The Last Santini Virgin
“Why Didn’t You Tell Me You Were A Virgin?”
“Why would I?” Gina snapped.
“Because it would have been fair to warn me!”
“Warn you? So you were expecting me to maybe wear a sign around my neck? How about ‘Virgin— Deflowering Required’?”
“You should have told me,” Nick said simply, shooting her an icy glance.
She would not feel guilty about this, Gina told herself. Every woman had the right to choose when and where and with whom she lost her virginity. She’d chosen Nick.
Nick buttoned his jeans, then looked her directly in the eyes. “If I’d known, nothing would have happened here tonight.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell.” Because no matter how things were going now, the actual sex part of the evening had been spectacular. For a few brief wonderful moments she’d actually felt connected to Nick. And certainly every couple’s “forever” began with a moment’s connection….
Dear Reader,
Silhouette is celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000, and the latest powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire are as hot as that steamy summer weather!
For August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, the fabulous BJ James begins her brand-new miniseries, MEN OF BELLE TERRE. In The Return of Adams Cade, a self-made millionaire returns home to find redemption in the arms of his first love.
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BACHELOR BATTALION marches on with Maureen Child’s The Last Santini Virgin, in which a military man’s passion for a feisty virgin weakens his resolve not to marry. In Name Only is how a sexy rodeo cowboy agrees to temporarily wed a pregnant preacher’s daughter in the second book of Peggy Moreland’s miniseries TEXAS GROOMS. And Christy Lockhart reconciles a once-married couple who are stranded together in a wintry cabin during One Snowbound Weekend….
So indulge yourself by purchasing all six of these summer delights from Silhouette Desire…and read them in air-conditioned comfort.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
The Last Santini Virgin
MAUREEN CHILD
For my cousin, Kathy Carberry Makowski,
who, like the rest of us, may get knocked down,
but always gets up.
Books by Maureen Child
Silhouette Desire
Have Bride, Need Groom #1059
The Surprise Christmas Bride #1112
Maternity Bride #1138
*The Littlest Marine #1167
*The Non-Commissioned Baby #1174
*The Oldest Living Married Virgin #1180
*Colonel Daddy #1211
*Mom in Waiting #1234
*Marine under the Mistletoe #1258
*The Daddy Salute #1275
*The Last Santini Virgin #1312
MAUREEN CHILD
was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.
An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
One
“Move that hand, Marine,” Gina Santini said firmly, “or lose it.”
Gunnery Sergeant Nick Paretti chuckled and slowly, deliberately, slid his hand higher up her back, away from her behind. “What’s the matter, princess?” he asked. “Do I make you nervous?”
Nervous didn’t quite cover it, she thought. For three and a half weeks, now, she’d been spending three nights a week in this man’s arms. And it wasn’t getting any easier.
Although she was annoyed by Nick’s arrogance, the real problem was her attraction to him. It was no use trying to argue with her own hormones. But for Heaven’s sake, how could she feel such electricity for a man who’d made it his life’s work to irritate her?
“You’re trying to lead again.” His deep voice shook her, as always, and she resented him for that, too.
Gina tilted her head way back and looked up into her dance partner’s eyes. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to lead if you’d remember the steps.”
“And maybe,” Nick nearly growled, “I’d remember the steps if you wouldn’t quit changing the rhythm on me.”
She inhaled deeply and counted to ten. Then twenty. Nope, she was still mad. She tried to drag her right hand free of the man’s iron grip, but it was like trying to pull a train with a compact car. Ballroom dance lessons had seemed like such a good idea a month ago. But how could she have known that she’d be paired with a man too tall, too broad and too stubborn?
“Look, General,” she said.
“Gunnery Sergeant,” he corrected her. “Or Nick.”
Apparently, he was feeling magnanimous tonight.
“Nick,” she said, trying to sound cooperative, “we’re both paying a lot of money for these lessons. Don’t you think we should be working together to get the most out of them?”
“I’m doing my share, honey,” he told her, his blue eyes staring steadily into hers. “Our problems start when you try to do my share, too.”
Okay, so she had a little problem with leading and following. But that was better than letting him indulge his tendency to stomp her toes into oblivion.
“Fine,” she said. “You lead. Only this time try not to crush my toes.”
One black eyebrow lifted. “If you didn’t have such big feet, they wouldn’t be in the way.”
Gina stiffened. She was just a little sensitive about the size of her feet. Was it her fault that her mother’s size-four feet had not been handed down to her? “Believe it or not,” she said tightly, “no one else in the world has trouble avoiding my toes.”
“Luck,” he muttered.
“And don’t call me honey,” she snapped.
Gina’s gaze drifted around the room. Five other couples seemed to be gliding effortlessly across the highly polished wood floor. No one else appeared to be battling constantly with their partner. “Do we have to argue our way through every lesson?” she whispered more to herself than to him.
“No argument here, princess,” Nick said, bending his head toward hers and keeping his voice low, “as long as you admit that I’m the man and I’m supposed to lead.”
Was he going to grunt and pound his chest next?
“So,” he asked as the music swelled around them, “you ready now?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she said.
“Let’s get it done, then.” He paused, and she watched him listening to the music, catching the beat. Then he took a deep breath and threw them both into the deep end of the dancing pool. As they executed their first turn, he gave her a fleeting h
alf smile.
Lucky for her it was gone so fast, she thought as she silently acknowledged the thud of her heartbeat. Those occasional smiles of his were nerve-racking. No other man had ever affected her like this. And Gina wasn’t at all sure she liked it. On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it.
The moment they’d been assigned to each other as partners, there’d been fireworks. Not the nice, safe, pretty ones you saw at choreographed Fourth of July shows. Nope, these were down-and-dirty, completely illegal, bottle-rocket fireworks. Hot flashes, brilliant light and a breathtaking sense of imminent danger.
Gina gulped in a breath, pushed that thought right out of her head and concentrated on the present situation. The overhead fluorescent lights seemed to blur slightly as they danced. On the hardwood floor, the colorful shadows of the moving couples swayed and dipped as if there were another world beneath the floor and Gina and Nick, as well as all the others, were the actual reflections.
“You know, we’re getting pretty good at this,” he murmured, and his voice rumbled along her spine.
“Don’t get cocky,” she warned just before they stumbled slightly.
He scowled at her. “A little positive thinking wouldn’t be out of line, here.”
A little rhythm wouldn’t hurt, either, she thought, but didn’t say. Why was he doing this? she wondered for probably the hundredth time since being assigned Nick Paretti as a dance partner. She had a perfectly good reason for being there, of course. She loved dancing. At least she had until recently.
But he was a mystery. A big, burly Marine, from his military-cut, black hair to the spit shine on his exceptionally heavy shoes, he just didn’t seem the type to sign up for dance class. Hand grenades, yes. Waltzes, no.
Plus, he was way too good-looking for comfort. Black hair, piercing blue eyes, square jaw; a nose that looked as though it had been smacked once or twice—she could understand why—and a mouth that could curve into a mocking smile that practically curled her toes.
Oh, my.
The music ended, and Gina stepped back out of his arms. Instantly she felt the loss of him and told herself it meant nothing. She was simply used to the feel of him pressed against her.
“That went well, I think,” their teacher, Mrs. Stanton, called from her spot at the edge of the dance floor. The woman’s bright-blond hair was swept back into a tight knot at the top of her head, and as she walked into the crowd of dancers, her full skirt swished and swirled around her knees. “Most of you seem to be progressing nicely,” she added, then shot Nick a look that was pure female admiration, and Gina wanted to kick something. “But, ladies, you must remember to trust your partner. The dance floor is not the place for a battle of the sexes.”
“Hmm,” Nick wondered aloud. “You suppose she meant that one for you?”
“Don’t you have to invade a country somewhere?” Gina asked sweetly.
He laughed and shook his head.
“Now, class,” Mrs. Stanton said as she walked back toward the small stereo set up in the corner, “the cha-cha.”
“Oh, man…” Nick’s disgusted groan was just the thing to cheer Gina up.
“What’s the matter, General? Scared?” she asked.
“Sergeant. Gunnery Sergeant, as a matter of fact.” He gave her a glare. “I’ve mentioned it a time or two already.”
She shrugged. “Like it matters.”
“Lady,” he said, inhaling deeply enough to swell his already broad chest to massive proportions. “You are—”
“Better at the cha-cha than you?” she said, interrupting him.
He gave her a fierce scowl. “That’ll be the day.”
“Why, General,” Gina said with a grin, “I do believe that’s a challenge.”
“Take it any way you want,” he said, and reached out to grab her.
“Oh, very smooth,” Gina taunted as he pulled her closely against him.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully as he stared down into her eyes, “you’re the reason there is a battle of the sexes.”
Gina put her left hand on his shoulder and slipped her right hand into his left. “Right. Gina Santini is the mother of all problems between the sexes.”
“Not you personally,” he continued, and held her right hand a little tighter than necessary. “Women like you.”
“Ah,” she said with a nod and a teasing smile, “women who don’t swoon at you warrior types?”
He took a deep breath, blew it out again and asked, “Are we going to dance or what?”
She batted her eyelashes at him and said, “I’m waiting for you. You’re the fearless leader, remember?”
Grumbling under his breath, Nick started moving to the rhythm of the music. Gina concentrated on following his lead rather than trying to plot their course around the floor. She knew he hated the cha-cha, but she loved it. There was something about the way he held her for this dance. The way their hips moved against each other.
Uh-oh. Better not go there.
They executed a turn, and she silently admitted that her generation was missing a lot with all of the wild, contortionist dances that were so popular now. There was so much more to be said for the closeness of ballroom dancing.
Too much, really, she thought as she felt Nick’s pelvis move against her. Fires stirred within and she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she met his gaze and saw flickers of heat shifting in his eyes. One of his hands dropped to the curve of her behind, and Gina would have sworn she felt the brand of each of his fingertips.
“Much better, Sergeant and Gina,” Mrs. Stanton called out as they cha-cha’d past her.
Gina automatically stiffened her spine and lifted her chin.
“Teacher’s pet,” Nick mumbled with a brief smile.
“Delinquent,” she muttered.
“How’d you guess?”
“What?”
“That I was a delinquent when I was a kid.”
Was he serious? He practically had Bad Boy stenciled on his forehead. “I’m psychic.”
“Too bad you’re not a tall psychic,” he said.
Five foot five wasn’t exactly an amazon, but she didn’t qualify for kids’ ticket prices at the movies, either. “I’m not short,” she told him. “You’re abnormally tall.”
“I’m only six-four, which is hardly Godzilla.”
“Depends on your point of view.”
He blew out an exasperated sigh. “I wasn’t trying to start World War III,” he complained. “I’m just saying I’m getting a crick in my neck looking down at you.”
“Well looking up all night isn’t a picnic, ya know.”
Ridiculous to argue over nothing, but it was certainly safer than concentrating on how he was making her feel. Their hips moved against each other again, and Gina flushed, her body awakening to the closeness of Nick’s.
Was dancing supposed to be this sexy? Nick wondered as he pressed Gina even closer to him, hoping as he did so that she couldn’t feel the arousal tightening the fit of his slacks. She felt so small, so defenseless in his arms. Yet even as that thought entered his mind, he wanted to chuckle. Gina? Defenseless? Yeah, like a hungry tiger.
This tiny woman was able to give as good as she got, and he’d found himself almost looking forward to their three-times-a-week shoot-outs. She had a smart-alecky, completely kissable mouth, a compact body that curved in all the right places and a head harder than his.
All in all, just the kind of woman he’d be interested in if he was looking for a woman, which he wasn’t. Now he supposed most men wouldn’t be captivated by a woman who argued anything at the drop of a stick. But Nick had been raised in a good old-fashioned Italian family, where love was measured in octaves reached while yelling.
His mother had told him once that arguments were the spice of married life. And if she’d been telling the truth, then his folks had had one spicy marriage for the past thirty-six years. He smiled to himself as memories crowded into his brain. Hi
s two brothers, his parents and himself, seated at the dinner table, arguing about politics, religion, history or even, on a slow day, who was stronger, Superman or Mighty Mouse. The Paretti house was loud, but it was happy.
The cha-cha ended, and the couples on the floor slowly stopped, turning toward Mrs. Stanton, awaiting instructions. Nick dropped Gina’s hand, then curled his own fingers into a fist so he didn’t notice how empty his hand felt without hers in it.
“That’s all for tonight, everyone,” the teacher said.
He ignored the shaft of disappointment that sliced through him. Two hours passed mighty damn quickly in this place.
“But I want you all to think about something,” she went on. “The Bayside Amateur Dance Competition is next month, and we’ve been invited to enter three couples from our class.”
A ripple of conversation rose up and then faded as Mrs. Stanton continued. “Next week I’ll be selecting the three couples who will represent my little dance school, so do your very best, and good luck to you all.”
He caught the excited gleam in Gina’s eyes.
A competition?
In public? Oh, he didn’t think so.
Two
Once class ended, Nick walked outside, barely listening to Gina’s stream of chatter. He kept envisioning himself dancing in public. And those mental pictures were enough to give him chills.
Hell, the whole reason he was taking these classes was because of what had happened the last time he’d danced in public. It was at last year’s Marine Corps Ball. In front of everyone. In a flash he remembered it all.
A crowded room, hundreds of people and him, dancing with a major’s wife. Or rather, trying to dance. She’d cajoled him into it, and he’d reluctantly given in. But as the dance had gone on, he’d almost relaxed…until the moment he’d spun her. Somehow she’d slipped free, and he’d watched, helplessly, as she’d sailed directly into the punch bowl.
Nick swallowed a groan at the memory and quickly pushed the rest of it aside. He really didn’t want to remember the crash of the punch bowl, the splash of liquid, the major’s wife’s screech or the image of the poor woman sitting on the dance floor drenched in ruby-red punch.