about the production set design program for international students she runs every summer back in Nevada. Meanwhile, Dr. Earl listens raptly to his wife, clearly adoringher.

I catch Owen’s eye. His gaze holds something even more intense than what I’ve seen in him before, and warmth spills through me, because the emotion isn’t lust. It isn’t haunted in anyway.

Owen is proud of me tonight, almost as if I really am his significant other.

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