Page 9 of His Virgin Vessel

I began to wrap a bandage around Asa's arm. My fingers brushed against his skin and, to my surprise, I heard him catch his breath this time.

"You've got cold hands," he muttered, trying to explain away his reaction.

"You've got strong ones."

As I tied off the bandage, he turned to look at me, and our eyes met. The heat between us was almost palpable. You could have fried an egg where our gazes met.

I thought back to what I had said about going home to Dad's. But things had changed now. Something was happening, and that promise no longer mattered. Something crackled between Asa and me, and if I didn't do something about it, then I was going to explode. I placed a trembling hand on Asa's thigh, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch and hearing his breath become suddenly more audible.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

What a ridiculous thing to say. It made me sound like a little girl, not the wild child rebel I wanted to appear. It would have surprised my dad, and probably Risa, too, to learn it, but I wasn't really that girl. I had played the part well, but I never drank as much as I pretended, I never smoked or took drugs, and 'Do you think I'm pretty?' was probably my best chat-up line.

I liked painting—it wasn’t just an easy course for college drop-outs to me. It was a real career. I preferred spending an evening curled up with a book than getting wasted at a party. But, for whatever reason, I didn’t want people to know that. Maybe I wanted to be the wild child that everybody thought I was. Maybe I needed it. I never had a chance to get to know my mom. I learned about her mostly through the distorted prism of my father's memories. The less I got along with Dad, the less I seemed to take after him, compared to Risa, and the more I assumed I must take after my mom. Maybe the more I wanted to take after her. I wanted to be the bad girl that she was—the rebel, the hard drinker who hooked up with men for sport. I wanted to be that, but the truth was that I was no more like her than I was like my dad.

So, my heart fluttered all the more quickly in my chest as I slid a cautious hand up Asa's thigh, because this sort of situation wasn't as common to me as my family might have thought. As my hand travelled toward the point of no return, I leaned toward Asa to kiss him.

But he pulled back. And a split second before my questing hand entered the danger-zone, I felt his strong grip on my wrist, stopping me.

"You promised you'd go home without a fuss. You promised you'd do as I tell you."

"I will," I nodded, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. "I'll do anything you tell me. So, what are you going to tell me to do?"

"To get on my bike, and keep that mouth of yours shut while I drive you home."

"There are a lot more fun things you could tell me to do."

"I'm sure."

"I'd do them."

"Are you keeping your promise or not?"

"You don't think I'm pretty?"

He stood up sharply, and a little hastily, and I caught a glimpse of a bulge in the front of his tight pants that answered the question for him. "That's neither here nor there."

"Okay." I stood up, demure and subdued. There was a strange mixture of emotions in me. Disappointment, of course, and the sharp frustration of thwarted desire. But relief, too. Perhaps I wasn't ready. Still ... "But you do think I'm pretty, don't you?"

I had come up close behind him, so that when he turned he was flush against me, and I felt his hot breath on my upturned face.

"I'm President of War Cry. You're the sheriff’s daughter."

"I don't care."

Asa scoffed. "I know that. You love it. You'd like nothing more than to score one against your old man. And then you'd regret it. And I'm damn sure I would. I'm many things, but I'm not any girl's plaything, and I don’t want to be. Now get your ass on the damn bike."

We rode back to my house in silence, arriving there in the early hours of the morning. I wasn't sure what to think about the events of the evening. Maybe he was right. I didn't want to be with him for any more reason than to irritate my dad and because the idea of being with a bad boy thrilled me. But I had hung out with bad boys before, and I’d never felt anything like this. I wanted Asa like I wanted my next breath, but even I didn't know if I wanted him for an hour, for a week, or forever. My head was too muddled with lust to know more than that.

But he had known. He had read me like a book, and, rather than taking advantage for an enjoyable one-night-stand, he had chosen a higher path. Which somehow made him more desirable still. My friends and family didn't understand me—they all thought I was something I wasn't, something I was trying to be. Truth be told, I didn't really understand myself. But Asa had sized me up in one night. He got me. And, so, I couldn't have him.

We pulled up outside my house.

"Off you go."

I made no move to get off the bike, pushing my luck to the last, unable to help myself and secretly hoping Dad was watching through the curtains. "Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"

Asa kicked out the kickstand, swung himself off the bike and went to take me in his arms. For a moment, I thought he was actually going to do it, that I was going to get my kiss, and my insides melted just at the thought. But instead, he scooped me up off the pillion and dumped me unceremoniously in the dust in front of the porch.

"Good night."

He rode off, leaving me exactly as he had met me: a virgin.

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