CultOfTheBlackVirgin (5 page)

Last week had been Father’s Day back home in the States. After she and James had dutifully called their fathers from the hotel, James said to her, in a hesitant voice, “Well, sweetheart, this time next year, or the year after, perhaps I can celebrate Father’s Day for myself.”

Jo had looked at him sideways. It wasn’t like him to use emotional blackmail.

That was when her mood grew dark and began to spoil their special time in the City of Lights.

Soon after that it all fell apart. Two nights later she refused—or rather, put off—his proposal and they spent the rest of their holiday alternately in tears or periods of painful silence. They stopped making love. James spent time alone in their hotel room working on some contracts for an upcoming project he was managing while Jo walked the city alone, sightseeing and doing a little shopping. That was when she made the decision to stay behind in France. He was pushing her too hard. And she wasn’t one to be pushed into a corner. So she dug in her heels and pushed back. Of course she was sorry she’d disappointed him, but she just wasn’t ready to give him the things he wanted from her.

Sometimes she wondered why she was being so stubborn. Really—she knew she shouldn’t be. After all, she was thirty years old. She couldn’t put off marriage and motherhood forever. James loved her and he just wanted to be her husband and the father of her children. She should be grateful. Lots of women would kill for a man like him.

There was nothing wrong with his wanting to get married, wanting to begin their family. They were mature people. James’ career was solid and they could afford to buy a family home in a good neighborhood. Her man wasn’t in the wrong—she was.

She was in the wrong because she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d have to give up. Most, if not all, of the compromises would have to be hers, and she resented that. Yes, they would buy a beautiful home, but Jo knew it would be
his
contemporary perched on a cliff above the sea and not
her
updated Victorian in a leafy suburb.

It would forever be
his
choices, which were usually not to her taste. He always knew his own mind and would not be dissuaded from his decisions. Ironically, this was one of his qualities she’d admired most when she first met him—his confidence, his strong-mindedness.

He was certainly confident when he’d chosen Jo as his life partner. And she’d been flattered, even if part of her felt trapped. Aside from her father, James was by far the best man she’d ever known. And she intuited he’d be as good a husband and parent as her own beloved father had been.

But there would be conditions. Of course she’d have to give up her career. That alone filled Jo with anger and frustration. In her wildest dreams she’d never thought about being a stay-at-home mom.

His changing was not an option, she knew that. People didn’t change easily. She didn’t want him to change, anyway. Nor did she want to change to accommodate him. She just had to grow to accept him the way he was. As he had to learn to accept her.

But she didn’t know if she was up for all of this compromise.

She’d tried to explain. “I’m just not ready yet, James. I’ll be ready soon. But not just yet.”

“But when? You know we’re at a perfect age to settle down and begin parenting.”

“I don’t know. I’d just like to work on a little longer with the magazine. See it through another season, maybe. Do a little more traveling on our own, you know? Please don’t be hurt, sweetheart. Just give me a little more time.”

In Paris, that had been the best she could do. But by the time she got back to Seattle she knew she’d have to have a better answer.

Now, twenty-four hours after tearfully kissing James goodbye at the
Gare du Nord
train station, Jo took a deep breath of country air and sneaked another peek at Luc.

I feel good. I feel
really
good.

In fact, she was beginning to feel better than she’d felt in months. And that, she knew, did not bode well for a future with James.

Lying on the soft riverbank after her meal, she closed her eyes and moved into the present moment. She concentrated on listening. She could hear the rushing water of the river. Intermittent birdsong. The bark of a dog in the distance. A murmured conversation from one of the married couples sitting close by. Then she focused on trying to discern different scents. The warm grass smelled earthy and alive. The air moving over her from the flowing river was heavy with sweet moisture.

Ah, it is indeed good to be alive in this wonderful place, full of beauty and promise
.

Suddenly she picked up a new scent—the deep, musky smell of a male animal. Her eyes shot open and she saw Luc crouching near her on the grass. Her entire body quivered as she studied the muscles of his legs, then quickly looked up to his teasing eyes. He was smiling at her again.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Joanna, but some of us are going to take a little dip before getting back on the trail. Will you join us?”

Was that a challenge she saw in his eyes? Before she answered she made an effort to calm her voice. “Of course. I brought my suit. Let me get changed.” Self-consciously she rose to her feet and picked up her bag.

At breakfast Luc had reminded everyone to pack a swimsuit—or bathing costume, as the English called it. The part of the river they would visit today was suitable for bathing, or wading, he said, although it wasn’t deep enough for actual swimming.

Jo wasn’t keen to bathe, being a little self-conscious about strangers seeing her in a swimsuit. Although she knew she looked fabulous, she was a naturally modest person. But a dip would probably feel great after the morning’s walk so she’d thrown her suit into her daypack.

In the change room she pulled her shirt on over her swimsuit and walked back to the river. She saw that Luc was already in the water, sitting with Duncan and the Stewarts, the Australian couple. It seemed everyone watched as she threw off her shirt, blushing furiously, and waded into the surprisingly cold water as quickly as she could. She hoped her hat and the glare of the sun would hide her reddening complexion.

Immediately she felt Luc’s eyes moving over her nearly naked body. Her two-piece suit was conservative by most standards, but still she wanted to hide herself. Scuttling over the slippery rocks, she sat down in deep water far away from the others, letting the exhilarating eddies swirl around her. Safe, she decided to stay put. She wanted to be the watcher. Not the watchee.

From behind her sunglasses she could see Luc sitting submerged up to his neck. He was talking to the Stewarts and Jo heard a peal of laughter coming from the brassy wife, Carol. Then he turned away from them and scrambled to find his footing. When he stood up, what a sight she saw!

God help me!

She almost choked on her own saliva. Her eyes widened and her heart kicked.

There he was, wearing his walking shorts and nothing else but the red bandana around his neck. Now she could get a really good look at what she coveted.

He was magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.

Soaking wet, his light cotton shorts clinging to him, he was truly beautiful. Exquisitely proportioned. Square shoulders, flat stomach, well-defined muscles, perfect bronzed nipples.

And those arms!
He must be as strong as a bull.

An adornment of dark hair ran in a line across his chest. Another one bisected it, rising from his wet shorts, creating a perfectly symmetrical pattern. Her stomach flipped over.

And he has a tattoo!

The bicep of his right arm was graced by a small Yin and Yang symbol, done in simple black.

The tattoo puzzled her
.

Why the Chinese Yin and Yang? What could it mean?

She watched Carol watching Luc as he effortlessly waded to the shore and bent to pick up a towel. A loud, too-tanned woman of early middle age, Carol was trying desperately to regain his attention as she shrilled and splashed like a large wrinkled child at the beach.

While Carol squealed, her paunchy husband, Peter, stared at Joanna. And it was soon apparent to everyone that the lovely Ms. Clifford, even when she was almost completely under water, had the undivided attention of every man with a pair of eyes.

Jo caught Carol’s sage eye and forced herself to look away toward a sullen Iris, who hadn’t bothered to come in to the water. She was standing on the shore watching the antics of the bathers. Then Edward and Glenda came scrambling over the rocks to join Jo.

Edward Evans, a fit, graying man in his fifties, was a psychologist specializing in family practice. Glenda, short and dark with a wide, pleasant smile, taught history. Earlier that day they told Jo that they’d taken many walking trips together, and planned to visit western North America, including Jo’s hometown of Seattle. So they politely asked if they could talk to her as much as they could over the next week. Their company managed to distract her for a few moments, but soon she was back to thinking about Luc.

Ashamed of herself, she couldn’t help comparing Luc’s body to her lover’s. James, with his trim muscular frame, was sexy enough in his own way but he lacked the animal appeal of the larger man.

A shadow passed over Jo’s day. Her desire for another man—an unavailable man, no less—had escalated rapidly. Things were becoming more complicated, more dangerous.

The water was too cold to keep the bathers in for long, and after a change of clothes they were soon back on the path, headed towards toward their evening stop. Jo was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. She knew she should be delighted to have met such interesting people from different countries, but she was preoccupied. Her ears were attuned only to the French accent she could just make out as she followed the man who was quickly becoming the center of her world.

She learned many things about Luc as she strained to catch snatches of his conversations with other people. It turned out that he wasn’t entirely French.

“My father is half Scottish,” she heard him explain. “His mother was a dark-haired, blue-eyed Highlander who married a Frenchman. My French grandfather, a young doctor, met my grandmother on a visit to distant relatives in Edinburgh just before the beginning of the First World War.”

Luc had claimed his one-quarter Scots blood by doing graduate work in archaeology at the University of Edinburgh. When pressed, he admitted he’d had a few of his papers published in academic journals. Jo was impressed.

“My focus was on Roman fortifications. I spent two years studying and mapping the Antonine Wall, which not many people know about. It runs parallel to and north of Hadrian’s Wall.”

Jo knew of it. She’d traveled through that part of the country once.

While living in Scotland, Luc learned to mimic a passable Scots accent, and with encouragement from Duncan, practiced his burrs and gutturals as the two of them walked ahead of the pack. Intermittently throughout the afternoon they entertained the group by singing Scottish drinking songs.

So that’s why his English is so good
.
And why he seems both strange and familiar at the same time.

Jo’s own father was a Scot, and she credited her reserve and her wits to his side of the family. From her mother’s side, which was English, she got her clear, pale complexion, her love of nature, and even more reserve. Also from her mother’s side of the family, Jo inherited some nice Victorian jewelry and her beautiful breasts.

But when it came to affairs of the heart she’d often wondered which parent was responsible for her utter stupidity.

* * * *

Luc felt like a fool for reminding everyone to pack a swimsuit but forgetting to bring his own. It wasn’t like him to make that kind of mistake. As he suffered the irritating chafing of wet walking shorts, he was made even more uncomfortable at the thought of Joanna, walking behind him.

That maudite Americaine must have picked up my scent, or whatever it is that draws males and females together.

He knew she was ripe for it—certainly—but what thrilled him even more than her excitement was that she was in such denial. Watching her wrestle with her obvious attraction to him was as charming as anything he had ever enjoyed.

It was almost funny—the mixed messages she sent him. Her face showed every kind of emotion when she looked at him. Yes, it would have been amusing except for the fact that he wanted her so badly that he couldn’t imagine laughing at anything ever again.

And then there was her body. Nothing to laugh at there, either. When he saw her wade into the river his earlier suspicions were confirmed. She had a killer figure. Yet, oddly enough, she didn’t seem to know it. Rather than flaunt it, she seemed almost embarrassed by her beauty.

He, on the other hand, had no reservations about showing off his stuff. He knew Jo was watching him when he stood up and strode out of the water, when he leisurely walked along the riverbank, slowly and thoroughly toweling himself dry.

Even now, back on the trail, he was aware of her eyes on him. And after awhile he was actually glad he was forced to walk in wet shorts. He knew they showed off part of his body to advantage.

But since their swim he had the feeling she was avoiding him. He couldn’t guess why, and he didn’t like it. He wanted to break through her aloof exterior to get back to what he knew simmered underneath, what he’d seen in her eyes at the dinner table last night.